Ssleth
I grew into adolescence in a small community of families who preferred the idyllic
peace and quiet of farming the countryside to the hustle and bustle found in even the
smallest of the established clans or villages. Never spoken were words such as Crossing,
guilds, or magic. Mine was the only S'Kra family in the community, and we all treated each
other much like siblings. This explains why I have more non-S'Kra in my ru'at than the
more insular S'Kra of the Realms.
I discovered my affinity for magic at an early age. My main chore was collecting wood for
the family cooking fire, and one particularly stormy day I returned home with some
waterlogged branches...all I could find in the deluge. The others had gone to salvage what
crops they could in the torrent, and I knew they would need a fire to warm themselves when
they returned...not to mention my own shivering self. Flint and steel could not bring
enough of a spark to light the thoroughly wet kindling, no matter how many times I tried.
Frustration turned to rage as I slipped and struck my shaking hand instead of the flint.
Hurling both flint and steel across the room, I grabbed a branch out of the firepit and
headed toward the most breakable item in the room with murderous intent. "Why won't
you just BURN?" I yelled as I began to bring the soggy branch down in a crushing
blow. A sudden flash of heat and light stayed my hand mid-swing, and I stared,
dumbfounded, at the burning branch I now held in my grip.
After using the blazing torch to start a roaring fire, I tried to duplicate this
astounding trick, but to no avail. I tried the same motions, the same yell, even going so
far as to smash my hand again...nothing. When my parents returned, I told them what
happened and asked them if they could explain it to me. They looked from me to each other,
each of them wearing the same sad look on their face. They sat me down and, with a sigh,
began to explain the rest of Elanthia to me...the Elanthia they had tried to insulate me
from.
I couldn't bring back the magical fire I had created with my hands, but I tried constantly
to recreate the exact conditions that gave him the Burning Touch. Knowing that his
obsessive son would not ever let it go and return to the simple farm life, my father
packed for a long journey. With me mumbling and gesturing behind him, my father headed for
the Crossing and the Warrior Mage guildhall.
I mutely accepted the loan from the Zoluren government that my father secured for me and
followed him out through the northeastern gate of the city toward Arhat's tower. Just
then, my constant tinkering and gesturing finally produced a warmth that covered my
hands...certainly no fire, but closer than I'd ever come since that stormy day so long
ago. I froze in my tracks and in all my excitement, I lost track of my father. I just knew
that my career in magic was about to begin, and I couldn't wait for my father to return
for me. Three paths were before me...I had come from the north, so I ruled that one out.
There was equal chance that the guildhall was down the remaining paths, so I chose to go
east. The tower must be just beyond the path I saw, so down it I went. Instead of a guild
leader awaiting me, it was a wood troll. Well, with no idea how to defend myself, I
quickly learned that I was indeed mortal. A passing Ranger took pity upon my corpse and
dragged me to the temple, where he instructed me in the ways of cheating death's permanent
embrace. Then, in my brand new body, a penniless and indebted Ssleth was shown the correct
way to join the Warrior Mage guild. Thus began the greatest adventure of his life, which
continues to this very day.
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