I’m an odd bird in a strange land even though I was born to this village. My mother was a raid bride from the south. My father was a typical Ros-man looking to earn glory and wealth through strength and blood as a raider.

My mother, too frail for the frigid northern climate, died the winter after my birth. The following spring my father fell during a raid never to return. With no family this left me to be raised by the village. The shaman provided me with shelter and guidance. My childhood was mostly punctuated by beatings at the hands of other children and barely contained scorn from nearly every adult.

You see, I stood a full hand shorter than the other boys my age, my skin and hair were darker, I never excelled at battle and none of the pretty girls ever chose me to dance on festival days. I did seem to have a knack for outsmarting people, even most of the adults. This earned me more than a few beatings as making someone look like a fool, while satisfying in the moment, tends to bite you in the arse later.

Deep in the night on my eighteenth season something happened. Voices, barely heard, as if in another room, mumbling, murmuring and finally disturbing enough to wake me. It wasn’t a dream, the voices were real. They sounded angry, almost like a mead hall brawl. Then I heard my name, as if they suddenly noticed I was in the room. It became more urgent as if all of them wanted my attention at once. Then, as I began to scream, small items from shelves and tables started to fall to the floor almost like someone were nudging them off their perches. The voices got louder.

When the shaman burst into the room with a candle; silence. He looked bewildered at the mess in my room and the fright that was obvious on my face. We stayed up till dawn, prayed for guidance and discussed the events. It seems I was to become an Oracle. The voices were apparently of people long past that wanted to send messages to their loved ones. With time and much patience I started to chronicle some of the voices and stories. I tried to pass one of the messages along but the family accused me to trying to hex them and set their dogs on my heels.

The visitors made quite the mess as they exhausted their patience attempting to get their messages to me. I decided that perhaps it would be better to isolate myself to keep the damage to a minimum and save myself the hex wards every time someone happened to glance my way. I found myself living in a fairly well appointed abandoned wolf den just outside of town. Ok, it was a hollow log with the barest of amenities, but it was mine.

Some times the voices became apparitions and we would sit and discuss their life and how they died. Some were from the village but most were just Tey Ros spirits drawn by my strange ability to see and hear them. There were a few outlanders but many of them didn’t seem to realize they were dead.

As my abilities grew the shaman taught me how to cast spells. Another skill at which I apparently excelled. He told me that perhaps the celestial events during my birth were a foretelling instead of a curse. Too bad that revelation couldn’t have come sooner.

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