This was the time, I had thought. I had lived through the plagues once before, and they had left me weak but whole, and I had regained my strength once again. But this time, they seemed too much, even for my powers. I could bring the dead back to life, but this plague just continued to sap your strength. And a mage must rest between manipulations. During that rest the plague continued on, and I weakened until my aura was but a memory. Yet somehow I lived. Perhaps I managed to spend the last of my energies in some spell that saved my weak body, but destroyed the last of my skills. Then again, perhaps that is just the speech of a man who thinks too highly of his skills, and in fact it was nothing more than luck that the gods chose that I continue to live. But for what did I live. In my youth I was a seeker of knowledge, and a manipulator of great energies, I could send men to their death, and bring them back to life. I commanded the shadows as well as the light, and now I could barely draw enough aura around me to know that potential was still there.

I am an old man now, and after much time, I have begun to regain bits of my youth. But it is slow, and I spend too much time remembering my youth and wishing I could do now what I could do then. Such are the ramblings of the elderly I guess. But Lirrin, bless her soul, has given me a task of which I hope I am capable. She has passed down the tending of the healers into my hands. Perhaps it was pity, or perhaps she still sees something within me, but it seems an appropriate position. I can still be a teacher for those who will listen. My head is filled with many memories, and much lore, and I have the patience of those who have seen much and endured. I begin to have hope for the future as I see the new young lives taking shape. As I pass on my bits and help those who ask, I feel a bit of my youth returning. And I gain strength with each passing day. With luck and the help of those around me, I may not have to live in the past much longer.

Bor

My name is Vladymir Stonetree. I am from an Elven village to the southwest of Eristan. I am a warrior by trade and an advocate of fair dealing. My life has been filled with adventure, stemming from my chosen profession and long are some of my tales. But I digress, so back to myself.

I began the learning the Discpline of Steel at an early age. I rebelled against my father, the village healer, because he wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a healer. I knew that I did not have his patience or his ability to project arcane energies. I left home not long after.

I moved to a tree not far from my village. One summer day a band of Ogres attacked my village. I ran to the village in time to see a huge Ogre, whom I later learned was the leader of the band, crush my father's head with one of its huge fists. I was so enraged that I had no thought for my own life, just a burning desire for vengence. I grabbed two burning logs from a nearby fire an attacked the ogre. Somehow I defeated it and the other ogres left the village dazedly, disheartened at the loss of their leader. My mother had survived by hiding in a hollow of our family tree. When she saw my father's body, she dropped to her knees and grieved. The next day, she told me of her brother, a black sheep of the family, that lived in the dark woods north of our village. My mother said she had seen me defeat the Ogre leader and new that my destiny lay not in healing or crafts, but in the ways of a warrior. She told me how her brother was a great elven warrior and how he could refine my seemingly natural skills. The next day I told my mother farewell and set out to find my uncle. I found him not far from our village. He had heard of the attack on the village and how I had fought the ogre. He agreed to teach me the ways of the warrior, and there my adventures began. I have explored many lands and met many odd people and I have enjoyed it thoroughly.

In my travels, I have found that I like to help those who are less fortunate than me, but I am very intolerant of those who lie, cheat, and steal. Maybe, just maybe, if our paths cross, we may drink a brew in rememberence of my father and the people of my village.

My dear Eristocrats:

I was very happy to be asked to write a little history about myself for the new book of Citizens! In fact, since the room containing the current Eristan Library once functioned as my office and healing room, I feel it's only appropriate that some of my personal history be left there for others to read. Perhaps there is nothing to learn from it, perhaps there is. You will have to decide from the bits and pieces I choose to share (after all, even halflings have deep, dark secrets!)

Many of you have wondered where it is that I come from, and what my past was like before my arrival at Eristan's founding. Most of that is history that I do not care to share with the public at large, though perhaps some day I will write a book. I may be persuaded to share my stories with someone who comes to visit me in my new home in the Ferdarchi wilderness, however. I am always happy to have company!

I have not always been a healer, but from the time I reached Eristan, the healing arts were almost my exclusive focus. I raised a group of similar-minded friends, and formed a loose "guild" of healers, which has now grown. In the early days, I simply paid for things from my own pocket. I hear that the guild members are fending quite well for themselves these days, of which I am glad.

I was very fortunate to have survived most of the major plagues that hit Eristan; perhaps there is someone looking out for me, as there seems to have been most of my life. I have taken in several lost souls, including the darling creatures known as Gashta and Lonozat. I have also been known to butt heads with the mages around Eristan, though I am on friendly terms with most. There are rumors that I possess the arcane knowledge of raising the dead and restoring their souls. I will neither confirm nor deny these rumors, though I will say that denying Anastasia her rightful due is a dangerous game to play, even for one who has great knowledge, and more wisdom than myself.

I have left my prized rose garden in the care of the healers. Please, feel free to pick their blossoms and enjoy their wonderful scent and beauty. The roses are truly wonderful in that they seem to never run short of blooms for those who love them.

I would always welcome company for those few brave souls who may be able to find my new home. Until such time, be good to one another.

Lirrin

I exist. How this came to be is unimportant, even if I knew the answer myself. It was so long ago and so much has happened since that I have ceased to care. Those who found me found me with my memory gone, lost, alone. And that is how I have remained. Alone.

I am fated to die, as are we all. But my doom is a bit more specific than that, for I once learned what was never meant to be discovered. And now I merely wait for the final end when all that I am will be lost.

But until that day comes, I will continue on. Learning what is not meant to be known. Aiding those frail societies that come into being and then crumble to dust in a blink of the eye of eternity. But no more can I be a part of them. For now I know how it is that I must be. Forever alone.

This is a Bio that has me turned inside out and backward by the telling. Friend to Amph, dead and not returned. Friend of Jonathan, not returned. Friend to Virgil, who brought back Dwarvish war-axes from the Homeland, Virgil, who stands in the streets, calling out his poetry and his fear but my pain and my racial dispair, day by day. Friend to Thalia. Anthropologist am I, who has made and translated rubbings from those axes, now lost, which tell the epic tales of Saint Hawk, of Thrordun Bridge and the Troll-led Orcs who over-ran the peaceful dwarven people. I bear my pain, and I share my pain spontaniously. Like Virgil I sing out from the open win- dow of my room at the Silver Coin Inn at the oddest hours, unbidden and un- stoppable. Am I, too, mad?

Master of the Dwarven Fighter's Guild, sometimes among the best who ever lived and sometimes in the dump with Soreg or in the gym with Luthien, am I. I must not list the many whose honor and whose danger I share by being in blood covenant. We are a mighty force, building every day the power to return right and honor to the dealings of commerce and trade not just in Eristan nor even to Ferdarchi, but to the entire world. Yet, honor begins at home. And I am the greatgranddaughter, I have come to believe, of Saint Hawk himself, and the gracious and daring Amph of olde. My hope, to be like her.

A State I would see, in the west where there are mines and woodlands and farms and plains. A State from which to launch the Quest of Returning, to drive out the invaders and put the Trolls who instigated the war, so many generations ago, to the axe. No thief shall have our homeland while we live in exile. Am I mad?

Eristan! Oh Eristan! City of my exile! How I love you! Oh how I hate you! You have given me all that makes life sweet but that final freedom of tread- ing Dwarven Soil. And you have taken from me all of life's joy and love, one time after another. Oh, Eristan! There is no other like you!

I have seen and done many things during my journeys. I have taught and learned many different things. I had been wondering the land for what seemed to be forever, trying to find my purpose in life. I found the city of Eristan and made it my home. I found someone who made me think. Her name was Lirrin. Lirrin showed me what life was about. Life was about good times, great friends, family and challenges. I have found many people that I would be glad to call my family.

I saw Lirrin use her abilities to help others; she even helped me. Lirrin taught me how to harness the powers that were within myself. I tried to follow in her footsteps, and eventually became a Healer. With time, I learned most of the mystic arts, only to be stricken with the horrid plague that ran through Ferdarchi. For a time I thought I might get better or even find a cure, but I was wrong.

This plague was a strange thing. It took our abilities and left us to rot. It not only took our skills, but also our knowledge. As each day passes, I find myself learning things that I already knew. Remembering people and things that I forgotten. In time all will be remembered.

I have been around a long time. I have seen many people come and go.

I was a happy sliver, crying never, cooing, beaming, laughing, loving ever. I was a happy sapling, crosswise never, playing, helping, loving ever. I was a joyful elven buck, playing, scrapping, loving, beaming, scuffling, helping, rambuncious, and fun for everyone who could receive such an out- pouring of freshness on every elven encounter. Then, as the saying goes, it began to rain ... uh ... bovine excrement. I found solice in my wonder- ful wood, where I lived alone, practicing the elven way and keeping fit by swinging a sword a little every day. Then, as things have a habit of doing, the worm ate the other side of the apple and the wonderful nephew of the brother who had, in a way, caused me to leave the village showed up at my door, telling a tale of death and destruction I would have wished on none, not even an enemy (much less my elder brother). We wept together then made our peace and worked together, that is if you can call the thrill of elven daily freshness and sword-play "work." He eventually left, as lads do, to seek his fame and fortune. His youthful enthusiasm stirred in me the coals of a fire long dormant. I left the peaceful wood for the town of adventure. I moved into that teaming young city of Eristan! There I honed my skills with the finest teachers and many hours of grueling practice. Now, by pro- fession, I seek fame and fortune as an Adventurer Par Excellance! As a matter of honor, I guard the helpless, give to the poor, teach the latest genera- tion in the skills of my trade and in the morality of honor, though only the elven can know honor fully. I eschew debt, theft, and deceit. Highest on my list of dastardly crimes against others is the engendering of strife by wearing a false hood, telling a false tale, or encouraging another to accept a false conclusion. As one who loves nature and the natural order, I find honor everywhere. My profession requires the harvest of goods from the non-sentient beings, though I am not as quick to put orcs and ogres in that catagory as are my dwarven friends, despite the troubled racial past. I see no dishonor in killing, for death is within the seed of life. Dishonor is the sullier of life, that which makes it hard and impure. Honor is facing each day with a fresh dew, knowing you will see it through beaming, helping, scrapping, playing, scuffling, laughing, practicing (till you hurt all over)-- loving all who will receive you and your outpouring of freshness. Maybe even finding something or someone worth cooing over. *wink*

I came to this city before the last plague a bright-eyed and naive Rowan youngster.

My family was know for their mastery of the magical arts and I thought to continue in that honorable way. I heard that in Eristan there were great wonders to behold and so I came. I was taught the healing arts by a healer whom I cannot remember anymore, whose name is obscured by the mists of time. He was kind and wise and taught me well and I was soon strong enough to apply to join the well established Guild of Healers, but, alas, the Plague came before I could gain admitance. Somehow, though weakened and without any powers left, I was able to rebound from the plague to levels of ability far greater than those I had before. Perhaps the Plague awakened my true magical abilities, perhaps not. I found that after the Plague, the Tiredness took many of my friends and family. The Tiredness is a curse of the Rowans, a trade-off for our intellectual aptitudes. In order to fight the Tiredness, I took it upon myself to be a Healer and Helper of Others, a teacher and advisor. My mission on Ferdarchi is to help those less fortunate than myself, to teach, and to listen. I have seen many wonderful sights in Eristan and many ugly ones, but I am constantly emboldened by the acts of Lirrin, Bor, Troy, and the other Healers as well as the good citizens such as Elo and Square.

To sum up: I am a Rowan Healer.

Peace

My earliest memory of this world is of awakening on a rocky shore, the narrow beach lined with dense trees. Blood stained my torn cotton clothes, and my hair was stiff with salt water. The sky was grey, and the sea black, but the waves were strangely calm. As I stumbled towards the trees, I caught sight of my reflection in a tidepool - a pool filled with strange creatures. It dawned on me that I did not recognize the face that stared back at me. For the life of me, I could not remember my name, nor how I came to be on this shore - a shore which at first seemed barren, but which I soon discovered teemed with life. I wandered through forests for what seemed like weeks - once catching sight of a high tower through a break in the trees, once stumbling across a rock inscribed with strange runes. Bears and wolves were a constant threat. On the outskirts of a swamp, I disturbed a crocigator. And from time to time I would find the remains of a traveler's campfire. One morning as I awoke, a raven sat in a branch above me. It flew in short hops, so I followed it. It led me to a small river - an the river led me to this city, to Eristan. I wandered the streets, and people avoided me, fearing a stranger. I stumbled into a grave- yard and tried to sleep, but a ghostly apparition attacked me and drove me back into the street.

As I lay there battered, an ogre came along. Taking pity on me, he brought me to the healers. There my wounds were healed by a gnome. The ogre and the gnome, and their friends, took me in and cared for me. I told them my story, and they called me The Raven. The ogre and the gnome have since moved on, as have many of our friends, but I have remained here since that day.

From time to time, I return to the sea, in search of my origins, but I have found nothing for me there. I am content with my new home.

Sundren the Delver was born to Corrac Ironbeard and Dorinth Eagleheart. Initiated in the ways of the warrior while very young, he was on his way to following in his family's heritage. During his first major battle, however, the dwarven legions Sundren was fighting with were driven back, and in the confusion he was lost. When he awoke, face-down on the blood soaked earth, he heard the Mother calling to him. He began to dig slowly at first with his bare hands and as time passed with the blade of the sword his father had given him.

Days later when the dwarves had forced the enemy into a full and hasty retreat, they began searching the fields for their fallen comrades. It was then that they chanced upon a deep shaft where a lone dwarf was singing the praises of the Mother and adding more chunks to a large pile of gold ore.

When Sundren returned home, his father remarked to his son that a change had come over his warrior son to which Sundren replied, "The Mother has taken the warrior's soul from me and given unto me the the soul of a Shaper of her gifts. She has chosen my path and I must follow."

Corrac replied, "Though you are not a warrior, my son, my heart is still filled with pride for there is no dishonor in being a Shaper. Without them there would be no warriors...only corpses."