I don't like to write...I'm not a poet. I'm a soldier, a warrior....yet I was given orders to put pen to paper and tell my history; such I will do.

     I suppose my life is similar to that of the plays by the human poet Shakespeare. It starts normal enough, but begins to take an arch upwards in drama until a peak point where then it treks down. For good or for bad, I know not if my downward slop ends in tragedy or comedy; perhaps it is both...I think it is the reader who will decide.

     When I was born it was raining and the floods that year were higher than usual. I was the first born to my mother, so it was no easy birth. I was told that I came out fists first, no surprise there. Yet the most startling aspect to my birth was to those who gave witness to what should have been a blessed event. You see, I was born with skin the color of the clear blue sky, and hair the color of storm clouds. Perhaps had my mother and father both held the same pigment, this would not have been a problem, but they were not. My tribe was elven, golden elves of the forest region of Gilead. They were an ancient sect that lived not in the trees but on the ground, much like that of our human counterparts. Their height of only the tallest man being perhaps 5'6, and the points to their ears, gave them away though.

     When the elders heard of my birth, they held a secret meeting to determine the cause and reason for my birth. False accusations about my mother mating with a sea elf were quickly thrown out, since my pigment was similar, yet not quite right for that. I was a complete enigma. It was then decreed that I was an omen, a bad sign of trouble ahead, and that I would bring the downfall and ultimate destruction of my people. How this was thought up, I have never known, yet I do know that all the elders seemed to agree on the same thing. To stop this tragic happening, I was to be killed, drowned in the river as a sacrifice to the Woodland gods we worshiped. Luckily for me, my father was not an overly religious man, and would hear no talk of his first born being tossed into the water just because a few mad men said it should be so. Then after many nights of debate, I was to be left alone, as long as my mother and father took great care and watched over my development. But the elders never liked this decision, and secretly plotted my destruction under my father's nose.

     Yet my growth astonished not only my parents, but everyone of my tribe. I was like a wild weed of the field, sprouting up all limbs and quite awkward. My color never changed, as some thought perhaps I would grow out of it. And when my brother was born a few years after me, with pale skin and blond curls, my parents were much relieved. So it was to be I that was the freak, and me alone.

     My childhood was bad, children can be cruel, but for me things were worse. Not a day went by that rocks were not hurled towards my head, my skinny body tossed into mud holes, or my hair yanked and pulled. At one point, a band of villagers took it upon themselves to exact the punishment I should have received years before, and kidnapped me one night. Had my father not found us when he did, I would have been dead, and not living with only one large scar upon my thigh to prove the event took place. But my father had been badly injured, and walked from that day on with a limp and without the sight in his right eye. I vowed on that day, that I would no longer take any torment from any person, and that I would be able to defend myself against all who would attack me.

     My training did not go well, since I had no one to follow in the footsteps of. My father was a scholar, and dabbled in the magics from time to time and had no time or sight for physical combat. My mother was too sweet a woman to hurt even a fly, and spent most her time in her garden with her herbs and medicines she would produce from them. Most of my schooling came from books I ‘borrowed' from others, and sneaking around the training grounds of our tribe's troops. My first sword was a tree branch I carved with my own dagger, which was soon replaced with a rusty broad sword left by a soldier who saw it unfit to use anymore. Day after day I would travel deep into the woods and practice my moves, swaying about trees as if they were giant orcs and slashing at their roots as I jumped this way and that. Other exercises included climbing those same trees and dashing about their canopies, chasing squirrels and birds about. All of this was done in complete secret, for when I reentered my village, I took on the act of being very docile and shy, not wanting my efforts to be caught and forbidden.
Then finally, the day came when I was to show everyone who I had become. In human years I would have been about 16, very young and still wet behind the pointed ears. Perhaps it was this reason I was so brash and eager to jump to my death. Up to that day, I had read every military book I could get my hands on, everything from fighting techniques to strategies to types of weapons and uniforms. All this information was filed away in my mind, kept locked tight for when one day it would be used.

     The day was mid summer, when we had our Rite of Passage for young men in service. When a young man turned a certain age, he was to take a long journey, in any direction he chose, and take with him nothing but the weapon he carried and the clothes on his back. In one year's time he was to return, supposedly better off than when he left, and with wondrous stories to tell. It was also the time when such men were returning from their own trips, so the event was a great festival and homecoming for all.

     After the days supper gathering, it was tradition for the Major General to summon his men around him and ask for a person to challenge him. It was so written in our long history, that any male could challenge, and if he won, could take command of all troops within our land. But the tradition had long faded into nothing more than a formality, with the crowd jeering and tossing flowers at our current general's feet. But then they were more than slightly surprised when I stepped forward and took the challenge. My father and mother were aghast, and my younger brother just laughed with glee while the rest of the community hissed and gasped. I was quite the sight then. Already grown into my womanly body by then, I stood at my height as it is now, 6'2, towering over the general who stood just short of 4'6. He was pudgy as well, with a round little belly and balding atop his head, not having seen any sort of action in years. I think it was his look of total distaste that bothered me the most as he told me to back down and go back to my house like a good little girl. But I insisted, and not to seem unmanly, he took the challenge, thinking me to be nothing more than a tall woman with no skills. It took me less than a minute to have him on his back with my rusty sword at his red neck, having him cry mercy.
From then on things were different in my village. I was no longer harassed or picked on, because now I was feared. I can't say I enjoyed that feeling, but at least I was gaining some sort of respect from those around me. I completely changed the way our troops were trained, actually taking it upon myself to teach them new and inventive forms of combat. It took a while for the men to warm up to me; they weren't used to anyone but the former general, and a woman taking his place was just a bit too much for them to handle. Plus, the elders were still about, huddling close to each other in their green robes, speaking in hushed tones about how things were progressing.

     The next few years flew by in a blur, my time spent either with my men or leaning over old parchments. Any free time I could get I would read, anything I could find from any hand and language. I found I had a remarkable ability to learn different tongues, and knew perhaps this would be useful someday. So it was that when my men were not training, I sent them to nearby villages to locate any books they could of different peoples, not only for me, but for them to read as well.

     Then the day came, my own Rite of Passage was to begin. I could tell the elders were secretly thrilled with my leaving, but when I glanced in their direction, they turned their gazes from me as if they knew something I didn't. What ever it was, I kissed my parents good-bye and bid my brother watch over them with his life. My troops I gave over to my trusted friend Litanus, my second in command, and headed off South that night.