Rosamund of Ponsyll was born to a once-respectable sheep hearding family in Alba. She'd learned to milk, churn, and mend as a mere sl;ip of a girl- long before she understood why her mother's eyes were so weary and dull, and she could count the callouses on her father's hands into numbers her little mind could hardly comprehend. As she aged, she learned that their decline in standing was not so sudden of a happening as she was led to believe, but a slow, taxing unraveling. Debts were owed, harvests lost to the seasons, and her father had the poor habit of making promises he knew he couldn't keep. By the time she became of age, much of their land had been seized, leaving only a small pasture, and a rickety old cottage that leaned to the left with age. At the mere age of sixteen, she became the steady center of what remained of her family, rising with the call of the rooster to keep the work from overwhelming her aged parents. The War for Azuras took it's toll. Bandit attacks ravaged their already-decomposing pasture, and her parents met their bitter demise to the stresses.
