My first memories are of
waking up alone on a beach, my wings damp with salt water and a darker
substance that I realized was blood. I was bruised and sore, as if I
had fallen from a great height.
I could recall next to nothing
of my life before that day: my only clues to who I was were a small
medallion engraved with a twisting patterns, and confusing nightmares
of flying creatures locked in battle. I traveled throughout the world
for a time, honing my abilities with wind magic and trying to discover
who I was. I succeeded in the first, but not the second.
My travels left me confused in
one other way: there were a great deal of people in the world, but
almost none of them had wings. I soon took to keeping my own wings
concealed under a cloak, having learned that people would be
suspicious and fearful of them.
Even I had heard of
the legendary village of Questport, and how anyone--even someone as strange as myself--
could make their fortune there. Hoping to find answers about my lost past,
I journeyed to Questport.