“What’s this?” Daeron inquired, he’d noticed the tattoo on her back below her right shoulder earlier but had been too preoccupied to mention it. “It’s all I have of my past… and even it is hidden from me… put where I can’t see it,” Raven bemoaned as she rolled forward allowing him a better view of the artwork; her only clue to who she is and where she came from, and the symbol of her torment at not knowing. “I woke in Jester’s Court six years ago with no memory of how I got there or who I am and haven’t learned anything more since.” “It’s a raven isn’t it… so that’s where you got your name,” he supposed. Then mused when she nodded in confirmation; “They have great significance to Sembians, and their merchants do make regular treks here.” Her Chondathan heritage was clear form her tawny skin, dark hair and eyes, and they were the dominate ethnicity in Faerun’s heartlands, but the olive tint to her complexion marked her origin as most likely specific to the nation of merchants known for their obsession with the acquisition of wealth through trade… legal and otherwise. “I’ve spoken to every Sembian I can find,” she asserted with clear frustration. “None of them have known anything helpful… no missing children… no lost families… nothing! They just use inspecting my tattoo as an excuse to leer at my naked breasts. A few have offered to take me back with them in exchange for my “company”. But one let slip that slaves are often marked as I am… and I’ve no doubt they’d claim me as one the second I set foot on Sembian soil.” “Maybe Caerden can help… there might be a spell that can revive your memory or divine something useful,” he offered, knowing that his elven friend had access to ancient lore and spells well above his skill. “I’ve tried magic,” she replied with a defeated sigh. “Wizards, sorcerers, bards, clerics, even druids… every spell and potion I could afford… but all for naught. Even divining for my family yields nothing.” She rolled back on her side to face him, with a look of frustration twisting her lovely features and tears welling up in her eyes. “They all claim there just isn’t any memory in me, but I know it’s there… I get flashes… bits of things that I must have learned as a child, like nursery rhythms and poems… but none of it makes sense or give me any clues to who I am or where I come from. The only boon is I can’t be found by magic either… divinations and scrying… even crystal balls and the like… can’t find me.” Daeron gently brushed the tears from her cheek and kissed her softly. Before he met her he would have said that he didn’t care if he couldn’t remember his family or ever saw any of them again. But now he realized that they had forged him into the man he was in the crucible of their malice and shame, and without them he wouldn’t have a purpose in life. Then he smiled to himself as he made a mental note to thank them the next time they inflicted themselves on him. “Maybe what you need is more powerful magic?” he suggested with an encouraging smile. “Like the kind you might find at Blackstaff tower. You asked what I gained from serving the Tel Teukiira… one of the greatest rewards is the honor of knowing Laeral Silverhand Arunsun, the Lady Mage of Waterdeep and one of the kindest souls you’ll ever met. If she can help you she will… and if she can’t, she’ll never stop trying till she finds a way to.”