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About Claylyth Hatril

Okay, so, being an elf definitely has its perks. Everyone wants you in their bed, you rest and recuperate in half the time of the average human, and the longer lifespan lets you learn a lot.

Sometimes I wish I weren’t an elf.

I was raised by a dear friend of my parent’s. A woman I lovingly call “Aunty” Amoret. Aunty was pregnant when I was born, and so when my parents cavorted off into the middle of nowhere to never come back, I was lucky Amoret could feed the one month old me. We lived in a village in lost Sarkoris. I don’t remember anything about it, but nobody from that village has found me, so I assume Aunty and I are the only survivors of the Worldwound’s opening. Aunty’s baby, who would have been my “cousin,” was stillborn. Even if there was a 60 year gap between Borovel’s stillbirth and the Worldwound opening, I blame the demons for that death too.

Aunty was an excellent mother to me. She taught me languages and about her homeland, the land of all elves, Kyonin. My parents had been from there too. Apparently Mendev isn’t the only nation battling a demonic invasion. My parents, at least, according to Aunty, were investigating ways to close Treerazer’s portal when whoever their boss was reassigned them to help some people investigating planar vulnerabilities in Sarkoris. On the way they conceived me. I like to think it was in some prestigious villa or beautiful grove, but in all likelihood it was in the back of their wagon when they were bored. In any case all I know about what they did is that they’d been called Riftwardens, and that the spiral birthmark on the back of my neck has something to do with that.

Speaking of which, there are three things I reveal to no one unless absolutely necessary. 1. The magic my Aunty taught me. 2. My spiral birthmark. 3. My age. The first two are practical, the last one is egotistical.

Aunty Amoret was a powerful spellcaster. Once we’d fled far enough away from the Worldwound that she couldn't feel its taint she began to teach me magic. Sparks and tricks at first, but then she taught me to heal, and to throw fire from my hands. She taught me to bind my mind to animals, and use them to regain lost magic. She taught me the way of invoking my patron, whoever or whatever it may be, and to never ever tell anyone about any of it. I’ve broken that promise twice. Both times I regretted it.

The first was in front of the girl who would become her holy majesty Queen Galfrey. There was a parade for her father many years ago. He was a noble looking sort both in dress and manner. She, still a girl, rode in front of her father on his horse, beaming like it was her birthday. I used a simple spell aunty had taught me to make a little person made of blue light dance in front of the princess. She loved it. Her father, and his guards, did not, and started looking for me immediately, taking it as a threat. I fled immediately and when I told Aunty about it she scolded me very harshly.

The second time was well after I’d grown into womanhood. I've spent most of my life founding and maintaining a respectable church to Calistria. By “respectable” I do mean exactly that. When you have High Lord Inquisitor Shappok breathing down your neck, you make sure everything is on the level. No information brokering, no seedy black-market deals. Just good clean (and sometimes filthy) romps in the sheets. My business, especially considering it’s patron goddess is not exactly the most straightforward, has been subject to regular “audits” to ensure none of my employees or I were harboring demons, cultists, or the allies of such. To my knowledge, which is considerable, no such people of any sort ever came through my doors. Every customer was pre-screened before I allowed admittance. We were one of the first businesses in Old Kenabres and have kept our doors open for decades. I won’t say none of my boys or girls didn't freelance, there are a lot of crusaders who have itches to scratch, but my business is on the up-and up. Well, as much as a brothel can be anyway.

The man leading the audits was one of Shappok’s lieutenants. A human by the name of Davin Herd. Davin was good at following orders, but he didn’t like auditing me after the first five tries yielded nothing. In fact we’d struck up a friendship somewhere along the way. He’d bust the door down and I’d give him a sarcastic look and hand him a biscuit while his boys turned my place upside-down. When they’d find nothing that could incriminate my business they’d apologize and set everything back as best they could, and Davin would leave and smile and wave saying “see you next week.” With a voice that matched the look I’d given him when he arrived.

One day he came in without busting the the door down. He wasn't wearing armor, and bore no weapon. “Welcome to my establishment kind sir. Do you have an interview?” I said jokingly, still unsure why he’d come.

“Actually Madame Hatril, I was wondering if I might treat you to dinner as a sort of amends for all of the times I’ve needed to disrupt your business.” His confident voice was ill suited to trying to charm someone. Still though, the attempt was cute in its own way.

“Amends?” I said as I steeled my voice and glared. “You bust down my door, scare my employees and clients half to death on a regular basis and you talk of amends?” He looked crestfallen as if I’d crushed his favorite childhood toy. I rose from behind my reception desk, walked over to him, and pushed his shoulder with a finger, setting him off balance. Keeping the glare, I let a bit more warmth return to my voice. “You’d better be taking me somewhere nice Lieutenant.” He smiled grimly and scratched his head in embarrassment.

“I won’t say it’s noble class. I mean, I can’t afford a mansion with what I’m paid, but it’s clean and cozy.” His eyes found a knot on the floor and pointedly focused on it. Like I said, cute in his own way.

“I suppose it will suffice. Come along then Lieutenant. For once, I have the privilege of knocking down your door.”

A couple of hours later, after walking to his home in the warm Arodus dusk and enjoying a decently cooked ham hock, we set upon each other like… well, like a professional Calistrian and a pent-up zealot. Let’s just say he was very good at following orders. After we’d returned to our senses, we noticed that our clothes had been ripped. He apologized and I told him I’d fix it tomorrow after he’d gone to do his soldiering. He absently agreed and drifted off to sleep. When I was sure he had fallen asleep I took the clothes into the other room and used my magic to mend them and, after folding them, slipped into the night so as to not get caught leaving in the daylight. The house was removed from the common areas of Kenabres, and there were no windows, so I figured there’d be no harm.

I was wrong.

The next day my door was busted down again, this time by a stranger. Playing it cool I asked if “The usual guy” was on vacation. The stranger looked at me coldly and said that Davin had been found with traces of witches’ magic in his home, and had summarily been tried and executed as a witch that morning. I was shocked into silence. I let them conduct their vain search in a fugue, never leaving my desk. A couple of the soldiers who had raided me before and knew I was friendly with Davin gave me pitying looks. I’m honestly surprised they didn't suspect me too, but I guess after so many failures, it conditioned them.

I have had little time to grieve. Armasse is coming. A time of festivity and excess where all of my employees will need me to support and protect them during the reveling. I must be ready. I'm not letting anything else get taken from me without a fight.