The unwritten, untold, and unspoken life of a pervert.

In a time of wizards, great loves, knights, and heroes, a calming peace fell over the land for the first time in many centuries. In this quiet land, people were able to roam about their villages without worry or fear; something that was not usually the case. The territories were at peace and men could enjoy the life they had with their families without fret. Women were content in the fact that they could have the pleasure of seeing their husbands, brothers, or sons everyday without wondering when they would leave to fight in war.

Though, from deep in the woods, a young elven man walked away from these so-called 'peaceful villages'. He was born an outcast and would remain one for the rest of his life. But, even in his cruel and unfair circumstances, he was able to walk on with his head held high. His steps were not taken full of worry or fear; they were proud, graceful, and full of-

"CRAP! THOSE LOW-LIFE SONS OF A-" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

He was quite aware of the fact that either no one would hear him, or if they did, they wouldn't care. It did not matter to them how he acted or what he said, they would always see him as a recluse; a freak. So, he figured, since they all 'didn't mind' what he said, he would say every word proudly. Every profound word that he could think up would be spoken for all of the sensitive, elven ears of men and women to hear. They needed to be a little tougher anyway.

As he walked, the black hair, green-eyed elf pondered to himself why the people of the village found curse words so revolting. Personally, he found them refreshing.

Besides, in circumstances like this, he wasn't going to look into his pack and find half of his things missing then say, "Oh look! Someone seems to have borrowed my things! Drat. Oh well," then continue on his way.

Nope; that wasn't how he went about things. If someone stole even a /pebble/ from him, he'd scream so loud their over-receptive ears would bleed.

After all, no one had shown him any mercy when he was stealing food to survive as a child. All the time, he could remember running into the forest bleeding. He survived that way until he was a teenager, when he finally decided enough was enough.

Every so often, he would run into their camps and throw eggs at them. If they would label him as an outcast, he would act as such. So it was a little childish…but that didn't mean it wasn't fun.

He had kept up those bad habits of throwing eggs, rocks, and other 'unmentionables' until his twentieth birthday. He started noticing the strange looks he received from the women he had watched as a child. Funny. As a teenager, he would watch them, now, they were watching him; against their mother's wishes of course. It was somewhat flattering…but also a little unnerving.

The young girls that used to tease and make fun of him were now staring at him when he walked by. Sometimes, he could swear he heard them giggle. He found the attention rather comforting; until their family ran him out of the camp.

Sometimes, just to get on their families nerves, he would stop near the women and purposely pull off his shirt. Oh the looks he got…the glares…It was /all/ worth it.

Now, don't misunderstand. He /loves/ looking at women and being looked at by them, but when the /married/ women started looking at him, he found the situation far too dangerous for his liking. Oh! And it only got better when the men started chasing him /with/ their weapons.

Too many times he had come close to losing a limb because of those god-forsaken weapons. So he left behind his lady-followers and started traveling on his own.

So now, here he was. Cold, hungry, and homeless…And cursing at silent trees because the night before, men had come and taken his belongings while he slept.

There wasn't much to say about this elven man named Voronwe…He was an outcast, after all.