I am the one they call Kerr Avon, although I have many names this seems to be the most common one. In an era in which time does not flow, in a place that does not exist I write this story. A story of my life, how it could have been, how it might be. A story of times gone by, a past that has yet to be, a future that that has never happened. Maybe eternity, legends after all are timeless. Memories. But I should not linger on these thoughts, I should tell you my story…

Some 28 years ago a hot summer night, an excess of alcoholic drinks and good looks resulted in my creation. I am the son of an elven father and a human mother. They met each other on a festival in Waterdeep. My childhood was not special, except for not having a father. He was never seen again after that night. He supposedly was an elven ranger. So I was raised by my mother as good and as bad as it was. Not a particulary wealthy existence (her being a barmaid) but not impossible either. Soon enough I learned how to do my part in making ends meet, financially at least. As I worked in the tavern my mother worked in, I picked up certain skills. I learned how pursade people, especially ladies, to grant me favors or to give me things. How to get tips even though a customer wouldn't give it freely.

In short I got to learn how to be a thief. Although that word has a negative ring to it, it sums up clearly what I am good at. But I also learned how to handle a sword, and how to shoot a bow. One meets many people in a tavern I guess. I like the comfort of big towns. They provide a stable environment for my, uhm, business.

However lately things have changed. Late one night, on a rainy autumn night, a stranger walked into the tavern. We were closing up, and I wanted to throw the bum out. However when I saw the elven face from under the dark green hood of his cape I froze. I still don't know why. The stranger handed me a package rolled in a green, greyish cloth with the words "this belonged to Gadel Autumnleaf, your father. He did his duty to the very end, now this is yours as his only son. Wear it with pride, may you follow his example." Before I was able to think of a question the stranger was gone.

The package was an elven chain mail roled into a cloak. It's beauty stunned me, with trembling fingers I touched the metal. It felt cold. Like the absence of a father felt during my life. However much I wanted to sell the armour and have a great fest, I couldn't. After weeks of mixed emotions I put on the chain mail and cloak. It was as something in me changed. From that day on I know there is more than just this city. There are opportunities behind the hills. Profits to be made, I must go.

I am tired now, I should sleep. Being old is a curse, even if one cannot die, not yet anyway. Before I leave, and having told you all this, I should tell you more…

My existence before is not important, nor is my being in the future. For no statements about my past behavior, my tendencies to behave, my personality, my 'character', my 'nature' or 'essence', and no predictions about my future behavior or characterizations of my 'natural' or social roles are equivalent to or entail any statements about my present or future decisions or intentions to act.

The facts even when beaded on a chain, still do not have real order. Events do not flow. The facts are separate and haphazard and random even as they happen, episodic, broken, no smooth transitions, no sense of events unfolding from prior events. A desert landscape that is unending, resembling some sort of crater, so devoid of reason and light and spirit that the mind cannot grasp it on any sort of conscious level and if you come close the mind would reel backward, unable to take it in. Nothing is affirmative, intellect is not a cure, reflection is useless, the world is senseless. It is that divorce between the mind that desires and the world that disappoints, my nostalgia for unity, this fragmented universe and the contradiction that binds them together. Man stands face to face with the irrational. He feels within him his longing for happiness and reason. The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world.