(The writing on this piece of paper was not pleasing to say the least. Each letter stood rigid and uneven, shaped with the clumsy hesitation of someone unused to writing. The words were scratched onto the page in jagged, erratic strokes, betraying the untrained hand.)
To whoever may find this if it does not reach it's intended location.
As you can very well see, I am not anywhere near as talented as writing as I may have been with other things in life.
However, this is my story thus far, the pup that grew up in the north, an outcast to his own kin.
Growing up, I've always had to earn my way... Any northerner knows. This is not me asking for pity, however I am just (Some ink splotches cover this area) I am just saying it was different for me. My brother had both his mother and father, and although I was part of the family. My brother and I did not share the same mother. My father was a raider and a damned good one, which is why these Reghed wolf tribe men always camped near us when he decided to stay by Lonelywood.
It was never permanent however, we would move around as it was part of survival, if you stayed somewhere too long then the land didn't have anything to offer you or the sky would send punishment down onto you forcing you to move, there was many ways to face punishment back home.
My days as a pup, I used to haul wood through waist-deep snow and climb up on the roofs after a storm to repair them, or on the good days we would listen to the elders tell tales over the fire since we could not be outside.
But most importantly, I learned about every tool and it's purpose from a knife in the common area for food, to the difference between an axe for fighting and one for cutting down wood.
These lessons will stay with me for as ong as I live, because I learned that winter will never care about a title, or achievement, it will take you once it has the chance.
Brorr is my beloved brother, although we had a different life coming up. (More ink splotches cover this area) It was almost as if I was the shield and he was the axe.
Although that never stopped him, he was fully aware that I was treated differently from my father. So he took time of his own to teach me himself when I would struggle. We were inseparable.
I was the louder one, he was the one who was thoughtful.
I would simply charge, but he would plan it.
We were the perfect balance in our fathers life to guarantee his and the tribes survival.
But, after hearing the many tales. We knew there was more to offer than just simply trapping, hunting and merely trying to survive.
We were curious, I moreso than my brother but nonetheless we were both still curious to learn more about the world, and we knew of our great skills. So we head south.
Our main purpose was to fight and protect those that could not, we knew of the grave dangers, (Once again, ink splotches cover this area) but they were nothing to us compared to what we faced as children, we knew we had to do what we could, because of what we knew.
So we packed our bags and headed south.
And this is where my story continues, in Murann of all places...
To whoever may find this if it does not reach it's intended location.
As you can very well see, I am not anywhere near as talented as writing as I may have been with other things in life.
However, this is my story thus far, the pup that grew up in the north, an outcast to his own kin.
Growing up, I've always had to earn my way... Any northerner knows. This is not me asking for pity, however I am just (Some ink splotches cover this area) I am just saying it was different for me. My brother had both his mother and father, and although I was part of the family. My brother and I did not share the same mother. My father was a raider and a damned good one, which is why these Reghed wolf tribe men always camped near us when he decided to stay by Lonelywood.
It was never permanent however, we would move around as it was part of survival, if you stayed somewhere too long then the land didn't have anything to offer you or the sky would send punishment down onto you forcing you to move, there was many ways to face punishment back home.
My days as a pup, I used to haul wood through waist-deep snow and climb up on the roofs after a storm to repair them, or on the good days we would listen to the elders tell tales over the fire since we could not be outside.
But most importantly, I learned about every tool and it's purpose from a knife in the common area for food, to the difference between an axe for fighting and one for cutting down wood.
These lessons will stay with me for as ong as I live, because I learned that winter will never care about a title, or achievement, it will take you once it has the chance.
Brorr is my beloved brother, although we had a different life coming up. (More ink splotches cover this area) It was almost as if I was the shield and he was the axe.
Although that never stopped him, he was fully aware that I was treated differently from my father. So he took time of his own to teach me himself when I would struggle. We were inseparable.
I was the louder one, he was the one who was thoughtful.
I would simply charge, but he would plan it.
We were the perfect balance in our fathers life to guarantee his and the tribes survival.
But, after hearing the many tales. We knew there was more to offer than just simply trapping, hunting and merely trying to survive.
We were curious, I moreso than my brother but nonetheless we were both still curious to learn more about the world, and we knew of our great skills. So we head south.
Our main purpose was to fight and protect those that could not, we knew of the grave dangers, (Once again, ink splotches cover this area) but they were nothing to us compared to what we faced as children, we knew we had to do what we could, because of what we knew.
So we packed our bags and headed south.
And this is where my story continues, in Murann of all places...