My name is Miri, and I am cursed. From the time of my humble birth in my mother's hobbit hole, I have been tormented by wild nightmares, my body twisted by some foul curse that has left me deformed and crippled. Truly, the gods wish that I know pain so that I may mend the pain in others.
I stand at a humble height of three feet and one inch, and my body is spindly, my spine twisted.My hair is a silky blonde, which I spend considerable time maintaining, as it is my fairest feature. My eyes are mismatched, one brown and one blue. I tend to hide my brown eye behind my bangs to make me seem more comely. My skin is pale, like most underground folk, and though I am bony and gaunt, I have been told I am not unpleasant to look upon, so long as my malformity is kept hidden.
I see myself as the sort who heals others. I ease suffering so as to make my own burdens feel lighter. Perhaps I can appease the gods this way, but their minds are unknowable, and I am small and wretched even for a mortal soul. I intend to take on work as a healer's apprentice, perhaps crafting potions or salves. If I ever intend to see the world, I will need friends to protect me from the sinister folk that would do me harm.
I have spent much time among my fellow common folk, learning their ways and making friends where I can. Though some avoid me, wary of my curse, others find me charming and wise for my young age. Recently, I turned sixteen in the reckoning of Man. A woman I am now, and a woman lost. My father has long been away at war, defending the realm against the dark, vicious creatures of the Dark Lands. My mother has passed due to a sudden illness. I pleaded with healers, physicians, and mystics for some sort of cure, but none could give me what I sought. So with nothing left in my hovel to tie me there, I sold the property and seek out a new life for myself. My mother hoped that one day I could be a great ruler, but that's just a far-off dream. Really, all I want is to make this world a little brighter.
A Sentimental Value: Herb Kit
In my mother's final days, she was so often wracked with terrible pain. Her wails and moans terrified me. I wanted to hide and cry until the sounds would stop, but I knew that it was cowardly to think like that. Cowardly, and selfish.
I rushed as fast as my stunted legs would carry me to the nearest herbalist for a kit and learned how to make potions to ease Mother's suffering. I managed to help her rest more easily, but all my efforts to find a cure were for nought.
At least I still have the kit. Perhaps my efforts to heal Mother will help some other poor soul someday. Time and the gods can only tell.
No one shall lay low Miri the Cursed. I, Miri, have died but am alive again! How can mine evils leave me with my 1st death to carry me downward surprised in this wishful thinking? It is mine lack of cause.
One rainy day as I was taking the leftover table scraps from the tavern down to the midden heap, I happened upon an impoverished veteran writhing drunkenly in the muck of the road. He seemed to be in great pain, so I enlisted the help of some passersby to help him out of the rain and back to the tavern with me.
Once he was abed, I tended to his hurts, his arthritic joints, and his hunger. His desire for drink made him blindly angry towards anyone who denied him a bottle. Somehow, I was able to calm him during his rages, and so only I could tend to him. The tavern owner made me pay for the man's lodgings with my own coin, but it was worth it in the end.
When the veteran was more coherent, he told me his name was Konrad. He was a deserter from the army, whose entire battalion had been wiped out in combat. That's when I discovered that he had known my father. Konrad had watched Father fall trying to tend to the wounded. The vicious orcs would grant no mercy, even to the good of heart.
Konrad and I traded stories about Father. We talked of how he would scold the village children and soldiers alike for scraping their knees or licking their dirty fingers. Father had been a tender to the wounded since his own father had taught him in his youth. Though I was terribly sad to hear that he wasn't coming home, it warmed my heart to know that he had died helping others.
Konrad told me that he needed to make things right. He'd abandoned the battlefield dishonorably, leaving braver men like Father to perish in agony. I tried to tell Konrad that I could forgive him of that, but he would have none of it. He pledged to stay sober, and help guide me through my youth and protect my virtue against baser creatures. Thinking about my mother's dream for me, I decided to accept. If I am to become a leader, I must take the advice of people from all walks of life. And perhaps in helping me, Konrad can also find a way to help himself.
Deity of Miri
The good maiden dresses as a crone in humble rags, drifting from town to town. Those who show her kindness and alms are blessed to look upon her true form: a gorgeous maid with gleaming silver eyes. She returns the kindness with a kiss that forever blesses the faithful with good health and fertility.
Vesteva teaches us that good begets good. A good parent makes good children. A good cook makes good food. A good soul makes for a good life. Her symbol is her silver eyes.
One day while working in the tavern, I saw the most beautiful man look my way. He was tall and handsome with sparkling green eyes and well-groomed brown hair on his head an face. His skin was fair and he was so young and strong-looking. My heart fluttered when he looked my way. He and his drinking friends had a flock of women around them, but this man had eyes only for me!
Later I asked Miriam, the head wench of the tavern, what his name was. Miriam told me he was named Tyrius, but didn't know much else about him. Apparently he comes by every so often to share drinks with his friends. Maybe next time I won't be so shy and actually talk to him. But who am I kidding? A hobbit girl like me could never be a good fit for a man like him!
Kamden the Fighter joins the Adventure Party of Miri
Kamden is the son of Konrad, my friend the veteran. Kamden recently came of age and is looking to start the profession of a fighter. He's strong for his age, but Konrad says he's not too bright or ambitious. Kamden seems laid-back and disinterested in most things, but he's not unfriendly. Most of the time, I see him with a chaff of wheat in his mouth as he reclines or dozes off nearby. Konrad insisted that I take Kamden with me on my adventures. I accepted, glad for the protection.