Onyx was born when I was seven, sired by a rogue Drow soldier who raped our mother during a raid on our village. Our parents were loving people though, and raised her with the same love and care that they provided me. We were very close while growing up, being so close in age, and the fact that we are only half-sisters has never troubled our relationship. We remain as close as ever, despite our many arguments, to this very day.

I suppose the true story begins during the next Drow raid after was Onyx was born: some twenty years later. Our parents were killed during the horrible slaughter, and we, along with the rest of the children from Hillsfar, were taken back to the Drow city to serve as slaves. My mother had taught me magic since my birth, but I had ever aspired to be a Knight as a young child. Often I practiced in the town square with wooden swords, honing my skills and daydreaming of being a noble warrior someday. My true experience in learning to be a warrior came when I was cast into the Drow gladitorial pits and forced to fight for my life against other slaves. It could have been worse…at least there was some protection afforded to me by my place as a gladiator, and because my skill was great, I was not treated as harshly as most. I excelled at swordplay above all other weapons, and the two-handed sword became my weapon of choice, though I grew skilled in all manner of blade. It was not the way I would have chosen to learn, and there was a time when I thought I wanted never to see a sword again. But fighting is in my blood now, and so it shall be until I die, I fear.

For forty years, Onyx and I toiled in the Drow pits, she in her way and I in mine. Then one day the word came through that the elves of the surface world were leading an attack against the Drow that very evening, and we slaves planned our fight to win death or freedom alongside these elves. Only a few of us managed to escape alive, even with the help of the surface elves, and the five of us who had remained close throughout our slavery formed our own adventuring party in honor of our freedom. We vowed to use our skills against evil like that of the Drow.

My mother had ever wanted me to be a mage, as she had been before me, and her mother had been before her. I had been unable to practice magic in the Drow city at all, to do so would have meant instant death. But upon my return to the surface, I returned to it in honor of my other's memory, and found that I loved it as much as swordplay. I studied at every opportunity, learning every spell I could, following my family's tradition of drawing the natural magic of the earth into my body and then reshaping it to grant the spell effect I wished.

Our party waxed and waned as some thirty years passed; some members settling down and marrying, others meeting their death during a particularly bad battle, and new members came and went as we passed from town to town. Only Onyx and I remained a constant in the party. And then one day we joined with another small band of adventurer's, who were out to fight against a Drow warrior-mage by the name of Maliketh. Onyx and I were eager to put an end to any Drow dealings, obviously, but this was not just any Drow.

Maliketh had begun along the path to ascension, hoping to attain God-hood. One of the evil Gods he had allied himself with granted him the power to walk about during the day, and his mastery of necromancy had already created a huge, formidable undead army. He was far too powerful for such as we to kill him, and so we decided to banish him to a place where he could bring no harm. Azamoth, the mage from the party we had allied ourselves with, and myself cast a spell more powerful than any I had ever attempted before. It was difficult, and we both nearly died with the power of magic used that day, but we succeeded...or so we believed.

It wasn't too terribly long before we discovered that Azamoth and I had been wrong. The plane we banished Maliketh to had not been empty; it had been a world much like our own. I contacted Azamoth, and we set about reopening the portal Maliketh had been banished through, and sent the rest of our party through. Their objective was to imprison Maliketh in the correct plane this time, with the help of another mage who was even more powerful than Azamoth . Azamoth and I were to remain behind to ensure the party's safe return and keep Maliketh from trying to come through, should he discover the open portal. But something went awry during the casting, and Azamoth died, severing his link with those he sent through the portal, scattering them forever adrift through time and space with no hope of returning home. Only Onyx made it through, with my spell to guide her. I had placed an additional spell that would draw her back to this world once her mission had either been accomplished or failed, and so I settled in to wait She returned later that evening a year older, the time having passed much more quickly in that world. She returned with little to no memory of what happened during her time there…but as the years passed and her memories slowly came back, she told a tale of a world covered forever in darkness, of an elven race no more, and armies of undead, all beneath the rule of Maliketh. I blame myself to this day for what befell that world.

A few more years passed, and we found ourselves in the city of Ravensdale. I have found a sense of home here not afforded to me since my childhood days in Hillsfar, and I have come to protect and love it as if it were my homeland. In my time here I have performed several services to help and protect the city under the request of the Merchant's Guild. I never seemed to have time for love during my adventuring years, and certainly not during my years as a slave, but I have learned much about it since arriving here. Never did I know a heart could feel so much, or be torn so asunder. As the days slip by, more and more calls the need in me to lay down my sword and pursue the simple happiness of love and family. Truly, there is little that I wish for more. But as I have said, the fighting is in my blood, and so long as I live and have the skill, I cannot stand idly by and watch as evil tries to oppress those less trained in fighting than myself. And so, my dream may never be...there are nights when I fear I will die with my sword in my hand, and I comfort myself with the knowledge that is all for a good cause. Though on some nights, even that is not enough...but I digress.