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Miranda Schnurr Hello. My name's Miranda Schnurr, and I'm a member of the sub-race known as the Weiland Giants. To us, we're not really giants — it's just that everyone else is rather small (except trolls, of course). I'm pretty typical of my people, I guess: tall, with big blue eyes and nice big ears. Most of my people have tanned skin like mine, and hair in all sorts of colors. I'm 44 years old, which means I should have three-quarters of my life ahead of me, if I'm lucky. By trade, I'm a fletcher, which means I make arrows and crossbow bolts. My father is a bowyer, and together we do a pretty good business. We have regular customers all over Arkenland, and even some in Sorminia and Kharak. I'm also a member of the South Arkenland Militia Company. No offense, but if I had my choice, I'd rather be with the ------- right now than standing here talking to you. But that wasn't to be. We had a band of outlaws come through here last month, and my company mustered to shoo them off. We had a pretty tough little fight when we caught up with them, and one of them managed to get me in the knee with the flat of his sword. Smashed it pretty good, he did. I can walk, but it gets quite painful sometimes, and I end up hobbling around on my cane. The healer says it will be alright in a month or so, but until then I hobble. When the squad formed up to go off and join the -------, I turned out as usual. But the company commander, who was going to lead the squad himself, told me I had to stay home. I argued some, but the company commander's my Uncle Edmund, and there's never any arguing with him. He said I'd just slow them down and probably wouldn't be any good in a fight anyway. That sounds mean, but I know him well enough to know he was just being protective. He also left orders with the lieutenant that I was banned from active service until my knee healed. The rest of the company's on picket duty along the White River, but I'm not even allowed to do that. Every day or so, I take a basket of my mother's penny rolls up to one or another of the picket posts for my friends. (Everybody loves my mother's penny rolls!) And then I hang around until the lieutenant comes by and shoos me away. Everything's been quiet along the river so far. Let's see.... What else should I tell you? Oh yeah.... The scar. Everyone always asks about the scar on my face — except the people who are curious, but too polite to ask. I got that the last time the Bourouqueinyi hit us, about three years ago. We were up around Kellek's Hill and got ourselves ambushed. I was doing pretty well until one of them parried a blow and slashed my face with his war axe. Laid the whole side of my face open. Broke my cheekbone, but luckily it didn't touch my eye. An elvish healer stitched me up, and I ended up with no lasting damage, except for the scar. What else? Oh. In case you're interested.... I'm single and don't have any regular male companion. I love dancing — which I can't do right now, of course. I'm a rotten cook and despise doing housework. But I make excellent arrows. I can't sing worth anything, but I play the crumhorn rather well. And I am not one of those girls who likes to hang around with the guys down by Copper Lake, going skinny-dipping and whatever comes after that. Period. I'm no prude, but I have some self-respect. |
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