(Origin Story) (sorta') Nal'em

Where her race is considered masters of natural arts, spellcraft, and druidic rituals, Nal'em found beauty in the dance of blades and the song of steel. Her lineage gleaning skills from healers and bards, Nal'em found herself out of place among her family. Her parents loved her and brought her up as best they could considering her proclivities, but they were never able to wipe the dark calling.

Determined not to bring shame on the family, Nal'em dropped her surname and began traveling the world to learn the trade she loved. She trained tirelessly with any master she had coin for and stole what she needed to survive or took on small jobs when able. The greater part of her skill has been self-taught and not without certain cost.

Nal'em holds a great mistrust of others and prefers to work alone, though has joined small bands to achieve greater ends. She speaks little, but is not unpleasant to be around. On occasion she can be found at inns enjoying the local fare and trading secrets, or hiring herself out as a courier to lords and ladies.

-------

“My lord, as much as I enjoy your gold, I feel it would be more productive to actually tell the lady how you feel as opposed to having me deliver her nightly letters of unsigned prose.” Nal'em watched as her benefactor scrawled hastily on a sheet of parchment his latest work of devotion.

He looked up from the letter, “You don’t understand the fine art of wooing.” Nal'em frowned. “It takes time, and eloquence, and planning. You have to plant the seed, and culture it, and wait for it to bloom. Wait until they have no other recourse but to love you.”

“You put too much faith in words.”

The lordling folded the paper delicately and sealed it with wax. Nal'em had been in his employ for the better part of eight months carrying letters to his beloved in the dark of night and leaving them on her balcony seat where she broke her morning fast. The young lady he wrote to now expected the letters every week, sometimes attempting to stay up to discover who the deliverer was. It made things difficult at times, as she always had her ladies about her to try and keep her awake. However, in the end, they would fall asleep and the letter could be left for them to discover upon their waking.

He handed the letter and a small pouch to her. One she put it into a small pouch on her hip, the other she tossed into the air casually to weigh it. When it landed in her palm, she looked blankly at him. He shifted nervously and fiddled with his robes.

“I...I had to make preparations for when I reveal my intentions to her. I have flowers being imported to bedeck the square with in a weeks time and sweets being prepared by the baker which had to be paid half in advance.”

“So you thought to cheat the messenger?”

“I thought perhaps I could pay you the rest later.”

She remained silent, leveling a stare at him.

He became indignant. “I have paid your fee for eight months to deliver these letters! I could have found others to do this menial task! Besides, you are no master spy, just a common thief!”

The thumb of her right hand rubbed the pommel of her dagger, “One of your rings will make up for the deficit.”

He balked and moved backwards, holding his hands close to him.

“Must you lose a finger for something so trivial?”

“How dare you threaten me!”

“I do not take more than I am owed. That simple band of gold will do.”

Seeing that she wasn’t about to back down, he fumbled the ring off and handed it to her, fuming. After examining it, she placed it in the pouch and began her descent from his bedroom window, glad to be quitted of the stammering lordling. The night was still early and she had time enough to stop by a local inn for food and ale.

Nal'em slipped inside the warmly lit tavern and took a seat in the corner. A single candle lit the table and the fire across the room crackled lazily. Few patrons remained this evening and those that did were dicing or playing cards, paying little attention to her. She pulled the letter from her pouch and held it in front of the candle to read. Only a few lines of a poorly written poem were decipherable from the way that it had been folded and Nal'em decided it wasn’t worth her time.
The innkeep approached her table and she deftly slipped the letter up her sleeve.

“What would you be liking this eve, my lady.”

“What do you have prepared?”

“Mutton and the last of the day’s bread with sweet summer ale to wash it down with.”

Nal'em nodded and the fat man waddled to the kitchens. She knew she had spent too long in this place when she started recognizing the faces in the bars and the ones tonight seemed to be growing familiar. A couple of smiths, the soot stains on their rolled up sleeves leaving their tell-tale sign and a minstrel with thin, boney fingers that had callouses on the tips and close cropped nails. She leaned against the wall and listened for bits of information that may prove valuable. Talk of the common folk was rarely of any use, but you never knew who might find what of particular interest.

A serving wench returned with a trencher of mutton and gravy and a tankard of the ale. The mutton smelled of fire-kissed meat and spices and made her mouth water. When she bit into it, it was tender and fatty and delicious. The ale was light with hits of the summer harvest fruit and made for a delightful complement to the little meal. While eating, she pulled the ring she had taken from the pouch and looked at it more carefully. Along the inside of the band was a worn inscription in some language she didn’t know. She pocketed it again, finished the rest of the food and ale and went to deliver the letter.