The Age of Lost Omens
Wood Elf Ranger?
Tonir cannot remember his past. His first memories are only a few years ago, and even those are distant and faded. From what he can remember, he was always a woodsman and ranger, but he cannot remember if that was of his own choosing, or because that’s simply what others expected him to be upon seeing him. In any case, he would wander from place to place, never seeming to fit in anywhere. He was a decent enough at what he did, so he just kept on doing it.
Occasionally, people would approach him. People from a past he could not recall. “Tonir!” They would call with smiles, or sometimes scowls, depending on the person. Is that my name?, Tonir would think to himself. Always, though, their expressions would fade as they approached, replaced by disturbed, nervous, or simply embarrassed looks. “Sorry,” they would say, “thought you were someone else.”
Tonir was as good a name as any to have for himself.
At night, he would often stare up into the night sky longingly. There was a star there, he knew, but he could never find it. A dark star suspended in a dark void. Impossibly close, but unimaginably far away.
Seeping… Seeping down… Feeling… Searching… What is, this? Why does it, move? Scampering, scrambling, screaming. Make it still. Make it… Quiet. Feeling… A face… TAKE IT.