Hello. I see you staring. No, don't run-- come, sit down at my table. Don't be frightened. I don't bite-- not anymore, at least. A joke, a joke. Sit down. What brings you to this chaos called RhyDin? The land of lost souls, I call it. The only ones happy are too good to be real. It's true, you know-- about the lost souls. No one comes to RhyDin to be happy. Those that do are quickly informed otherwise. Those that come looking for misery... welcome home.

Stop looking towards the door. I'm not going to eat you. Honestly, you humans, jumpy at the slightest chance of-- what? Me, a human? Don't make me laugh. What, then? A half breed. Half what? You certainly have a lot of questions for one who was so silent before. Another human trait: curiosity. Very well, then. Order yourself an ale and sit back. This could take a while. Now, how do these things usually begin...? Oh, yes. Once upon a time...

When I was born, twenty-five winters ago, I was born of wolf. Yes, wolf-- no questions until I am through. Anyway, my father had been alpha male of a pack of wandering wolves, and my mother-- a human. Yes, it's rather sordid, but I advise you to keep your mouth shut until the end. But as I was saying, about my mother... all I remember of her are two green eyes, curls of dark hair, and a pretty face marred by disgust and fear. "Wolven eyes," whispered the midwives as they gathered around me, "devil's child." My father--the source of my golden eyes--was long gone, and my mother was not about to admit her mistake. So they bundled me up, took me deep into the woods, and left me there. Dropped me right into a bank of snow. "The devil will keep his own," I remember them saying. Then they left. At the tender age of three hours, all my troubles began.

How I lasted as long as I did, I don't know, but eventually a pack of wolves moved by. They saw me, saw my eyes, and immediately took me in. And still, things were not steady in my life. Why was I unhappy, you ask? Ah, but I said I was taken in-- not accepted. Acceptance is an elusive thing, and most of us are never to catch it. Year passed, many full moons. I reached the age of sixteen, after enduring much scorn and many scars-- what? Could I elaborate on that? ...no. My scars--whether emotional or physical--need no elaboration. Oh, don't flinch so when I pull back my sleeves. They're not that bad. I've had worse, but my mistakes always seem to stick around. Aren't you glad you asked about them? Good. We won't mention my scars anymore.

Anyway, the age of adulthood had come, along with the joyous occasion of shoving the females off with the best of the pack-- who, coincidentally, were also the most pigheaded. Even though I was the outcast one of these picks of the litter chose me for his mate. Lucian, his name was. An egomaniac if there ever was one. He was selfish, arrogant, proud... and I was to be his wife. I had so much to look forward to.

I will admit, being young, that I wasn't perfect either. I was determined to stand up against him, no matter what the cost. I caught up with Lucian one day and informed him that I would not be his mate. He very calmly replied that I was lucky to be chosen at all, let alone by him, and that refusal would only disgrace me further. Well, now my pride had been scratched, and I couldn't turn away. We argued for quite a while, and when my anger overpowered me, I told him exactly what I thought of him. Lucian snapped. He attacked, and, panicked, I did the only thing that came to mind. I attacked back.

I killed him.

Stained with Lucian's blood, I faced the elders of the pack. My sentence was exile-- exile to RhyDin. Proud as I was, I didn't so much as flinch as I left the forest. I simply shifted to human form, stuck up my chin at the lot of them, and strode out into the world.

Ah, but things are no easier are among humans. I had been with them before, and you are well aware how that turned out. I had been with wolf and they didn't care for me either. Half wolf, half human, and yet neither race wanted me.

I lived in RhyDin--rather, the forest right outside of it--for nearly a year before I met... him. Who, you ask? I'm getting there. Sulking in the forest one day, I ran into (literally) a man. He had brownish hair, all-too-soon turning gray in the front. He was so dressed in brown I thought at first he was a deer-- my reason for attacking him in the first place. I realized my mistake and backed away, but he just offered a grin and watched me with drowsy brown eyes. And so I met my first, best, and (up until recently) only friend: Markwardt Murgetory.

It's been nearly a year since I first stumbled into Mark, and yet so much has happened. The only one who's never turned away, not even for a moment, and I--

What? Yes, I stopped myself. Could I finish my sentence? ...no. Why? Because some things are better left unsaid. Anyway, I turned twenty-five a while ago, and after a nasty run-in with a hunter-- what now? No, I'm not going to say any more about Mark until the time comes. Now hold your tongue unless you want it cut out.

I'll skip ahead. Perhaps three months ago, a famine began in the forest. Slowly, the supply of deer began to dwindle. Then went the rabbits. Soon after followed all catchable game, leaving me terribly hungry. Now Mark co-owned an Inne, and he could've easily supplied me with food. But not all of my original pride was gone, and after certain... events with Mark, I couldn't bring myself to ask him for help. I could find food on my own.

I lost a considerable amount of weight, and still being an ass, I didn't go to Mark. Instead, I went to a bar. I didn't drink, but I could usually get a few pieces of bread and an apple. No scraps for the dog that night, however, so I sat disconsolate at the bar. A man beside me shot me a glance.
"Hungry?" I shook my head.
"Nah."
"Yes you are," he insisted, and offered a small black bottle. "Have some of this. Really takes the fire off your stomach." Now I knew better than to take that. All my instincts were screaming at me to turn him down-- but my stomach was howling loudest of all. I smiled weakly, thanked him, and took my first sip of that damned liquid. It was extremely strong liquor, dwarven made, called Dragon's Blood.

That bastard gave me alcohol.

I became addicted immediately, as is the case with liquor. Hell, four burly men put together wouldn't be able to resist that stuff. This didn't help my current situation; my empty stomach started cramping up at any chance it go. My skin went pale, I lost sleep to nightmares about Lucian. Dark shadows filled the hollows of my face. I was even skinnier than before, and now pain followed close behind the hunger. Normal people would go to friends, but not me. I just curled up int he shadows of the forest and waited to die.

I had other friends who tried to help--Vire, namely--but I turned him away too. However, by this time Mark had had enough of my shit and dragged me back to the Shattered Moon Inne for a bed and a meal. Time doesn't heal all wounds, though. Still sore from an old hurt, I just ran away as soon as he looked in another direction. We did this dance for a long time before all the pain and problems finally got to me. One night, after yet another encounter with the bottle, I screamed at the shadows in the forest in my agony. I was so delirious in my pain I didn't know what I was doing, and my hair kept falling in my eyes... You see my hair? It used to be longer. Even, too. But I got a hold of my dagger and... well, it could've been worse. I could've-- at least I didn't--

Well, Mark finally caught me sneaking back into my room at the Inne. The hour of the morning was ungodly, and yet there he was, sitting at my bed patiently. Ready to talk.

What? Do I have feelings for him? ...that's a very rude question. You don't just ask someone if-- what? ...maybe. I said maybe. Look, I-- yes. Yes, I do. Not that it's any of your business. I should ask him for help? Nah... I'm still much too proud. I could never-- no.

And that's my story. You asked and I told, though it doesn't end happily ever after-- but then again, it's not over yet. ...it's getting late, you say? Then I hope to meet up with you again. They say confession is good for the soul-- so thank you for listening. Fare well.

Oh, hello. Me? I was just telling a fairy tale to a visitor. And you? That's good. No, I'm fine... just fine. ...listen, Mark, can I ask you something?