Age: 9 and a half
Hair: Sandy blonde
Group: Band of the Red Hand
From: Lugard, in Murandy
The smell of smouldering coals woke her. Blankets pressed up around her chin scratched, but it was nothing that Renalie had not experienced countless times before. A small, stuffed animal lay just out of her reach and she rolled on to her side to pick up the toy, a wolf, that her mother had made from rags for her. She was six years old and already the picture of her mother. The sandy hair was the only difference. Whereas her mother, Ana, had hair of a reddish tinge that reminded the young Renalie of the leaves in autumn, her own hair was the colour of the beaches that gleemen told tales of at the coast, or like a cornfield on a cloudy and overcast day when the sky resembled a storm-ridden sword. She loved the old tales best. Those of daring heroes and fair maidens that would not yield to the evil foes, and of knights bold that easily vanquished their enemies on the battlefields. Especially, she loved the tales of the ladies that would slip from the courtly lives to find excitement wherever they could find it, running away to find adventure and, of course, romance.
Her mother would be around somewhere, most likely preparing the main meal for them and grateful for the fact that young Renalie was ensconced by the fire rather than running around the streets of Lugard, especially knowing how the place could be sometimes. Up until now Renalie had only known the soft hands of her mother and occasionally the firmer. As she grew up to resemble her mother more with each passing day, Renalie began to notice there was something missing, a part of her life that although she had never known, she was beginning to become aware of it's lack. She became restless, not even finding any pleasure in the stories anymore.
"Mama, where's papa?"
Her mother always replied that there was no need to worry and told Renalie that she looked after her, and loved and cared for her, but never answering her question. It played on her young mind, going from sixth birthday to seventh, to eighth and still not having an answer. On asking the same question on her ninth birthday, Renalie received the same reply again, but it didn't seem enough to her now. Always before her mind had been too accepting, but now she knew there was something missing, her mind was beginning to work in different circles. She would find him one day, no matter how long it took and started asking questions of the local people she saw. A piece of paper in her mother's room yielded the name "Mehrin" and a small surge of joy rushed up inside her. A place to start from!
A fat man in a blue velvet cloak looked at her askew as Renalie hurriedly uttered the name "Mehrin" at him and asked if he knew where he was. The lilting brogue of the Murandian accent was thick in his speech, and he spoke of a gathering of people over to the west, a citadel, where she could find more information about her "Mehrin" or at least someone that would know of him. There was no way her mother would let her go, however, so Renalie continued to search. She poked her head around the door to one of the taverns, knowing her mother would give her a telling off to shame a Forsaken if she found out, and listened to see if she could find anything. A trader in a high-necked dress sat talking animatedly with a customer of visiting over towards Baerlon, and the Two Rivers, and the woman agreed to it, saying how her wagon could stop off at various points along the way to do business. Watching, Renalie waited for the woman to finish her drink and then followed her out to where the wagon waited, a single horse in between the shafts. While she patted the beast's nose, Renalie slipped around the back and opened the doors, finding a place under the low bed and rolling up out of sight. Soon, the wagon was moving, and nine-and-a-half year old Renalie was on her way towards finding her father.