My name is Sanmourn al'Kipishuar, and mine is a story of sadness. I am half-elven and I trace my lineage through the Wood Elves of The Far Forests. In the shadows of the Nether Mountains, my tribe of less than two hundred has hunted and forged an existence in the wilds. Faced with the evils from the Mountains as well as the mysterious creatures that seem to appear neverendingly from the approach of the sands of The Great Desert, Anauroch, my people lived a hard life. But I speak of the past, and my people are no more. I am all that remains of a once proud and hardy people. All that I was came to an end on a bright, spring morning.

I awoke well before dawn to hunt a stag I had glimpsed the day before. As the early morning light began to fill the forest, I was tracking the markings left behind by the largest stag I had ever seen. His coat was of the blackest hue, ruffled at the neck to an almost lavender sheen. His rack was immense, and I was mesmerized by the moving tips. I tracked the creature for hours before I caught sight of him at a small stream. As I crept quietly closer, I was again taken aback due to his large size. The arrow which I had kept nocked in my bow sparkled in a ray of sunlight as I took aim at the beautiful creature. At that moment the stag turned directly to me, his eyes locking on my position. I knew that I had been seen, yet still the creature refused to flee. I suddenly felt a feeling unlike anything I had ever known. My gut clenched and my vision wavered for a moment, and in that instant, the creature before me changed. Where before had stood a stag, now stood the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

She waved me closer, and, unhesitatingly, I lowered my bow and approached. It was the Goddess, Mielikki, and she spoke to me. She told me I had a greater destiny and that she felt sorrow at what she had done. I asked, of course, what she meant. She told me only that I should return home.

Without looking back I raced home, branches tore at my clothing but I took no heed. The sight which greeted me tore the heart from my chest. The village I had called home was no more. Blackened homes, burnt and destroyed, all about which lay the people I had known all my life. Scattered about also, were the dead bodies of their attackers. Dark Elves, creatures of malice and destruction. And my chosen enemy.

I stand 5' 8" tall and tip the scales at about 165-170 pounds. My hair is as my mother's, a sandy blond almost light brown. My eyes I have my father to thank for. They are an almost ice blue, nearly white at times. When I am angry they burn with their fire. Yet when I find the time for laughter, they sparkle and glitter like diamonds.

The armor I wear is my father's. He preferred movement and stealth over heavy defense, and studded leather seemed appropriate. The swords at my waist are what I could find before I buried my past life. The bow I carry is my own creation, crafted with the skills my father taught me.