I am Markos, known as the Pathfinder, born of an elven soldier and a human maid. My father had hoped I would follow in his footsteps and that naming me after the God of War might grant me protection.
Alas, I never knew my father. My mother, bless her soul, did not say much about him. Only that he loved us and his absence was not by choice. It was only later that I came to understand the stigma of a human and an elf loving each other.
As such, I grew up with no friends my own age. I would spend my days alone in the woods, practicing with a makeshift shortbow I had fashioned with a green sapling and stripped vines.
One day, while completely engrossed trying to track some unfamiliar footprints, I was startled by a bear. The bear chased me into a part of the forest I haven't been in before. It took me a day and part of the next to finally make my way back to my mother's hut. That misadventure is how I became known as the Pathfinder.
My mixed heritage has endowed me with a lithe muscular body on a 5'11" frame. Days spent outdoors has given my skin the color of mahogany. Numerous scratches criss-cross my arms from pushing through dense underbrush. I keep my reddish-brown hair shoulder length and unkempt in a feeble attempt to hide my pointed ears and slanted brown eyes.
Unbeknownst to myself, I had already embarked on the path of a ranger. I can live off the land but I should also be able to make a bit of coin collecting bounties on monsters.
The weight of prophecy hangs heavy on me and drives me to seek out ever greater conquests. I know I have much to learn. I need to seek out allies and build up my strength if I am to be Ruler of Kings.