Earlene grew up in a simple farmhouse and for many years, had wanted for nothing. And yet, on the night her mother left, she had cried such tears. Her mother had cried too, as they stood out on the road.
"Why mommy, why?!" she wailed, as her father pulled her away and into the house. And when a week had passed and her crying seemed to finally stop was they day they came for her father.
"Go up to your room," he told her. "Stay under the bed until they come and find you." Earlene, being more unruly than most children, ran 'round the back of the house just in time to see the men on black horses cut down her father. Maybe they took pity on her because of her size. Maybe it was that she had made them laugh; her hoarse screams and her puffy, red eyes. When the priests finally came for her, she had run out of tears.
The underground priests of Milani would later explain what had happened, but it certainly didn’t make her feel any better. Earlene’s mother had been a freedom fighter during the Chelaxian civil war. She had taken to traveling through outlying villages on the border of Cheliax, biding her time to start a revolution against the Infernal rulers of the once-great kingdom. Her father, an Ulfen horse trainer, came through the village. Earlene’s mother had fallen in love and settled down with the man. Of course, settling down had left her open to discovery, and it wasn’t long before inquisitors in the service of Asmodeus tracked her down to the farmhouse, and discovering only her father, murdered him in cold blood.
Orphaned at such an early age, and under the supervision of a church surrounded by controversy, Earlene was ushered along to many different living places, usually a church of Iomedae or Shelyn. Despite this, she traveled with texts praising the glory of the Everbloom, and identified strongly with her teachings of goodness and righteousness, and of protecting the weak.
Wandering wards sometimes find their way into trouble, but when a kind and cheerful minstrel found Earlene wander into a tavern one day. He decided the stage was a good place to keep the young woman out of trouble, and he thrust a drum into her hands. She threw herself completely into the life of the traveling minstrel.
Years on the road started out happy for Earlene. Her amateur skills were easily overlooked thanks to her bright outlook. With musicians and bar patrons alike, she whiled away the waning days of her childhood. When the good times weren’t enough to keep her demons at bay, she sought a new way to keep her demons at bay. Eventually, she found the best and worst solution to her problem: alcohol.
Earlene continued to city to city, making new friends with her talent, and driving them away with her angry drunken antics. A percussionist wasn’t a great act on her own, but her need to drink away her pain was too strong. Earlene hit rock-bottom in a tiny village in Nidal. Instead of paying for her travel, he had decided to spend the last of her money on a bottle of whiskey. When the teamsters found her in the passed out back of the wagon, they dumped her just outside a village. Sick with a pounding head and shaky hands, she begged the tiny community for a drink. Instead, she got a second chance.
Marsell, a forlorn elf who blacksmith in tiny hamlet, was also the only resident who had an ounce of booze. He knew right away what the girl really needed. He wagered Earlene that when she could fashion a proper horseshoe, he would give her the liquid release she so desired. Arrogant even in her desperation Earlene failed miserably over and over again. When she finally broke down and admitted defeat, Marsell nursed her back to health.
For the next couple years, Marsell taught Earlene his trade. She took instantly to the craft: taking time, focus and patience was the distraction the half-elf needed to kick her addiction. The heat of forge and the rhythm of working metal made the putting the devils of her past to rest easier. When she had mastered the basics of smithing simple plates, she moved up to blades and chain.
She learned a good deal about the man, and grew to love him. Marsell had taken up smithing decades ago, traveling all over Golarion to learn different styles of metalworking. For decades he traveled, working under almost anyone who would teach him. Older and more practiced, knew all sorts of things about different races and metals.
Just when Earlene thought she had finally found happiness in life, Marsell fell ill. The ravages of time had caught up with the elf. He was only middle aged by elf reckoning, should have decades of time. Something inside him ate away at him. No one in the village could help. He grew too weak to travel, and the medicine men they brought all said the same thing: ‘Just make him comfortable.’
It pained Earlene again to see Marsell waste away, but she had made a promise to him. She would never again pick up a drink. When working the forge failed to temper the new pains of her life, she turned again to The Light of Hope.
In his final days Marsell, was more help to Earlene than she could be for him. He was sad to leave her. He himself knew the grief of outliving someone; he had seen so many go before him. He’d loved his life he had made for himself, and was happy to have shared so much with a lost woman that needed to find strength. When he went away, she would have to go too. She must find what was worth living for.
She decided to move on to the Silver City.
