The life of a Half-Elf is never an easy one.

Looked down upon by both Elves and Humans, many Half-Elves do not feel welcome in either land. Tired of such persecution, a handful of Half-Elves, Humans, and very few like-minded Elves, found the land of Esathera. It is in Esathera that Kirothas was born. He was born at the same time as two others. It was said the three were to be destined for great things together. Elisora, Kirothas, and Saelthaen were inseparable and had formed a bond stronger than diamond. The trio did everything together for the next twenty-two years. As close as they were as three, two were to be brought closer by Fate. One cool autumn night, Kirothas and Elisora confessed secret feelings for each other. In the crisp night air and moonlit night, they shared their first kiss. It was a sweet, tender, and personal moment that they shared yet it was sneakily shared by another. Saelthaen was hidden nearby with an ember of anger and bitterness growing from within. He coveted Elisora and the bonds of friendship that the three shared began to fracture like glass. The tiny fissures grew more and more as time went on, with Saelthaen becoming more and more distant from the lovers. The joy they had transcended into bliss as Kirothas had asked Elisora to be his wife. The bliss that Elisora and Kirothas shared was never given a chance to bloom. One year, to the date off their first kiss, Elisora was found murdered in the small cottage that she shared with Kirothas. Seeing his beloved lying cold upon the floor had drastically and fundamentally changed Kirothas. Gone was the cheerful, friendly, and kind Half-Elf. He instantly had become sullen and withdrawn from family and friends alike. In the back of his mind, he knew there was only one person who could have done this. It was not until recently that Kirothas had noticed Saelthaen behaving differently. He closest friend had begun to shun him and avoid Elisora completely. She was, as tradition, carried to the highest point in Esathera, the Skytower. Her body, dressed in the dress she had woven with her own hands, was placed upon an altar that stood on the terrace overlooking the entire land. When the sun had reached the point in the West where it became the color of fire and deep lavender, Kirothas gave one last kiss to the only woman he had ever, and will ever, love. The clerics began to chant and Elisora was consumed in magical fire. A gentle breeze formed and her ashes were swept away to rejoin the land of her birth. Kirothas stared into the western sky until it had turned into night. As he was about to leave, he noticed a lock of Elisoras auburn hair upon the altar. He slowly picked up the silken lock and was drawn to tears when he noticed that it still had the scent of the perfume she had created herself. He placed the lock into a small vial, which he then affixed to a chain he wore upon his neck. He vowed to hunt down Saelthaen and avenge the death of his beloved Elisora. He burned even more with smoldering vengeance due to the missing band he had given Elisora. He walked towards their cottage and hesitated. He slowly walked to the garden gate and put his hand upon the top. Before he pushed it open, he withdrew his and hand began to walk away. With his home and life behind him, he began to search for the coward Saelthaen. Kirothas searched non-stop until he fell from exhaustion. Upon awakening, he walked again until he found a small village. He spent his

remaining gold on supplies and provisions and continued onward. He spent the next twenty years searching his homeland in the name of vengeance. He had finally tracked down the coward Saelthaen, or so he had thought. The human he found was under orders to masquerade as Saelthaen as to avert attention. Kirothas was about to leave the man, when he noticed something metal twinkle in the firelight. It was the band that he had given Elisora. He reached out for the band and the man began to sneak towards the door. With a speed fueled by fury, he slammed the door closed and threw the man into a chair. His hate flowed through him as he began to interrogate the man. After hours of nothing and his patience tried, Kirothas drew forth the small dagger that belonged to Elisora. He began to slowly drag the dagger across the mans arm. The man flinched, but still did not talk. Kirothas worked with the precision of a surgeon for the next few hours. Eventually the man spoke only one word, Ravicinia. He drew in his last ragged breath and Kirothas walked out the front door, feeling no remorse. He had not felt anything since Elisora was taken from him. He traveled towards Ravicinia, a long, lonely walk that would take the next seven years