"Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Not necessarily in that order."

-Tim Burton

Her father Adam was a miner, her mother Evelyn the daughter of an apothecary. Their love was, at the time, an oft-told story in the small town of Firswending, Evelyn's father, a well-off apothecary, was strictly against the relationship. And the poor miner, son of refugees from the north was also quite stubborn in his pursuit.

Of their pairing came Alyssa a small and sickly child born early and in winter. She was named after three months of waiting, for the midwife predicted an early end and naming makes the parting more difficult, it is said. Perhaps this brush with the darkness left its mark, for her left hand was always a bit weak and withered looking, pale as freshly fallen snow.

The first years of her life were like a pleasant dream, or those parts of a story more glossed over than told- Full of sunshine on white sheets, curtains blowing in the wind, candlelight at the dinner table, and the wife scolding the husband for tracking dust inside the house.

Evelyn used to grow medicinal herbs and mix potions for various small ailments using lesser magics of the Fay-Folk. When Alyssa was older, she tried to teach her the elements of the craft. But plants would sicken under her touch. Potions would have unpredictable effects, most often stronger than wished for.

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Firswending lay at the foot of the Erbor Mountains at the Banks of the River Tey. Ore and coal from mining camps and small villages found their way here. The town grew bigger and more wealthy with immigrant labor, both those driven by poverty and hope and those driven from their homes by the incessant wars. And there was always a need for implements of iron.

Rumbling carts fully laden with a heavy cargo left deep ruts in the streets in which brackish water stagnated. Dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, which was thankfully windy in this mountainous region. The influx of people led to crowded conditions and poor hygiene. Such circumstance begat Illness and such turned to plague. The ringing of the western bell signaled the catastrophe.

Coughing was the first symptom, followed by bloody marks on the chest. With passing time came fever and delirious dreams of drowning. Blood built up in the lungs, and the weak, the young, and the elderly did sleep and never woke again.

Alyssa was never ill but always frail, life did not want to cling to her, but even miasma, which by scholars and mages is said to be alive, avoided her also.

Her mother worked tirelessly and visited the many afflicted. The doctor was mostly seen in the viscount's castle, a good way into the mountains, and rarely in the more well-appointed homes. The clergy prayed day and night, and sometimes there were miracles. But those were like fireflies, small and easily seen but not enough by any means.

Overworked and tired as she was, the illness was quick and overwhelming, leaving only a freshly dug grave, with a wooden marker reading 'Evelyn Miner'. Adam buried his happiness along with his wife, and even when he provided for Alyssa, he did nothing more. The black year passed, but the darkness lingered. With time he took to drink.

It had been five years since this day, and Alyssa belatedly realized her sixteenth birthday had passed her by. It was summer of the year 543 after the Founding (of Rivenlorn, the Confederacy of Equals).