"I don't remember much from my early years. I remember a fight in my
home village. I can only assume that my father died in the battle. I can still 
remember my mothers screams. I don't know what destroyed our village"
	Leaning back in my chair i began, "I have images of my mother. Thats 
about it. She's tall, with long hair that always seemed to be in motion. I 
remember playing with her hair." A smile hovered at the corners of my mouth at 
the memory. "Her honey coloured hair still sticks out in my mind after all 
These years. She would pick me up after I fell, clutch me to her breasts and 
whisper soothing words to me. I'd always find myself with a handfull of her 
hair when she picked me up. It was so beautiful. She always seemed to have the 
sun trapped in her hair. I'd grab a handfull of her hair and let the warmth of 
her love fill me. When she put me down, she would kindly disentangle my little 
hand from her hair. She was like a goddess to me."
	"My father.... My father was 100ft tall, 40ft wide and strong as the 
mountains. He would throw me high into the air, so high i thought i could fly.
I was never scared that he would drop me. It just never came into my young mind.
He was a kind man who took me with him wherever he went. I remember helping
him at a large fire, with a sound of ringing in the background. I guess now that
he was a blacksmith. Or something like that. He gave me this bracelet." I said
holding up my hand letting my long sleeves fall to reveal a shining steel
bracelet around my left wrist. I began to rotate it about my wrist. "I guess he
made it. It's always fit perfectly. " I began to peer at my bracelet again.
"It's got some sort of writing on it. But I've found nobody who can translate 
it. I'm a scribe, you'd think that the people who's circles i travel in would 
be able to read it. But nobody, including my master, is able to help me."
	"It's odd. I don't remember much of my home. Tall doorways for my
father, and a special room for my mother. I don't remember what she did in 
there, but the taste of my visits seems happy. I think we were a farming 
community, but i'm not sure. Animals were a familar sight. My father taught me
a little bit about the fields. What kind of plants are good for the soil, when
to plant and to run home when he told me too. Mother taught me how to prick my
fingers, but she called it sewing." A smile crossed my face at the memory of 
mother trying to teach a two year-old to sew. "I gave myself quite a few 
puncture wounds before i realized to stop after the needle had gone through
the fabric. During the summer, i remember she would take me out into the 
unplowed fields behind our house and and we would frollic in the flowers."
	"My village is a blur to me. I think i visited the main town a couple
times. I have images of wattle and daub buildings. A mill... and an inn, my 
father took me to after leaving mother with the women, stick out in my mind. I 
supose father went there after telling mother a story, but i think she knew. 
They probably both knew and it was a cute little game to each other." I raised 
my head from were i had been staring at the ceiling to look at the man across 
the table. "People seemed to regard us as odd. They never did anything cause 
father was the only blacksmith and mother was something of a tailor. But they 
always seemed to regard us as odd. Never really found out why."
	"I began to speak around the year mark, which i guess helped the feeling
of weirdness that others saw around my family. Actually, I was speaking what my 
family spoke at one. I began speaking this tongue at around one and a half. My
family spoke something quite musical. We were almost singing when we spoke." I
grimaced as a bolt of memory laden pain shot through me. "My mother's voice was 
so beautiful. I can still hear her screams." I lowered my head to the table to 
weep for a moment at the memory of my mother's passing.
	"Are you ok?" He asked, voice full of concern.
	"A moment... I don't travel these memories often. It's a road i prefer
left dusty." I quaffed a swallow of ale to wet my throat and cover my tears.
"I've lost the tongue and haven't heard it's like since. This is my native
tongue now."
	"How old are you, kid?" 
	"Sixteen. Why do you ask?"
	"You've done a lot of growing in those years. You've been on the 
streets, you act like you could probably use that sword you left at home and
your educated enough to carry-on a conversation other than "kill lots". This
gets more and more interesting. How did you survive the slaughter?" He asked, 
his expression melting from concern to intrigue.
	"My mother told me to go play in the field behind our house while she
made dinner. Which was odd at the time, considering she remained out behind
the house watching me. I remember watching and thinking how beautiful she was 
and how lucky father was.  She seemed to be mumbling something under her breath 
while she was standing there. I stopped playing, sensing something was wrong 
and tried to run to my mother. My body wouldn't follow with me, and i stared 
helplessly as my home burst into flames behind my mother. My mother continued 
to speak under her breath outlined against the burning pyre of our home. Her 
scream began as a rift of blood erupted from her back. Her eyes locked with 
mine as she fell to the ground, her voice dying even as the light in her eye 
faded with her life. My body held me there immobile as my mother's corpse turned
cold and our once proud home burned to the ground. The sight of the ashes of my 
home was as nothing to the final sound i heard from my mother. My body let me 
go as the ashes turned cold and heavy drops of rain began to raise small ash 
clouds with every impact."