Until the age of 8, Faelnora lived in a world full of joy and freedom. Her village was unusual, but she didn't know that. To her, it was the most natural thing in the world for elves and dwarves, halflings and humans to live together in peaceful harmony.
Nelvindale was a thriving village a small distance west of the main road between two great cities. It was far enough off the thoroughfare that it felt like it's own realm, but close enough to invite the occasional weary traveler or industrious trader. The villagers welcomed the occasional bard to their "great hall", and Faelnora reveled in the music and tales spun by fascinating strangers. Life was idyllic and bright until the day the wanna be lordling Farad sent his squad of brutes and thugs to claim their land as his own.
Theirs was the first village to fall to him, but not the last. As his scattered "holdings" grew, so did his greed, and by time Faelnora was of age, many small settlements to the west of the main road between the great cities Gladewyn and Fenn had been raized, claimed, and rebuilt twice over. Gone were the days of peace, the weekly dinners in the village hall full of singing and laughter. Gone was the sense of community and belonging that had made Faelnora's youth feel magically touched. Now there were only scared, scarred farmers, struggling to grow enough to feed the voracious army that threatened to end their lives once and for all should they not pay the outrageous tribute.
After Faelnora's 18th birthday, her mother decided it was time for her daughter to find a better place, a better life. It took a year of subtle hints, clever tales, and outright beseeching to get her daughter to agree to leave. On Faelnora's 19th birthday, she reluctantly left in the back of a traders wagon, her tear filled eyes blurring the faces of her friends and family and the husk of the village she still loved so well.
