My name is Loris. My father is Arven, wine merchant of Lun-Darn's West End, a rich and powerful man - or so he would wish. My mother, Phaedrale, from whence the Elfen half of my stock descends, is of least consequence to me. Weak and spineless, she bends with the breeze of my father’s every whim. There is little of the nobility of the Elflords of old in her. From her I gained but one thing - my Elfen dexterity. My full name - which is in the old nomenclature Lorisarvendu - I gained from my father. Loris, child of Arven.
Some would regard my life as an enviable one - born into a moderately prosperous mercantile family in the Belgrave district of Lun-Darn Town. Yet, from an early age I rebelled. I have three brothers, two older than I, one four years younger. Each the apple of my father’s eye. All destined to inherit the family business. But not I. Not Loris. Oh no. My fate lay elsewhere. The fact was never hidden from me that I should, upon reaching marriageable age, be betrothed suitably - perhaps to a nobleman, perhaps to a wealthy merchant. A sweetener to ease my father’s progress up another rung of Prosperity’s ladder.
I was never the ‘lady’, a fact that caused my mother as much exasperation as her feeble character could muster, and awoke in my father much cold anger. And, partly out of spite, partly out of a desire for escape, I took to travelling across town to the dark and grimy streets of Docklands, in particular the many wharf-side taverns, where I could lose myself in the cosmopolitan anonymity of the lowlife and dross. Being slight of frame, and - as you see - with a somewhat boyish figure, I could easily pass myself as male, for it would be unwise, if not ‘unseemly’, for the daughter of Arven - that well-respected man of commerce - to rub shoulders with the detritus of Lun-Darn’s East End. In those filthy streets and alleys my education truly began.
My parents however, eventually learned of my excursions, and attempted to curtail them. I was warned that my conduct was unbecoming at the least; my studies were doubled, and my allowance was cut. At least I have this to thank my father for - his strictures forced me to learn other means by which to supplement my income.
Then, in my 17th year, I was informed that Bradogas the Fisher-Baron had begun to look favourably upon my marriageable status. On my father’s part this would be a more than suitable match - an alliance between their families would surely lead to a merger of mutual commercial satisfaction. On Bradogas’ part my acquisition filled him with anticipation, no doubt at the prospect of quelling my rebellious nature.
I was horrified. The man was more than twice my age, coarse, disgustingly fat, and smelt of fish. My protests and pleadings fell on deaf ears, however. No doubt my father relished the prospect of ridding himself of so troublesome a daughter. A provisional date was set for my wedding, and in despair I packed a few belongings and took flight.
A full six months I managed to lose myself in the tortuous maze of the Docklands, plying my larcenous trade, dividing my time between such diverse establishments as the Bowels of the Earth and the Jade Dancer. It was whilst frequenting the latter, however, that I met my downfall - whilst attempting to relieve a patron of his ample bag of monies. He was alerted to my presence and I soon found myself fighting for my life against a swordsman of no mean skill. Luckily for me the Watch intervened before I had suffered more than a small but deep wound to the neck, and I was dragged off and incarcerated. It was at this point in my life, nursing the cut (the scar of which I bear to this day) that I realised this way of life was no game, and that I had but one choice open to me - learn to survive. While I languished in this sombre mood, the incident came to the notice of my father, who had been seeking my whereabouts for some time. I felt sure he would be glad to be well rid of me, but no. A not inconsiderable sum of gold changed hands and I was taken home in disgrace to face my father’s wrath. Bradogas’ ardour, however, had not decreased one whit, and for perverse reasons of his own he agreed to take charge of me almost immediately. And so it was, within a week of my capture, that I found myself pledged at the altar of Encar to a sweaty pig scarcely younger than my father.
Bradogas could barely control his impatience on the night of our betrothal (a fact that mystified me somewhat - for I claim to be no beauty). I, however, was now firmly committed to the course of my future life, and sadly for my new husband my plans did not include him. Thus he found it impossible to conceal his surprise when I proceeded to slit his throat from ear to ear, prior to vacating my nuptial bed and escaping to the East on one of his fastest hoskis...