This is a story for my character from Pathfinder, inspired by this blog post.
She didn’t know who she was. She was half-elf, she knew her name and the name of her horse, where she had grown up, but she had to know, and somehow, she would find out.
She spent more time at human villages and cities because she didn’t feel welcome with the elves-at least here she was semi-normal, most people didn’t give her a second-look when she had her headband on, hiding her ears. This was her lot, handed to her by her father and mother who hadn’t thought of anything else but their fascination with each other, so they left her in the relatively good home of a stranger, an old man who had retired from wizardry and took up an old, ruined library and book selling-no matter how bad he was at it, he it kept it up. He was a decent father, gave her everything she needed-when he remembered-and gave her books usually, or old spell scrolls as gifts and she never told him if she ever wanted something else. Finally, around the age of 17 or something, Isolde bought a horse and after tidying her uncle’s (for that is what she called the wizard) study and most of the bettered library, left. She left behind her name Camelot, and adopted a new one, one she had read in a book from the wizard, Isolde. But she kept her mother’s name, the name she used to hate but had come to appreciate and think was mysterious. Isolde Kevay, wizardess in training.