In other news, I've been feeling wordy. So, rather than do he smart thing and sleep.
Two score is almost too soon to begin adventuring. Or maybe, not enough. Abandoned to a monastery as a babe, I learned how to bring my body and mind into one. Some would say I learned the art of fighting, but those are not wise. When your body and mind are one, the act of learning is easy. Nothing gets in the way. Similarly, the same with fighting. What it is I learned at the monastery is hard to put into words. I learned the value of wisdom and knowledge but never at the sacrifice of myself. I learned how to conduct myself honorably in this world. I learned a way of living, of looking, and of seeking. So it is now that I seek myself.
As you might have surmised, I know no parents. Only my order, only my training, only my goal of self-betterment. I know not what I was before the monastery, or what my fate might have been, but I do know what I can become. It is a hard path, and one my current wanderings will test my determination. But like all tests, there is fulfillment for the taking and the passing. And even as one path beckons, I see further down the path to another. I pray only that I have the requisite abilities when the time comes. What they are, I do not know. Only that I wish to have them. Be that as it may, I must trust in myself to find them before that time. Like the leaving, it will just be. You cannot rush what will come. Learning is like that, sieve like. Fighting is like that, even. Treat everything as if it were a feather and you must redirect the incoming as such. Never for the feather you must reach, for then it will be out of your grasp as sure as air slips through your fingers. You must direct it into your realm, knowledge, enemies, and friends alike.
Finally, the time arose. They had taught me to the limits of their ability to teach me. It wasn't as if this was a predetermined thing. It just was. So without much fanfare, I set out. I told my Master I was leaving and to ask his blessing on the journey. He nodded, knowing already what I was about, and gave his blessing as a hug. Of him, of all the monastery, I shall miss. He was my father, teaching me that which I must know. He understands. I think, if I were to go back, there is one thing I would caution him to teach the young ones more about. Women. Of them, I do not understand a whit. I try and treat them as I would any man, but I know that this is not to be the way of things. But otherwise I know not what to do. In this too, shall I learn, I hope.
One of the women whom I talked to at length, more so in exchange for my coin than for any other compelling reason, gave me a description of myself I shall relate here.
"You are a quiet man, but young and appealing. A wealth of contrasts surround you. Your skin is touched by the sun, dark and bronze. Your hair is also touched by the sun, but like copper left out. It would look better unbound, you know. It flows to below your shoulders, a fitting cape to hold the allure of your eyes. So green and intense, as if you're searching for an answer the world cannot provide. I do not know if you could bear the weight of the world, anyways, young man. You are not very tall, under six foot, and you weigh like a starving child. But the muscles I see and feel rippling beneath that fabric you call clothing tells me you are not what you seem. Perhaps you could support the weight of things. Maybe even me..."
I had to turn her down, for I am ashamed to admit, I know not what to do with a woman. I cannot believe the rough talk you hear bantered about by what I assume are more knowledge men is true, and an expert has eluded me. But I digress. As young and heated with exploration as I find myself, my desires do not control me. Control is the first thing you learn, for without it, you are lost. I tried to tell a young man this once, as a curious side note to something he was telling me about women and losing control, and he just gave me this look and said, 'Boy, if you could, you'd make them all happy!' He then laughed and bought another round of drinks. There are some things I have yet to learn, obviously, about people.
Helping them, however, is not one of them. It is there that my journey truly begins. There was my travel, vaguely southward, from my monastery of course, but it was just as any young man who finds himself suddenly free with coin to spend. I indulged. In bars I found ways to make others believe I was as I pretend to be, and soon I was left alone. I came across a few, more experienced than I, and these I gave wide berth while still watching in awe, and listening ever chance I could get. I began to hear of a wasting sickness in travelers. And there, really, my tale begins.