Legends of Belariath
Min Saphyne
Born of an affair between the wealthy merchant family's of Far'lokee, the Saphynes and Robi who made their fortunes in her families namesake gem, she was denounced by both but her loving mother sent her away with the next caravan back to an adjacent smaller town where she was raised. Always upon her possession she had that small piece of parchment with the women she did not even know was her own mother, she was gaze upon it daily as a young child, tracing the crest and serpent that had been etched into her mother's flesh and in the future would be etched upon her own. She grew strong, her development a mixture of the Robi's strength and the Saphynes intellect she soon grew to be quite the cunning warrior.
It seemed like it had been years since she had received a single word from her hometown. The letters that came few and far between had trickled down to nothing until that one day. The black bordered envelope was handed down to her by the head of the caravan she had been traveling in, a sorrowful look within his eyes, and a gentle consoling squeeze to her shoulder was all that could be offered. She carefully unfolded the envelope to see the sullen note, the words written in a erratic strip, blood staining the lower left hand corner. It was more then she could take, her knees knocked together and she quickly slumped to the dusty earth. Salt from her tears mixed with the blood stained parchment as she sat there in silence, flesh burning, her mind reeling. “Mother…” She barely choked it out as the letter was dropped into the dust. “Min?” One of the women of the caravan had came up to the sobbing girl in her moment of distress. Unfortunately for her, the emotionally fragile girl had snapped at that moment. Eyes stung, the whites flushed red as she tossed her head back and screamed till her voice was hoarse. “Min... whatever it is, it’s going to be alright…” The words were punctuated by a gurgling of blood that suddenly filled the misfortunate caravan woman’s throat. Min had turned about, jamming the butt of small dagger into her throat with such force it collapsed her esophagus. She stood their, watching the woman fall to knees, clawing at her throat as she choked to death on her own blood, the tears drying into salty trails on her cheeks as she turned about and slunk into the forest.
Still young she set out again toward the southwest, and as maturity was gained upon the long winding path she soon found herself standing before a large building known as The Lonely Inn upon the outskirts Nanthalion.