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(( As a bit of an OOC prologue I'd like to thank the authors of all of the fantastic character journals and backstories that I've read here on the forums. You've inspired me to deliver you the world through my character's eyes, both for your entertainment and to help me develop him with as much depth as possible. Also shout out to the theatre professor who taught me to write such character journals as a tool of method acting. As an additional note, my writing style is very dependent on the music that I select to go along with the post. I know that's not uncommon here on the forums, but I HIGHLY encourage you to listen to the music that I've curated to go along with my writing. The underlying tone (if not the lyrics directly) of the song or musical selection deepen the meaning of the journal entry more than I can hope to do with the music alone. All comments are welcome, but keep in mind this journal is written by my character and so some factual information may be wrong because he does not know it. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!)) Starlight: The Story of Félix de Montauban --- My name is Félix de Montauban, and while history will no doubt remember me for my dashing good looks, finely trimmed moustache, and humble disposition, I felt it necessary to write this journal so that you may know the world and times I lived in through my eyes. But who are you? Well that matters very little. Emperor, slave, dwarf, elf, or human, the only thing that matters is that you are posterity. Inhabitants of a time that I with every fibre of my being hope is free from the darkness that so often plagues the hearts and minds of those I see in my travels. Let’s start with a bit about me though. To begin, (as I’m sure my name gives away) I am Auvergnian, a remnant of a culture that I know pitifully little about beyond the language, and the values instilled in me by my parents. While at first I lamented this cultural identity crisis, I have grown to cherish it. Not only does it allow me to stand out, but it has sparked in me an appreciation for and desire to learn more about the living cultures present in Vailor. My father was a surgeon, my mother a songbird, and so my childhood was spent wondering from city to city, war camp to war camp as my father sought work. Whereas most little boys run around pretending to be heroes and knights, I spent time boiling bandages or cleaning bloodied surgical implements. I was given a true glimpse at the ignoble thing called war, so frequently romanticized by songs and poems. The agonized screams, the putrid odor melange of blood, mud, and excrement that gave war camps a certain aura. My parents, poor as they were, gave me the greatest gift they could: an education. My mother taught me to read and write, nourishing an appreciation for literature, poetry, and music. My father passed on his passion for helping others and the art and science that is medicine. Poultices and herbal remedies taught to him by the druids, anatomical expertise passed down my high elven physicians (through painstaking relationship-building efforts) and his own fiery dedication to anyone in need of his services, friend or foe. I am forever grateful to them for such wonderful gifts. When the time came for me to leave the nest, my parents furnished me with a fine leather bag, a brand new set of surgical implements, an old rapier, and lots of love. Though I was afraid to leave the relative comfort of my family and set out on my own, I knew it was for the best. For a few years, I followed in their footsteps, roaming the land as a surgeon for hire. It was during this period of my life that I met the one I now lovingly call my brother: Arterius Khaine. But I’ll write more about him and the other people in my life in my next entry.
