Post by Nanna on Jan 31, 2006 19:53:00 GMT -5
To the Defenders of Valor,
I bid you greetings and felicitations!
My name is Nanette, but you may call me Nanna. My purpose in writing at this time is to ask for consideration in joining your illustrious company. In order to explain why I should wish to be granted such a prestigious position, it is necessary for me to give you my history, for the path which led me to this destination is also my reason for seeking entrance.
I relate to you my history as it was given to me at my fifteenth season celebration:
My mother, a paladin, and my father, a priest, served the Light faithfully until the day they fell together in battle against the Scourge. I, a child of six months, was left in the care of their Order, rather than being left abandoned, as so many unfortunates are, to the mercies of orphanage care. The Order tended to me as best they could. They made only one mistake. During the festivities of Winter Veil, they left me in the care of the bread chef, who also dabbled in magic.
I am given to understand that resources were scarce, and that my governess had taken ill. Nobody in the entirety of the church was left to look after one small, squalling baby at the height of the season. Except Ernie. In the warmth of his kitchen, I was wrapped in blankets and set in one of the lower drawers, which served as a cradle, so that the short-statured gnome could attend to me. I objected to this treatment. Loudly. And at great length. Frustrated because I would not (or could not, given my lack of teeth) accept consolation in the form of his fresh-baked artistry, and driven to distraction by my raucous bawling, the incompetent mage cast a spell on me; a spell of silence.
It worked. Indeed, my silence was apparently so gratifying to all that none of the Order saw fit to question such unnatural infant behavior. Eventually, however, my governess recovered and she began to question. She tracked down the culprit.
At a formal inquisition, Ernie confessed his crimes. Unfortunately, it was discovered that the gnome had wrought his machinations too well. Ernie could not remember what he had done, how he had done it, nor did he know how to reverse the spell. None of the priests or physicians summoned to cure me could remove his enchantment. Finally, the inquisition passed down their judgment. Ernie was cast out of his position as head bread chef, and sentenced to become my companion, keeping close to me so that he might remove the enchantment once he learned how.
This also means I must remain close to him, for if he should perish, or befall some ill fate, I should be doomed with my sentence of silence for the rest of my life. Though our travels in seeking a cure have taken us many places, Ernie has seemingly settled down to one place, and has joined the Defenders of Valor.
I wish I could tell you that the code of my life would perfectly suit membership with the Defenders, but I do not know if this is the case. As I hope you would understand, the fate of my parents and the negligence of the Order which was entrusted with my care have not endeared me to the path of the Light. I pray that my honesty and forthrightness in revealing this flaw can overcome any reluctance on your part to accept me on the basis of my current profession. Selling bread is no fit living for anyone, let alone for two. I became a rogue (though I prefer the term, "mercenary,") to provide a living for myself and the gnome, for I, in my silence, am uniquely qualified for my current job in a manner which summarily excludes me from most other employments.
Though I am, understandably and justifiably, I hope, not very fond of either Ernie, his actions, or his haphazard interpretations of my gestures, he is, as much as I loathe admitting, my only hope of surcease from this malady. I beg your indulgence and mercy, in that you will grant me admission to your fellowship.
Sincerely,
Nanette Glenhollow
I bid you greetings and felicitations!
My name is Nanette, but you may call me Nanna. My purpose in writing at this time is to ask for consideration in joining your illustrious company. In order to explain why I should wish to be granted such a prestigious position, it is necessary for me to give you my history, for the path which led me to this destination is also my reason for seeking entrance.
I relate to you my history as it was given to me at my fifteenth season celebration:
My mother, a paladin, and my father, a priest, served the Light faithfully until the day they fell together in battle against the Scourge. I, a child of six months, was left in the care of their Order, rather than being left abandoned, as so many unfortunates are, to the mercies of orphanage care. The Order tended to me as best they could. They made only one mistake. During the festivities of Winter Veil, they left me in the care of the bread chef, who also dabbled in magic.
I am given to understand that resources were scarce, and that my governess had taken ill. Nobody in the entirety of the church was left to look after one small, squalling baby at the height of the season. Except Ernie. In the warmth of his kitchen, I was wrapped in blankets and set in one of the lower drawers, which served as a cradle, so that the short-statured gnome could attend to me. I objected to this treatment. Loudly. And at great length. Frustrated because I would not (or could not, given my lack of teeth) accept consolation in the form of his fresh-baked artistry, and driven to distraction by my raucous bawling, the incompetent mage cast a spell on me; a spell of silence.
It worked. Indeed, my silence was apparently so gratifying to all that none of the Order saw fit to question such unnatural infant behavior. Eventually, however, my governess recovered and she began to question. She tracked down the culprit.
At a formal inquisition, Ernie confessed his crimes. Unfortunately, it was discovered that the gnome had wrought his machinations too well. Ernie could not remember what he had done, how he had done it, nor did he know how to reverse the spell. None of the priests or physicians summoned to cure me could remove his enchantment. Finally, the inquisition passed down their judgment. Ernie was cast out of his position as head bread chef, and sentenced to become my companion, keeping close to me so that he might remove the enchantment once he learned how.
This also means I must remain close to him, for if he should perish, or befall some ill fate, I should be doomed with my sentence of silence for the rest of my life. Though our travels in seeking a cure have taken us many places, Ernie has seemingly settled down to one place, and has joined the Defenders of Valor.
I wish I could tell you that the code of my life would perfectly suit membership with the Defenders, but I do not know if this is the case. As I hope you would understand, the fate of my parents and the negligence of the Order which was entrusted with my care have not endeared me to the path of the Light. I pray that my honesty and forthrightness in revealing this flaw can overcome any reluctance on your part to accept me on the basis of my current profession. Selling bread is no fit living for anyone, let alone for two. I became a rogue (though I prefer the term, "mercenary,") to provide a living for myself and the gnome, for I, in my silence, am uniquely qualified for my current job in a manner which summarily excludes me from most other employments.
Though I am, understandably and justifiably, I hope, not very fond of either Ernie, his actions, or his haphazard interpretations of my gestures, he is, as much as I loathe admitting, my only hope of surcease from this malady. I beg your indulgence and mercy, in that you will grant me admission to your fellowship.
Sincerely,
Nanette Glenhollow
