Belaria Bram

Da Bel var 12 år gammel jobbet hun på Sorlar’s Smiling Satyr, like borti gaten fra der hun og Professor Ralnor Bram bodde og hjalp til med å flytte på varer noen timer midt på dagen når ting var rolig. En dag mens hun fylte på varer i baren satt det en Tiefling ved et bord og fulgte med. Et sjeldent syn i Silverymoon. Han satt i en mørk krok og man kunne ikke se fjeset skikkelig.

Han hvisket "Milui... a young tiefling here in Silverymoon. How peculiar..."

Bel: "Unnskyld? Hva sa du?"

Tiefling: "Milui... Takk for ølen.."

Han reiser seg og forlater stedet. På bordet ligger det igjen en amulett. Bel tar amuletten og løper mot døren og roper "Du glemte denne!", men tieflingen er borte. Hun ser på amuletten som bærer et symbol. Symbolet av en drage som blir ridd av en tiefling.

I am the adopted daughter of Professor Ralnor Bram, a renowned professor at Arkhen’s Invocatorium of Silverymoon. Raised by an elf as though I were an elf myself, I always felt the weight of expectation—to be highly educated, skilled, and composed, the perfect reflection of my adoptive father’s status. Yet, my heart has always yearned for the unknown, for truths hidden beyond the world I was taught to revere.

I know little of my origins, only that my mother was a tiefling. Ralnor avoided speaking of her, brushing aside my questions with vague reassurances that she was “a woman of strength and courage.” Still, I couldn’t help but feel her absence like a shadow trailing my every step. My horns and crimson skin marked me as different in a city of elegance and grace, a curiosity to some and a source of disdain to others.

Ralnor’s love was unwavering, and for that, I am grateful. He championed me in the face of every whisper and sideways glance, urging me to prove that my heritage was no barrier to greatness. And so I threw myself into my studies, mastering the arcane foundations that the Invocatorium demanded. But no matter how much I learned, I could not ignore the strange way magic flowed through me, as if the Weave itself bent to my will without effort or instruction.

As I grew, so too did my restlessness. The elven songs and histories I studied spoke of distant lands and forgotten lore, stoking a fire in my heart for the unknown. At night, I found myself haunted by vivid dreams: crimson skies stretching endlessly overhead, whispered names I could not understand, and glimpses of a woman with horns like mine, her face obscured by shadows. I asked Ralnor about her, but he told me little of my mother, and I began to suspect he knew more than he let on.

“I think it’s time you left Silverymoon,” he said one night, his voice heavy with sorrow. “Not as a punishment, but as an opportunity. The answers you seek are not here.” He handed me a map of Faerûn, his fingers lingering on mine. “Find your truth, wherever it may lie. But promise me this: never lose sight of who you are, no matter what you discover.”

And so, I left the city that had been my home for as long as I could remember. My heart is torn between fear and excitement, but I cannot turn back now. Somewhere out there lies the truth of my origins, the source of my magic, and the woman I see in my dreams.

I will find her. I must.