Intro
Sure, I've seen a lot of things. I've even been a lot of things. But nothing really prepares you for the moment of your death. It looms heavily over you, waiting for you to take your last breath. At this point, death would almost seem a welcome friend. I know that people go through hard times, but my life has been one kick in the face after the next. If you're reading this now, it means that I am dead. Or that I cleverly escaped and am comfortably sipping an ale in a backwater village. But I'm probably dead. I know I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me explain.
My name is Sylk. Sylk Mai'Kiali to be precise. I'm part of everything and all of nothing. But hey, when you're a wandering soul such as I, what more can you expect? I was born in a decent sized elven village called Kithkara in the middle of the Starsong Woods. You've never heard of it, but what good is a secret village if everyone knows about it? It was supposed to be the most secure place in all of Syrethia. But it wasn't as simple as that. Now let me take you back to a time before the violence engulfed the world. I know that sounds corny, but I'm the one telling the story. So deal with it.
"Dezerea, how do you possibly afford the silk to make these fine clothes?" cooed Silva over a beautifully woven dress that Dezerea had for sale that balmy autumn. "Try as I may, I can never achieve what you have."
"It takes patience, a steady hand, and just a pinch of street smarts to deal with fabric traders these days," Dezerea replied, none too modestly.
Dezerea could have easily charmed the merchants with her looks, were it not for her shrewd mind for business. Standing just over five feet tall, she was beautiful. Even by elven standards. Her golden hair shimmered like gossamer where it touched her delicate and fair skin. Her green eyes seemed to see straight into the truth of things, as was often the case.
"I swear, it's like you're a different person when your talking to them," Silva admired.
"Nope, just plain old me."
"You know that there is nothing plain or old about you. You'll have to share your secret one of these days."
"Maybe. But until then, it's one gold two for the dress."
"I couldn't possibly pay more than nine silver five. Alvorn would have my head!" Silva cried in despair.
"I can go one gold flat but that's as low as it gets. Besides, as the elder of the village, he can spare that paltry sum to have his wife dressed in such an elegant gown," Dezerea replied, trying to calm the other woman but still make the sale.
"Okay. You're right! Besides," Silva started with a fire glowing in her eyes, "he owes me a gift from this past Yule."
"You're absolutely right. You deserve this dress. And after labor and tax, that comes out to one gold two."
Silva handed over the money, not realizing that Dezerea had gotten the full sum she had originally asked for. But that is what happens when you're dealing with a doppelganger. They have a nasty habit of reading other peoples minds. Dezerea would never cheat these people she had grown so fond of, but someone had to pay for the food, clothing, and shelter.
Dezerea had come to Kithkara on the run from her past. A run-in with a monster hunter had her living in terror in Boz, a city on the eastern coast of the continent. So she settled in and made a life for herself in the quaint elven village.
Something else you should know about doppelgangers; in their true form, they have no gender. As this particular doppelganger had settled in this particular form, I will acknowledge her desire to be known as the elven woman Dezerea. So try to keep up. This is where it gets really confusing.
As Dezerea was packing up her cart and preparing for her trek to her home just on the outskirts of the village, she heard the screams. The screaming was coming from the tavern on the other side of the square. The Glade was a quiet tavern, so it didn't make any sense for screaming to be coming from anywhere near it. Being an able bodied warrior, she went over to investigate. When she got ten feet away from the door, Gladrielle, the innkeeper, burst out.
"It's a raid! Save the children!" she called, rushing past Dezerea.
A few moments later, a human man wrapped in furs came out of the tavern, wielding a torch. Then more and more men were ravaging through the village. Looting and burning everything in their sight, they herded the women towards the middle of town, killing any men they found.
When the entire village was smoking and it seemed that all of the villagers were either dead or in the square, one of the fur-clad men stepped forward.
He was the most handsome of the men, and through the furs and armor he wore, one could see the scars from the numerous battles he had been in. He was nearly seven feet tall and had a full head of shaggy blonde hair. His skin was tanned, making his electric blue eyes seem to glow with an eerie light. He bore a tattoo of the paw of what seemed to be a large cat on his left cheek. With a mocking tone, he addressed the huddled crowd.
"My name is Gresk Lion's Paw. My men and I thank you for your… hospitality," he said with a sneer, earning a devious chuckle from the other men. "We have traveled far and need supplies. We will take what we need and you'll not interfere, lest you end up like those whom we have already dealt with. Cooperate and none of you shall be harmed. That is, except for the wench who will be entertaining me while my men gather supplies.
Suddenly cursing the fact that she could appear as beautiful as she did, but not wanting to blow her cover and be shunned by yet another group of people she had grown fond of, she remained in her form and tried to avoid the hungry gaze of Gresk Lion's Paw. It was too late.
"You. Yes, the one in the blue dress. Come forward," he ordered.
She did as he asked, careful not to reveal her face by looking directly at him. Once she had reached him, he grabbed her by the chin, jerking her face up.
"You'll do nicely," he said, touching her in a crude manner. "If you do as I say, none of the others will be hurt. If you resist, there will be nobody to help them. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Good, now what is your name so I can know what to call you when I regale my men with this story around the fire?"
"My name is Dezerea Mai'Kiali," she replied, a determined look on her face.
With that, he ripped her clothes off and took her. In the middle of the square. In front of the gathered crowd.
True to his word, he tried to make sure that none of the other women were harmed. One of them was, but I'm getting ahead of myself again. Long story short, that's how I was conceived. Quite a love story, isn't it? Boy meets girl. Boy burns girl's village. Girl has boy's illegitimate son. The end. In case you haven't figured it out yet, I'm half human half doppelganger. That makes me a changeling. It really sucks to have to hide who you are because so many people want to kill you or harvest you for magical components. But I've survived. Now I'm finally going to tell my story. It's full of love, loss, betrayal, gnomes, elves, dog people, magic… You get the idea. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. This is Sylk and this is real.