[Characters] Halva's Newest Lords And Ladies

[Makenshi]

This is where you post your characters, including their (secreted) Character Sheets and the information you applied with.

Questions regarding character creation (general or specific to the campaign) can be made in the OOC thread.

I will be asking you to keep the character sheets secret (as in not the other PCs) for the most part, though feel free to discuss amongst yourselves if you feel x knows enough about y to warrant access to their character sheet, and if not, you can always tell people the more 'common knowledge'.

The reason for this is to prevent unconscious metagaming, and I just think it's more realistic .

Anyway, here's the rules for character creation:

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• ECL: 14. Max LA of +4 (so no Half-Dragon Lakarns of Hate).
• Experience: Everyone starts out with 96,000xp, you may use any extra xp to craft items/cast spells/etc.
• Stats: 16, 16, 14, 14, 12 & 10, arrange as you wish and then add +1 to any stat of your choosing (in addition to any usual bonus' you get).
• HP: Full at 1st, half at 2nd/every subsequent even level and half +1 at 3rd/every subsequent odd level.
• Campaign Bonus Feat: All characters will be receiving a campign bonus feat at 1st level, though this will only be from the following list:
  • Force of Personality (CAd)
  • Insightful Reflexes (CAd)
  • Quick Draw
  • Dodge
  • Iron Will
  • Great Fortitude
  • Lightning Reflexes
  • Improved Unarmed Strike
• Starting Gold: 162000gp. However, see the following stipulations:
  • No more than 70000 can be spent on any one Wondrous Item, ring, Wand, Rod or magical suit of armour.
  • No more than 80000 can be spent on any one magical weapon or Staff.
  • As with Feats, classess etc., you can select items from any of the books I have listed (see the 'House Rules' thread), however they are subject to my approval first still.
• Classes: Any core subject to the additions/restrictions set out in The Classes and Prestige Classes of Aheka. Other classes (provided they do not go against any of the restrictions) are subject to my approval, however this is mainly to prevent abuse, so unless I feel you are attempting to powergame I'll most likely allow alternate classes provided they are in my book list or I can get a hold of them.
• Bonus Skills: For RP purposes, everyone is given two bonus skills that are always assumed to be maximum rank. These two skills can be a Craft, Perform or Knowledge skill however, they are very specific, such as Knowledge (Deimos), Perform (flute) or Craft (flower necklace). Their inclusion is mostly for RP reasons (representing hobbies basically) and is meant to make you think more about your character and what they're like.

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Also, I'm going to shamelessly steal/modify Chao's campaign's character sheets' system, as it makes it much easier to reference :

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Feats & Special Abilities
When listing feats please make it clear which is which, I typically have the left collum as Feats and the right as Special Abilities (which includes racial and class features), though this is by no means the only way to do it.

For Feats, I will need you to write them out in the following way:
[If a Bonus Feat, what class/racial/source is it from] [Level Attained]. [Name of Feat] ([Source of Feat])
e.g. Campaign 1. Force of Personality (Complete Adventurer)
Human 1. Able Learner (Races of Destiny)

For Special Abilities, I will need you to write them out in the following way:
[Source of special ability]. [Name of special ability]: [Uses per day, DCs and other relevent information that changes depending on level, ability scores, etc.] ([Ex, Su or SP]) ([Source of the ability, including class variants and the like])
e.g. Rogue. Sneak Attack +4d6 (Ex) (PHb)
Monk. Stunning Fist: 9/day, DC 20 (Ex) (PHb)

Items
To begin with, use the weight collum to keep a running total of the price, however note down the weight of the items as well, as I will be taking into account the weight of them.

Also, please remember to put your weapons, armour and/or shield (if you have them) in the items section as well .

Skills
In the Notes section, please set out where you get your skill points in the following way, repeating as neccessary for each level:
[Levels] ([Class+Int]) = [Class skill points per level+Int x [Levels, +3 if including 1st] = [Skill point total for thiose levels]
e.g. Rogue 1-9 (Int 18) = (8 + 4) x 12 = 144
Wizard 1-3 (Int 17) = (2 + 3) x 6 = 30
Wizard 4-9 (Int 18/19) = (2 + 4) x 6 = +36 = 66

Ability Scores
Also in the Notes section, please set out your 'original' Ability scores, before any sort of modifiers (including racial) in the following manner:
[Original Ability Score Name]: [Original Ability Score] ([Bonus' from level, race, items, class, etc., noted in a list])
e.g. Dex: 14 (+2 racial, +1 campaign bonus, +2 level bonus, +2 gloves of dexterity)
Con: 14 (+2 amulet of health)

~MTWC

[Makenshi]

Name: Didina Reid
Race: Halvan Tiefling
Sex: Female
Age: 27
Class: Telepath (Psion)
Alignment: True Neutral
Deity: Inanna
Specialty: Psionics, telepathy and languages (she's fluent in 19 languages)
Traits & Flaws: Noncombatant flaw, polite trait and distinctive trait
Bonus Skills: Knowledge (Halvan Nobility and Inanna)

Description: Didina looks every bit the noble she strives to be, always appearing dressed in immaculate clothing, though not at the expense of comfort or mobility. She is highly distinctive due to the large horns atop her head which she refuses to hide or obscure and is often a point of contention or ridicule for her.

Personality: Didina is a very confident and unshy person. She rarely covers her head (and therefore her horns) and considers suggestions to do so insulting. She was taught to be proud of and take advantage of her abilities, not to scorn them and wallow in self-loathing, afterall, if she was given these natural abilities she may as well use them. She is also very savvy in handling people although her horns and obvious fiendish heritage often work against her at times.

Didina has long been used to the scorn and hatred of others, being a Tiefling, however she can always (and does) simply ignore such fools, considering them unworthy of her time if they can not get past her appearance and actually judge her on her own abilities and personality.

Background: Didina was originally born into a noble family, however the emergence of such a creature caused an uproar between the two families in question, with both sides insisting the newborn baby be at least given away and preferably 'done away with'. The baby Tiefling was fortunate that her mother refused to do either, resulting in social suicide and an exile from the priveledged classes. Her mother raised Didina as much as a noble as she could, teaching the attentive and unusually intelligent girl of intrigue and diplomacy so that she could survive and even thrive in the city.

Didina has since honed both her telepathic abilities (which are actually a secret few people know she possesses) and slowly increased her social status within Halva or, more specifically, Halvanna, by making an increasingly large network of friends and allies from the bottom up. It has gotten to the stage that some joke the Tiefling has developed a cult following, particularly by the younger nobles and other minor nobles in Halvanna.

Didina's most well known (and probably well-liked) friend is Misa Serokai, the blind daugther of the Arian ambassador and famous clothier amongst Halva's nobility in particular. She and Misa spend much of their time together and even accompany each other to the various events Halva's nobility hold in lieu of finding an 'escort' for the evening. Originally, this led some to be worried, however only a little under two years ago someone tried to mug the two when they were walking back to their homes at night. Unfortunately for the would-be mugger Misa, like all Serokai, has been trained almost sicne birth to fight with her hands and feet which, combined with her ability to sense the world around her, led to the mugger receiving a rather resounding defeat.

RP Sample: See Below (she and Misa received their invitations together).

Name: Misa Serokai
Race: Arian [Serokai]
Sex: Female
Age: 26
Class: Monk
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Deity: None
Specialty: Unarmed combat, precognition and clothing.
Traits & Flaws: Misa was born blind (flaw) and possesses the Quick trait.
Bonus Skills: Knowledge (Halvan Nobility) & Perform (piano)

Description: For the daughter of a well-known ambassador, not to mention a well known clothier, Misa's own appearance is surprisingly scruffy whenever she is not required to be dressed formally. Part of the reason for this stems from the fact that, having been born blind, the young Serokai places little important in appearance. That is not to say she is somehow unclean or unkept, just that she does not worry about how people see her.

Misa has the unsettling habit of not fully looking at people when talking them, usually just turning her head in their general direction but staring off into space, which is once again a result of her being born blind. She attempts to correct this whenever she can, however she often forgets that some are bothered by a lack of face-to-face contact. Similarly, her hair often hangs in front of her face, which anyone who relied on sight would find troublesome but Misa finds easier than constantly trying to tie it back.

Personality: Due to having been raised in Halvanna Misa is much more social, talkative and cosmopolitan than the typical Serokai, though she is very much dedicated to her people's traditions and beliefs, such as never using a weapon.

Misa often uses her blindness for humour, particular when people forget the fact she is blind (by asking her how they look for instance, to which she wryly replies "So good I can't take my eyes off of you."). She does this because she dislikes people treating her as fragile or otherwise walking on eggshells around her. By making fun of her own blindness she hopes others will take the hint that it does not bother her.

Background: Misa is the daughter of the Arian Ambassador to Halva and, as a result, has spent most of her life in Halva rather than her father and mother's native Aria. Without a doubt Misa's most defining historical 'event' is that she was born blind, something not as uncommon within the Serokai Kinship as it is in the general populace. In fact, Misa's parents declined various offers to attempt to heal her ailment in favour of having Misa master her inherent precognitive abilities to the extent where she can now not only pinpoint exacty where people are, but she can also tell their shape, size, build and various other little details almost instantaneusly.

In the last few years Misa has used her advanced precognitive abilities in a rather unusual way by making clothes for people. She is in fact very well known in Halva for how well her clothing fits people, as Misa can tell exactly what sort of size and dimensions someone is almost intuatively and make the clothing to that person's exact specifications. The only thing that has stopped her becoming more renown in the past is her obvious limitation when it comes to colour as, while she is considered an excellent fitter and dress-maker, her clothing tends to be of very reserved and basic colours because Misa's experience with colours simply comes through trial and error, having never even seen a colour before.

While Misa, through her parents, knows a great many of Halva's most influencial people and families, she spends much of her time and is most well known for her close friendship with Didina Reid, a Tiefling Telepath and minor noble with somewhat of a 'cult following' among younger nobles and other minor nobles. The two are good friends who often attend Halvan social events together to avoid unwanted attention (as far as Misa is concerned) or attention from unwanted people (as far as Didina is concerned).

RP Sample: "Honestly, I do not know how you can stand sewing, it looks so indeniably dull and boring." The playfully sarcastic tones of Didina Reid filtered throughout Misa's small shop as she was making the finishing touches on a client's shirt. "Not to mention it must calous your fingers by doing it so quickly." The well dressed Tiefling wrinkles her nose in distate at the idea of her hands being marred before caefully inspecting her own, perfectly manicured, hands.

Misa chuckles at her friend's antics, but just as she is about to reply both she and Didina (through her telepathic abilities) feel someone approach and the two turn towards the door just as it opens with the light tingling of the bell above the door chiming out. "Can I help you...?" The Monk asks, having paused mid-stitch. Were she not blind Misa may not have needed to ask that as standing in the doorway was an incredibly well-dressed man wearing the symbolof the Halvan royal family proudly on his chest.

"I am here to personally deliver an important message on behalf of His Royal Highness, King Vulcar II. You two are Misa Serokai and Didina Reid, correct?" They both nod, after which the man promptly hands them their letters. "You need not send a reply back. If you wish to accept His Majecty's invitation then you need only arrive at the appointed time." He gives an almost ridiculously low bow. "Have a pleasant day young misses." As the messenger leaves Misa does not need to see to know that Didina must be smirking or smiling, afterall, a personal invitation to meet the king is bound to increase her standing.

While Misa continues to work on her shirt, Didina quickly reads the letter and beams. "Oh, my no-good father is going to be red in the face when he hears about this." The Tiefling laughs a little harshly at this, although Misa knows it is probably deserved. "Are you not going to read yours Misa?" Almost as soon as Didina lets it slip she realises her mistake, but not quick enough to stop her friend from pouncing on it.

"Sure, just let me get my reading glasses." Both of the friends proceeded to laugh, though Misa knew that Didna's mind was already whirring on how exactly she could use this opportunity to her advantage. 'Same old Didina.'

~MTWC

[Blue]

Name: Nëvh Rudaa ╚╬╝
Race: Human: Rudaa
Sex: Female
Age: 36
Class: Druidic (Avenger + UA Druid variant), Human Paragon, Swordsage, Chameleon (Races of Destiny p.112)
Alignment: True Neutral, now leaning good.
Deities: Faithless. Venerates Fenrir, Jester, Fisali, L'arabiel.
Specialty: Versatility. Tracker. Front fighter.
Traits & Flaws: Meager Fortitude flaw and Slow trait.
Bonus Skills: Craft (Sculpting), Perform (Violin) & Knowledge (The Betrayer Wars)

 

Description:

 

Even from a distance, few needs more than a single glance to see the Aud's repercussions on her body. Her skin tone, although originally pale and slightly cyan, is now darker through the influence of her magical belongings - enough to mistake her for a drow touched when the light is dim. Her eyes are stricken by a bright and vivid azure iris that glows slightly when her blood charges. She has long, flowing black and gray hair reflecting the colors of the ambient light, and she often dyes them in a cerulean blue as part of a family custom.
She stands a bit short at 5'4", and, as a result of her ties with air elementals and magical influence, weights close to nothing (37.8 pounds!).

Despite a pretty face, this one fails to reflect any real personality, which leaves people on their toes when dealing with her. She smells like the rain and her voice is soft and shy but strikes like thunder when her emotions are stirred. The air around her seems dense and wild, short sparks of electricity lashing about if she does not suppress them. This intimidating trait is in contrast with her feverish appearance, for she seems sick and in pain when she doesn't .

Other features of note are her worn-out clothes, black battledress and trousers woven from shambling mound fibers she obsessively insists on wearing at all times, removing them only sometimes to take a bath and during fornication. After wearing them for about 15 years without additional maintenance, they came to look like stitched rags of incredibly high quality (which makes people wonder if she's poor or just fought the battle of her life). She often wears a magical glove made out of shocker lizard skin and a third eye gem shaped like a rudaan sigil of resolve on the middle of her front.

Personality:

 

Nëvh tries to stay polite and courteous among people who means her no harm and finds little joy and comfort in the little victories of everyday.
Her intuitions are insane and she is known to be very perceptive, highly intelligent and quick to judge people out of her earliest observations. She strongly valors unity and loyalty and threats to her peace quickly becomes the focus of her wrath. She oft finds a measure of satisfaction in the defeat of her enemies, but after some significant events in her life she has grown weary of pain in all its manifestations. She seeks harmony but is afraid of becoming too weak to survive in a dark world, and so she keeps a care to nurture a threshold of coldness and detachment.

She fights dirty, feels no shame in using any means to accomplish her goals but is very sensible when it comes to oaths. Evil magic, murder and hostages are considered sacrifices she is willing to make to protect her values and her country. Slaughtering a whole village would be borderline acceptable were she not tormented by the sole idea of killing children. The thought of harming children paralyzes her, and it has become one of her main weaknesses ever since she lost her own from miscarriage.

She is a broken heart, and her shocking nature makes it difficult to establish close relationships. As such, she became a loner who only feels accepted among the Rudaa circles, and one of her greatest fears is to be alone. Her social efforts can be rounded down to her general effort of staying pleasant. In a party, she would try to keep everyone's emotions in check or simply ignore them. She cannot truly empathize or sympathize with another. Her words and intents often lacks the warmth of sincerity.

Her emotions are strong and contained. She needs to feel in control and usually seems full of confidence and on top of her game, but a complete loss of control always result in a proportional loss of herself. Her emotions can burst wildly and, for a few seconds, she enters a state of enmity from which no wisdom can save her from committing the irrevocable.

Background:

 

Born an inbred, Nëvh received the boon and bane of Aud.
It was both her ticket to survive her own birth and the very reason her people were thinning in numbers. The curse was deeper, still, for from the moment of her birth she needed the full attention of her parents and members of their inner circle in monitoring her degenerating health for signs of sickness and other viral reactions. Newborns were especially vulnerable during the first months and the protection of rudaan druids proved vital to their survival.

Her terrible health problems followed her throughout her childhood like an annoying dog, the dire kind. She was the second child of a family of seven kids, and so received early druidic training to be able to help her brothers and sisters recover from their own problems.

Two important events occurred during those calm days that still bear a meaning to the woman she has become; one being the death of what would had been the sixth child of her family and the second being her marriage.
Before anything else, she was a hunter - and way back at the age of 14, her prime preys were medicinal plants and spell components from various animals. Like any druid worth the dirt under her feet, she was able to survive on her own in the wild for weeks. It was during such a trip that her misfortune brought her against a dire weasel which surprised her in the night. The creature's massive jaw clenched itself onto her right leg, attaching itself to her and draining her blood at an alarming rate. As it always did in such life threatening situations, her Aud blood rushed and shocked the beast on every turn. Seeing herself losing blood quickly and feeling her health going downhill again, she zapped it once more and vigorously stabbed its head repeatedly in a desperate frenzy.

Although she had survived the encounter, the jaw of the dead animal was still latched against her leg and refused to let go. In a low blood pressure panic, she strongly considered cutting it off to be free (the leg) but maintained enough sense to behead the critter instead. She traveled with a big skull hooked to her leg for two days through the hills and to the Storm Spines where she was finally found by a Quall ranger and brought back to her family's territory.
She had difficulties running ever since, and during her recovery, she was appointed to take care of her newborn brother seeing how she would spend most of her time in the nursery anyway. The infant ultimately died on her watch even though she had managed to raise a signal to call for support. Her parents couldn't forgive her and endure her presence anymore, and so she got hitched in a hurry to one of her suitors. She married in both love and shame.

 

Her husband was Indraž Rudaa, the ambitious son of a storm sentinel who was only after her potent blood. She ran into him at times during her hunts through the mountains, while he spent most of his time following his father to learn the ropes. He seemed perfect... they were by some miracle unrelated, he was a strong man from a proud circle, and she loved him. It was a joy only overcome by the looming shadow born from the impotency to protect life she had displayed but a few months ago.

Indraž proved to be more than a decent mate. He was two years older than she was and could see her potential better than anyone else. He wanted his mate to be a known defender of Quall as much as he wanted to become one himself, and so she joined the circle of the Storm Sentinels after him three years later. Not long after she took the mantle of the protection of the western coast.

Like there wasn't enough drama already, it was during those years that Sÿoban, her closest friend at the time, abandoned the Kinship to leave the country with pirates.
She felt utterly betrayed and petitioned the high order to go after him overseas and hunt him down personally, much to her husband's displeasure.

Sÿoban was about her age and had never been anything close to the serious type. A cunning artist and a swift blade, he was the son of a low blooded Rudaa merchant while his own heritage was pretty decent. He was fascinated by the events of the Betrayer Wars and used his father's connections to get his paws on many history books on the subject. The reason of his treachery was unknown to her, but matters of loyalty had become of prime importance in her values, above friendship, and everything else.

 

She learned as she sailed the Eastern Ocean how awfully vulnerable she was to seasickness. Her destination was the country of Halva, for after reading some of the illicit literature he had been hiding within his residence, it felt like the place he would go to gain more knowledge. Her journey proved to be filled with a bigger share of challenges than she expected. Running into both sea-monsters and pirates alike.

Survival in the vast lands of Halva became the foundation of her mastery over the unexpected. Filling mercenary jobs of every flavors to make some coins allowed Nëvh to qualify for every odd jobs available. From thievery to body guarding and from cooking to assistant in various arcane and divine rituals.
All along, she employed and bribed different organizations to try and locate the betrayer using her newly acquired funds. Learning of his progress as he seemingly attempted to recover an old instrument of war used by Zera less than 30 years ago.

Hiring a party of various talents, she used her contacts to finally catch up with Sÿoban and confront him. In the end, he confessed that although he had never wooed her, he did feel a grand affection to her person ~ooooh~. Unsettled by the over dramatic revelation, it yet didn't stop her from overthrowing him in a climatic battle under the ruins of Vlan where he awaited her.
His followers scattered across the country and the enigmatic instrument was left for the Seis to take care of, with her compliments. She burned his body and kept his head as the proof of her victory over those disloyal to the Kinship and her own feelings.

 

Her accomplishments in Halva weren't left unnoticed, giving her some measure of fame among those informed on all matters linked to the Betrayer Wars. Her services abroad conveniently served to excuse her two years long absence and, upon hearing of the strength and fame his wife had gained from her journeys, Indraž more than welcomed her back within his household and the circle of the sentinels.

The experience as a whole changed her. Her limited reenactment of Jester and Nykal's struggle gave her new insights on her view of the Betrayer Wars and what remained after its end. She began the worship of Jester and Fenrir and seemed colder than ever, her mind freed from all restrains yet trapped in the dark.

 

Nëvh had been quite gloomy ever since she returned from the Southern Continent. It came to the attention of the members of her house that she rarely ever removed the clothes she wore during her showdown below Vlan. The major cuts where she had been wounded were sewn back and the battledress and trousers were ready for combat again. Indraž started to worry over her well-being. He decided the time was perfect to generate offsprings and so they began to actively work on it.

They couldn't manage to get a child within the first year following her return, and so she began taking assignments again overseas. Her reputation made her a key piece in Quall's foreign issues. She spied, hand-delivered documents, hunted specific threats and chased Vash abductors of fellow Kinship members among other things - she went off for such requests about twice a year. She thus missed all three Seis'kerta while being on duty, an event she had hoped to participate in at least once during her lifetime, if only for the sake of measuring the depth of her abilities with the more experienced warriors of the known world.
Upon her return from each missions, the focus of her attention was becoming a mother.
After 6 years spent so, they both came to think one of them probably was sterile and so they gave up on the idea. No more than a few months after Nëvh got pregnant.
The next 7 months overwhelmed her with a newfound joy. Days were spent making toys for her future babe and songs were sung, turning this period of peace into the most fulfilling one she, who lived for battle, had ever experienced.

The kid came out a bit earlier than expected... and didn't turn out so well. The infant's Aud shredded it from inside as it began breathing, or perhaps it was hers who considered the child an enemy as they were about to separate. Her husband took it extremely bad and, after they were finally alone, accused her and her damned blood to be so murderous that it killed the child and the fruit of his every seeds up to that day, inadvertently aborting every fetus they had conceived. He went on and on, depicting how he had been a fool for taking her for wife only for her Aud as she ended up slaughtering his own lineage with it, cursing her a thousand times through the heat of his anger.

He then met the heat of hers.
The strength induced from the intense pain of labor was more than enough to pin the man down and shove a sharp metallic object down his throat that then served as a conductor for her Aud shocks, easily stunning him. She proceeded to cut his tongue off, liberating herself from his horrible accusations and curses (and preventing him from casting spells) and used her own spells to beat him up senseless into a coma. She binded his body and dragged him to their private grove were she buried him alive along with the corpse of their child and every toys she had crafted during her pregnancy.
Offering the man who had broken her heart to Deimos, she sealed his fate with this vengeful act, one she fully acknowledged to be evil. It freed her from his presence and had mostly been performed to avoid feeling such pain again. "Do unto others before they do unto you''... She though she maybe understood the demon's pain just then, and felt confident in the fact that her husband deserved much worse for his misdeeds.

However, in the end, she didn't feel any peace at all - only emptiness, and darkness.

 

The months following the 'event' unfolded much more smoothly than expected. They lived quite a distance away from the Kinship's stronghold, and so very few bothered to visit... especially after hearing of the miscarriage from the midwife. Indraž's parents were both dead and he had never really been in touch with his family at the capital. His sour relations with them maybe was what gave him such a strong desire to stick out of the lot.

She didn't need to hide much of the truth as she declared her late-husband's death; stating that he died from a heated duel between the two of them over the death of their babe. Those who knew Indraž well, (probably better than she did herself, seeing how she spent most of her time out of the country) couldn't see how it could had ended any other way! Indraž happened to be more violent than he had let her see, and she understood that she actually could had been the one killed back then.
It was indeed a relief, in a sense, but the child's loss had broken her more deeply than anything else; a direct return to her brother's death and a memento of her inability to protect the lives of those she really cares about.

She thus embraced her destructive nature completely, and returned to a world of strife as soon as she physically recovered from her miscarriage, stronger and more resolved than ever.

She rose two crosses within her private grove. One to personally crucify her husband would he somehow return from the dead, and a second one (not as some sort of tombstone for her dead kid, as most might think) for herself, to remember that this is where she would belong would she ever lose the will to fight.

...then, before the end of the first month following the tragedy, she received an anonymous message sent to her attention through the wind to tease her about the irony of life. The author referred to events that had taken place during their common childhood, obviously to give solid hints of its identity being Sÿoban, apparently back from the dead.

She rose a third cross that day, and left her home to the Storm Spines' peak to petition for more assignments in the country of Halva.

Her existence throughout the next ten years led her to a few assignments in which her path mingled and crossed those of some interesting personalities.
Including but not limited to Keiji Kigo and Su'rion, with whom she shared a job during an operation in Halva. The trio shared more affinities than she though possible, and although they would probably never admit it, she and Su'rion learned much from each other in their mutual mastery of the Art of Everything.

Other contacts worth of mention are her participation to several Quall diplomatic and trade efforts in which she delivered letters (well, mostly repeating verbally the messages and remembering their answers, sometimes bringing documents to sign common agreements). Some of which where handed first to Atish, and later then to Aiden Dragonblaze when he replaced him. She quickly learned to thread carefully with that man, becoming highly self-aware in his presence and weighing her every words no matter how much trust his smile inspired.

Although she visited several countries, most of her time abroad was spent in the Southern Continent, Halva, specifically. And this on purpose to gain more informations about the possibility of Sÿoban's return, which she had yet to truly confirm. After more than ten years of apparent inactivity, whatever he was up to he definitely had a lot of time to prepare.

Roleplaying Sample:

 

A new strand of her story began with its previous chapter still open.
It had been more than ten years and she merely kept her eyes open for ghosts, moving on. The catalyst arrived during her time of rest in Quall: half a year's worth of securing the borders as she pleased. A Quall runner she had briefly met during reunions at the capital came with a request of attendance to receive a message by the seaside of the western coast. A ship wearing the Halvan flags, kept at bay from the mountains by a group of sentinels, requested her presence for a matter most urgent.
After receiving acceptable coordinates, she turned into clouds and dashed off to meet the royal courier.

As her form shaped back into solid matter by the seashore, she raised her hand and boarded the vessel. It wasn't the first time she had received assignments from foreign employers, individuals and government alike. They all came via intermediaries or directly but rarely were they seeking her out within her homeland (Seeing how those requests always had to go through the leaders of the main circle firsthand)

~Actual Sample~
She gave an appraising eye over the ship's crew. Sailors, seven halvan warriors, what was most likely two mages, and... the courtier, tense. She either made him nervous or he hated traveling by sea as much as her. He seemed young for such a dangerous journey in those pirate infested waters. But these days, it was hard to stay sheltered for long. Kids faced danger so ever younger. Tragedy awaits behind every door and death waits for no one.
"I, am Nëvh Rudaa. What business draws the Halvan king to me?"

His answer proved ambiguous at best, the poor man truly had no idea but he had come with a letter of invitation of the utmost priorities. Handing it over to her with a grace filled with a yet unmatched level of honors. Her voice was low and hissing.
"...mmhh. Yes~... 'honored."
As she reached for the document, her hand and arm gave short sparks that immediately had the courier coil back in return.
She casually responded to the reaction by retrieving a dark glove from her haversack to *protect* the messenger from the unlikely shock. She then gently but firmly took the letter off his hands and opened the seal. Unfolding the letter with a tight grip as to prevent the paper from being blown away with the wind. Reading it in one unbroken silence.

It did *not* look like any request she had received thus far, which, if anything, had her worried. Was this Matter of Great Importance linked to the Betrayer Wars or her involvement in the matter seventeen years ago? Contacting her personally in her own land only meant it wasn't connected to Quall at all, and wasn't secret enough to endanger his already awkward relationship with her country - it would have to be a favor, of sorts.

There was a twinkle in her eye just then.
"Acknowledged! You may leave now..."
She coughed, weakly, but still she seemed decided and strong.
"Oh... yes: May your journey be swift under Tahllys' protection. You have my blessing."

She left a respectful nod, for courtesy's sake, and retreated skyward to the Kinship's headquarters to report her latest assignment and intentions before beginning preparations. As all things Rudaan, it took a while to position a real decision on the matter... but seeing how she wouldn't have to worry about time spent on transportation, all fitted right on schedule!

 

-

Mrith Jenn'la Rudaa MRITH ∙ JENN'LA ∙ RUDAA ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪   Race: Emerald Dragon, Humanborn   Sex: Female   Age: 33   Class: Dragonfire Adept 5, Singer of Concordance 9   Alignment: True Neutral, leaning Neutral Good   Deity: Faithless but venerates Crone   Specialty: Off-tank with area damage and control.   Traits & Flaws: Noncombatant   Bonus Skills: Knowledge (Tales and Folklore), Perform (half Dance, half Singing)   ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ₪ஔ Developed Information Description   Mrith is a vision of radiance, beauty and color. She has a petite body type and stands short at the height of 5'6", though she still has some years of growth left in front of her. She is still quite young for her race. Seen as juvenile by her kind, her body's proportions and figure are those of a young adult human woman but her traits are still those of a teenaged one. Her facial traits betray her Quallish descent but they also strongly suggest an Arian heritage. As would be expected of a dragon of her age, she looks quite young despite her years. As expected of someone of her social status, she also has the freshness of one unexposed to the ravages of the elements and to regular physical labor. The human skin she was born with has statuesque features and a warm, silky face - one she considers plain in how human it appears. This obviously major issue is typically one she remedies to with diverse applications of make-up and war paints of various styles that fit her mood and fancies. Mrith is very self-conscious and takes great care to keep a straight posture and appear as majestic and otherworldly as she can. She does not deem sufficient for others to know that she is not human, she desires them to remain continuously very aware of it. Unlike everyone else affiliated to the family of the Rudaan House of Yesterwind, she avoids dying her hair blue. Her bright forest hair being one of the few distinctive traits of her race, she ignores the custom to express her lack of concern toward her human origins and the pride she feels for what she estimates to be an higher state of being. The humanborn is quite fashionable, which is normal considering that she cares a great deal for the image she projects. Usually she marries gradient shades of gold, jade, pink and cold colors that goes well with her hair and her emerald eyes. She tries to avoid headgear as they are bothersome when facing strong winds, which is why she often settles for pins and ribbons. Strangely, she tends to avoid jewelry if only because she prefers to keep them in her hoard. When she evolves into an emerald dragon's draconic form with the aid of her catalyst, she becomes (to the untrained human eye) a typical emerald dragon. Her body is much like a long winged snake with clawed limbs on a large torso. Her horns are much darker than most of her kind and the her scales gradually lose their reflectiveness below her neck. She has been seen to breath other sources of energy beside electricity, which is actually quite strange.   Mrith is a very selfish individual that has a lot of difficulty putting her own desires to silence - not for lack of trying. Her strong sense of compassion is in perpetual clash with her identity crisis. She is a dragon, but humanborn, which effectively makes her a cripple as far as dragonkind is concerned. In the face of ridicule and shame of her lesser existence, she grew up with the choice of either embracing the semblance of humanity she had been locked into or cling ferociously to what little 'dragon' she has in her, and chose the later. It took a lot of self-searching to finally accept her human shape and try to see it as inconsequential to the reality of her dragonhood. It made her seek a greater understanding of what it meant to be a dragon. She explores the question by collecting information on the history of dragons, tracing the genealogy of as many dragons as she can and as far as she may, trying to find the roots of the race back to Crone and the first dragons of Aheka, hoping to find an answer. Crone being the origin, she took her teachings to heart and found peace as she let them guide her in life. The first dragons come from Her influence and so it made sense that by sticking close to what remained of Her she might be able to close the gap and be whole again. Trying to follow the Zodiac in heart and mind, and understanding all too well the pain in being humanborn, she reached out to those she found within human societies and by chance during her expeditions to try and help them find peace with their condition and both aspects of their existence as well. Another important objective of hers is acquiring independence of her human obligations as a child of the matriarch. Her mother's ambitions are great and she traced her life for her, which involved among other things that she wouldn't be able to choose her husband or mate. She could try to leave her family and Kinship behind to be free, of course, but she likes them and is honestly rather fond of her luxurious lifestyle, which makes the dilemma all the more difficult. Harder still since she also feels obliged to comply to her mother's needs, for the good of the House, as a mean to contribute to the restoration of the Rudaa bloodline but mostly because she cannot help but bend to her will. Her hobbies usually involve archery/hunting, gossip, social games, singing and dancing and storytelling. She has written a few songs and dances based on her favorite tales but hasn't published any of them, preferring to hire performers to execute them in private for her own enjoyment. Being able to take on a dragon form, she does not really need any tool to hunt but she greatly enjoys the principle of the bow and arrow, finding that the use of tools is more challenging and sees it as one of the joys of having a human appearance. As expected of an emerald dragon, she can be very blunt and loud. She possesses a good sense of humor, insatiable curiosity, a keen love for travel and hunting and feels no shame in being openly affectionate toward people she is endeared of. She is highly reflective and spends time to identify and understand her own emotions, which tends to make her less impulsive. She has a few 'natural' compulsions, such as the urge to hoard stuff of value into a neatly organized pile. A less healthy compulsion to hoard less valuable stuff, as she hates to discard anything (a compulsion she "fights" by limiting her acquisition of useless junk to a minimum). A surefire way to irritate her is to put her flaws in evidence. She no longer sees her human body as shaming but it is natural for a cripple to be upset when one makes fun of their situation. She is very protective (and possessive) of those she takes under her wing, but never puts them above her own life if she feels her own existence threatened, which she believes justified by her belief that she is a person a greater value, quality and importance than the greater majority of humans could ever be - and in the best of worlds, they would all agree. This is part of why she wants to be acknowledged as a dragon, and be treated as one would treat a dragon. She *could* remain constantly in a draconic form to fulfill that desire, but though Mrith can be vain, she prefers to rely on her natural charm and force of personality to win people over and get them to accept her superiority. Despite having a large sense of pride Mrith does not openly look down on anyone - she acknowledges that others are full-fledged individuals, all born with the right to be respected until their actions prove otherwise. Ideally, everyone is equal... but some are more equal than others. Story   WIP

[Sedracus]

Name: Amandus
Class: Gate/Warlock/Eldritch Advent
Sex: Yes please, if you're female (He's a male)
Age: 42
Race: Atralumi
Slivers of Public Knowledge about Amandus:
Amandus, who grew up in the slums of Halvana, quickly worked his way up the pecking order with his charming manners and quick wit, and attaining a reputation for being willing to do all sorts of jobs as long as he was confident he would be able to do it. He has traveled the lands for a number of years, only few countries have been spared his womanizing ways for the time being, because he hasn't gotten around to them yet.
If you feel you'd know more about Amandus: PM me with a good reason, and I'll consider telling you more.

[LordSoul]

Name: Argyl Rasuil, 'The Bronze Eyed Scholar'
Race: Aasimar
Sex: Male
Age: 43
Class: Cleric of Tiaan 10 (Cloistered Cleric variant, UA pg 50)/Apostle of Tiaan 4 (from Paragnostic Apostle, CoC pg 95)
Alignment: True Neutral
Deity: Tiaan
Specialty: Divine spellcaster, healer, advisor
Traits & Flaws: Distinctive (+1 Rep, -1 Disguise)
Bonus Skills: Craft (Calligraphy), Perform (Mandolin)

 

Although Argyl's aasimar traits are somewhat farther removed than is perhaps typical for one of his heritage, most people would still find him quite striking. Fairly tall at 6"3', lean of build and possessing a handsome but very human face, the only obvious indicators of his ancestry are the burnished gold irises of his eyes. His hair is a simple brown and of medium length, with the natural blonde highlights of one who spends much time outdoors , well groomed and usually held back with a leather tie or circlet (more for practical than esthetic reasons). His features are perfectly symmetrical and his teeth almost unnaturally white and straight, his complexion travel-tanned but fair. Although he is just over 40 years old, his physical 'human' appearance would better fit someone in their late 20s.

 

Argyl is something of a mixed batch, personality wise. Despite his heritage, he has never felt any particular pull toward the ideals of altruism and self-sacrifice. In fact, those ideas run contrary to his logical word view. Charity, given overmuch, can weaken a persons sense of self reliance and make them dependant on the often fickle kindness of others. At the same time, he is not entirely a creature of unfeeling logic.

'Purpose' is a word and concept that drives most everything in his life. Nothing can be done unless it has some kind of purpose behind it, and the thirst for knowledge is usually his. As such, he can be inquisitive to a fault, though not in a childish manner. More of a my-god-who-called-the-inquisition manner.

Interpersonally, Argyl can be rather moody. Though able to debate in nearly any subject of life and deliver speeches befitting of royalty when need be, more often he is aloof and focused on whatever question or subject is occupying his thoughts. Because of this, he can come off as dismissive or arrogant to the point of being harsh and uncaring. The truth of the matter is that usually he just wants to be left alone and hates having his thoughts interrupted. Conversely, if something new catches his attention, he can be extremely passionate in his desire to delve deeper into the inner workings of the fascinating new puzzle.

Because of his many and varied subjects of interest and general curiosity, he has become an expert in even the most obscure realms of knowledge, able to call up seemingly random bits of historical information and lore. Amongst his friends (which are few and scattered around the world) and his colleges, he is oft to show off this mastery of trivia and enjoys challenges of wit and learning. He also enjoys sharing and enjoying his love of music, and it is usually though his playing of the mandolin that he finds common ground with people he might normally dismiss as being, er... less 'educated' than he usually interacts with.

 

Argyl was, many years ago, a strange looking orphan at the doorsteps of a church in a small city not far from the Kuri headquarters in Xolar. He was cared for and loved by it's patrons, as he was an extremely bright and curious child who showed much future potential. He learned to read before his fourth winter at the church, and as he grew up amongst the parish he found his place with the scribes and historians there. Eagerly, he dove into what books they held there at the church without a care as to their subject. He read and learned about theology, history, the natural sciences, and even a little of the unnatural and arcane. He had a knack for languages as well, and even at the tender age of 10 was earning money as a scribe and translator.

Much to the chagrin of the priests there, however, he never found the inner faith to become a cleric of the Saviors. While he appreciated everything that they had done for humanity, he didn't necessarily believe them worthy of worship. In his opinion, people's lives were better spent thinking of the possibilities of the future and not in reverence of the past. In his 12th year, he used what pocket money he had earned to buy passage to Larton, having heard rumors of a temple there dedicated to a being named Tiaan and the wealthy of knowledge stored within. What he found there would transcend even the wildest dreams of the young lad.

Upon reaching the gates of the temple, he inquired the clergy of this grand library and was informed there were two ways to gain access... the priesthood, or money. As he had spent all of the latter, he asked to join their ranks as a holyman of Tiaan. At first he met with laughter, as the clergymen didn't believe an orphan from a simple village in the south could have the teachings or discipline required for their works. Yet as they questioned and tested him, they discovered that the breadth and depth of his knowledge was far beyond his years, and what was more, gained through his own self study and desire for learning.

So began his journey into this chapter of his life. Once he had been properly taught the beliefs and dogma of his new found god, he was accepted into their ranks, and soon found that there was more to learning than can be found in the pages of a book. He learned of the realms beyond his material surroundings, of immortal beings and the rituals necessary to draw upon their thousands of years worth of knowledge. He learned of the great heroes and scholars of the past, names like Tiaan (how it inspired him to know that one could even attain deihood through knowing!) and Alistair Teel, and how they aquired most of what they knew through experience, that one most important teacher that cannot be found in a library, and by plumbing into the dark, secret and dangerous corners of the world. Yet even the temple there could not feed the hunger that possessed Argyl. After his years of study there were over, he decided it was once again time to move on. His destination this time was the city of Jracht, the residency of his god, the lord of knowledge and magic himself.

Here, he once again started from humble beginnings. An unadopted, Nameless orphan from the Xolarian countryside, quiet and unassuming, he was easily forgotten. Only those intense, burnished eyes made him memorable... at first. Realizing that some areas of knowledge were in greater demand than others, he focused his learning in certain directions. The theology of his faith, of course, and as the connection to his god grew stronger so did his divine magics. The aristocracy and it's endless game of politics, the intricate dances of the noble class, these were very lucrative subjects. As were geography and history, to a lesser extend (but Argyl loved history in particular). Anatomy and medicine, the arts of the healer, offered many interesting jobs. Last but not least, the arcane and it's vast realm of secrets was probably the most in demand.

As he studied these, through books, lecture halls, divinations and extraplanar council, he also continued his original works as a humble scribe and linguist. Indeed, he copied so many spell scrolls that, though he never became a practicing wizard, he found that he was able to utilize many of the arcane spells contained on their pages, as long as he had the appropriate scroll on hand. Despite his concentration on certain realms of knowledge, Argyl still found that simply by the breadth of his studies he was able to recall even the most obscure bits of knowledge.

As his reputation grew and his field of work became larger and larger, his quiet demeanor began to fade. He loved best his colleges in fields of debate, found joy in the challenges of political council. Soon he was in demand as an advisor, diplomat, researcher, healer and translator. Finally the day came when he was asked for a different sort of mission... he began travelling, both through his newly adopted homeland of Nihl and afar, to remote areas of interest. Ancient ruins, forgotten tombs, the well protected keep of a crazed rogue wizard... Argyl found that without knowing it he was becoming a valuable resource to the kinship of Teel, the royal family of Nihl and even the secretive Shades, men and woman who followed in the footsteps of one of Argyl's heroes, the original Shade himself, Alistair. It was only a matter of time before he realized who it was that he was working with, and for, but the discovery only led him to seek a more active role in these organizations.

The overall level of tension, the responsibilities of his role and the inherent dangerous of his work were vastly increased, but he had finally gained access to that last, most important field of knowledge; those lessons that only trials, tribulations, experience and danger can teach you. Yet the rewards in worldliness, esoteric knowledge, and of course treasure that comes with such missions was more than worth the risk to this hardened scholar.

It is after just such an adventure that Argyl finds himself in Halvan. Much discouraged by the fact that most of his time had been wasted with mending the broken bones and rended flesh of young fools with dreams bigger than the monsters that lived to crush them, he has spent the last week enjoying the plethora of libraries available to him in Halvana, the largest city in the world and one of it's great centers of learning.

 

He was sitting in his favorite spot; a well cushioned chair with a small desk, just big enough for one person. The oak framed window was etched with beautiful whirling patterns of color, but what Argyl liked best was the way the early morning sun warmed the nook without placing too much glare on the pages of today's book, 'Zephyra, A Brave New General in a Brave New World'. It was newly published, and in Argyl's professional opinion rather frivolous, seeking to idolize the young and influential leader rather than the things that made her so influential. Still, it was a light morning read, and the cup of mulled wine on the table helped immensely. Just as he was getting settled in, Argyl heard someone else enter the small bookstore.

"Excuse me ma'am, do you know a mister Argyl? Argyl Rasuil? I heard he might be found here."

The voice came floating back from the front of the store, a clear high voice not unlike that of a herald. Argyl couldn't see the speaker from his position, as the reading nook was purposely put behind a bookshelf in the far corner, and he was glad that he was effectively hidden as well.
By Tiaan, I've just finished watching after a litter of young pups with heads thicker than their sword arms. I hope Lucia doesn't tell him...

"Why, yes I do actually! You've come to the right place dearie. Argyl! You have a visitor!"

Well, too late for that. Pretending as if he couldn't hear the woman, Argyl sinks a little deeper into his seat and said a silent prayer that his 'visitor' would just go away. Instead, he heard two sets of footsteps approaching his desk-turned-fort as he raises the book above eye level to obscure his face.

"Yes, there he is, hiding as usual. Argyl, shame on you. This man-" but she was cut off before she could continue.

"Sir, I bring you a most urgent letter. It's taken most of the morning to find you. Here."

Slightly put off by the man's abrupt manner, Argyl lowers the book and glares at him over the rim. He takes the letter and without looking at it sets it down. "Now look here, young man, you should know better than-"

Again, the man interrupts, "I'll be on my way, since I have more of these yet to deliver. Good day sir." Without another word, he turns and leaves the store, leaving Argyl and Lucia in silent wonder at his rude manners. Just as Lucia began berating the strange fellow, Argyl picks up the letter. As soon as he sees the seal on the bottom, the woman's words fade into the background, lost behind his thoughts as he pondered what the strange letter could mean. He stands, leaving the afore mentioned book open on the table, "I'm sorry Miss Lucia but I must be going. I'm afraid I can't discuss the details." Leaving the now twice shocked storekeeper in his wake, he heads to the inn where he has been staying to get ready for this surprising meeting. With the King!

[LordJecks]

Name: Sorrian "Harlequin" Nom
Race: Kigo
Sex: Male
Age: 23
Class: Scout/Assassin/Shadow Hand Assassin
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Deity: Ruaci
Specialty: Stealth, Infiltration, Speed, Scouting, Assassination, Information, Shadow Hand Network Connections, DPS
Traits & Flaws: Quick, Skinny & Shaky
Bonus Skills: Knowledge (Halvan Local), Knowledge (Shadow Hand)

 

Much like his personality Sorrian appearance changes frequently, but he has two main persona's. In the service of the king he wears pure black, a buttoned black leather coat covering most of his body, save for his harlequin mask with its signature lightening bold. A pair of clawed gloves adorn his hands, a weapon and trade mark of his feared by any that have heard of him.

While in his off time, he dresses much like your average farmer, though he is really wearing his glammered equipment, and acts the same, something he doesn't find difficult as it was the way he was raised.

 

 

For King and Country are the words that Sorrian lives his life by. As a member of the shadow hand he sees him self just as that, the King's hand working in the shadows. He and his companions do everything and anything for the sake of the King and their country, including things that the king could never openly admit to doing. That being said Sorrian is not a cold hearted bastard, preferring to stay his hand when possible and take the route with less bloodshed, though when need be he is a heartless slayer of men, woman or children.

In many ways Sorrian seems to exhibit almost to different personalities. When in service of the king, wearing his mask, he is cold and calculating following his orders to the word leaving no witness or evidence traceable to him, the organization or the king. Meanwhile on his "free" time, usually spent within the hall of the hand, he is a far more talkative type and friendly. On the few times he leaves the hall he hides his abilities and acts like a normal citizen.

 

Sorrian was born into the illustrious Nom-Kigo family, the main financial backers in the Kigo kinship, famous throughout Halva. They have their hands in every business venture from shipping to farming and even mercenary work. The main family held a large estate in the capital Halvana from which they control their vast financial empire.

At least this was what Sorrian was taught by his father, a low level branch member of House Nom-Kigo and retired mercenary now working the land. Sorrian's father, Tarrios had been a monster in his day earning himself the nick name "The Iron Mountain". Much to his father's disappointment Sorrian inherited his mother's, a Nom-Kigo from the other side of the low Branch family, stature and physic.

It quickly became apparent that not matter how much they fed him or trained him in his father's techniques that boy was never going to inherit his father's nickname. Unsure of how to continue with his son training Tarrios decided to enlist him in the Halvan Army and let his son figure out the rest himself. Sorrian's father had done the same at his age and had quit the army after a few campaigns to enter the more lucrative mercenary business.

Sorrian's potential shown through in his basic training. He was a natural scout and Reconnoiter. He was able to disappeared in the woods making no more sound than a mouse and could find the quickest paths to traverse. With his instructors nomination he was assigned to the elite forward unit of the first army where he's fame only continued to grow. His talents we put to a new use in this unit. Assassination.

Sorrian prove a natural, slipping in between enemy lines without a sound and more often than not only leaving his target dead as he left. Word of his abilities quickly spread throughout the army and a nickname began circulating. Harlequin the masked killer. Sorrian merely laughed at the name and let it slide. The solidiers need something to cheer them up and keep them in high spirits and it didn't both him so why not keep it.

Shortly after his nickname spread throughout the army that he was granted some leave and he went home to visit his father on the family farm. Arriving home he found his father out in town most likely selling his crop for the season. Letting himself in Sorrian took a seat at the kitchen table when he noticed something slightly out of place, a bunch of offical looking documents on his father's desk.

Curious Sorrian picked up one and began reading through it. It listed all of the garrison along the Aria border. Wondering why his father would have something like this Sorrian continued to leaf through the documents till he stumbled upon a pair of damning documents. A letter from a notable Arian general and a response letter written in his father's own hand. Sorrian dropped the letters shocked at their implication.

Was his father a traitor? The evidence was convincing enough, but didn't his father deserve a chance to defend himself before he turned him in? No his duty lay with the crown first and the safety of the nation. Besides given this information the Arian's could easily breakthrough the border killing thousands. No better one should die to protect thousands. Carefully placing the documents back the way he found them Sorrian quickly returned everything to way it was before he entered and left to report to the local authority of his father's treachery.

It was this that caught the eye of the Shadow Hand and led to his eventual induction into the royal order, and the knowledge that the entire fiasco had been a setup to test his loyalty. After one especially difficult assassination, the general of a rather large rebellion force, Sorrian returned to camp exhausted and ready to sleep. Entering his tent his skin began crawling. Something was out of place. Had the rebellion managed to get an assassin through their lines to kill him?

"Ah so the rumors have some truth to them then. Have a seat boy we need to talk" came a voice from the back right corner of the tent, a corner enveloped in shadows.

Sorrian continued to stand eying the corner with suspicion till the strange threw something down at his feet. A letter with the seal of the king. "Though you might find that interesting" said the voice maintaining a cool neutrality. "Seems the upper echelons of the hand have taken an interest in you. As you'll find in the letter you've been reassigned to us. Pack your things we leave in five minutes. Your new name in the organization will be Harlequin, which I've heard your already familiar with. Your still free to contact your family during your down time, we've always need of more eyes in the country, but your not to mention the hand.". The shadows in the tent corner dissipated revealing the empty tent corner.

Five minutes a voice echoed in his mind. Sorrian quickly began packing his things

 

A year had passed since his induction into the Shadow Hand when Sorrian received the letter from a higher ranking member of the hand. He had excelled and passed his testing in at record speeds and though he'd only been on a few official missions, completed with relative ease, the masters of the hand saw great potential in him. He was the perfect weapon. Silently, Deadly, Loyal to throne and country, and never ask questioned his orders.

Curious at who would be writing him Sorrian flipped the letter over to open it. He froze. It was the kings seal. He had only seen the seal once before but that had changed his live forever (for the better). Breaking the seal he opened the letter he quickly scanned it through. "Surely one with more experience would be better suited for this than I?" he asked.

Yarian, the hand member who had brought him the letter shook his head, "Seems you've caught the kings eye. You've talent boy and your minor ranking in the hand could be played to our advantage should you fail. A rookie agent gone rogue. No you are exactly what the king needs. You best hurry the meeting is in half an hour."

Sorrian nodded and hurried back to his room. He changed into his working clothes and pack what he though he would need. What was the king need him to do? Deal with a rebellious noble? Corrupt church officials? Sorrian didn't know, but whatever it was he would do it. The king had placed his trust in him and he wouldn't let him down. This was the greatest task yet set before him and he would do his king and country proud.

Character Details

[Watcher]

Character Name: Syltar Dragonblaze Race: Ruby-touched Halvan Sex: Male Age: 24 Class: Sorcerer 5/Dragonheart Shaper 10 Alignment: Neutral Good Deity: Tiaan Specialty: Spellcasting Powerhouse Traits & Flaws: Frail - Syltar looks gaunt, pale and suffers from coughing fits from extended physical exertion. Bonus Skills: Profession: Scribing, Knowledge: Politics   Description: Syltar is a lean individual, with a severe lack of body mass on his frame. Due to his lack of bodily fat, Syltar appears gaunt, with his cheeks shallow and his overall appearance seeming undernourished. Standing at just under six foot, with considerably less weight than someone his height should have, Syltar is also considerably pale, giving him a distinctly ill look. In truth, the Dragon-touched is sickly, his body suffering from a chronic case of infection that causes him shortness of breath, coughing fits and a constant exhaustion. A vial filled with liquid can be seen on the front of Syltar’s belt at all times, which he refers to simply as his ‘medicine’. With long auburn hair pulled into a tight knot at the nape of his neck, and bright red eyes, Syltar looks every bit the Dragonblaze. His usual clothing includes a brown vest, a crisply clean white long-sleeved shirt, a thick belt, and long black pants. He also has gloves, which are fingerless to allow for ease of scribing, leather boots that are well worn, and a heavy dark cloak complete with a hood. Around Syltar’s neck is a necklace, made of silver with a red crystal encrusted star from his deceased father. The significance of it obvious to any who know of the young man’s loss. Attached to Syltar’s belt (other than his gold pouch) is a wooden tube that contains his journal scroll, which has been water proofed with a rubber lid and seal; as well as a small box at his lower back that holds an ink vial and writing implement, and he can often be seen writing into the weathered scroll, especially when there is little else to do or say. He also has a bag, kept at his left side with the strap across his chest and over his right shoulder, where he keeps his spell items and apparatus. It is obvious to the perceptive that the bag holds more than it should. The last item Syltar owns is his wooden walking staff, which doubles as both walking aid and weapon, if required. There is nothing special about the staff, save it has a place at the top that allows for the Dragon-touched’s familiar, a raven, to perch.   Personality: Syltar was raised in the upper echelons of Halvan society, and it shows. Unfailingly well-mannered, he is intolerant of crudity and brashness. At times, he can also be quite solitary and standoffish, especially among people he doesn't know. He is not emotionally demonstrative, and he has been accused of being cold in the past, though he will open up to close friends. Often arrogant, Syltar's also fairly insecure; he has always felt that a large expectation has been put on him, from his peers and his family, and he has to continuously do his best in every aspect of his life. Since he was inducted into the Dragonblaze Academy, he has mostly kept to himself, never speaking of his past to his fellow students. He has always been comfortable alone, enjoying the peace and quiet offered by study and practice; he has no need for trivial comforts or pointless friendship, preferring to focus his life and develop his art. Simply, Syltar respects those above him in station, doesn’t waste time with idle conversation, and gets directly to the point at hand; yet, he will also do the same to those he admires with more sincerity and respect (to those who have earned it). Syltar is an aggressive, experienced student of the Dragonblaze Academy, good with strategic planning and willing to put in the extra work to succeed. He has also hardened his resolve, dedicating his life to unraveling the mysteries of magic, even if ignorant commoners might think his pursuits pointless. From an early age, the path of the magic user has been Syltar’s way, and because of this he is both loyal and prepared for his masters. After all, his masters took him in, nurtured him and trained him; and it remains that Syltar feels he owes something, though he isn’t quite sure what, to the Dragonblaze Academy. He's fairly ethical by most social standards but is by no means a bleeding heart for anything; however, he is fiercely loyal to his kin, and would willingly do anything to ensure they came to no harm. He has also lost any scruples about killing another being, and simply accepts that sometimes it can’t be helped, especially in a land bathed in war throughout history. And while Syltar knows many people, he still has reservations about trusting other people who aren’t associated with his immediate academy practices or with his kin. However, to those he does trust, Syltar is unshakably loyal to those few, and he will often work 'for their best interests' (without particularly notifying them of that fact). As such, Syltar’s loyalties remain to those of his kin, and the academy, without question, and to the masters he has known nearly his entire life; and, consequently, he is completely loyal to the King, Vulcar II, whom Syltar finds to be a capable leader (or is going to be), even if he is somewhat young and inexperienced - if anything should happen to the land of Halva, the Dragonblaze family would be greatly affected, after all. As a sorcerer, Syltar has been tempered through discipline and training to be relentless in his thirst for knowledge, and to act without remorse to gain that understanding – if someone stands in his way, he will move them. He knows how to balance the dangers of experimentation with reward, and while at times he may not agree with the master’s decree, he understands that ultimately he is on his own journey of discovery, and the rules of others can often be generalized. In regard to his being Dragon-touched, Syltar has come to accept himself and the position of higher social standing in the Dragonblaze family; and while others might judge him because of it and their lack of nobility, Syltar feels his ancestry alone doesn’t define him, either. Being comfortable with oneself is the first step on the long road to power and knowledge Syltar walks.   Background: Syltar Dragonblaze was the first born to Syldan and Aitar Dragonblaze, a prominent branch of the family closely related to the first family of Dragonblaze kin. His mother, Aitar, the older sister of Aiden Dragonblaze’s father, was largely absent from her son’s life, given her dedication to the Dragonblaze Academy. Because of this social standing, having a direct lineage to the leaders of the kin, a great degree of expectation was placed on young Syltar and he was pushed to excel in most aspects of his life; from his public mannerisms, his personal beliefs and his relationships to his magical studies. One problem with the child was his seeming frailty. He was a pale, thin looking child, and Syltar seemed unable to remain physically active for long periods of time without suffering from exhaustion; this aspect to the boy seemed the one downfall of an otherwise potentially powerful family member. Most of Syltar’s childhood was spent preparing him for the Academy, his affinity for becoming a sorcerer apparent from an early age, given that he was unfit for combat or marriage to a higher station. As such, he was taught how to act around nobles, how to speak and write eloquently, and how best to continue the betterment of the Dragonblaze family. As he would not be married into any royal families, Syltar instead knew he had to dedicate himself to his magical enterprises – much like his mother, who had spent the majority of her life as a professor teaching students, and having married later than most in life. It seemed natural that the offspring of so highly acclaimed a mage continue in his mother’s footsteps. Especially given the birth of Syltar’s younger sister, Siera, some years later, placing her in a position to be married into a noble family. This left the young boy with only one option to prove his worth – he thrust himself into more study, devouring books and tomes, as he made leaps and bounds before many his own age. By the age of eleven, Syltar was inducted into the Dragonblaze Academy. His ability to absorb and understand knowledge was astounding, while his capabilities as a mage held great potential. He was immediately placed under the careful tutelage of a wise professor, Frask Dragonblaze, and was soon starting his path as a sorcerer. By his next birthday, Syltar had summoned his own familiar, a raven he named Tias, which has been with him from that point onward. For the next several years, Syltar continued to grow in both knowledge and power. Given that the Academy usually accepted students from the ages of sixteen, the young man had a distinct advantage in terms of where his studies were, compared to those his same age just beginning their own. He was often placed into classes with students twice his age, while proving capable of matching those same student’s abilities in magic. In all sense of the word, Syltar was a prodigy, just like his mother. During this time, the young student also developed a friendship with his cousin, Aiden Dragonblaze. The two were friendly enough, and enjoyed a camaraderie like most cousins – though in some ways, Aiden was like a father figure to Syltar. By this time Aiden had become the leader of the first family, following the ill-health of his older brother, and Syltar found he saw less and less of his cousin afterward. It was understandable, given the responsibilities Aiden now had, but it still saddened Syltar. So, instead of seeking out friendship from any number of willing students or family members around him, Syltar began focusing doubly on his studies, often keeping to himself and feeling no real need to expand his friendship circle. By the age of nineteen, Syltar had determined to follow in his older cousin’s footsteps and dedicate himself to the teachings of the Dragonhearts. It remained that knowledge gained from the school held potential for the young man to restore his body to something healthier, given Aiden’s seeming extended lifespan and natural vigour. Syltar’s frailness was always an undertone to his life, and he had grown tired of the constant cares and concerns others offered him – some without even realizing it, having apparently just felt the need to open doors, or get down heavy books from higher shelves. Syltar saw his body as his one weakness, and he hated it. Yet, he also accepted his situation, and had taken the proactive approach to erasing his shortcomings. In the last five years, Syltar has grown exceptionally in his Dragonheart teachings, having almost reached the level of power and knowledge to transform his body into a true Dragon. He knows that at this point, he will be able to unlock the mysteries surrounding longer life, and hopefully one that is healthier. From the many lessons he has learned, from both Professor Frask and Aiden (though the latter on a much less official basis), and the successes he has gained, Syltar has become one of the prominent students of the Dragonblaze Academy; as such, he has become well-known in Halva, often paraded at upper-class social gatherings as guest of honor for the Dragonblaze family. Lately it has become apparent to the young man that his family seems to be closely connected with the future of the Dragonblaze kin. With Syltar’s younger sister, now at the age of sixteen, having been put forth as a potential wife for the current ruler of the land, King Vulcar II, where once Aiden’s sister had been in the same position; it is widely known within the family of Phyre’s relationship with a half-dragon. This potential coupling would finally allow the Dragonblaze’s to gain the nobility that they seek, while placing them in a higher position of status in Halva. And while politics has become something of a hobby to young Syltar, he has to admit he feels more comfortable in his being a mage than a royal of the land. None the less, it was still a surprise when Syltar received a letter directly from the King, which caused the young sorcerer to immediately think of his sister. He could only assume that Vulcar II wanted to speak with Syltar about the potential marriage, or even how suited Siera was as a wife – given their father had died some years before. It made Syltar uneasy to be speaking on behalf of his sister, but he accepted the invitation and proceeded to the castle, prepared to discuss politics and marriage…

Sample Role-Play   Roleplaying Sample: The day had begun like most every other for Syltar, with his currently being found in the Dragonblaze Academy library, immersed in one of the thick tomes from one of the many shelves around him. While he was still a student, at least in name, the truth was that he had long removed himself from the academies structured classes, instead directing his own studies under the guidance of Professor Frask and Aiden Dragonblaze – both men the young man trusted fully, without question. With red eyes scanning the fluent words inscribed on the ancient paper in hand, held together by thick bindings and a leather exterior, Syltar couldn’t help but mutter to himself as he read. Those close by would hear random words spoken in broken sentences, as the sorcerer said single words that seemed to jump out at him from the page; in truth he was reciting passages to memory, using specific sections of sentences to remember the points of important information. But, that was neither here nor there, as Syltar turned the heavy page starting on the next, even as there was a polite cough that came from before him – it was the sort that aimed at getting someone’s attention, without being as crass as startling them with a touch or sudden call. “Yes?” Syltar said, glancing over the top of the tome with a raised eyebrow, seeing Professor Frask looking down at him. “How can I help, Professor?” “You have a visitor, Syl,” The considerably older man said in a hoarse voice, clearing his throat again as he motioned with his head toward the library door. “Or rather, you have a messenger. From the King, if the boy’s colors are true.” “Is that so,” Syltar frowned, looking beyond his mentor, the book in his hands momentarily forgotten. It seemed the royal colors were included in the young boy’s clothing, meaning that the envelope he carried was important. “Do you suppose it’s about Siera…?” “I couldn’t say, quite honestly,” Frask replied with a scratch at his beard, thinking on the many possibilities for a personal messenger being sent. “It could very well be just that…” Even as the Professor trailed off in thought, Syltar had closed the tome and stood. He grabbed for his staff, which rested against the table he worked at, and quickly moved around to walk toward the boy. With the frown still on his face, the sorcerer impatiently motioned for the messenger to meet him mid-way, annoyed that the boy hadn’t assumed to do so to begin with. “Lord Dragonblaze,” The boy said quickly, bowing his head as he extended the package he held to the other man. While none of the Dragonblaze kin held any status as a noble, the honorific title was used simply as a means of expressing respect. “I come bearing an important message from King Vulcar II of Halva.” Syltar took the envelope, promptly opening it by breaking the royal seal and unfolding the fine paper within. His eyes scanned the words quickly, before he nodded and dismissed the messenger. “Tell his highness I will be along to the castle as quickly as I am able.” It went without saying that the King knew of Syltar’s frailty, and hopefully wouldn’t expect the young man to hurry as quickly as he should. When the two sorcerers were alone in the library once more, Frask approached his student and tried to peer at the letter still held in the other man’s hand. “So what does it say, boy?” The Professor asked, shifting to look over Syltar’s shoulder. The other handed the letter to his mentor: Letter of Invitation Dear Syltar Dragonblaze of kin Dragonblaze, You have been invited to attend a personal meeting with H.R.H. King Vulcar II of Halva and other Very Important Persons to discuss a Matter of Great Importance. You will be compensated for your time and effort. Yours Sincerely H.R.H. King Vulcar Halva II “Most interesting,” Professor Frask said as he thought for a moment, humming. “Perhaps marriage to your dear Siera it is? Or perhaps not…?” “You old fool,” Syltar chuckled, taking the letter from the other. “That’s just your way of trying to sound wise. You have as much of an idea about this meeting as I do, and that’s near to nothing. I guess I can only go and see what the good King wishes to speak of.” As the younger sorcerer turned to walk back to his work table, Frask touched his arm and smiled. “Go on, boy,” He said, motioning to the door. “I’ll put your books away.” Syltar nodded, knowing the Professor wouldn’t take no for an answer. He also secretly fumed on the inside, knowing the older man was simply trying to help by offering to put the stack of tomes back in their places; Frask couldn’t know how pathetic being helped by an elder made Syltar feel. “Thank you,” The young man said instead, before turning and walking toward the library entrance. “Would you mind informing Aiden that I am to meet with the King? I wouldn’t want to have him worry should I miss a lesson today.” The Professor nodded, still smiling as he lifted a small number of books, while his student made his exit and soon disappeared within the many corridors and passages of the Dragonblaze Academy…

[SpatulaOdoom]

Morgan Wainraith

Name: Morgan Wainraith
Race: Plain human
Sex: Male
Age: 30
Class: Wizard11 Fatespinner4 (Complete Arcane page 37)
Alignment: Neutral Good
Deity: Airis.
Zodiac: The Arbiter
Specialty: Arcane magic: Generalist arcane, minor specialization in transmutation. planning and deduction. Clockwork devices.
Traits/Flaws: None
Bonus skills: Craft: Painting Landscapes Craft: Clockwork, Feat: Iron Will
Description: Noticeably tall Morgan has wide shoulders and large hands with a lean build. His wild hair and short beard form something of a mane of hair around his head. His skin is fair and his nose has been broken but well set sometime in the past. He rarely wears the robes allowed as his status as a recognized archmage, and prefers common trousers and a vest over light shirt. Despite this he is appealing in a scruffy but friendly manner.
A pipe made of dark wood and ebony is often dangling from his lips though it is most often unlit.
In contrast to this general appearance Morgans dark hazel eyes are piercing and focused. Once you notice his eyes it's difficult to take him for some sort of simpleton or gadabout.

Personality: Morgan is very easygoing, a very zen person. Despite all that has gone on in his life he "basically figures that people should just do what makes them happy". Of course what makes some people happy might make others unhappy, but then he supposes they should either do something about it or find another way to be happy with their life.
His unusual upbringing, uncertain social status, and strange powers and visions, have left him little connection to the high society folks and even less with "the common man". This leaves him feeling somewhat like an outsider, tolerated, even appreciated, but not part of the group. He is most comfortable interacting with others around a gambling table, across the study halls of academia, or in other situations where the interaction has some sort of focus.
He is empathetic (though not necessarily sympathetic) and tries to look at every situation from multiple angles, feeling it gives him a fuller view and better chance of making the correct choice.
Despite his apparent devil-may-care attitude some of the teachings of Airis have not faded entirely and he looks upon the downtrodden as in need of help. His charity usually consists of showing others how to help themselves with a small boost to get them started.
Morgan is adamant about letting others make their own decisions, and about letting those others suffer the consequences of their decisions. He believes that people learn more, gain a deeper understanding, by actually working out problems on their own than simply being told the solution to the problem.
He is very protective of those he considers family or close friends and can become irrationally angry and violent when they are threatened.

 

On Morgans seventh birthday he suddenly fell from his seat at the dinner table yelling "Four black horses pull Solomans death". His father dismissed it as some strange prank while his mother worried that Morgan had caught some sort of fever, rather this was the first of the visions that have plagued Morgans life. Four days later Pitor Soloman left the town inn, more than a little drunk as was his wont, and fell under the wheels of a nobles carriage and was killed, the carriage was pulled by four black horses.
Morgans vision caused a great furor in the village, many of whom waited with baited breath to see if he would have another such omen. And he did, a little more than a week later, strangely enough his prediction was a count of the villages sheep. Curious the small community corralled the sheep in the large open air market and began to count. By the time they were finished they came up two short, yet now in the middle of the foaling season it was likely that more than one lamb would be born in the next few days. The question came up, how would they tell what time the predictions were for? The population of sheep would fluctuate throughout the year and might match the prediction at one time or another throughout the year, or even further.
Three weeks passed before Morgan had two more in rapid succession, predicting a sudden storm along the coast, and a strange event beyond the villagers ability to interpret involving a red moon and breaking mirrors.

By this time word of a child with prophetic visions had reached others and Morgan soon found himself moving to Halvana and taking up residence at a temple of Airis in hopes they could teach him to control his visions. Morgan very nearly became the hope of a nation, a blessed seer to match The Oracle, and help guide Halva to a brighter future as she did Ikra. Sadly Morgan turned out to be a disappointment. When he hit puberty the visions became bizarre and more difficult to interpret. For all his training Morgan never developed any ability to sense the time, or meaning of the visions. Rather than granting him knowledge they were simply a series of sensations, sight, sound, sent, touch, and even sometimes taste. Any meaning gleaned from them came from the interpretations he or others made after the fact.

Now, at the age of thirty, Morgan is a much different man than he might have been. He has become more self-reliant, focusing inwards for strength rather than beseeching the higher powers as a cleric would. Active rather than passive, and tinged with more than a little frustration as all the hopefuls gradually drifted off in disappointment. Even his parents have returned to their home town and the field they tilled. He still seeks understanding, to know the inner workings of the universe, and the reasons behind his visions. He still dutifully records his visions and sends them back to the church for interpretation but, unbeknown to them, he has begun to seek out the events in his visions in hopes that viewing them himself, participating in them even, could give him insight into them. To this end he believes he has made some progress and has developed what he calls "the rolling boulder theory".

On the down side failing the expectations of near to a whole nation has left him embittered now that his fifteen minutes of fame have faded. First in rebelling against his minders at the temple, then later against the world in general, Morgan has taken to carousing the gambling and drinking halls of the capital. He has left the temple and now makes his way as something of a bohemian, selling clockwork toys, books of philosophy, and leveraging his considerable magical skills towards funding his lifestyle.
These activities are a sideline however, a way to ease the mental strain of his studies and adventures, as well as the visions themselves.

 

Bang Bang Bang!
Morgan awoke in agony and heart pounding, some cruel being had slipped into his room and was trying to cave in his skull while he slept. He flailed his blankets around long enough to bark out a harsh word in draconic. A bolt of eldritch energy lanced out to blast away the moon, or at least a representation of it attached to an Orrery sitting at the corner of his cluttered desk. The Orrery, made some years ago by Morgan himself, slid off the edge of the desk to collapse into a sad and twisted pile beside the rubbish bin.

Fully awake now and free of his covers Morgan realized he was alone in his room. His head hurt because he was suffering a terrific hangover. There was no attacker, it had been a figment, a twist of fading dream, a snatch of vision, a ghost of the grape. And the banging noise- Bang Bang Bang! -Morgan winced, yes the banging noise was all too real, someone was knocking at his door.

Leaning over to his side table Morgan plucked up a tiny phial and tossed back the sour contents then covered his eyes and waited for the cocktail of alchemical substances and herbs to do it's work, easing his headache and softening the inevitable bout of nausea. Whomever was at his door at this early hour was... Wait what time was it? Rising to his feet with slow care Morgan shuffled into his cramped study to examine the grandfather clock he'd made with his own two hands. He dared not look out the window to check the sun just yet. It was shortly after the ninth bell. The person at his door was a sadist that was sure, and resolute as well as the knocking continued.

Morgan shuffled back to his room and hastily dressed in his cleanest cloths, noting absently that the caller repeated his three firm knocks at a precise interval of a half minute. Despite his concoction working it's magic Morgans stomach roiled at the thought of what sort of anal retentive person that indicated. A long swallow of water later Morgan cracked his front door, squinting into the morningish light.

"What?"
Morgan tried not to goggle when he saw the mans livery. Ceremonial rapier with a falcons head pommel, cloth of gold cloak, and the royal crest over crossed arrows, a royal courier in other words. While not the worst of neighborhoods Morgans house was not in the best either and while probably not necessary the courier had a pair of royal guardsmen at his shoulders. Visions of being dragged before the royal family for some imagined slight danced through Morgans head and his stomach soured further.
"Ahem. What I meant to say is good day to you sir, how may I help you?"

The courier failed miserably to hide a smirk, the bastard, but his tone was respectful as he said.
"Good day to you master Wainwraith, I bear a message from royal hands to be delivered to you personally and am at your service in the matter of delivering a response."

Next thing Morgan knew the courier was seated in his study while Morgan scribed a hasty response to the note. Despite being relieved that he was not in some way in trouble the message bothered him. While he was no "The Oracle" with all that the capitalization implied, he was a known oracle. And he had served the crown before with the whole Shadowsholm affair, and one or two others now that he thought of it. Still "Matters of Great Importance" wouldn't be asking if the oracle had any advice on what new racing stallion to purchase and Morgan handed back his acceptance, sealed with his own signet ring, with some trepidation. He would have to be insane not to accept the kings own invitation, and it seemed he would have to get ready in a fairly short time. "Thank the gods for magic" Morgan thought as he cleaned his finest set of clothing with a simple cantrip.

[DoubleL1987]

Name: Morgan Crescent (Real last name: Redgrove)

Race: Human Lakarn of Lust

Sex: Male

Age: 24

Class: Bard 10 / Seeker of the Song 1 (Page 56: Complete Arcane)

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Deity: Laftiil – while not overtly religious, Morgan just can’t help but no admire a goddess who, on top of being beautiful, enjoys living a carefree and slightly controversial lifestyle, much like his own.

Specialty: Support/Social interactions

Traits & Flaws: Polite

Bonus Skills: Craft (Sketching), Knowledge (Useless Trivia)



Description: Standing at just a little over six-foot-two, the waif-like and lanky man is hard to miss in normal company, and that’s without noticing the fact that he has other reasons to stick in someone’s memory. His silver hair is long and straight, falling down to between his shoulderblades and tied into a simple ponytail with a pair of gold bands. The eyes that peek out from under the long fringe are a deep dark blue, though instead of a piercing, icy gaze it would give any other person, on Morgan they appear to be warm and comforting, assuring anyone looking into them that they are in good hands.

The eyes are set in a lightly-tanned, clean-shaven face with high, delicate cheekbones and a full mouth that is prone to fall into a lazy, rather flirtatious smiles when he’s not busy talking up a storm. His looks tend to be described as “Just beautiful…”, “Gah, stupid pretty-boy!” or “I’ll kill him, I swear I will!” depending on which women, man or furious father you ask.

Morgan prefers the finer things in life when it comes to his clothing, and is often found wearing various silk shirts, most often in bright blue or yellow (the more they make him stand out, the better) and fine black slacks accentuated with black boots polished to a mirror finish. He usually carries a battered but well-cared-for lute carried on his back.

Personality: Morgan tends to embody the image of the womanising bard who is light in coin and pays his way with a well-sung song and a few whispered affections. He cares very little for the outside world at large, living from moment to moment and enjoying it. Morgan enjoys laughing and telling stories, and is at his happiest when he’s at the centre of attention and entertaining others. He is incessantly weak when it comes to the fairer sex and will flirt with anything that would look good in a skirt – despite the fact that his Lakarn abilities would make this terribly easy, he prefers to rely on his natural charm and songs, relishing the challenge of the hunt more than the aftermath, though that is pleasurable too. Of course, there is a negative to this – Morgan is as likely to try to romance the devious countess attempting to poison the party as he is the innocent and wholesome schoolteacher.

Despite his easy-going nature, the Lakarn has a dark side to him. When someone manages to anger him, they will find out that the bard is as adept at causing damage as he is at weaving words and music notes together. He very rarely forgives, having learnt the hard way that there is little to be gained by letting an enemy live, and everything to lose.

While not caring too much for other people as long as they don’t interfere too much with his life, some small measure of the old holy knight remains in him. He doesn’t tolerate ill-treatment of women or children, and is a complete sucker for a girl in distress…Moreso than he usually is with girls.

Background: Some people have their entire lives planned out for them while still in the womb, a father idly rattling off his dreams for his future son or daughter while the mother only smiles in bemused fashion as she feels a new life growing inside her. Sometimes it turns out to just be idle chatter and other times it becomes reality. In the case of Morgan Redgrove, born 24 years ago to Arthur and Crystal Redgrove, it was the latter. His father had been the fifth generation of men in their family to serve with distinction in the Knights Of Shali - a group of holy warriors united under the banner of the kingdom and its deities, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that the newborn would eventually follow in the same path. From an early age, where other children would play with toys or run around playing hide-and-seek, Morgan was taught the finer nuances of hand-to-hand combat, archery and swordplay. He was raised on the Paladin's code of honour and as such often invited eye-rolling from the other youths when he lectured them on playing in the mud, or trying to eat candy before dinner-time. Needless to say, he was a slightly isolated child.

At age 10 he was finally enrolled with the Knights as an apprentice, the training he had received as a child paying dividends immediately. He was soon drawing the attention of the chief Knight, Sir Brandon Hardhelm. The leader took interest in the young man and soon recruited him as his own personal squire. Morgan was more than happy to accept the position, knowing that he could learn much from the man who had been at the head of the organisation for the last thirty years and was known as the single-most skilled Paladin in the entire country. It was this stringent life of law and morality that hid the truth from himself about what he was, a Lakarn, a creature created out of the raw emotion of lust. While sometimes the urge and need to be free seemed large enough to make him break out of this pattern, the voice of quavering authority that had been with him since he was little, stating that it was good and right to this way, ultimately smothered it back down.

On one of his missions, he happened upon a young bard being attacked by several bandits and came to her aid. The young girl was immensely thankful, and pleaded with him to stay the night with her so she could make him a meal and perhaps compose him a song by way of thanks. Though hesitant, good decorum eventually mandated he stay behind. The young bard eventually played him a song on her lute, and something inside him seemed to come alive at that, something that had been bottled-up inside for far too long.

That was the first night he had consciously been aware of the pheromones he had always unknowingly kept in check for fear of disapproval from the elders in the order. He felt them wafting out towards the young woman, saw her pause and look up at him with her beautiful, playful smile as she put down the instrument and made her way over to him, lightly wrapping her arms around him and whispering her thanks for his saving her. In that moment, the true creature that had lurked inside the shell came out, and he embraced her before placing a deep kiss on her lips.

That was the first night of many they spent together…

Of course, life could never remain so idyllic. The ever-changing personality of the young Lakarn brought suspicions from the commanders in his unit, especially Hardhelm. Eventually, they placed the blame on Will, his bardic lover, for changing and “corrupting” the pure holy knight. It was discovered that she was actually of Sharak descent, the runaway child of one of the dukes. In the xenophobic city and considering the hostile relationship between the two countries, this would be bad enough, but her being the child of one of the more prominent members of the nobility led to her being dragged from Morgan’s house by members of his own order while he was placed under house arrest until after her execution.

The hours drifted past, Morgan locked in his room with three heavily-armed paladins standing guard outside. His eyes kept drifting around the room, picking up on small items that reminded him of Will, of the time they had spent together the last two years. Finally, his eyes fell on her lute, the instrument she had been teaching him the last few months. He had a natural aptitude, she had said – his fingers much more suited to playing an instrument than swinging a sword and ending someone’s life. He closed his eyes, his hands balling up into fists – the girl had shown him a side of him he had never known, had made him happier than any promotion or commendation from his superiors had ever done and now…Now he was just going to sit here and let her die?

In that moment, the final boundaries holding back his abilities gave way, and he confidently strode to the door, knocking on it and asking for a glass of water from one of the guards. When it opened, the two sitting at the table were instantly struck by a wave of Morgan's pheromones and instantly sported two identical friendly grins, waving politely at Morgan. The one with the glass of water, though, felt most of his free will slipping away as Morgan suggested he escort him to the prison where Will was being held. The paladin struggled mentally with the command, but eventually led him out to the prison. It took a few more enticements, and once he was forced to use his enslaved paladin to pummel another, more resistant one into unconsciousness, but eventually he reached and freed Will. By the time Hardhelm screamed in fury when he came to collect her for her execution, the pair was long gone.

Fleeing through the streets of the city and ducking and diving into various alleys, Morgan was eventually forced to stop as the fatigue and maltreatment of the last few days caught up with Will. Holding the panting, half-conscious girl against him, he leaned against the wall of an inn and whispered comforting words to her, even as his ears heard the rumbling footsteps of the guards coming closer. He was fully prepared to fight them despite the odds if it meant giving Will enough of a chance to get away when the inn's door opened and he found a young man giving the pair a searching look. At the same time, Morgan felt a small twinge of recognition - not of the man's face, no, that was unknown to him, but there was something about him that resonated with the Lakarn.

"Well, are you two going to just stand out there and wait for those pricks to come along and drag you both back to the gallows, or are you going to come inside?"

"I...How do I know I can trust you?"

"I could tell you a myriad of reasons, but do you really have the time to listen to all of them?"

Looking down the street to where the first plumed helmet just crested the rise, Morgan reasoned that if the man was going to betray them, it wasn't much better than staying out here - at the very least, it would buy them a few moments. He gently pulled Will inside just as the knights came running past, and followed the man up to his room. That was where he revealed himself as Kato Vice, a member of Shalian royal entourage, and when Morgan asked why he would help the two of them, Kato replied that it was always a pleasure to stick it to the more bigoted sections of the Shali society.

While Will recovered, the two men passed the time by talking about how the situation had come about, which is when Kato revealed that he too was a Lakarn. He offered to find the two of them quiet and discrete passage out of the country, and quickly overruled Morgan's objections that he was already risking enough for them.

"Look, Morgan - the way I see it, you two are worth the risk to help."

"You're a strange man, Kato...But I will only accept your help if you accept my debt to you. If you ever require the few meager skills I have command of, simply put out the word - I'll find out and come find you."

Kato agreed, and a few hours later, the two were smuggled out of the city in the back of a carriage reserved for the more noble of the city's citizens, knowing there was little chance of it being stopped to be searched, and being dropped off at a crossroads leading to various other cities and ports.

The two were now fugitives, and Morgan himself was branded a traitor. Both decided that, no matter how hard it was, they couldn’t be together again – the chances of them being caught if they were together was just too great. The two lovers shared a quiet and loving farewell, before Will departed to the West while Morgan headed East, but not before she gave him her lute and tearfully admonished him to keep practicing.

Since that day, Morgan has been wandering the continents and coming out of his shell and into an embodiment of his kind, avoiding his home kingdom despite having changed his name. He continues his dedication to music, the only physical reminder of the first girl he ever loved, and likely the last…

[Battlechaser]

Name: Léon
Race: Human
Sex: Male
Age: 25
Class: Psychic rogue 15
Alignment: Neutral good
Deity: Fenrir
Specialty reconnaisance, intelligence agent, problemsolver, search and retrieval expert
Traits and flaws: Skinny, suspicious, frail
Bonus skills: Knowledge (Thieves' guild), craft (woodcutting)
Description:

Ever alert, Léon's dark brown eyes vigilantly take in every detail of his surroundings. Walking with a grace reminiscent of a great feline predator, the spy keeps to the shadows as he neares the Citadel. His black clothing makes it easier to blend into the the darkness. The wary guards had no idea he was observing them, calculating their pace, waiting for the most opportune moment to...Now...Léon rushed to the wall and levitated over the crenallations and in to the courtyard. Swiftly and silently he made his way to the Commander's quarters. Dimming the creaking of the door Léon crept in and stood behind Marcell.

"You could enter through the gate, you know Léon?" the Prince smiled as he continued to take notes.

The ghost of a smile played over Léon's face "Where would be the fun in that?" Pouring water in a glass, he sipped and continued " They do need to change their rhythm. They're getting predictable."

Personality:

Suspicious by nature - off course growing up in the Slums has intensified this trait - Léon will not quickly trust anybody else. But when you've earned it, the thief will storm the gates of Hell for you if necessary - although in Léon's case he would probably just sneak in, free you and steal anything that is not nailed down before the devils even notice they've had a visitor.

Léon tries to be prepared for anything, you never know when an opportunity presents itself. When on a mission the thief does not let himself be distracted and remains focused on the target. Inquisitive and loving a good challenge he is (street)wise enough not to storm in blindly: Léon takes his time observing his mark while subconciously carving beautiful figurines from pieces of wood he "found" somewhere, mentally writing down weaknesses, habits and whatever he can use.

Background:

 

Overture Léon had never known his father - on her more lucid moments his mother insisted that he was a Jahn. As a young child he dreamed of meeting the man and reuniting his parents, followed by the usual living happily ever after. But in the slums, dreams did not last long and neither did Léon's childhood. Having to take care of his mother, a prostitute with a severe alcoholproblem, the young boy took to the role of sole family provider rather quickly. There were two ways a frail-looking boy could accomplish that and no way he was going to sell his body, so Léon took to thieving. And since the Thieves' Guild punished unauthorized stealing swift and harshly, he joined them. His thin frame - a consequence of being born prematurely, followed by periods of malnourishment - did come in handy when running from angry shop owners or people he had pickpocketed. Weaving through the crowds Léon managed to outrun the fat, panting merchant, coins jingling in the lifted purse. When the young boy was certain he was not being followed, he ran into Tanner street, the acrid fumes stinging his nose and almost making him sneeze. Ducking around corners, Léon sped on confidently through the slums until he arrived at a ramshackle building with a few beggars in the nearby area. Rubbing his left jaw, the boy looked at the filthiest beggar, who responded with a quick nod. When Léon passed him, the clochard asked "Big score?" "Not really" the young thief answered as he entered the building. Walking through the gloomy rooms, Léon greeted his fellows in crime and deposited his loot at the treasurer. The old man squinted as he counted the coins " Thirty-two gold pieces, four silver an tuppence. The usual deal?" Léon answered "Yeah, just make sure she does not spend it all on booze." With a nod the treasurer continued his work.

Selection "Focus on the stone." the elder Seer ordered. "Try to move it." Seeing Léons' smile, he sighed "With your mind, youngster, I've seen all jokes and they're not funny." Straightening his face, the boy answered "Like this?" The rock skyrocketed towards the far wall and shot through it. A dull thud could be heard from behind the illusionary wall. Arching his eyebrow, Marcell whispered to Roth. "Not bad. How good is he?" The leader of the Thieves' Guild answered "Promising. He's quick to learn and eager to try his hand at new challenges. Just needs to learn to control himself a bit more." Marcell chuckled "Good. Train him. Make sure he's ready for the Citadel when he comes of age."

Sharpening the tools So Léon was unwittingly being recruted into the Elernan army. The Guild trained him thoroughly, refining his thieving skills. He could steal the hooves from a galopping horse if he wanted to - not that he had ever need to do just that. The difficulty of his missions increased almost exponentially, but Léon never faltered, he came always prepared, like a good boy scout, well lying, stealing, coniving street urchin would be more truthful. And he loved his job, nothing could please him more than another challenge conquered. Well, nothing but spending time with his mother. On good days she sometimes recognized him - a lifetime spent in poverty, prostitution and alcohol and drug-induced euphoria will do that to a person. Almost all his profit was spent on hiring good care for her. So when Amelia finally passed away, Léon fell into a void. He arranged a meeting with Roth, the head thief. "I want out." the young rogue said, knowing well enough no one left the guild without paying a steep price for it. Roth looked up from his papers "Think this through first. Take a few weeks off." "Don't need to. It's time for me to move on." Léon answered. Staring him straight in the eyes Roth said "One more job. Then you're free to leave." "A routine heist. Retrieving a few documents. That's it." Léon did not hesitate, spat in his right hand and held it out to his leader.

Thesis "Just, a small job, Léon. Piece of cake, he said." Léon muttered to himself as he laid on his belly and studied the mansion. "Screw that, Thieves Cant for head thiefPrince Prig." The fifteen year old boy diligently studied the movements of the guards, the dogs and...geese. What bloody idiot kept geese in the middle of Arsinoh? They would make too much ruckus. Unless, ... He could use it. Collecting his mental energy he created a construct out of raw ectoplasm and had it attack the main gate on the other side of the building. At lot of yelling, barking and gacking ensued as they all rushed forward to protect the gate. A grin flashed across Léon's face as he jumped from the roof onto the ground. As he landed, the thief bent his legs and rolled forward only to continue running towards the lower back wall. Without effort his hands found purchase and he climbed easily over the battlement and let himself down on the other side. Clinging to the shadows, the thief crossed the courtyard to the towerdoor. Damn, locked. Pulling his lockpicks out, Léon inserted them into the opening and managed to twist the pin enough around to open the door. When he put the tools back, a low growl sounded from behind the rogue. Crap! As he turned around slowly, Léon fished a bloody piece of meat out of one of his many pockets and talked down to the guard dog in the most pleasant, non-threatening voice "Aren't you an ugly mutt? I've got something for you, you mongrel." The canine hungrily devoured the flesh. " Three, two, one. There you go, pooch." With soft snoring as background noise, Léon entered the tower. He climbed the stairs, wary of guards and wards. Just as he wanted to put his foot down on the sixth step, the thief's eye fell on a not-too-well-hidden opening in the wall at chest- height. Poisoned dart trap, shoddy work. So where is the real trap? Léon diligently examined the hole and its surroundings. Finding a small scratch on the side of the seventh step, the rogue studied it So this goes here and that does... Looking back he found three well-concealed horizontal slits and the same in front of him. Nice one. Step forward out come the blades, jump back into other blades With his tools, Léon blocked the trigger mechanism and proceeded further into the lion's den. At the top of the tower he entered the circular room where -according to his contacts the documents would be - and found...

A new path Marcell Thane in front of a dinner table set for two. "Welcome Léon. I've been expecting you. Have a seat and bon appétit." A tad surprised Léon looked around for the guards he expected to emerge and started to answer "How do you know ..." "We won't be disturbed. As to how I know your name, ..." the commander said. "Roth! The bloody bastard ratted me out!" Léon stated in a cold tone as he sat down, back towards the wall, the chair turned around, so he could launch it at Marcell in a split second. "Mind if I carve a piece of wood. It helps me to think clearer." Pulling out a small knife he started to chip away small slivers of a feet long piece of wood. "No, he did not. Let's say you performance at selection has picqued my interest and I asked Roth to make sure you'd be ready for this." Marcell explained. "This?You mean this has been planned all along?" Léon could hardly believe his ears. Thane nodded affirmatively "Consider this your entry exam." "To enter what?" a gleam of interest lit up the young thief's eyes. "The Citadel and my service. What do you say?" Marcell proposed.

Education Exhausted Léon crawled through the mud, his clothes soaked with icy slush. Fireballs and sound rays zipped and exploded over his head. The latest explosion had left flashes before his eyes and a tinnitus haunting his hearing. Over the din sounded the stentor voice of his instructor, Brachius. "Come on, you maggots. It's just a few feet. What are you? Men or spineless oozes?!" "Oozes don't have spines." Léon muttered. Well, at least if they haven't devoured anything recently. "Do you have anything interesting to say, Private Léon?" Brachius buldered, unflinching as fireworks exploded next to him. How the hell did he hear me? Léon pondered. Keeping his head low and crawling onward the thief answered sharply "No, Sir!" "Then you won't mind answering a few questions. Eh, Private?" Brachius chuckle could be heard in a lull of combat. ****! Léon tried to calm himself down and think clearly - however difficult that might be being cold, fatigued and utterly miserable- "No, Sarge!" "Keep moving, you butt-uggly wastes of space!" Sarge yelled at the other recruits. Turning his attention to the unfortunate Léon, a sardonic smile crept over Brachius'' face "Give me the major strengths and weaknesses of...Let's see...a destrachan." Slowly Léon inched forward. "Nasty critter. No eyes, but uses his hearing to pinpoint its targets. Sadistic creature that uses its sonic attacks to strip the flesh of its prey's bones." "Good enough. Have fun." Brachius' grin split his rocklike face. Fun? What? Léon looked puzzled before he was teleported into... A dank cave, its floor covered with white crunching gravel. No not gravel. Bone fragments. Crap. Bloody ... Léon's train of thought was interrupted by Brachius' mental command. "Focus, Private! Retrieve the platinum ring from it's lair and come back to this exact spot. You have five minutes. Psionics are absolutely forbidden. Use them and be kicked out of the Citadel." It? the thief thought as he seemingly drew the shadows around him as a cloak. Then the bipedal form of a destrachan rounded a corner. **** that! That bloody bastard. His muscles stiff from the cold and exhaustion, he forced himself to remain utterly still, while he studied the aberration. Strangely enough, it did not find the rogue. So all that training does help. Drawing his handcrossbow, loading an exploding bolt and keeping it ready in case bigmouth would find him, Léon kept on sneaking forward. Now where is that bloody ring? Scanning the area, he quickly spotted the ring, lodged between two skulls in a precariously disbalanced pile. It's never easy is it? Picking up a small skull fragment almost the size of the ring and putting his handcrossbow away, Léon deftly replaced the ring with the piece of bone. Turning back towards the exit, the thief thought Hah. Piece of... And then the lower skull rolled down to the floor, dragging the others with it in a miniature avalanche. A cry of rage tore through the cave and dull, heavy footfalls quickly approached the lair. Firmly palming the ring, Léon nimble dodged the sound cone from the destrachan and ran like the devil was chasing him - it sure felt like it. Think. You idiot. Think! Pulling a bag filled with goo out of one of his many pockets, he deftly threw it at the pursuing abomination. Rubbery strands quickly envelopped it head, claws and feet and the destrachan fell down faceforward with a crash. Seizing the opportunity Léon sped on, jumping towards and through the swiftly narrowing portal. On the other side, the rogue landed hard on his back, his breath forced from his lungs. Staring up into the sky a few familiar faces entered his face: Marcell, Timor Jahn and Fauve Loire. Timor sneers "It would seem you need to work more on your exits. We can't have you running around making amok like that. Did you at least manage to get the ring?" Still laying on his back, Léon winked at Fauve and showed them the ring he had firmly gripped in his hand. "Shut up, Timor, or I'll stick that ring where the sun don't shine." Fauve hid a smile behind her hand and Marcell did not even pretend to hide his smile. "Zip it, you two. You will need to get along if you're going to work together. So work on it." A "With that lowlife?" and a "He first needs to remove that broomstick from his ass!" sounded almost immediately, evoking hearthy laughs from Marcell and Fauve.

An unexpected turn of events Now where are you going, haughty prick? Léon kept to the shadows as he followed Timor to the shady part of town. Strange, you did not strike me as the slumming type. He was on his way back from a meeting with Roth when the thief spotted his colleague slash archnemesis. Something in the way Timor moved made Léon's hackles rise. When Timor entered an uninhabited building on the edge of the slums, Léon quickly send a message to Roth - he had learned to be carefull during the years. "Roth! The posh bugger entered the ramshackle building at the corner of Red Lane and Honey Street. What do you know?" Roth's voice sounded immediately in Léon's mind "I'll ask." A few heartbeats later the guildleader continued. "Bunch of strange coves rented the place yesterday. Why?" "Not sure. Just a hunch." the thief answered. "I know your hunches. Want backup?" Roth asked. "Not yet." Léon snook into the house. "I'll give a yell." After a small chuckle from Roth Léon ended the conversation. Keeping really quiet he managed to enter through a window on the first floor. Voices sounded from below. A flat voice stated "We do it tomorrow. Where will they be?" What's that accent? Pharéan? Léon could not pinpoint it. He inched closer to the stairwell to get a good look at the conspirators. Off course they all wear masks. "The Queen will be attending a meeting with the Smithy's guild. And the Prince will be on a mission" Timor chuckled, "from which he will never return." Bastard!!! Léon quickly reopened the link to Roth. "Treason! They're going after Marcell and Satria!" "Almost there. I'll alert them." somehow Roth's mental voice mirrored his physical exertion. "Make sure no one escapes" Léon answered. Meanwhile Timor felt the psionic disturbance. "Ware! Someone's here." Extending his third eye he found "LÉON!!! Kill him!" With a chill in his voice that sent shivers over Timor's spine, Léon retorted "Don't run, *******. I'm coming for ye." The thief threw two bottles on the floor, from which smoke billowed forth, reducng visibility to virtually nothing. "We need to get out!" one of the door guards yelled as he frantically tried to open the door. "It won't open!" Reinforcements had arrived and had barricaded the exits on the ground floor. A voice - seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time- laughed "And death comes a-stalking." Having activated his other senses Léon had no trouble navigating the house and locating his enemies, who swung around their weapons, bumping into each other, screaming their lungs out. To increase the pandemonium the thief created his personal meatshield and ordered it to "Kill them all." Firing his handcrossbow into the turmoil dropping foes here -their death gurggles drowned out by the din - and there Léon's main goal was the traitor. Timor kept his sword out, spinning around trying to pinpoint his bane. Whispering in the man's ear the thief stated "You will die. But I think Marcell will have a word with you first." He dodged Timor's sword, moved back behind him and crashed the pommel of his rapier against Timor's Boney knob behind the earmastoid processus. The traitor slumped into a formless heap. The rogue turned around and helped his construct finish off the rest, leaving a few survivors to question later. "Open the door, Roth. I've got a present for you." Léon stepped outside, emerging from the smoke, his construct behind carrying Timor's limp form. "Question him. There are more in town. I left a few stragglers inside."

"Halva "I still don't trust them." Léon said. Marcell sighed "We know you don't, Léon. But we need them as much as they need us. And Esiard vouched for Vulcar." Lucien added "But that does not mean we don't need to be careful. We need more intel. As far as I could find out, Vulcar seems to trust just a few people. Most noticable amongst them is Archmage Morgan. We suspect he has a connection with Didina Reid." The seer conjured an image of both. Léon diligently studied the images. "Do we know more?" The elder Loire just nodded his head sideways. [SAY]Didina's house is heavily warded. Nearly impenetrable. Not surprising for a house of a former Councilmember. A real son of a bitch that one, he tried to kill his daughter for being a tiefling. First attempt happened when she was a baby./SAY] Fauve added. "It would seem Misa Serokai is her best friend. They do tend to hang out a lot together." "The blind Serokai?" the rogue asked. "She may be blind, but she has developed a sort of sixth sense that allows her to "see" very accurately. So be very carefull when she's around." the wilder continued. Flashing a crooked smile, Léon winked at her "I'm always carefull." This earned him a throaty chuckle from Fauve. "And the destrachan then?" The rogue blushed a bit and tried to change the subject. "So Didina first, then Morgan?" Raucous laughter rang through the room. "I wish I had been there." Lucien stated between guffaws. "Yeah, I bet you would." a grin split Léon's face as he left the room. Quickly he walked towards the nearest market place, keeping his eyes out for...Ah, there. Léon spotted a small boy, deftly lifting a purse from a distracted, double-chinned merchant. Not bad. Rushing through the alleys the rogue intercepted the pickpocket. "Whacha doin, cove?! Let a poor buggar go!" the grime-covered thief yelled as he tried to wriggle free - if you could call biting, scratching, kicking and punching wriggling. "Relax, I saw you cannon that fatso." Léon said. The boy relaxed in his grip "Canting crew?" "Aye. I need to speak to your dimber damber." the spy asked. "Tell her that Roth send me to collect a debt." A few hours later after having ensured his eyes and ears throughout the city, Léon was hiding in a tree, staking out Didina Reid's mansion. As Misa left, the thief slid from his hide-out and as he crept forward his body condensed into a smaller form. Avoiding the guards and wards he entered the garden, but when Léon tried to climb in through a window, he was halted in his progress by an almost tangible force field. Lucien might be right. A smile crept over his face Let's find a chink in this armor. He went around the house, studying every nook and cranny, trying different entryways and finding none. Bloody hell. Maybe the roof? Deftly he climbed the wall and found himself scaling the rooftop. Looking down into a beautiful garden Léon tried to discern a possible entry point, immediately dismissing doors and windows. Probably won't get in the house. Stake out time, it is then. He settled back and tried to make himself comfortable as he kept an eye on the garden. Nothing happened, so he left before sunrise. The next few days passed on uneventful, untill one evening Didina entered the garden, a bottle of brandy in her left hand, two glasses in her right, a black gown narrowly fitting her shapely body. Inwardly Léon whistled Nice. Why thank you. a husky voice sounded in his mind. Meanwhile Didina put both glasses and both on a table. Trying to keep still Léon thoughts raced What?! How the hell did I find you? Didina turned around and looked straight at the thief. "A Lady is entitled to a few secrets. Would you please come down? I'm straining my neck." Here goes nothing. Léon jumped down on the ground, assuming his normal height in the process. "Care to introduce yourself? And explain what you are doing in my house." Didina casually looked from Léon to the bottle. The thief poured amber liquid in the glasses and proferred one to Didina. After taking a sip himself, Léon answered "Not really." Didina chuckled, a deep hearthy sound. "So what am I going to do with you?" "Buy me dinner?" Léon grinned.

[DiabolicalGenius]

Name: El'lina ~ Humility of the First-Born Tal'gos
Race: Noble Drow Child of the Dark (LA bought off)
Sex: Female
Age: 123
Class: Unarmed Swordsage 12 / Master of Nine 2
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Deity: The Sword in the Dark
Specialities: Not being seen or heard unless she wants to be, engaging in mortal combat, guerilla warfare & deflating egos.
Traits & Flaws: Murky-Eyed
Bonus Skills: Knowledge (Yeste the Chain-Breaker) & Knowledge (Invidia)
Picture: Can't find anything that I like and can't draw period.

Description: As she moved the dim light from the orb mounted to the wall nearby illuminated her form for a moment. She was very obviously drow, showing those features much more strongly than the drow-touched people were used to seeing. Her dress was typical of her people, mismatched and unconcerned with appearance, and chosen for the optimum level of mobility and freedom of movement. High boots made of tough leather, a leather skirt with several slits to separate it that hung loosely over bare thighs, her upper-arms and elbows bare but with leather gloves covering her arms up to the elbow with the fingers left bare, and a tunic cinched tight with a thick belt with pouches attacked. A cloak is also worn, but is currently swept back behind her shoulder with the hood lowered. All in a mixture of muted greys and browns, all jumbled and altered to fit as needed. On the other hand far more care has been give to the numerous weapons plainly visible. A pair of blades long enough to be short swords are sheathed at the back of her waist, the care and condition of the weapons plain just from looking at the hilts. The leather cord wrapped around the grips looks freshly tied and small crystal sphere gleams in each pommel. The blades are well sheathed and look slightly curved, tapering at the point. As well as those, there are a pair of daggers in sheaths sewn into each boot, which only show themselves to be forged from cold iron when drawn, and a second pair sheathed in a harness so that the pommels hand down on her back, these forged from silver. While the clothes barely seem worth noting, and he weapons get a hint of respect from a knowing eye, it's the woman herself who makes the greater impression.

A woman of about five-and-a-half feet in height, she is slender and long of limb and moves with a flowing grace like a big cat. All of her visible skin is smooth and unblemished, and black as obsidian. Not a dark skin tone, but black as Indian Ink and gleaming slightly in the light. And whilst it might be unblemished, this is misleading as she has had plenty of scars in her time, more than she can count. It is simply that the Children are very well prepared with their healing magic, and that for some reason Humility herself seemed to heal any small scars quickly, leaving little trace. Perhaps a boon from her father's blood, though if so she could happily do without it. Slender yet still in possession of womanly curves, emphasised by her graceful movements, it would easily be enough to quicken the pulse of the average man and captivate him if she only made half an effort to dress in a more appealing manner. Slender attractive hands are visible, though a close inspection will reveal closely trimmed nails and calluses on both fingers and palms from constantly wielding a sword. Her heart shaped face is crowned by a head of pure, snowy white hair that would surely be beautiful if it was grown long and combed, and not casually cut off at the nape and swept back by hand. Her features are slightly less sharp that the average Ahekan drow, and the pointed ears slightly longer, hinting at something else in her blood. But most of all it's the eyes that grab one's attention. Her big eyes are a vivid, emerald green in colour and almost seem to glow with an inner light, seeming to gleam out from within the darkness of her face. Her expression is calm, focused but with a hint of bitterness under the surface.

Personality: Included as a part of the background.

Background:

 

She was born in the demi-plane of Invidia, as a result of a union between the Lord of Envy himself and one of his slave consorts, an attractive drow-touched who was less than happy with her current circumstances, but had known nothing else. She may have gained greater privileges by catering to the demi-god's desires, yet the price she was paying was far too high.

When the child was born, the drow lineage of both her parents combined to resemble something close to a pure-blood and even more unusual, she displayed none of the signs of her fiendish heritage. As she got older and such traits failed to show, her mother feared what the father might do. He had been disappointed enough that the child had been a female, so what might happen if he decided her lack of infernal traits made her useless to him? More importantly, having a child to protect gave her courage that she had lacked before, supported by her desire to spare her daughter having to live the same way she had been forced to. For these reasons she decided to escape.

Being a slave raised all her life in Cardia, she had naturally heard of the freed slaves on the Plane of shadow who vexed her masters so and planned to make a desperate run for the nearest coterminous point when the conditions for escaping were the best she would ever get. Using her status as a consort, she managed to slip by the guards and find out how to get out of Invidia and onto the Shadow Plane. She managed to make it right into the edge of the Plane itself before her hunters caught up with her and mortally wounded her as she shielded her child from harm. The child was just a tiny girl able to barely comprehend and remember what was happening at the time, and even her memories of her captivity itself would always be hazy. But she would remember what happened next for the rest of her life.

As the hunters seized the dying woman and her child in order to drag them back to their home-plane, they were suddenly hit by a surprise attack by a fiend hunting party led by Breaker himself, who sometimes checked the places where the Plane overlapped with Cardia and the rest of the Abyss for signs of fiendish incursions. He and his fellows made short work of the hunters, but arrived too late to save her mother. All the woman could do was tell them the name of her child and the one who fathered her and beg them to keep Humility out of his hands. She then breathed her last before any treatment could be applied. The child herself only knew the woman as 'mother', and had failed to give her saviours her own name, so even Humility knows nothing else of her. Only that she gave her life so that her daughter could live free, and that alone is plenty.

Breaker might have thought to keep the fact that she was Invidia's daughter a secret from the Children in general, but knew that most would suspect anyway due to her having inherited the vivid green eyes of her father, as well as his drow features and her mother's beauty. So instead he made it public and made it clear that no few them were born of fiendish parents and she was no different than the rest. All accepted his words, though while most did so willingly, many who had been held in Invidia themselves before their chains were broken would continue to treat her coldly.

Humility idolised Breaker as she grew up to the point of hero-worship, which further evolved into a passionate girlish infatuation as she reached adolescence. Breaker was the Keeper of the First-Born and as a result spent time and fought with many of the Families within it. The day he had saved her he had been fighting alongside the Tal'gos Family, a strongly martial oriented family that practised the Sublime Way and had produced a number of Hands of the Dark. So it was only natural that he left her to be raised as one of them there afterwards, the one playing the most prominent part in her upbringing being one of their Elders, an ageing warrior known as Shrewd who had been a part of the group who had rescued her, but by that time was already placing more of his focus on training the younger Children in the Sublime Way and was a known master whose instruction was highly sought after throughout the Clan. He was the one who took the strongest hand in her upbringing and she would consider him as an uncle/grandfather for the rest of her life. And he was also the one who discovered her talent for the blade as well. They became her family, but her fixation on Breaker would remain a driving force throughout her youth and she would chase him around star-struck every time he moved among the Tal'gos. Of course he was a a very busy man with many thousands looking to him for guidance and inspiration, so he wasn't among her Family as frequently as she might have liked. Perhaps fortunately so for him, otherwise he might never have got any peace.

She showed an extraordinary aptitude for the martial path from almost immediately after Shrewd decided to begin her training, her skill developing at a rate more than impressive enough to call her a prodigy. She threw herself into developing these skills, convinced that in order to catch Breaker's interest she needed to quickly pass her Swordright and prove herself worthy of his regard. She had been disappointed at first not to have powers of an arcane nature similar to Breaker's own so as to follow more closely in his footsteps, but this faded fast with the rapid improvement of her skills and the approval it brought her. The sword was highly esteemed among all the Children and especially among the Tal'gos, and she soon realised that by showing off her skills with it, she could quickly dispel any negative regard or sense of distance between her family members that her father's lineage might provoke. The better she did with the blade, the better her relationship with her peers got and her intense pride in those skills began to develop very early on.

As she got older she became even more self-conscious about her parentage, her tell-tale emerald eyes still provoking occasional adverse reactions in others, especially when new Family members joined them and when they interacted with other Families. This feeling increased to her desire to prove herself a good Child of the Dark, convinced that by earning her Sword and earning their respect she would finally lay all doubts to rest. Raised communally by the Tal'gos family, their views and ideals had been strongly impressed upon her and she completely embraced their values of liberty and antipathy towards chains and tyrants of any kind, and a deep hatred for all fiends. The First-Born as a Clan placed a great emphasis on proactive action to strike back against the enemy and liberate more slaves, and in the Tal-gos family they prioritised doing as much damage to the hated fiends as they could. So she was raised with an offensive mind-set which added to her impatience. She was desperate to prove herself nothing to do with Invidia any more, and to get a new name. Her mother had named her El'lina out of love for her beautiful eyes, but she hated the reminder of her ancestry and ended up resenting it.

She advanced at a frightening rate, and proved her skills by sparring with anyone who would accept and managed to beat down more than a few who already had their swords, becoming more than a little full of herself in the process. Even Shrewd was amazed that she was able to perform techniques it had taken him years to master after only a few weeks practise and at an age when she was technically still a child. He was a little concerned about her carelessness and overconfidence, but was having difficulty coming up with a good reason to hold her back, and was a proponent of the of the view that experience was the best teacher. He was sure that a taste of real life or death battle would give her a little more caution, and teach her more than she could learn by training alone. Despite still being quite young for it, her constant demonstrations and persistence finally paid off and she was allowed to go.

Shrewd insisted on accompanying her on her Swordright, as he still felt she was a little too young and only agreed to allow it on the condition that he would be with her. She also chose a number of young men who had recently passed their own Swordright's and had skills of sufficient level and of a nature to complement her own. By this point she had become a comely girl just entering womanhood and her skills had made her the centre of attention as well, so it was only natural that she was quite popular with a good part of the male population around her. It was something that increased her already dangerously swollen head and it gave her a thrill to flirt carelessly with the boys her age, even when she had no intention of delivering on any of it. Breaker totally occupied her interest and all other men seemed to pale in comparison, especially the clumsy males closest to her in age. A number pursued her, but would give up after being messed around enough. But three in particular were different. They had been her constant companions from early on, boys a little older than herself with some skills of their own. And they were all hopelessly taken in by her selfish and forceful personality, and enthralled with her charms. Even when she led them on to no avail or played them off against each other, they didn't get deterred and even seemed to enjoy the chase and competing against each other for her attention. Something which she found immensely entertaining, and so they had ended up firmly in the role of her entourage and general lackeys.

They had completed their Swordrights and were already Sword-brothers with each other, which she had been too young to join in on frustrating her no end. She punished them for this by threatening to choose others to accompany her on her own, and made them beg her to be allowed to go, each promising to be much more useful than the other two, until she finally relented. That made a party of five with her old man Shrewd and the three youngsters. The oldest got the name Smiles from his initiation, and was the most confident, good-looking and charming of the three. He was known for his quick wits, and tactical ability on the battlefield and was already impressing his seniors with his ability to come up with an effective and clever strategy for any confrontation. He was also a known womaniser, and was often scorned by her for chasing around other girls which offended her pride. Naturally, even if she herself led numerous men around and didn't settle on any one, didn't mean it was fine for a boy who was supposed to be in love with her to do the same. The second oldest had earned the name Steel, and was the quietest and also the biggest of the three. Much larger and stronger than anyone else his age, his martial skill was good enough that even she was willing to complement him for it. Not as good as she was of course, but in physical strength he could easily better her and she grudgingly admitted that if she was careless enough to let him pin her down, she might be in trouble. Steadfast, serious and loyal, he was the most reliable of the three, if not quite as entertaining to chat with. The youngest one was only a year older than herself, and was a quick and clever tiefling boy whose looks were the most ordinary, but was a rarity among the Tal'gos for being a magical talent. A cunning and mischievous sort, he had a long running dream to use his talent to become an Eye of the Dark and support his Family, who had only few of the skilled arcanists and valued them highly. He had earned the name Quip for his fast talk. These were the people who accompanied the girl on her Swordright.

In the end it went quite splendidly. The breached Cardia and launched a raid to free as many slaves as they could manage, an mission carried out by a larger separate force while the purpose of her Swordright was to be one of several different groups who would launch an attack in separate locations to divert the enemy's attention during the raid. It worked well, a little too well in fact and for a while it was touch and go. Surrounded by devils and with the drow girl cornered by a strong fiend that gloated arrogantly for all to hear as it drove her back further and further to the point of exhaustion, and could no longer prevent the killing blow. However she responded by mocking it and goading it on until it became careless as it moved in to finish her and was dealt a serious wound from it's blind-spot by the old man. And while it was reeling she struck the finishing blow herself and even got in a witty one-liner while she was at it, thoroughly humbling the arrogant creature by falling to a foe it had so underestimated and had such a huge advantage in physical might over. Her performance impressed her friends so much that the named her in it's honour, "Teaches Humility", shortened to Humility. They knew it would appeal to her bloated ego and they were right, as she adopted it with pleasure, while Shrewd could only shake his head wearily.

With her first rousing success she grew even more conceited, and eagerly went out on any dangerous venture seeking battle and excitement. As someone born with overwhelming talent she was eminently sure of herself, and this certainty made her reckless and impulsive. Despite this her exceptional skill compensated for these flaws in battle after battle for years. As the time passed she grew into a young woman and was trailed everywhere by her young sword-brothers who competed for her affection only to still be left hanging and toyed with, her torch for Breaker burning brighter than ever. Whenever the Keeper moved among their Family, they became a pitiful band of brothers as Humility seemed to forget they even existed and made quite a fool of herself showing off for Breaker's attention. Shrewd was also technically her Sword-brother as well, but he was getting rather old now and had made her Swordright his last official venture into the field and was focusing on raising the young talent. With her spending as much time in the field as she did training, the time she spent with him began to reduce. There relationship also became a little thorny as he realised he had been mistaken in thinking she would learn her limits from real battle, and became concerned about her over-extending herself. The proud and foolish young lady didn't take well to his lectures and nay-saying, and decided he was getting too old and losing his mettle.

For all this time she felt a blessed, untouchable child, unable to fail nor do no wrong. She had no doubt that she was heading straight for the top and that no fiend could stand against her. She had even almost forgotten her hated father and his influence, feeling as though it was ancient history and couldn't hurt her now. They say pride comes before a fall, and she was due to fall very hard indeed.

One day she got word of fiends having been spotted infiltrating dangerously close to their settlement and decided that it would be quicker to run out and deal with it by herself, rather than having to find her brothers and get their help first. She would spend the rest of her life regretting how thoughtless and stupid she had been at that time. It was a trap. She attacked the invaders on sight with her usual skill, and defeated them effortlessly. In fact they were weaker than she expected despite their numbers, broke and fled quickly and like a fool she blindly pursued to finish the job. She would catch up and kill a number of them and the rest would flee and she would give chase. She didn't even realise how close she had gotten to the border of Cardia until was right on top of it. That was when she finally caught up with the last of them and wiped them out, and that was when the real enemies appeared. The invaders had just been cannon fodder sent first lure her in, soften her up and reduce her stamina so that the elites could beat her into submission and take her alive. And they were not just any devils, but Invidia's own personal forces. Coincidence? Or was she targeted to be lured out there deliberately? She would never know for sure. All she knew was that she was eventually overwhelmed after taking many of them down, her bones broken and bound helpless to be dragged off to Invidia. By the time her family realised what had happened they were already back where they came from. The last thing she remembered was being thrown to the ground in a grand and looking up to see a pair of vivid green eyes looking at her just like the ones she saw every time she looked in the mirror, along with ebon dark wings. The figure sneered with arrogant amusement and reached out a hand toward her.

Everything is blank after that. She doesn't remember anything, just a grey void where time passed in her mind. The memories only started again when her brothers appeared in front of her, her three dear brothers who followed her around like puppies. She was somewhere in Invidia and they appeared before her, but she didn't welcome them. No she drew her weapons and fought them, and even badly wounded one of them before they managed to restrain her. She was nothing but an impediment to them as they carried her off and made a desperate escape out of Invidia with her, just the three of them against the most desperate odds. The one she had injured with her own hands was the first to succumb along the way, cut down as the shoulder muscles she had cut kept him from raising his guard in time. That was the last time she saw Smiles, not grinning flirtatiously any more, but cleaved by a devil's halberd as he screamed at them to run. Steel was the next to fall, the toughest and most dauntless of her Brothers, he sent the last ahead with her and bought them the time to escape by holding the fiends at bay, paying with his life. There were so many of the, like all the devils in Invidia were in hot pursuit, yet her strongest Brother let not a single one by until he was lost to her sight. The last was the subtle arcanist Quip who strove to become an Eye in the Dark. He was the only one who survived to bring her home with him, but one of his real eyes got left behind somewhere along the way. Not to mention plenty of his blood and his mischievous laugh as well. She would never see him laugh again.

All of this is hazy recollection, true clarity only coming later. She woke and found Him standing with his hands on her head, her kneeling at his feet. The Sword in the Dark, her god. He had used his power to shatter the hold Invidia had created over her mind and restore her free will and awareness to her. Which in turn restored the knowledge of what had happened and of how she was responsible for it. To say that she was heartbroken simply couldn't do it justice. She wanted to die herself, wished she had died instead of them. Cursed herself that she had given them so little in return for their love, too busy obsessing with herself. He watched her in her despair, and offered no comfort, no easy excuses. He simply harshly confirmed that Yes, it was indeed her fault. Not because they chose to offer their lives for her freedom, as that was their choice alone. No, it was her hubris which had gifted her straight into Invidia's hands that had resulted in this outcome, her Pride. The bitter irony, that her father blood actually did tell after all. Since Pride was the root of many other sins, and certainly plated a great part in her father's Envy. Because he believed he deserved more, he couldn't stand others possessing anything that he did not. It was his pride that made his desire so great, and made him so bitter for everything he lacked. Pride which had brought Humilty to the very bottom. While she still despaired, He offered her the choice. To let their lives have been shed for nothing, a waste of two talented and well-loved Children for a single vain, immature, selfish slip of a girl. Or to make it mean something, by paying back the price they had paid by her own actions. To fight the battles that they could not and experience the life they would never get to see. To show her Family that the price those young men had paid was worth the cost and a good bargain. Heartbroken by her folly and shaken by His words, all she could do was swear a solemn vow in His presence, that she would make it so. That she would not stop doing so as long as breath still passed her lips.

After that day Humility was a changed woman. Her personality had shifted drastically. She could never remember what had occurred during her captivity, perhaps it being a fail-safe by her father to keep her from betraying his secrets, or perhaps she simply refused to permit herself to remember because her mind wasn't strong enough to keep going otherwise. The fear of what could have happened in Invidia cost her many hours of peace, and awoke her from her trance in an unreasonable terror on more than one occasion. Yet she bore it in silence, just like she did the damning looks from her fallen Brothers' family and friends. Words would mean nothing to them, so she endeavoured to show the redeem herself with her actions. She returned to her sword-master Shrewd and apologised for not heeding his warning, told him that she could never forgive herself for not listening before it was too late. She begged him to retrain her from the very beginning and this time make sure she learned where she was lacking and compensate her for it. She needed to learn the patience and subtlety she never had before, how to look before she leapt and think about the consequences to her comrades before her own glory. She trained herself brutally to the point of collapse again and again, and became her own harshest critic, condemning herself for the slightest mistake and repeating over and over until everything was to her satisfaction. When she returned to the field of battle, she did so without her usual bravado, seeking out experienced and respected battle leaders and swearing to follow their directions faithfully in the field if they would allow her to join them there. She learnt not to take any chances, to carefully survey a situation before charging in, to stack up every advantage one could have before joining battle and knowing when to retreat should the situation turn unfavourable and where fleeing would cost them little more than there own pride. She also learnt to be quiet and observant, to slip out of sight and appear where an enemy least expected you to. To strike them where they were most vulnerable, even if it wasn't flashy or dramatic.

She made her every action a testament to her tenacity for victory while minimising the risks to her fellow Children, and even the harshest of her critics eventually had to admit that she was no longer the vainglorious fool she was before. Even those who never forgave her for causing her brothers death, grudgingly admitted her achievements and that her new methods made her an asset to their people. Still, she could never be satisfied. She lived in constant fear of falling victim to hubris again, and took any opportunity to trample her pride, challenging the very best opponents the children had to offer whenever she got the chance to spar with them. After fighting someone she knew she stood no chance against she would take apart everything she had done and point out every little flaw right then and there, regardless of who was watching. She could take no satisfaction no matter how many great achievements she racked up, and as the years passed she grew habitually bitter and self-mocking.

As the years passed old Shrewd went the way many old people did, or at least he would have. He couldn't stand the idea of watching his body break down and make him a burden to his kindred even after he became too frail to pass on his skill or even offer his advice. When he realised he was reaching the point where his capability had almost declined too much for him to do it, he tidied up his affairs, gathered his weapons and disappeared. He had been spotted by another Family heading alone in the direction of Cardia and before word of that even reached them, she found a message left behind for her to read.

I have a spot of unfinished business with a man in Invidia. Have gone to have a quiet word and set things straight. I have quite a lot I need to settle with him, so I may be gone some time. Take care of yourself dear girl, you were always my treasure.

Shrewd

It wasn't uncommon among the proud Swordbearers, who rather than succumb to frailty, have their own body become a prison robbing them of their freedom, and burden their kin living in such a harsh and combative environment, would decide to choose where they wanted to die on their own terms. Usually setting out to an utterly hopeless challenge, like assaulting all of Cardia alone or attempting to assassinate one of The Seven. And it was quite obvious the suicidal goal Shrewd had chosen and even more obvious that it was chosen for her sake. He had left behind similar messages for his friends and blood relatives and that was the last time she saw him. She wept for him, but understood why he had done it. Of course, no word came about Invidia having been vanquished, nor any word at all about Shrewd from there on. The outcome was obvious and probably exactly what he hoped for. Though even a decrepit as he had become, he was still a master of his art. He no doubt took more than a few of Invidia's best with him on his way out. Leaving behind his teachings, Humility found herself joining his other students in offered to train anyone who wanted to learn them. She didn't feel that she was qualified to be teaching anyone at all, but was something she had to do. He had told her himself, that it was his obligation as one who had mastered the Sublime Way to pass it on and strengthen their people as much as he could. And that she should do the same when she old enough and he was gone. It was a principle he valued and she felt she would be dishonouring his memory if she didn't uphold it. So from there on as well as training herself daily, and fighting in every battle that came, she could often be found aiding in the instruction of young Children eagerly heading towards their own Swordrights.

Time kept passing and the shorter lived races among her fellows grew old at a frightening rate, while her thick drow blood kept her feeling quite young and looking like a youthful woman in her late teens by human standards. Being a tiefling, Quip was one of the ones who ages a bit slower and endured as her companion. He seemed to feel the guilt of a survivor as well and had fought hard to qualify as an Eye in the Dark and was working everyday almost as hard as she was to make up for still being alive. He was her last Sword-Brother and she held him to be quite precious for it, but things were never quite the same with the others gone. Both of them had changed a lot, and Quip's relationship with her changed to one of comrade in arms and companion, his youthful infatuation with her passing as he met good woman and had children of his own. Not that she held it against him of course. In fact she was happy for him. As the years had passed following her ordeal, her love for Breaker had matured as well from girlish fantasies and passion, to a deeper respect and admiration, with a strong attraction added on top. But since he wasn't there every day and they had never established anything like friendship, him only treating her like most of the young Children who admired and looked up to him. So she wasn't sure if it was more idolisation than a real love, and she had grown realistic enough to know it was an unlikely love at that. Not to mention that she was sure he had heard of what she had brought about and was disappointed with her. Even if he never said anything when he was among them.

Many in the Family seemed to think that the Breaker she had always gushed over was the reason why even once she regained some of the respect she had lost and had no shortage of worthy men willing to be her partner, she still kept her distance and had no children of her own. It might be true that some foolish part of her still clung to a hopeless dream and was deterring her from looking at another. But most of it was her own feeling of inadequacy and that she didn't think she was fit to be raising a Child for the next generation. Most of all, a part of her was terrified that she could warm to the idea of bearing a child, carry it within her body and give birth, only to hold the babe in her arms and see a baleful pair of green eyes and a cold sneer staring back at her. She feared her father's blood and resisted any suggestion that she should pass it on. This is the biggest point of criticism towards Humility within the Family next to that incident back then, and has cause her no end of hassle. So many of the women who have retired from active combat seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time introducing her to men, ranging from suggesting to coercing her into meeting, and might try using actual force if it wasn't too dangerous to risk provoking her. Men her age, mean younger than her and even men much more mature were all offered up for her interest, while she stubbornly resisted to the end. Even now she gets disapproving looks from many of the women around her, and a few of the men as well. On this point though, she has refused to be moved.

Having spent many decades striving to prove and redeem herself, succeeding to some extent in the eyes of her family, but hardly at all to her own view, the day came when a momentous event occurred among the Children. The Sword in the Dark found love and fathered children of his own within the In'ira Family of their own Clan. An event that caused waves throughout the entirety of their people and was important enough to even distract Humility from her endless quest to redeem her mistakes. Whenever the Tal'gos and the In'ira interacted as Families, or when she happened to be part of a war party that worked with the In'ira, she couldn't help joining those who went to see the godlings with curiosity and awe as a second child was born and another a bit longer after. She would see them having got older every time she encountered their Family, and advancing at an incredible rate that rivalled and even surpassed her own youth. It provoked an unpleasant hint of envy from her, which she felt disgusted in herself by. If only the god who had fathered her could have been He who Comes Wrapped in Darkness or anyone other than one of The Seven. She couldn't help but think them terribly fortunate.

As they grew up she saw them only occasionally, and didn't have any kind of special relationship with them. The last thing she wanted to do was bring up their common origin of being sired by a deity, since for them it was the one the esteemed the highest, while for her it was one among those who they despised above all others. It may be something they had in common, but the difference was that between heaven and hell as well. She interacted with them whenever it was appropriate and did her best to treat them much the same as she would any other Child. She knew the best what it meant to let flattery go to your head and had no intention of contributing to it in them. But the elder two didn't seem the type and were rather level headed, and the older one became very hard to find once she got old enough to choose her path in life, and that likely meant she would be wearing a Mask at some point. Which every Child knew better than to pry into. The son was a little easier to find and she met him on several occasions during his childhood, and got along with him as well as any young boy would with a grown woman. The youngest girl though, was a little different.

Born a good few years after her siblings, as the girl reached adolescence she began to remind Humility too much of herself for comfort. Of course, she had been ten times worse, but the fact was that the girl was overwhelmingly gifted, at least as much as she herself had been, and was also quite sure of herself. Her character was good, not vain or selfish like Humility used to be, but as she got older and completed her Swordright, she became more impatient and was obviously feeling driven to live up to the expectations her family and all of the Children had of her, and couldn't seem to wait for it to happen in it's own time. When she encountered Min at a gathering of members of various Families from the Clan, Humility became much more aware of those traits and grew concerned that the girl was pushing herself too hard and was going to make a mistake if she carried on that way. Taking a proactive approach towards those children for the first time, she sought out Min while the girl was training by herself and requested a spar. This was a few years before the present day and Min hadn't quite reached Humility's level yet, though at the rate Bane had improved it wouldn't be long before she surpassed her. It had been humbling for her to realise her even her prodigious talent could be surpassed by someone who had a divine spark of their own, and was instructed and guided by the god himself as well. At that moment though, she was still stronger and took the opportunity to show the girl the difference experience could make, and tried to impress on her how easily impatience could lead her to ruin, while not making it a lecture. It went well enough, the girl seeming to enjoy the training and the challenge to her skills at least. Whether the advice actually sunk or not remained to be seen.

Now it's been more than a century since she joined the Children and she is still quite young for a drow, but her cynical and world weary attitude make her youthful features seem false. Humility has become a well known name among the Children, even beyond the First-Born and few outside of the Keepers, the offspring of their God and the likes of Geld, can hope to call themselves an opponent who need not fear her blade. She is often called upon whenever martial skill is required and no-one within her own Family is a match for her any more. Defeating dangerous fiends and taking part in missions to free slaves is a regular event for her, and her achievements have mounted. Yet no matter how great an achievement she makes, she doesn't celebrate it or endure excessive praise. Ironically by now her skills are well known to Breaker himself, and when he requires the aid of the Tal'gos in an endeavour, she is the first to be called on. While a part of her is delighted beyond measure to have earned his approval, another feels that it doesn't change the fact that he is still out of her reach. They may fight alongside one another on occasion and talk about war and freedom and other such business matters, but they have yet to exchange dialogue on a truly personal level. With such immense responsibilities, how could he have the time to worry about the feelings of one woman among thousands? It just wasn't reasonable. She had already accepted that it was a hopeless love.

The weight hadn't left her heart in all these years. It still wasn't enough to atone for her Sin. For what her Pride had wrought. Invidia still lived, and her hatred had condensed into a cold and dark thing which she held close to her heart. But she is well aware of what recklessness can lead to and she is not about to charge on a suicide mission into his realm. No she had worked hard to learn patience. She would wait as many years as it took, for her skills to finally ascend to a level capable of slaying a demigod, or for a weakness to present itself. She would wait until the odds went from absolutely suicidal to just almost certain death. She could wait at least this long, so she assured herself. Even as much as she focused on her vendetta though, her condemnation of herself always takes precedence. Especially towards the part of herself that she hates. Because no matter how much she has changed, it's still there inside. The part that revels in every words of praise she hears, in any and all admiration for her whether it's due to her skills, victories or her charms. She can't forgive the part of her that still wants to hear those words, that longs for them. She has to oppose it every day and realises that while her outlook might have changed, her deepest nature is still the same and she despises it.

Recent occurrences have been far out of the ordinary, and she has had little time to think about anything but keeping up. The end of the taboo, and the attack Sharak which she herself aided in. Her skills made her ideal for assassination even when on the absolutely unfamiliar territory of forbidden Aheka. But so long as she had a Face of the Dark with her who was familiar with it, it wasn't an insurmountable problem and Quip was still alive and active, if looking a fair bit older than she did by now. With her skills and compared to fighting actual fiends on a day to day basis, it wasn't quite as hard as she expected. She had been given an important target, to eliminate a man named Sylas Chathema, the head of the Chathema Kinship. A group made up of mercenaries who had somehow managed to get noble status and were on rather close terms with the Sharak royal family. Very good terms and fully approving of the fiendish dealings going on and far too big a threat to be ignored. Together she and Quip were given all the information they needed from Faces in the Dark to infiltrate the stronghold, bypass the defences and attacked the head himself within, ending up in a fierce fight with his elite guards along with him. If they had taken any longer to finish it, it could have been quite dangerous. She was forced to admit that it wouldn't have been possible to manage without all the inside help, and acknowledged it had been a necessary target.

As she returned back home, word had begun to spread about the Mother and what had been told about her at the summit that Breaker and the others had attended. Hearing about how their beloved founder had been enslaved both physically and mentally, defiled and used as breeding stock, she felt sick to her stomach. She only remembered vaguely the time before being saved and joining the Children when she was a little girl, but she could remember clearly being captured and enslaved again with that terrifying fog covering the time of her second enslavement, making her imagination horrify her with idea of what she might have been made to do. It made it all too easy to think of the same thing happening to her, making it hit her far more personally than it would otherwise, on top of the fact that it was being done to a figure she had been raised on stories of as a source of hope and kindness for them all.

As time passed she found it more and more unbearable. The fact she was free and capable of choosing as she would was thanks to what the Mother started, and they all praised and loved Her for it more than words could say. Even those like herself who had only been raised with the stories. Let alone someone like Breaker who had actually known Her personally. Humility's heart broke when she thought about how it must be torturing him, and she desperately wanted to do something to help him, even if there was still a distance between them. Both for the sake of the Mother who's suffering had struck such an intimate note with her own, and for Breaker's sake as well. She wasted no time in making it known that she would join any effort to aid or succour her in any way, no matter how small. If she could do something about this, if she could save their Mother and return her to their side, would that be enough? Could she finally be forgiven?

Roleplaying Sample:

 

Humility made her way through cavern camp of the In'ira Family with thoughtless grace, her footsteps not making the slightest sound as she flowed by like a shadow. Not that she was making any effort to sneak around of course. The Tal'gos were welcome friends in the camp, members of the same Clan and the two Families staunch allies that often cooperated in the battle against the fiendish oppressors. Today she had come with together with other Children from her Family to meet on various business, trading, exchanging information, Elders meeting and the like, much like they had many times before. It just so happened that she been one of the ones who went along this time. They had arrived in the afternoon, not that the sun shined in the Plane of Shadow, but it was about that time of the day as it was reckoned. She had been killing time since then and it was now evening. Normally she would be putting the time to good used training or seeking out a worthy opponent for some sparring, but right then she had another goal in mind.

As she moved the dim light from the orb mounted to the wall nearby illuminated her form for a moment. She was very obviously drow, showing those features much more strongly than the drow-touched people were used to seeing. Her dress was typical of her people, mismatched and unconcerned with appearance, and chosen for the optimum level of mobility and freedom of movement. High boots made of tough leather, a leather skirt with several slits to separate it that hung loosely over bare thighs, her upper-arms and elbows bare but with leather gloves covering her arms up to the elbow with the fingers left bare, and a tunic cinched tight with a thick belt with pouches attacked. A cloak is also worn, but is currently swept back behind her shoulder with the hood lowered. All in a mixture of muted greys and browns, all jumbled and altered to fit as needed. On the other hand far more care has been give to the numerous weapons plainly visible. A pair of blades long enough to be short swords are sheathed at the back of her waist, the care and condition of the weapons plain just from looking at the hilts. The leather cord wrapped around the grips looks freshly tied and small crystal sphere gleams in each pommel. The blades are well sheathed and look slightly curved, tapering at the point. As well as those, there are a pair of daggers in sheaths sewn into each boot, which only show themselves to be forged from cold iron when drawn, and a second pair sheathed in a harness so that the pommels hand down on her back, these forged from silver. While the clothes barely seem worth noting, and he weapons get a hint of respect from a knowing eye, it's the woman herself who makes the greater impression.

A woman of about five-and-a-half feet in height, she is slender and long of limb and moves with a flowing grace like a big cat. All of her visible skin is smooth and unblemished, and black as obsidian. Not a dark skin tone, but black as Indian Ink and gleaming slightly in the light. And whilst it might be unblemished, this is misleading as she has had plenty of scars in her time, more than she can count. It is simply that the Children are very well prepared with their healing magic, and that for some reason Humility herself seemed to heal any small scars quickly, leaving little trace. Perhaps a boon from her father's blood, though if so she could happily do without it. Slender yet still in possession of womanly curves, emphasised by her graceful movements, it would easily be enough to quicken the pulse of the average man and captivate him if she only made half an effort to dress in a more appealing manner. Slender attractive hands are visible, though a close inspection will reveal closely trimmed nails and calluses on both fingers and palms from constantly wielding a sword. Her heart shaped face is crowned by a head of pure, snowy white hair that would surely be beautiful if it was grown long and combed, and not casually cut off at the nape and swept back by hand. Her features are slightly less sharp that the average Ahekan drow, and the pointed ears slightly longer, hinting at something else in her blood. But most of all it's the eyes that grab one's attention. Her big eyes are a vivid, emerald green in colour and almost seem to glow with an inner light, seeming to gleam out from within the darkness of her face. Her expression is calm, focused but with a hint of bitterness under the surface.

Humility continued past the light and sought out the place she had been told about when she asked. She had heard that the person in question might train here alone once the sparring was done and the evening meal was finished, and though back to when she saw her sparring earlier. The impatience and enthusiasm combined, the sense that she was trying too hard because of all the people watching, the ridiculous talent and skill for such a young girl. It had made Humility grit her teeth as it recalled another young girl not all that different, only much more vain and foolish. She knew it wasn't really her place and that she shouldn't stick her nose into it unasked, but for some reason she just couldn't leave this alone. Maybe it was the fact that she had spent so long training reckless youngsters back at their own camp, that it had become second nature to try to teach any youth she saw struggling and in need of steering in the right direction. Or maybe it was just self-satisfaction, trying to teach this girl a little patience as though to make up for the fact that she herself had rejected every attempt others made to do the same for her, once upon a time. Her full lips twisted into a small smile of mockery which was her common expression, directed towards herself this time like it often was. She really was an incurable fool. Truly.

As she thought this she caught sight of a young girl in a open area. The girl looked about fifteen with elven heritage, if not quite as strong as her own. She made her way closer, silencing her footsteps, stilling her breath and her presence as she watched the girl's movements as she practised martial forms by herself. She was standing a stone's throw away for a good minute or two before the girl finally noticed her and stopped in surprise, before she raised an eyebrow and asked.

"Aren't you.....the woman who challenged Geld to spar earlier and lost?"

The self-mocking smile appeared again and she gave a slight shrug.

"That I am, though I believe I lasted longer than you did. This is the first time we've spoken is it not? Humility of the First-Born Tal'gos."

She gave the girl a nod, the slight smile still in place, and the girl responded with a quizzical smile and a nod of her own, before turning slightly defensive at the mention of her own spar.

"I know who you are. Min of the First-Born In'ira which you knew as well, right? And I'm lasting longer than I used to. Won't be long now before I'm doing better than you did and I'll even beat him soon enough."

At the girl's insistence at her eventual victory, the smile deepened, still mocking both herself and the world in general. That habit made it harder for her to get along with others than it might be otherwise.

"Hmmm. That might be true. You're probably better than I was at your age, but I can still see plenty of openings in your form. They're pretty obvious, want me to show them to you?"

The smile became slightly provocative, and was answered by look of slight surprise, followed by determination.

"What? You want to spar right here? Now? Why didn't you ask when everyone was sparring earlier?"

Humility shrugged and gave the girl a level look, her emerald eyes holding the girl's own with a captivating light.

"Maybe I just wanted to see how you fight when everyone else isn't watching? Or maybe I'm just being kind by not embarrassing you in front of your family, yes?"

The challenging air in her voice quickly got an response appropriate for a proud, teenage girl.

"Oh, now you've said it. Alright, let's do it. We'll see who gets embarrassed."

The girl began readying herself to fight, and Humility could barely stop herself from shaking her head in wonderment. Young people were always provoked so easily. Even more so in her case. Seeing that the girl was just about ready, she controlled her breathing, loosened up her body and focused her mind. Entering a state of battle readiness with the ease of long practise, she shrugged off her cloak to the floor indifferently, reached behind her waist and smoothly drew the twin swords. She raised them and took a low stance and let her field of vision expand, taking in everything before her as Min raised her own sword and made ready. There were no spectators or mediators to announced the start and it wasn't needed. Humility made the barest of steps forward and gestured with a blade as though about to strike and Min responded instant, striking with impressive speed and precision. Though that was exactly as the drow had anticipated, the response provoked purposefully. She parried the first strike, then another and another, the calm mocking smile never wavering, her eyes focused with concentration above it.

She took a few steps back as Min advanced while attacked, trying to create an opening. And surely enough as she gave ground the little smile slipped, her defence wavered under the assault and an opening presented itself, and the teenager eagerly struck without hesitation, before watching with wide eyes as drow quite calmly sidestepped as though knowing precisely what was coming, and in the moment that the girl over-extended herself ever so slightly the drow spun, raised a leg and drove a side kick straight into the other's abdomen with precise force. Min fell to the ground gasping and then froze as a pair of blade appeared an inch from her neck. Humility shook her head in disapproval and spoke in a lecturing tone.

"So impatient. You're far too eager Min. Just a little provocation and a feint, and you charge in so straight on that you might as well have announced it beforehand. An all out offence can be an advantage against an unwary opponent, but against a prepared opponent of similar or greater level in skill, it is simply reckless."

Her voice and expression give the air of someone well used to instructing others as she removes the blades and took a step back. Looking a little irate, Min jumped to her feet and raised her sword.

"Again."

Humility replied with a smile.

"Of course."

Yet again they raised their blades. And again. And again. And again. Until night had actually fallen and both were feeling a the fatigue. Min's face was set in an expression of stubborn refusal to admit it was over.

"Just once more.."

Humility shook her head wearily. She had taken down the girl a dozen times or more, admittedly with considerably more difficulty than she would have expected of any student that age, or even some seasoned Children. And the girl was already getting better as they thought, making it harder and harder for her to manage. Yet she kept winning the same way, playing on the girls impatience and recklessness until she made a mistake, and it was only by doing this that she managed to keep winning without getting hit. Even so, she was making her point. Showing Min through practical demonstration that pride, impatience and recklessness were weaknesses that could be exploited and could ruin you. She knew it was probably unnecessary. Having the Sword in the Dark himself guiding her along with her siblings, and the well known and respected Toy, Mockingbird and Geld as her Sword-brothers, all of whom were likely making their own efforts to cure the girl's bad habits. Even so, she still couldn't seem to help herself. Besides, hearing the same advice from someone who wasn't close to her personally, might make her take it a little more seriously. In any case she had been taking her down and lecturing her about it for an hour now and was getting a little tired. She she shook her head in denial.

"It's getting late, and it's going to turn out the same way no matter what you try unless you deal with the fundamental problem that's causing you to lose, yes? Rest now Min. Too much training can have the opposite effect and damage the body. This was good exercise. I enjoyed it."

She was actually quite sincere in the last, having been reminded once again that a difference in age, skill and experience didn't automatically equate victory and had she taken her too lightly or gotten careless, she might actually have been the one on the ground. Min didn't seem to appreciate the sentiment though and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, well I'm glad you enjoyed tossing me on the ground all evening. Fine then, but this isn't over Humility. Next time I'll be the one laughing."

Feeling another crooked smile appear on her face at the girl's challenging and not entirely ill humoured reply, she gave a nod.

"I'll be looking forward to it Min. Until next time."

The teenager stalked off, rubbing her aching body and Humility sheathed her blade and picked up her cloak. Speaking to the air she muttered wonderingly

"Was this really something I should have been doing."

Shockingly a deep voice answered her from the darkness over her shoulder.

"I believe your heart was in the right place."

Humility started, not being able to remember the last time someone approached her unnoticed so easily. Spinning around she froze and her eyes widened as she beheld a figure cloaked in pure darkness and a pair of grey eyes staring out at her. Staring dumbly, she muttered quietly.

"The Sword in the Dark...."

As she stood there unable to say anything else, the voice continued.

"I at least, understand your good will towards my daughter. I thank you for your efforts, though trying to teach patience to the young is a challenge even for me...."

Amazed at how moved she is by the god's thanks, she can only smile and nod in acknowledgement.

 

 

Swordrights are the right of passage for the Children. You're not an adult in their eyes until you have earned the right to carry a sword, and once you have the right no one, not even the Sword in the Dark (their God), can ask you to give it up or take it from you. Even criminals are allowed to keep their swords, although if they try to use it to fight free then they'll likely get a severe beating from their guards as a result. As former slaves the right to carry a weapon to defend yourself is central to their society. No one is supposed to be defenceless.

They are typically undertaken around the age of 15 (although some have taken them earlier or later), for someone born among the Children, and whenever they are deemed ready by a Keeper if they are freed slaves. The exact nature of it varies from Clan to Clan and Family to Family, and also on what is going on, however they are always dangerous. Hunting a group of Fiends nosing around the Plane of Shadows (or the World Between Worlds as the Children sometimes call it); retrieving a magic item from a Fiend; and freeing slaves are the most common Swordrights. The only thing the Children are forbidden to do during a Swordright (at least until now) was to go to Aheka. Going to Aheka was Taboo to the Children and some may still be reluctant to break it, but it has been/soon will be officially broken by the Keepers (the spiritual leaders of the Children).

Children will never undertake a Swordright alone. They will always go with others of similar ability or, in the case of more dangerous Swordrights, someone who has already earned their sword. Children consider the bond between those who successfully go on their Swordrights together to be second only to familial bonds (if second to them at all) and refer to them as their Sword-Sbilings, Sword-Brothers or Sword-Sisters (as appropriate).

Min, for example, has three Sword-Brothers (Toy, Mockingbird and Geld) who were all adults at the time. Her older brother (Bane) also went, but because they are already blood relatives they don't consider each other Sword-Siblings. She was accompanied by four adult Children because her Swordright was particularly dangerous: raiding Ira's stronghold for powerful magical items. However, this is by no means normal as she is the Godling daughter of the Sword of the Dark and, as such, was much more capable than a mortal even as a teenager. Swordrights are supposed to be challenging, so the more talented a child you are the more dangerous the Swordright.

Bane, meanwhile, has two Sword-Siblings (one brother, one sister) who were of an age with him at the time and they did not go on as dangerous a Swordright as Min did (although it was still more dangerous than normal).

All of the Children met thus far (with the sole exception of Rising, the Keeper of the Waking-Dream Clan) are from the First-Born Clan and all but one of those (Breaker, the Keeper of the First-Born Clan) are from the In'ira Family. They would therefore refer to themselves towards Children of another Family or Clan by their chosen name (the one they earn during their Swordright) followed by their Clan and then their Family when introducing themselves. E.g. Min of the First-Born In'ira. They do not typically do this with non-Children, using just their chosen name.

I haven't named any other Families and there are hundreds of them so don't worry about making one up. The eight Clans are fixed however, and will influence the general mentality of the Families (see below).

Here is a summary of the Clans and their Keepers (original and current):

 

The Children are separated into eight Clans and within each clan there are a variable number of Families. While Families sometimes come and go, forming and disbanding, the Clans are a constant and have existed from the very first moment of the Children - before they even called themselves the Children in the Dark.

Each Clan was founded by one of the eight first Children, who were emboldened and inspired to escape by The Mother, a young Elven woman who was imprisoned and enslaved on Cardia just as they were. The Clans are all named after their founders, with said founders becoming the first Keepers - the Children tasked with remembering and passing on the origin of the Children and The Mother's prophecies. To this day there are always eight Keepers and four of the original eight are still alive.

Black-Bone
Founded by Elven for 'bone'Nnar the Bone-Dancer (usually shortened to Dancer) a male Lich Bard/Osteomancer who is still alive. Nnar is surprisingly relaxed and friendly, with a very dark sense of humour. It is this very sense of humour that gained him the name 'Bone-Dancer' as he made a habit of altering his own bones in an amusing fashion and controlling the bones of his enemies and having them perform amusing actions for his and others' entertainment.

The Black-Bones are among the harsher Clans (although often just as quick to smile and joke) and one of the only ones that accept Undead and Necromancers. Most Families do not allow the raising of their own dead, however the Black-Bones have gained a reputation for using the skeletal remains of Fiends to fight with, although they are not opposed to the occasional Dragon or other powerful creatures (including Trolls).

First-Born
Founded by Elven for 'first'Yeste the Chain-Breaker (usually shortened to Breaker) a male Shadowkin Warlock who is still alive. Yeste is terse and severe although he cares deeply for the welfare of the Children. He gained the name 'Chain-Breaker' because he sees his first and most important duty being to free other people from the Fiends. Consequently, he has personally freed more people than any other Child in the Dark.

The First-Borns are one of the largest Clans (along with the Young-Blades) and among the most diverse, however they are also the most active when it comes to raiding the Fiends (particularly to free other slaves).

Last-Breath
Founded by Elven for 'breath'Suula the Mercy a female Vampire who is still alive. Suula is a dark poet of sorts, seeing a tragic beauty in her life and the life of the children. She refuses to sire any other Vampires although she has had several Half-Vampire children. The name of her Clan (and the name The Mother gave her) are a result of a long standing habit she has had from while she was still enslaved by the Fiends - kissing someone before killing them and taking their 'last breath'. It should be noted she only does/did this to human/human-descended people she kills/killed, not to fiends.

The Last-Breaths are the only Clan where Vampires are permitted and are the only Clan they may sire from. In part because of this and in part due other factors (such as their acceptance of other Undead/Necromancy) they are one of the smaller Clans (along with the Wild-Souls). There are usually no more than one hundred Vampires in the Clan at a time with at least one per Family but no more than three per Family. Last-Breath Vampires mostly rely on magic to provide sustenance however they are legally permitted to feed from willing Children, though it is rarely done cross-Clan.

Old-Blood
Founded by Elven for 'blood'Agar the Old-Hand (was usually shortened to Hand) a male Tiefling Assassin who was the oldest of the first mortal Keepers (Suula being the oldest) and died while attempting to assassinate Superbia almost seven centuries ago. Its current Keeper is Wit a male Conjurer [Wizard] who (predictably) specialises in crafting magical items (he is particularly adept at crafting intelligent items).

The Old-Bloods are the principal crafters (both mundane and magical) of the Children in the Dark, although that should not be misconstrued as them being less able - they just tend to focus on the creation and retrieval of magical items above tasks.

True-Dawn
Founded by Elven for 'dawn'Anoron the Light-Seeker (was usually shortened to Seeker) a male Aasimar Cleric who died over eight centuries ago in order to allow the bulk of his Family (including blood relatives) to escape. Its current Keeper is Strider a female Warlock/Cleric/Eldritch Disciple who is most well known for her wanderlust. Of all the Keepers she is the one who travels the most and who goes on raids the most.

The True-Dawns are typically the most devout of the Children, focussing on the various types of divine spellcasting, and as such are also known as the best healers.

Waking-Dream
Founded by Elven for 'dream'Olos the Third-Eye (was usually shortened to Eye) a male Atralumi Psion [Seer] who was assassinated by Ira almost eight and a half centuries ago, making him the first of the Keepers to have been killed. Its current Keeper is Rising Sun (usually shortened to Rising), a Beguiler and Seer (not the class) known for his love of music. Curiously, Rising sees sound (which is like waves of mist to him) rather than hearing it, with his visions playing into this by the mist twisting into images around people, objects etc.

The Waking-Dreams tend to focus on divination and spying and, as a result, typically have more Eyes and Faces in the Dark than the other Clans.

Wild-Soul
Founded by Elven for 'wild'Merka the Ruin a female Lycanthrope Ranger who is still alive. Merka is the most serene of the surviving (and current) keepers and also the most diplomatic, however this is a result of hard work on her own part to keep her destructive instincts in check, as she is a first generation Lycanthrope (i.e. one directly created by the Fiends, not another Lycanthrope). Consequently, if her anger is aroused despite her considerable patience then she is by far the most dangerous and strong of the Keepers, at least in terms of physical abilities.

The Wild-Souls tend to focus on patrolling the Shadow Plane for Fiends and hunting down any stupid enough to stay there too longer. As a result they tend to be skilled trackers (both physically and magically). They are also the only Clan that allows Lycanthropes, although they are forbidden to to pass it on without permission from the recipient and Merka herself. They tend to have no less than one hundred and no more than three hundred Lycanthropes at any one time but, unlike the Vampires of the Last-Breaths they do not have fixed rules on the number of Lycanthropes per Family.

Young-Blades
Founded by Elven for 'young'Nessa the Black-Fire (was usually shortened to Fire) a female Human Sorcerer who was the youngest of the first Keepers. She died about six centuries ago in a failed assassination attempt on Superbia. Its current Keeper is Future a female Tiefling Psion [Telepath] who feels very strongly about creating a good future for her own children, of which she has many, more than any other Child in fact. In fact, she first fell pregnant shortly before her Swordright and, as a result, had to delay it until the child was born.

The Young-Blades, along with the First-Born are the most populous of the Clans, however while the First-Born do so by freeing slaves the Young-Blades do so by having lots of children of their own. They therefore have the most young of all the Clans and have developed a reputation for being promiscuous, although that doesn't hold the same stigma (if any) among most Children (of any Clan) compared to on Aheka, it is just considered a quirk of them.

Oh, and these might help too:

 

The Sword in the Dark
The Shadow that Walks, The God with No Name, He who Comes Wrapped in Darkness, The Great Father, Fiendbane, The Dark Saviour
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Lesser God [Divine Rank 8]
Symbol: A stylised black sword with a white outline inside a black circle.
Alignment: Neutral Good.
Portfolio: Shadows, rebellions, spying and slaves.
Clerical Alignments: LG, NG, CG, LN, TN or CN.
Domains: Good, Trickery, Darkness & War.
Favoured Weapon: Longsword or its Exotic equivalents (such as the Elven Thinblade).

Who exactly The Sword in the Dark is, or at least was, is a mystery, only that he is a he (or at least claimed to be) and appears to have Elven blood of some description. Even to his followers he appears only as a shadowy silhouette with grey eyes, and the only reason he is presumed to be Elven is because one can just about make out pointed ears. Any other details save his eyes are impossible to see, as light seems to be absorbed and lessened by his presence. It has since become common knowledge outside of the Children that he is in fact Coiya Halva, the second King of Halva who abducted the throne in favour of one of his sons after declaring who couldn't take watching his children and other descendants die of old age around him while he did not change.

He has a great many names and titles, bestowed by worshippers and enemies alike, however The Sword in the Dark is the only one he chose for himself.

He is worshipped almost exclusively by the Children in the Dark, who named themselves in his honour. The Children (as they usually call themselves) are a growing faction of humans descended from the humans kept as slaves after the Demongate Wars and/or humans since abducted. Shortl after the Demongate Wars a prophecy was made about "He Who Comes Wrapped in Darkness", although the exact words of the prophecy as a whole are a closely guarded secret.

The Sword in the Dark has been active for the last few centuries, after having killed Lynka and absorbed her divine power.

Dogma: The Sword in the Dark teaches his followers, the Children in the Dark, that they must free themselves from tyranny instead of waiting for more Saviours to arrive. Although he plays a very active role in their doings he generally prefers to do so with advice and words, to ensure that they grow stronger and more experienced, rather than fighting for them directly and making them reliant on his interference too much.

Clergy & Temples: Many Children in the Dark who worship The Sword in the Dark eventually become (or strive to become) Faces in the Dark, divine casters with an affinity for subterfuge, leadership and darkness. The Sword in the Dark has no permanent temples or shrines, as the Children move about too often to make them practical, however they will fashion a temporary one if they intend to stay in an area for long or otherwise have need of it.

 

The Creed

First spoken when one of the Children earns their Swordright (which is their rite of passage), but often spoken before/during battle and other times, though it is sometimes shortened to simply pointing to an eye, the opposite shoulder (representing the hand) and then the sternum (representing the body) before drawing their sword and uttering 'Die free' or something similar depending on the circumstances.

The full version is as follows, although there are some slight variations to it (the one spoken in Chapter Five was a less forceful version spoken so as to not alarm the Freeborn any more than necessary):

With these eyes,
I will be ever-vigilant.
With these hands,
I will break the bonds that enslave my brothers and sisters.
With this body,
I will never yield, even to my dying breath.
With this sword,
I will cut a bloody swathe through all who stand in my way.
With this life,
I will die free.

[Acathala]

Name Nallaul Rilyn'und

Race Common Drow

Sex Male

Age 180

Class Wizard/Arachnomancer

Alignment CN

Deity Lolth, but only because of no choice in the matter

Specialty Arcane wizard specialising in battlefield control, spider wildshaping and spiderlike abilities

Traits & Flaws Inattentive - whilst tremorsense compensates for this, the legacy of his illness as A baby affects his perception.

Bonus Skills Knowledge - Drow History. Perform - Drow Ballads.

Description Nallaul unsually for drow, keeps his white-blond hair short and tidy, which accentuates his panther-like visage. He is fond of finery and keeps to the latest fashions. The mage is fairly tall for a male. When he is thinking, he tends to stroke his hair. His red eyes seem to burn like hot coals when he's angry. In spider form he resembles a typical monstrous spider of it's size.

Personality Nallaul like many drow is a pragmatictist. His main goal is survival. Since he is continuing to be a surviving member of House Rilyn'und he has up to now been successful in that goal, and because he is a drow, he has had to do many things that went against his nature to survive, which has hardened his heart somewhat, and made him largely apathetic about drow society in general.
He did genuinely care for Xufaer, but he knew that relationship was doomed. Also like Xufaer, his first devotion is to magic. Which was probably the reason he was attracted to Xufaer in the first place. He is not willing, even if he attains the same level of power as Xufaer to challenge her for the Archmage of the City position. However if she is assassinated by somebody else, then Xufaer's successor is going to have a Nallaul shaped problem. Sometimes he hates Xufaer for the hold she has on his heart, but this never lasts long
Generally Nallaul is polite, even to the non-drow. You never know whom will be useful in the future. However he does have a habit of calling human servants/slaves Bob as he can't bothered remembering their names.
Surprisingly he does have a conscience, which makes him regret some of the things he's done, some of the people he's murdered. These are not views he ever expresses, because he doesn't wish to be dragged up to the sacrificial alter. He has rationized this guilt by thinking if he did not do these things then he would be killed. Nallaul is not someone whom is naturally evil, but he will do whatever it takes to ensure his own survival. Yet his killing of a child, has made him question himself again, whether the price of survival is worth paying anymore
Although he does play lip service to Lolth, he is not a true worshipper. Fisali's appearence in the underdark has perturbed him and he isn't too sure what it means. He had intended to ask Tel'shar about Fisali when the bard returned, since for obvious reasons he can't ask the clerics of Lolth. However, Tel'shar and him only had the briefest of reunions before the bard left. Although he is not aware of this yet, he is dissatisfied with his current life, and drow culture in general. A void in him which cannot be filled in the City of Spiders, a void that he has seen others fill with veneration for the Spider Queen. The last tenerous grasp he of faith he had in Lolth, snapped when her priestesses made him kill the baby.

Background
Early Life
Nallaul was born to a Drow washerwoman who lived next to the brothel where Tel'shar would be born. He was a sickly baby and his mother considered leaving him outside to die. However she decided to keep him. It was fortunate for Nallaul that he recovered quickly as his mother may have reconsidered her position. It was fairly obvious from a young age Nallaul was a bright lad whom devoured every bit of knowledge that he could. His mother encouraged this, as she saw potential in selling him to a noble house, even procuring for him a couple of books full of lore for him.
It is uncertain when and how Nallaul and Tel'shar first met, as both have conflicting stories about how they first met. Nallaul claims Tel'shar tried to con him out of some sweets, Tel'shar claims the sweets originallly belonged to him. Whatever the truth they became good friends, getting in and out of scrapes that drow children are wont to. Nallaul saw his first naked female thanks to Tel'shar, and Tel'shar got a better education than he would have done, thanks to Nallaul being a brainbox. However nothing is constant in the underdark, and things would change when Nallaul came into his powers.
The young Nallaul first gained the ability to faerie fire objects. Naturally he experimented until he could cast dancing lights and darkness. He showed Tel'shar his new abilities. His friend was both envious and saddened he didn't share these abilities yet. Tel'shar also understood that because of those abilities, Nallaul would soon be leaving him. He was right. As soon as Nallaul's mother found out about Nallaul's powers, she managed to arrange a test from House Rilyn'und whom were on the look out for new talent. Of course he passed, and his mother was paid a pittance of a finder's fee which seemed a fortune to her. However to his shame when Nallaul was tested properly, he did not possess the full range of drow magical abilities, like the famed spell resistance. He was still retained by the house as it was agreed he showed promise.

Nallaul The Wizard
The Matron Mother decideed that Nallaul, given his arcane talents would be trained in magic and was assigned to a minor wizard called Sejun. Here Nallaul found his vocation in magic and despite his tutor trying to slow him down, Nallaul quickly progressed in spellcraft. The mage also developed his spell-like abilities in unusual ways, like combining Darkness and Faerie Fire to see the invisible. However he was to realise that he was swiftly approaching the level of his master, and his master was not pleased about this and was planning on killing him. So Nallaul decided to get his self-defense in first. He was to get his chance when House Rilyn'und led the assault against a House that had turned from Lolth. Once the battle had been won, Nallaul cast Bands of Steel upon Sejun. Once the wizard was trapped, Nallaul slit Sejun's throat. The Matron Mother, althouigh there was no witnesses, knew full well that Nallaul had been the one to kill Sejun. Not that she cared, Nallaul had gotten away with it and there was no need to punish him. Instead she assigned him as an apprentice to Xufaer.
Xufaer had just disposed of one apprentice and was unhappy to have been given another. How Nallaul managed to survive the first few days is nothing short of a miracle, but he managed to win over Xufaer with his devotion to magic that matched her own. Eventually the relationship became sexual, though to most people that fact was only a rumour. She declared him a wizard in his own right once he reached the 10th level and also privately ended their physical relationship. During his time with Xufaer, he hadn't been just been learning magic. He had been on patrols, and even been assigned to some of the specail tasks that House Rilyn'und demands of it's members, which can range from taking part in the full assault of a rival house, to the simply delivering a message.

Along Came Some Spiders
On one such patrol outside the city, Nallaul was betrayed. Some of the "patrollers" turned on the others, efficiently slaughtering them. The drow arcanist was taken alive, the dagger that struck him was smeared with potent spider venom, paralysing him. Thinking his life was over, the young mage expected a finishing blow which never came. Instead he was smuggled back into the city, and placed into a sarcophagus located in an abandoned mausoleum. Curiously the lid was placed in such a way to allow him air. That meant whomever paid for his abduction either wanted something from him, or wanted a personal revenge. Neither option filled him with joy. Xul'olin was quickly discounted. If she was going to murder him, it would probably be in a fit of rage. He hadn't, as far as he was aware, offended or crossed any major Family members. The only name that made sense to him was Vlonrath, Sejun's apprentice. It had been rumoured that those two had been closer than master/apprentice, and Nallaul had certainly noticed the way they had looked at each other. Mentally rebuking himself for relaxing his guard against Vlonrath, Nallaul realsed he had another problem when he heard the pitter-patter of tiny legs. Tiny spiders made theit way into the sarcophagus, through the gap left for air, swarming over his body.

Yet Nallaul wasn't afraid. He had expected to be, but wasn't. More than that, he felt connnected to the tiny arachnid creatures, knowing somehow they saw him as one of their owwn. The mage was unable to explain it. They should have killed him. They did not. In a strange sort of communion is how Nallaul spent the next couple of hours with the Arachnid Swarm.
Breeze suddenly entered the sarcophagus as the lid was opened more fully. A gloating Vlonrath leaned over Nallaul. Her expression soon changed to surprised horror when she saw his companions. One by one they leapt onto her. There was screaming, and although Nallaul couldn't see it, he knew she had tripped over backwards when she tried to escape. Soon afterwards the screaming abruptly stopped. Later, when the paralysis had finally worn off, he reported to Xufaer. When he had finished, the Archmage Xufaer reached up for a book and handed it to Nallaul. Emblazened on it was the title, Arachnomancy.

Out For A Drink
Once when Tel''shar was back in the city, he and Nallaul decided to go for a drink in the town, deciding to go back to the old naighbourhood. Tel'shar had heard of a new place which they went to. Whilst enjoying their drinks in a private booth, somehow the conversation entered dangerous territory. "You forget Nal, my old friend, I know you. Xufaer has you wrapped round her little finger. Don't try to deny it. But, you're not thinking about the future are you? I'm good with people, so I can tell. Even as a boy you had ambitions for wozardry. Here you are now, like me, a high ranking member of the first house and you've reached the limit of your positon. Unless you....ah....retire Xufaer or someone else does it. Here's the kicker. Even if Xufaer is out of the picture, you're not even garenteed to succeed her. Plenty of other arcanists ready to apply for the position. Our beloved Matron Mother may back you, but only if there's no female qualifiied. We both know how she feels about males. The women may give us some fancy baubles, but never real power." He looks Nallaul in the eyes. "I don't think you'll ever be happy with the status quo, but no doubt you'll find a way to live with it. You're a survivor"
Nallaul privately agreed with everything Tel'shar said but couldn't resist sniping back at him. "You can talk all you want, and perhaps I may agree with you. As you say the women have all the power and there is nothing we can to do to change that. At least you can leave the city on your own. I have to live here."
Tel'shar leaned back with an enigmatic and knowing smile on that face of his. The effect was slightly ruined by him letting out a big old yawn, which surprised both of them. "The trip back must have taken more out of me than I thought" Tel'shar said, his eyes growing heavy.
Suspicious and fearing the worst of Tel'shar's sudden sleepyness, Nallaul cast detect poison. Both their drinks had been spiked with something. Due to his Arachnomancer abilities ha had easily resisted the poisoning. Managing to keep Tel'shar awake by slapping him, the somnolent bard unable to stop yawning to cast, directed Nallaul to a pouch on his belt. There inside, was a potion, which was quickly forced down Tel'shar's throat. Whilst waiting for the potion to take effect, Nallaul realised he had been observed.,
Out in the main bar, the doors had bee barred, and all the patrons had disappeared, whilst the bar staff were making their way to the duo's booth. Cursing under his breath, Nallaul cast web in the main area. Those whom weren't entangled, would find their movement severely limited.
"Teleport?" Tel'shar asked. The next unpleasant surprise was that they could not. Nallaul shook his head, then went for his favoured tactic of using cloudkill on the drow in the wab.. Once the screaming stopped, he dispelled the web. Two survivors remained. One looked like a common criminal, but the other gave Nallaul pause. She wore the robes of a priestess and more than that, Nallaul recognised her. "You're Shriel Talneth, aren't you? I knew your brother Angauf."
"Talneth? The name is familiar, can't place it though." Tel'shar said.
"Oh that was the House that was destroyed because it tried to poison the city water, in some sort of attempt to take over. Some of the priestesses managed to survive by turning on the Matron Mother and handed her over to Myr'delith. That was a particularly grusome execution when Myr'delith got her hands on her. I presume Shriel was one of the betrayers."
"I did not betray Matron Tluidi, I am loyal to House Talneth!!" Snarled the priestess, who then snapped out a spell.
Caught by surprise, Nallaul was subjected to an assault on his mind. As an arachnomancer, his mental defenses were not quite the equal of a normal wizard, and the spelll threatened to devestate his mind, turning him into a gibbering idiot. Centering himself, he gathered his mental strength and forced the spell from his mind. Tel'shar went invisible and had engaged the no-name minion, and Shriel had begun spellcasting again. This time Nallaul was the quicker and completed his spell. Instantly Shriel became a shade of grey, as she failed to resist the Flesh to Stone spell, and became a statue. At the same time Tel'shar finished off his foe with a stab to the heart, and looked at the new statue. "Nal, my friend I think I might know a collector!"

Wasn't Worth It, Was It?
One time a group of drow whom had committed heresy against Lolth fled the city. The Spider Queen decreed their complete slaughter. In a rare show of all Houses working together, drow of mixed Houses were sent to hunt them down. Nallaul was part of the group that found the heretics. Like a man possessed, he dropped down webs, whose power had been hieghtened to that of that of a stronger spell. Of course he could traverse the webs as easily as walking the streetsm and using his tremorsense, located small groups entangled in the webs. No mercy was shown, as there were a number of spellcasters, whom if they got free, could cause heavy damage. The Arachnomancer used cloudkill mainly to eradicate these groups. To his surprise, he found himself facing a fellow Arachnomancer. His nameless rival, transformed into monstrous spider form, clearly challenging him.
Nallaul accepted, his handsome frame changing into that deadly arachnid predator. Concealed by the magical webs, the battle raged. The two spiders rushed each other, biting with deadly envenomed fangs. Finding himself the receiver of several brutal bites all over his body, Nallaul realised his enemy was better at melee than he was. So he changed the rules, combining all the spell like abilities of the drow to create a bright flash, blinding the foe. Unlike his fellow spider mage, Nallaul had learned how to cast in spider form, and he used Disintegrate. The ray struck true, and the Arachnomancer's form was cast to the wind as it turned to dust.
Victory for the Drow of Lolth was swift after that, even managing to capture some prisoners. The Clerics of Lolth decided that Nallaul was the winner of the day and was given one of the "Honours" of Lolth. The mage was pleased until he found out the honour was the slaying of a heretic's drow baby for the glory of Lolth. This was not something he could refuse, because if he did, his death would folllow the baby's. So under the watchful eyes of the Priesteses, he ended the baby's life. Of course he had killed before, you could not be a high ranking drow without having killed, but that was usually against other drow who had murdered people, or were planning to kill you. I'ts different when it's an innocent baby looking up at you. Whilst he had heard stories of child murder, Nallaul never expected to be asked to do it, or that he could do kill a baby. He didn't want to do it, but he did it. A voice in the crowd whispered to him. "Wasn't worth it, was it? I could have told you that." Nallaul doesn't know for sure, but he suspects the voice was Xu'dein's.
When he returned to the city this was one of the few times he questions his own life before deciding on survival again, However he has lied to himself, the murder he committed, affected him far more deeply than he'd care to admit. Not enough to make a stand about it, the arachnomancer is far too much of a survivor for that, but perhaps if there was opportunity to leave...

The Exchange
Once Nallaul had helped the Exchange complete one of it's missions. A task which actually turned out to be a lot less dangerous than the Exchange had thought it was going to be. The cache they had been send to retrieve turned out to be not to have been discovered after all. Nallaul had been involved because at the time, the Exchange Arcanists could not be spared. He and his contact Sarajahn had returned to the building RV point, the other party members having dispersed to other RV points. Hal'iara was waiting on them inside, this wasn't the Exchange's main base, but one of their safehouses. Once they arrived in the room Hal'iara was using as an office, the Exchange leader started to speak. She was interrupted by the sound of combat outside in the corridor. Suddenly two drow assassins burst in through the window. They seemed unaffected by the magical wards that were on the window. Sarajahn was the quickest to react, drawing his greatsword and beheading one intruder. The other assassin drew a dagger and said a short incantation. Hal'iara easily dodged the first attack, and was about to respond, when the assassin got a lucky blow on her head, knocking her out. By this point, Sarajahn stepped to protect his mistress, and cut the assassin down. Nallaul too was busy. He spotted more assassins about to enter the window, foiling this by casting stone shape to seal the impromtu entrance off. Once they had secured the room, they attended to Hal'iara and found a big problem. The wound wouldn't heal, even with magical means. They decided to see what happening outside the room. Outside the room they were on a landing to a double staircase, guarded by a few loyalists against Exchange rebels. It appeared to be some sort of coup. However the rebels must have revealed themselves accidently, and now there was a pitched battle. However the loyalists gained a significant advantage. The rebels started to die in droves. Until the rebel leader came in, a sneering priestess. "One of the Talneth family we took in. There's gratitude for you." Sarajahn said. Ubfortunately he was the first target of her wrath, being hit with the spell Wrack. It didn't kill him, but it took him out of the combat. Nallaul however, accessed his spider power to cast Giant Vermin. Two spiders grew into monstrous spiders, flanking the priestess. When she failed as a cleric of Lolth to use her innate power to take control of the spiders, she faced her fate stoicly, and did not scream as they ripped her to bits. With the death of their leader, the pragmatic drows fled, and Hal'iara owed Nallaul a big favour.

An Arachnomancer's Life In Che'eldelorbben
He has takes up with Felynffyn at this time, which isn't really an relationship, more really two consenting adults......consenting. Nallaul is enjoying the occaisonal liaison for now, which he fits where he can. He doubts it will last long, given his experience with his Xufaer, but will enjoy it while it lasts
Speaking of her, Xufaer keeps him fairly busy with duties, and in her absence Nallaul acts as the unofficial House Wizard, unless something is urgent or serious enough to warrent Xufaer's attention. Generally he makes regular reports to her. Occaisionnally she shunts an apprentice onto for him to train. Such as Guldrilesril.
At first Nallaul found him a less than satisfactory student. His unwillingness to talk much at first led Nallaul to assume he wasn't going to be a good student. However once he did get Guldrilesril talking, NAllaul found he had a wizard with some natural.ability. It also helped when Guldrilesril confessed to wanting to be trained by Nallaul rather than Xufaer, as he wanted to become an Arachnomancer Though pleased Nallaul cautioned him. "Though the abilities can be learned,you need that spark of an connection to spiders. They need to see you not as you are, but as one of them." Unlike with Nallaul, it was not an instant success for Guldrilesril, and he required many doses of spider antivenom. Finally though the day came. Nallaul left Guldrilesril in a spider pen, and almost instantly a huge monstrous spider rushed to his apprentice. It looked for a moment it ws going to bite Guldrilesril, but it stopped, dripping venom from it's fangs, before leaving Guldrilesril in peace.
Next for Guldrilesril it was the ability to change into spider form. Again Nallaul had mastered this easily, but for Guldrilesril ir was a more difficult journey. Hw would often get stuck between forms, and this would often result in mockery from other members of the house. Perhaps that is why the tacitum half-drow developed a cruel streak of his own, Thanks though to Nallaul's patient teaching, Guldrilesril was finally able to take his own spider shape. This was the point Nallaul decided Guldrilesril had enough power to stand on his two(eight in spider form) feet. The senior Arachnomancer declares a delighted Guldrilesril a wizard in his own right.
On his mind currently is Fisali's glance at him, Gods don't just glance on you for no reason. He knows deep down his life will change, but not how or why.

Pulling The Legs Off The Spider
One day Nallaul awoke to pain. Xul'olin was straddling him, a bloody dagger in hand. He could sense a another, larger presence nearby. Although he could not see whom it was, the arachnomancer knew given it's size it had to be Amal'agh. It was a small mercy the Draegloth didn't seem to be joining in. At least he was sane enough to fear his aunts' wrath."Spider that creeps, creeps about the house, spying and prying on me. It's rude to stare don't you know?" Xul'olin said, and then Nallaul knew there would be no talking with her and tried to get up. For his trouble she whacked him in the face with the pommel. He then fell back down onto his bed, and experienced pain as Xul'olin alternately bashed and slashed. Nallaul realised he was going to die.
Help came in the form of a distraction, a servant that brought him his breakfast was sufficient to distract Xul'olin enough to let Nallaul get out from under her. She probably thought he had no chance of escape as he headed for a blank wall. However the crafty mage had an escape route there in the form of a previously cast Phase Door, stepping through before Xul'olin realised what he was doing. Nallaul arrived in a section of his room that had been sealed off from his main room, so that he would have a nice little hidey-hole, and instantly collapsed from his injuries. Forcing himself to wild shape into a tiny monstrous spider, Nallaul was able to close some of his wounds. Using a tiny hole he had created as an escape route within a escape route, he climbed to the outside of the building, making for the family chapel, knowing there would be at least several clerics there. Every step there caused him severe pain, but he reached the chapel. Where upon he collapsed again, reverting back to drow form. He knew nothing until he woke in a room he recognised as being part of the Academy.
Looking around he saw Xufaer. She noticed him awake then said "Well Nal, we know what happened. Xu'olin has been punished. She is confined to her quarters until my sister says otherwise. I am aware you will......not consider that much of a punishment. This should soften the blow." The Archmage offered him a staff, doubtless magical. Too right he did not consider confinement much of a punishment. Had Xul'olin been male and not female, she would have been executed for what she tried to do to him. Bitterness rose in his mouth, and he remembered what Tel'shar had once said long ago about baubles. Still though he took the proffered staff. "Thank you Xufaer. It was kind of you to think of me."

A Tangled Web
During a brief quiet time for House Rilyn'und, Umrae'vyrae's eldest daughter, Belvra returned from the Academy having graduated. Nallaul passed her as she was laying down the law to what was now a former lover, called Dhaunint. "It is over Dhaunint. Leave the House or I will have the soldiers throw you out, you worthless pitiful male!" Privately Nallaul was surprised. He could not remember Belvra being so forceful before. However he had not really seen her in several years, as she had been studying to become a full priestess. Putting it down to her having hardened in the Academy, Nallaul initially thought nothing of it.
Belvra took after her mother and was a recluse. Then the second odd thing occurred. Min'phrin, Belvra's younger sister, met with an accident. It wasn't enough to kill her, but it was enough to confine her to her room for a while. Alamen mentions casually she thought she saw Belvra near Min'phrin when the accident happened. The mage gets the vague impression something is wrong, but not what was wrong. Certainly the sisters quarrel, all drow siblings do at some point, but this feels different. For now Nallaul keeps quiet. Feeling is not evidence.
Finally the third odd thing occurs. He receives what appears to be a love letter from Belvra, asking him to meet her alone at the Cavern of Daggers, so called because of the stalactites that hang there. It is considered the prettiest thing not drow made. He does not trust the letter, but he complies.
At the cavern, he spots a monstrous spider hanging from the celing, then he sees Belvra, but now he knows it is not Belvra, as he had cast true seeing. Who it is surprises him. It is Matron Mother Tluidi of the former House Talneth. She gave him a sneering smile and threw a large rock at him, as various drow warriors emerged from their hiding places. Nallaul tried to speak, then realised the rock must carry a silence spell. Instead he spoke with Drow Sign Language. "Matron Mother Tluidi Talneth. Alive I see, and not one of the undead. Since I am doomed, will you satisfy my curiosity?"
He hopes she's a gloater. She looks like one. The golden-eyed cleric tosses her long silver hair back and laughs. "Since you are about to die, why not? You have been troublesome, more than any male I have known. But I will tell you, so you can appreciate my brilliance!" Her slender fingers repled. "I escaped your House's wrath and punished a traitor at the same time. I knew Angauf had betrayed my plans, so I changed him to take my form permanently, ripped his tongue out, and broke his fingers. My daughters then took him to your Myr'delith, and claimed to have done the damage to prevent escape by spellcasting. Thanks to other safeguards she failed to detect that fool wasn't me. I shall have my revenge. Myr'delith will die and I will take her form!"
Nallaul cocked his head to the side, as if he didn't believe what he was hearing, or rather seeing. he deftly moved his fingers in reply. "Trying to poison the city water was a bad idea. Trying to take over the Exchange was a bad idea. This latest plan is the most bloody stupid idea you'll never get away with. You're a fool sweetheart, and if you want to why, look at the spider, bitch."
Eyes now full of murderous rage, Tluidi did remain calm and curious enough to look at the monstrous spider. It seemed to be moving it's front legs oddly.......No it was spellcastijng! It dispelled the silence, and now it was Nallaul's turn. Tluidi's men suddenly found their centre of gravity reversed, rammed up into the stalactites, those that were not impaled fatally would soon fall to their deaths. Tluidi tried to run, knowing she was not a match for two arachnomancers, but Nallaul stopped her flight via trapping her with the spell Bands of Steel. Guldrilesril climbed down and shed his arachnid form. "Belvra......is dead. Isn't she?"
"Sorry Guldrilesril. At least we can kill the bitch that did it together. I owed Angauf a debt I never repaid. This will have to do."
The younger arachnomancer nodded. "Spider form?"
In agreement they took the shape of the Sacred Arachnid. Tluidi, trapped and unable to escape, could only watch in terror as the spiders advanced on her,,,,

House Relationships
Matron Mother Myr'delith - Nallaul, despite being a male, enjoys a somewhat stable working relationship with her. She values him for his spider abilities and on occaison, summons him to sing to her as she finds it soothing.

Archmage Xufaer - Once Nallaul was her apprentice, and the first one to survive the apprenticeship. However despite the break-up Nallaul is still the most favoured of her mages as she recognised her devotion to magic matches her own. Xufaer keeps a proud if somewhat wary eye on his progress. Xufaer is his main ally in the House, and so far this has protected him from Xul'olin and her son. However he understands this may count for naught if Xul'olin has one of her insane, murderous rages, given the fact he experienced one that nearly killed him.

Iymarra - Whilst Nallaul is worried that she might try to involve him in one of her schemes to oust her mother, the actual truth is she sees him as too closely aligned to Xufaer to be any use to her.

Umrae'vyrae - Of all the matron mother's daughters, Umrae'vyrae is the one Nallaul gets on best with. They converse mainly on magical matters, however Nallaul tends be cautious when discussing other topics. For her part she apprieciates that Nallaul will occaisonally bring her scrolls of spells that are unfamilar to her to study. There are times when he suspects she is unaware of the fact he trained her son.

T'rissafay - She wields a power that Nallaul does not understand or trust, so he is exceptionally cautious when dealing with her. Tel'shar once believed she had a crush on Nallaul and this was a source of much teasing of the Arachnomancer.

Xul'olin - She is one of the few people Nallaul is genuinely afraid of, as she nearly killed him, and he suspects she wants to finish him. He generally tries to avoid being alone with her and if that is impossible, tries to spend as little time as possible with her. The same goes for her son Amal'agh, though he is more confident with dealing with him, as the Draegloth is at least sane.

Faereidliir - Nallaul and Faereidliir have very little to do with each other, though occasionally they do go on patrol together. Privately Nallaul thinks that the right person is weapon master. Faereidliir is vain and arrogant enough to think that Nallaul will support any bid he makes to become weaponmaster, despite having no encouragement from Nallaul.

Weapon Master Alamen - Nallaul gets on fairly well with her. She is not a cleric whom can make demands on him, nor is she a true wizard whom could usurp his position. Nallaul is not a warrior so he cannot take Alamen's place either. Generally speeaking, if Alamen needs a favour, and it doesn't cost him too much, Nallaul will do it, and vice versa.

Felynda - Nallaul does feel pity for her being forced into being a cleric as they were friendly before, however this is not a thought he expresses, not even to her sister. Since Felynda's elevation to the clergy, they have seldom spoke as much as they once did. She is aware of his thing with her sister however. Nallaul is exceptionally cautious with her, given he knows how manipulative she is.

Felynffyn - Felynffyn is Nallaul's current lover. Nallual was drawn to her because they both liked singing, and because she was so passionate in everything. Neither regards the relationship as serious.

Tel'shar - Nallaul is the older brother Tel'shar never had. They both grew up in the same part of the city and looked out for each other, but Nallaul manifested his powers more quickly and in the presence of a Rilyn'und noble(who is now long dead). They did not meet again until Tel'shar and his daughters were taken into House Rilyn'und. They have been of mutual use to each other, Tel'shar occasionally providing information or an artifact from the suface, in exchange for payment or a magical service from him.

Guldrilesril - Once an apprentice shunted on to him by Xufaer. Nallaul has ended the apprenticeship, feeling Guldrilesril had learned enough to be considered a full wizard. They have parted on good terms, and indeed Guldilesril still sees him as a mentor.

Non house relationships
Sarajahn - This hexblade is Nallaul's contact to the Exchange. Nallaul likes his sense of humour, and enjoys meeting him.

Hal'iara Zilv'iira - The leader of the Exchange will occaisonally meet personally with Nallaul since as a high ranking member of the first House, he's an important contact. She current owes him a favour since Nallaul saved her from an assasination attempt.

RP Sample - Spider's Parlour
Tel'shar entered the mansion-like extradimensional dwelling that Nallaul practically called home. He knew that the mage had, at large expense, purchased a rod of extend, that allowed him to be able to live here for a few days per casting. It seemed since the incident with Xul'olin, Nallaul had ramped up his personal security. Not that Tel'shar blamed him. The bard had heard it had been a practicularly savage attack that had nearly killed the Arachnomancer. Looking around the opulent place, perhaps a little enviously, Tel'shar knew that Nallaul nust have detected him, and indeed Nallaul came down a stairwell.
The rumours that he needed a cane to walk were either untrue, or Nallaul had recovered enough not to need one. Dressed in the finest silks cut in the latest fashion of the day, the mage made an impressive figure. Nallaul was self-aware if the fact he was vain about his appearence, and was reasonably relaxed abour it, Those ruby red eyes of his locked on Trl'shar. "My old friend, this is a surprise. I thought you were you were going away back to the surface."
"Oh I was Nal, but I wanted to make sure you weren't going to do anything foolish." Tel'shar said, meeting Nallaul's gaze. "Like considering taking out a hit on Xul'olin and that abomination she calls a son."
Narrowing his gaze, the arachnomancer replied thusly "So what if I am?"
Tel'shar shakes his head. "Such a stupid move is unlike you Nal. Even in the best case scenario there will be a vendetta, that will target you and your allies. You will lose your protection from Xufaer and Myr'delith. As your ally, I'll admit a degree of self-interest of not being dragged to Lolth's altar. Take my advice. Wait. Xul'olin is insane, and she is bound to do something else that will force Myr'delith to act."
"Is she insane?" Nallaul remarked. "I sometimes think she pretends to be more crazy than she actually is. She certainly had presence of mind enough to break through various magical protections I cast." Somehow his tone become harsher when he speaks again. "It's all very well you telling me to wait, but Xul'olin might try again, and maybe she'll succede this time, Hell Amal'agh blames me for not dying and putting his nother in disgrace. Even if I kill her in self-defence, that's no surety against some sort of vendetta. We both know our lives are worth a lot less than a single female." He sits down. "I am finding it harder and harder to live like this. I wish this society would change, but it won't. I once considered leaving the city. I have picked up enough survival skills that I don't think food would be a problem, even consideing my magic. As for shelter." He waved his hand around thr mansion. "I could create this. The irony is I've made myself too useful. I'll never be alllowed to leave." Bitter laughter came from the Arachnomancer.
"Nallaul." Tel'shar said, rarely using Nallaul's full name. "I'm asking you to trust me. Wait a while longer. I have a plan."
Smiling rancorously Nallaul said. "What the hell? I'm screwed either way. Fine Tel'shar I'll wait my friend. I can't promise that Xul'olin will do the same."

CS
http://www.rpgcrossing.com/profiler/view.php?id=41100

[Xian]

Adam Name: Sei'Atum (Adam) Race: Warforged Sex: Male Age: 75 Class: Erudite (4) / Warblade (1) / Jade Phoenix Mage (3) / Master Transmogrifist (8) Alignment: Neutral Good Deity: None Specialty: Heavy Metal Traits: Focused Bonus Skills: Profession (Cooking), Knowledge (Warforged) Description: Sei'Atum's body is forged from the finest mithral and lovingly crafted as much a work of art and love, befitting Aleni's first warforged. Still in spite of this, Adam's appearance was more construct than it was human, an attribute that Adam has always been acutely aware since his father created the True Forged. The fluidity and grace with which he moves belies his appearances and construct nature... a mercurial beauty of motion and art. Adam has bright expressive luminous eyes that are both intelligent, inquisitive, and alert at all times, but most importantly alive. His body is constantly shifting and incorporated within his form is the dragonshard core and the fluid metal weapon that was bestowed upon him by Sublime. Personality: Adam has a devout belief in the freedom of the individual and self determination. Adam uses his skills and knowledge to help others regardless of the consequence. Adam acts as his conscience dictates without the constraints of the laws, traditions, and beliefs of others and does what he judges best at the moment without regards for the legal niceties. Adam knows that the gods exist and acknowledge their powers, but believes that person/individual makes their own destiny and so should not depend on or cede control of their destiny to the gods. Adam believes in Koleuth, but more as an ideal model to emulate and example of his shared ideals, martial prowess and the advancement of good through that prowess. In spite of the focused and serious demeanor Adam likes to portray, he has a sharp, albeit wry, sense of humor and is easy-going when among those he trusts and comfortable with. Adam loves challenges, especially in battle, and respects skilled opponents, to the point that he will refrain from killing a capable and honorable opponent in order to have worthy opposition to continue to sharpen his own skills against. Adam is innovative and canny opponent in battle and exploiting his martial and magical training to the fullest and always searching for novel applications for each of his disciplines, melding them together into fluid and deadly style along with his awakened psionic talent. Adam believes in a moral universe and he believes that there exists a force for good, and that a person who gives their all to a good and worthy cause will find the universe on their side (or at least on their cause's side). But Adam's experiences, personal and through his adventures, clashes with this belief as he has experienced that reality is fundamentally unfair, such as the heartbreak of his father's abandonment after he and other warforged who went to fight for peace. Privately, Adam is angry and frustrated at his inability to reconcile his belief in a world in where heroism was possible with his experiences, which included the injustices visited by those whose causes he had fought for, the loss of dear friends while fighting in those conflicts, and his perceived rejection by his father of he and the other warforged when Aleni created the True Forged. Yet Adam continues to strive to be a hero believing that it is possible and, though seemingly impossible at times and ultimately unsatisfying. Adam wants to be a force for morality in an amoral universe. Adam has wanted to believe that heroism doesn't exist, that acting selflessly will have no meaningful consequence, and that he and the warforged should take care of themselves. However, Adam's belief in some good greater than himself and his character runs deep, and regardless of his anger and frustration. Background:   Adam is the first warforged that Alnei Nelia created. In all ways that matter Adam considers Alnei to be his father and, at least for a time, from Adam's perspective, the feeling was mutual. When the Betrayer Wars began, Alnei wanted to shield Adam from the conflict, for fear that if Adam saw battle, he would see the nations exploiting and turning his cherished creations into instruments of war. Still, Adam could not stand by protected while the remainder of his warforged brothers were fighting in the conflict. So Adam chose to fight with his brothers and against the tyranny and those that would rob from sentient beings that which he cherished most. Freedom. So it is during the course of the Betrayer Wars that Adam came to befriend Jester and helped his friend to find and establish the order of the Sei, training the first among them and fighting valiantly against the forces of darkness. While, Adam was exposed to the cruelty and the darkness of war, he also found camaraderie and friendship in battle and these bonds would remain with him forever. Eventually, the Betrayer Wars were done, Adam returned home, but he could sense that Alnei looked upon him in a new way. While Alnei Nelia never spoke of it openly, Adam could feel it. He saw the look his father gave to him and the other warforged that had fought. Adam saw the look of disappointment and sadness as Alnei had looked upon his warforged creations... they had been sullied by war. The innocence was gone. Adam felt shunned in his home. So he left home and Adam searched for purpose and acceptance as did many of the warforged after they had been recognized as a sentient species. However, in spite of this recognition, Adam always felt that the warforged, whether due to circumstance, design, or both, never truly had a choice or the ability to choose. So while they had been recognized as sentient, the warforged never truly been afforded what he considered freedom. Adam sought solace within the Sei... to find comfort in battle and the brotherhood of battle... with the bonds formed in conflict were strong. Still, it wore on Adam during his times, to see those whose causes he had fought for turn to the very tyranny that they defeated together and to lose good men and friends, warforged or otherwise, during those conflicts. It was during this period of time, Adam developed his nascent psionic powers and potential. He had been created with the ability to generate psionic energy and manipulated it in a very fundamental manner, but it grew by leaps and bounds after he had discovered that he was linked to every warforged that had ever been created, living or otherwise. It was through that link that Adam's powers grew... and he did not have to seek training because he could glean all of the knowledge that he needed through this link to the memories and spirit of all warforged. It was through this exploration, Adam found that there were thirteen distinct singularities among the warforged. Adam theorized that these thirteen spirits along with himself were the guardians of the warforged Colletivum of souls. If one of the thirteen should die, then a replacement is awakened.... reincarnated or bestowed all of the memories of those knights that had come before them. Then a pivotal event occurred for Adam, an event that would forever alter his life. Alnei Nelia, created the True Forged. It was the ultimate betrayal to Adam because their creation symbolized the rejection of the warforged and the confirmation of his father's disappointment in them as a whole. Adam saw their creation as Alnei's attempt to make the warforged something they were not, to make them more like "them", to make more like another species. Adam still loves his father and the True Forged, but does not condone their creation or the transfer of other lifeforms into their bodies. Adam sees the process as not only a subversion of the recognition of the warforged as an independent species, but also as a potential threat to the natural order of things. The warforged would be harvested or used become vessels for other races as they seek to avoid death. Presently, the process is so intensive to be prohibitive, but it did not mean it could be improved and become widespread. When that day comes, Adam knows that he may have to make the difficult choice of standing against his family, his brother Sionn and even his newly transferred father. For now, he still roams the world with a few of his loyal warforged followers and fights for causes that he believes in. Adam also continues to mentor new Sei's adn also has taken on the role of chief Guardian of the order psionic warforged, The Thirteen that holds the key to civilization itself. Adam knows that one day he would have to dface his demons.. However, shortly after the last Seis'kerta, the 'Troubles' came and the barrier that protects Aheka from a mass Fiendish invasion as well as direct interference by most Gods was broken. The Fiendish Gods and hordes of Fiends began attacking all over the world, followed shortly by the good Deities and their servants arriving to try and force them back. Adam rallied himself and all those who would follow him to battle the fiends and their masters as they broke through, leading both units of Sei's, warforged, and other military units of goodly races in what looked to be the end of days. Adam secretly hoped this conflict to prove the worth of the warforged as a race in the narrative of Aheka and first true hopes of a genuine recognition of racial independence. While the conflict only lasted a few hours and the heroic efforts of those he lead, many people, good people, and his friends died in this conflict. And the warforged again were not given the recognition for their contributions, being viewed as merely the instruments of established nations and races. Still Adam swallowed his disappointment and frustration and continued to promote their cause. Later, the Seven and Deimos became again active in the world, but this time without the good Deities seeming able to arrive themselves or send in their servants. Adam again took up arms and rallied the goodly races, warforged and others, to rise against the dark hordes... Adam directed a campaign and even tactical units against the fiendish hordes with the hope of driving their fiendish masters back. It was during this campaign, Adam would discover that a unknown group of Demi-Gods had been systematically killing those of the Seven and had succeeded in killing two. He would then witness then the slaying of the demon goddess Superbia at the hands of a mysterious warrior, Sublime. RP SAMPLE:   Battle for Honor... Never Surrender! Background Music Adam looked over the devastated cityscape where the epic battle had occurred. Well it had looked like it was going to be epic until the last portion... he watched the victor of the fight between the very beautiful but deadly warrior he would come to know as Sublime and the demon goddess Superbia. By the looks of her attire, Sublime was undoubted one of Halvan nobility... it was too bad that most of the nobility did not apply her sense of... "practicality"... to the clothes. Even as a warforged, Adam had admit that Sublime very beautiful and in more ways than one. Sublime demonstrated skill in the Sublime Way that was nothing short of extraordinary using effortlessly and seamlessly the powerful maneuvers and techniques from the Nine Disciplines. Her weapon was a complement to its mistress flowing and shifting just as effortlessly as she did, shifting to and from a sword, a bow, and whip made out of the blade with extraordinary reach. Sublime was good alright and apparently did not have a hard time at all letting her opponent and essentially everyone else around her know about it. Then again if you are THAT good then being confident to the point of arrogance was understandable. Adam swore that she did not pause throughout the entire battle for a breath instead busily chattering as if the battle with the fiend goddess, one of the vaunted Seven, was a leisurely stroll in the park. Adam could still hear her song, one of which he recognized as the anthem of the Order of the Masters of the Nine Swords, and order he most recently had joined, albeit modified for her own purposes. "I am the Whirlwind, the Sublime Soul, the Oncoming Storm and Perfection Personified." ""I am fury, I am fire, While through darkness I rise higher. I am courage, I am cunning, With finesse to leave you fumbling. I am prowess, I am purpose, Against my might you are worthless. I am sublime, I am surprise, Tremble, for I am your demise."" Not to take any credit from her though, but Sublime did have some help as two other Unknowns present that were countering any attempt by Superbia to cast magic or otherwise escape. One had slightly lighter short brown hair and his accent and attire appeared related to Sublime. From Adam's arcane trained eye, he appeared to be a dedicated spellcaster utilizing both divine and arcane magics. The other of Sublime's compatriots appeared to be a Drow-touched or even a Half-Drow and he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat, goggles and a long coat. This one too seemed to be a proficient arcane caster as well. They negated any advantage Superbia may have had with her magic and she was left alone with only her skill in battle. Granted that was nothing to sneeze at, if the legends were to believed, but from the looks of it not enough to match Sublime. Not without her magic. At first, it looked as if Superbia would make a fight of it. Desperation and the primal instinct to survive being the strongest of motivations, but Sublime inexorably dominated. Sublime had the edge and she knew it, taunting the fiendish goddess, professing herself disappointed that the self-styled 'greatest' of the Seven was so poor an opponent. The exchanges between the two growing more lop sided with every engagement, until finally Sublime disabled Superbia cutting off both of her arms and then pinning her to the ground with her sword. And so the so called greatest of the Seven laid impaled, humbled, and bleeding on Sublime's sword. "Come on... it is time to do your thing and finish this." Sublime called to her compatriots and, as if on cue, the Drow-touched 'Unknown' floated down to the pair and took out a spherical object. It floated mysteriously out of the Drow-touched's hand with the action narrated by Sublime, the victory not slowing or impeding her constant verbal barrage. The sphere opened up and moved back and encompassed part of the Drow-touched's hand and then in a rather impressive display the Drow-Touched drew out threads of white glowing 'energy' from Superbia, her divinity according to the play by play provided by Sublime during the whole process. Adam's hair, had he possessed such a thing, stood on end as the sphere did its work... to the point that he took Sublime's narration to heart. "God, it took you long enough... now can I finally finish this?" Sublime asks apparently in exasperation. Apparently she got some sort of an affirmative response because as quick as lightning, Sublime's next stroke took off the fiendish goddess' head from her shoulder and she proceeded to parade it front of her already demoralized followers. "It is about time... behold devil scum, your great and glorious leader... just look at what you have been looking up to. Pathetic." The other mage who had to this point been quietly watching floated down and in a few deft movements summoned magic to destroy the rest of Superbia that Sublime was not parading around. Then the pair turned their collective magical might on Superbia's minions and unleashed what could only be described as pure destruction on the gathered hordes. It was an impressive display of arcane and divine magic and it reaped the hordes of devil followers like wheat. "Hey... cut it out! I told you I can handle these clowns by myself!" Sublime shouted to her compatriots. "If you leave all them intact, they MIGHT just give me enough of challenge that I MIGHT actually get a workout out of this." As if to acknowledge her request, the two magi stopped their impressive assault and saluted Sublime before teleporting away. "Finally... so Adam, are you going to come out and play or do you just like to watch?" Sublime mused as she watched her compatriots teleport away. "Well, it was quite the light show... not to mention it is not every day you get to watch a devil goddess lose her head." Adam says as he leaps down from his perch that he was watching the battle below. "Anyway let's rewind a bit, do I know you?" "No. But I know you and I know all of your moves." Sublime smiles as she turns to face him as her sword shifts again to a bladed whip of some sort. "Well that doesn't seem very fair... so can I suppose you're not just going to tell me anything about yourself?" Adam says readying his weapon as he watches the hordes muster what remained of their courage and looked to make a final charge. "I mean asides your name which I could not help but overhearing." "Dear Adam, I wish I could... but cat's got my tongue... and by cat I mean a really bad ass spell." Sublime says with a small laugh as she too gets her weapon ready as well. "Well that SOUNDS pleasant..." Adam replies with a smile of his own. "Why would someone go do a thing like that...? It is not like you like to talk or anything." "No one likes a smart ass, Adam... you know there is an old Halvan saying that you don't really know someone until you fight them." Sublime says with a smile and wink as she plunges headlong into the demonic horde. "So while I may not be able to tell you about me... I can show you. If you prove worth my time, I'll let you test your skills against me and then you'll know me... so keep up, if you can." Adam did not want to admit it, but he was fascinated. It was a fascination, not so much in a physical sense, but in terms of her battle skill... and it was challenge. "What the Nine Hells... I never really wanted a long lifespan anyway." Adam smiled as he funnel arcane energies in his hands and unleashed fury of lightning and and fire as his opening salvo before drawing out his shield and sword and plunged into the dark hordes after Sublime. Even in the darkness of the demon hordes of Superbia's minions, Adam knew where Sublime was. Her voice clear as she narrated all of her moves and engaged her adversaries in conversation, even as she dismantled them with her skillful cuts. The hordes swarmed around Adam... He would find out more about her and no demon scum would keep him from that goal. So Adam's blade and crackling magic went to work as he too took to the battle against what remained of Superbia's minions. *********** The battle neared its end and it ended in a rout. The last of the hordes met their end on Sublime's and Adam's blades. Adam had spent the last of his magic and his body was littered with injuries. His weapon's arm hung loosely at his side, shattered in his last series of engagement. "Adam you're hurt..." Sublime noted even as she drove her sword through the last of Superbia's minions. Somehow through the whole thing, she managed to not even get her hair mussed and she still was swinging Superbia's head around like Little Red Riding Hood with a picnic basket skipping through the woods. "No, I am not..." "Yes, you are.... your whole arm is totally smashed and destroyed." "This? Tis' but a flesh wound..." "Your whole right arm is gone..." "It is not..." "It is so...!" "It is not..." "Adam! You're such as dork..." Sublime laughed as she ended the exchange. Sublime held her mercurial and shifting sword towards Adam and then did a slicing motion with her non-sword hand. "Here is something that will help take the edge off. " The shard, if it could be described as such as thing, struck Adam in the chest and where it spread and as it washed over his body, Adam felt his body knit itself back together and his wounds disappeared and repaired by the liquid metal. The liquid metal then ran down where his right arm used to be and then it repaired it and then became a part of him as it formed into gleaming version of his weapons arm. "You know Adam, you don't talk a whole lot do you...?" Sublime said as she sheathed her sword and then recovered her trophy, Superbia's head. "Generally, when one is getting their a$$ handed to them, it usually tends to shut them up." Adam answer with more than a bit of mirth, but also as acknowledgement and compliment to her battle skill based on her ability to talk throughout... prodigiously. "You're still a dork... but I like you." Sublime laughs at Adam's wry, but good humored response. "Unfortunately, I got to go... previous engagement and all, so our little match will have to wait... just remember to practice or it won't be much of a fight." "You cut me, Sublime... you cut me real deep..." Adam replied in mock pain as he grasped his heart symbolically. Adam then saluted as the self proclaimed Perfection Personified walked away to a opening gate. "Fare thee well, dear lady... when we meet again I will be ready and may the bards sing of our battle." "A dork to the end... see you around, cowboy." Sublime laughed as she entered the gate and just like that she was gone. Adam would be ready.

[Battlechaser]

Name: Caspar Thelonious
Race: Atralumi, Selvas Kinship.
Sex: Male
Age: 67
Class: Cloistered cleric 5- runecaster 8 - divine oracle 3
Alignment: True neutral
Deity: Tiaan
Specialty: divine caster - blaster - backup healer
Traits and flaw: absent-minded, abrasive, Hallucinationsinattentive
Bonus skills: Knowledge (demongate wars), Knowledge (minerals, gems)
Description:

Wild peaks of grayish white hair rose up around two pointed ears. Multipele small gems weaved intricate flight-paths through this veritable mountainrange that was capped by two thick antilope-like horns. Two mismatched eyes- one the red of an old Burgundy wine, the other green as the grass on the other side of the hill- were surrounded by canyons of concentration-wraught wrinkles, that are interrupted by the white scar gouging his right eyebrow. Usually he walks around in a lab coat, splattered with stains in numerous colors, intermingled with scorch marks -the result of one too many bunnies that was blown into burning fragments. Household staff gave him the evil eye for weeks after that: cold meals, no cleaning of his room,... Not that Caspar noted. By the time he usually got around to eaten it was already cold, the sauces all gellified. And his room was only for sleeping one those rare nights Father Gustav scolded him to "Go to bed, you look like hell."

For his infrequent outside trips Caspar wore a custom-made black hooded mantle that hid the horns so he could go around without drawing too much attention - off course constantly mumbling to one's imaginary friend had the opposite effect. It also wrapped his lanky body in a comfortable warmth. If you go about before sunrise, temperatures tend to drop in mountainous areas.

Personality:

Think of your most sharp-witted, charismatic teacher. You know the one with the witty remarks that could make his whole class laugh, yet could pull the ground from under the feet of the student who dared to ask stupid questions. The one whose lessons were so captivating even the Dean showed up regularly. The one that the female students dreamed about at night.

Now go to the other side of the spectrum and meet Caspar: intelligent, absentminded, clumsy, socialy inept and oblivious to his surroundings. Oh, he could get the job done - if it was interesting enough the Atralumi would focus his entire attention on it, forgetting the bare essentials like eating and sleeping until reminded. Take him out of his lab and he becomes nervous and self-conscious - his experience with other children taught him their cruelty and big crowds still give him pause. But his god has sent him out, so he had to obey. Besides think of the knowledge he could dig up in these books. "Right, Tulio?"

Growing pains "Freak!" "Abomination!" "Monster!" "No wonder your mother left you!" Caspar clenched his hands against his ears, trying in vain to drown out the other children's chants. But the last remark elicited a sob of despair from the lanky boy. Hidden under a table in Father Gustav's workshop, he rocked slowly back and forth, his eyes staring blankly ahead. "Why are they so cruel, Tulio? I haven't done anything wrong. Nothing..." His whisper met a silent end as his friend did not reply - as usual. The bird just bobbed his head in a compassionate gesture. "Thank you, Tulio. What would I do without you?" The young Atralumi sniffed hard, pulling a thread of snot back up his nose, while simultaneously wiping the tears from his eyes. All his efforts to make contact with the other children were for naught and Caspar was not sure if he could take more rejection. It did not help that his mind wandered off, distracted by hallucinations or random ideas popping up in his head. Nor that he had difficulty gauging the other children's intentions - Caspar was usually the last to realize they were mocking him- but he was learning. Slowly. But apparently not fast enough. Dried blood had formed a meandering creek on his right cheek, the cut above his eye, where a stone had hit him, slowly crusting over. A sparkle of determination lit up his asymmetric eyes. "I'll make sure they can't hurt me no more." Caspar had read a book once -well usually several at a time- about an ancient form of magical defenses, imported by a now extinct species. It revolved about weaving spells into a single calligraphic sign, a rune if you will, and kept ready to be unleashed at any would be attackers. "I bet there are more books on the subject." And with a small spring in his step, the Atralumi set off to the monastery's library.

Eureka! "Caspar! What are you still doing here? The other children have gone to sleep." Father Gustav had sneaked up on the youngster. Well, not exactly sneaking, Caspar had been so focused on etching a rune on a crossbowbolt - the tip of his tongue protruding out of his left mouth corner- that he hadn't heard his mentor approach. Startled he looked up but he still managed to not ruin his work. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, before Caspar turned, beaming with a mixture of joy and pride. "I've done it, Father!" He had picked up the bolt and waved it at the priest. "I've finally managed to put a spell into the rune." Caspar loaded the handcrossbow that had been lying on the table. His erratic swinging with the loaded weapon caused Father Gustav to dive for cover and hit his head on the desk resulting in a huge bump and swimming vision. The Atralumi aimed at a pair of rabbits that was calmly eating a few leaves of lettuce in their cage and let fly. The bolt embedded itself into a beam just above the cage. And Caspar was right: the rune worked. As soon as one of the rabbits moved, the spell was fired off and both rabbits were fast asleep. And so was Caspar. Tulio just stood there gawking at his imaginary friend. When he finally woke up, the boy's expression was a mixture of exultation and a bit of shame. "I just need to work on correctly gauging the distances."

Interlude Years passed. Caspar grew more focused on his work, only interrupting it for the bare necessities of eating, sleeping and natural secretory processes. And the dreaded fieldtrips to the merchants to get his equipment and raw materials. Days afore, Caspar would barely sleep, anxious as he was at confronting a crowd. But he had to do it or else his research would come to a grinding halt. Fortunately, his suppliers were used to stranger clients and put up with the ungodly early hours at which Caspar wanted to get his materials. After all, his money was as good as that of others, and since the Tian Library was funding there was plenty where that came from. The only thing that really disturbed Caspar's routine was the passing of Father Gustav. His friend, his mentor, his...father. He wept bitter tears for days and stared blankely at the ceiling for nights. His walls were littered with small fiends battling knights in shining pink armor that were swept away by a torrent of tears until only a blank surface remained. But - as with everything - time allowed that wound to scab over and Caspar was too busy to pulk at it. He had found a new interest. The fiends were back. Intrigued at their origin, Caspar momentarily put aside the gem he was working on and buried himself in the library between stacks of books and ancient scrolls about the atrocities and heroics of that era. Caspar had found his own version of 'Lord of the Rings'.

Mission Impossible Whispering dissonantly, yet completely in tune with his mental Soundtrack Orchestra, the old man sat bent over his work bench, softly scratching an intricate rune on one side of a small gem. He hoped it would work this time - the charred remnants of former failures lay scattered across his laboratory. So engrossed was Caspar in his work, that he did not notice several people stepping into the room and studying him. When he finally finished, the priest exhaled a relieved "Aha!" before releasing the stone. On its own volition it rose and took his place between the others stones that orbited Caspar's wild grey locks. Some weaved intricate patterns around peaks of hair and the pair of horns protruding above his pointed ears. "Ahum." Someone scratched his throat. Caspar reached for another stone. "Excuse me." A melodious voice rang out. It sounded like ambrosia yet it broked no disobedience. Absently, Caspar looked up and found his lab occupied by a pack of fierce-looking guardsmen, surrounding a lithe Elven-looking woman while a slim dark-haired man was browsing through Caspar's creations and notes. Mmm. Two shields, typical for a Bulwark. Veil across her eyes. "Huh. So now I'm imagining the Oracle is visiting me." Caspar said to Tulio, his lifelong friend and trustée. Nevermind that Tulio looked like an erect blue ostrich and never talked back. Nevermind that no one else had seen the damned bird. For Caspar he was real enough to act like a sounding board. "It can't be her, you see." The priest stood up from his chair, accidentaly tipping over the cup of coffee, that had been slowly getting cold over the past hours. "She does not leave her Fortress. Her guards wouldn't like it one bit." Said guards glanced nervously at each other when the odd-looking hermit closed in on their ward and leaned forward. A subtle raised index finger made the Bulwarks stop in their tracks before they could charge in.. "Although I have to admit. She does look rather realistic." The lamplight reflected in a mismatched pair of eyes. One the red of an old Burgundy wine, the other green as the grass on the other side of the hill. "I wonder." Casper reached out and pinched the Oracle's left arm. "Now my hallucinations even illicit a tactile response. They.." His explanation was cut short as the new ioun stone flared up and the newest recruit to the guard - who tried to charge Caspar - was suddenly altered mid-charge in a white fluffy bunny. "Oooh it worked." Caspar bent over to pick up the Leporidae and stroked his back. "Oh. Wait." Realisation hit like a sledgehammer. The priest looked at The Oracle, then at the bunny and back at the Oracle. "Bugger. I'm... I'm sorry, your Highness. I can turn him back... I think." He dropped the rabbit and walked to one of the precariously stacked clutter heaps that concealed one of the rooms' tables and started to rummage. "Aha... No... This should... Eh no... Now.... Eureka." Delighted he held up a coin and picked it up. "Where's the Bunny?" What followed was a rather slapstickian chase that did little to improve the virtual order and cleanliness of Caspar's laboratory and caused the man in the back to roll his eyes exasparatedly at the Oracle. "Are you sure you want him?" Her answer was drowned out by an exulted "Gotcha!" followed by an angry "Get of my back!" The wide-eyed guard who felt a sudden urge for carrots was helped to his feet by a fellow bodyguard, who had difficulty containing his snicker. The young soldiers' hope for a macho nickname like Scar or Croaker was smashed into smithereens as his company chose a more ... cute one. The Oracle scraped her throat once again to get the priest's attention - a sly smile playing around her lips. "Focus, Caspar." Her companion told her what to expect, but still... "I have need of you." As an experienced speaker she paused for optimum effect. "You must travel to Pharé and" "What? And leave? I can not abandon my... my..." Caspar was exasparated, not realizing he was interrupting someone who held the King's ear and if she wanted would be served the same King's testicles on a silver platter. Yet the veritable thought of leaving his lab, his home, the Library was beyond comprehension. It was difficult enough to wander around Calarin to get his laboratory supplies and brave the stares from - well everybody. So he kept those excursions limited to a bare minimum. But this was "Ridiculous." Even Tulio nodded his assent vigourously, ruffling his feathers in the proces. "I can't leave. My experiments..." "Will have to wait, Caspar." Though soft-spoken the words resonated in the priests' soul with an intensity that left him trembling on his feet. He stared dumbfoundedly at the young man that had remained aloof until now. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?" The young one stepped out of the shadow and regarded Caspar with surprising warmth in his voice. "I know all the names of my priests, not that I have many. I remember the day when Old Gustav found a horned baby on the doorstep of my Library." Sinking to his knees Caspar looked up at his god. "Tiaan?" He whispered. A nod was the only answer he got. The Oracle studied the exchange between the god and his priest before continuing her explanation. "seek out Morgan Wainraith. His King needs your help. They're deeply involved in battling Zera and the Fiends. It is crucial you get there as soon as possible." "But..." "No buts, you will have to do this." Tiaan nipped Caspar's protests in the butt. "You leave tomorrow. So start packing." And because orders work better combined with a carrot on a stick. "I have a few Tomes dating back to the Demongate Wars. They sport a few runes I need your help deciphering when you get back." "Ooh. What do they look like? What paper has been used? What ink?" "Go pack, Caspar." Tiaan sounded like a father urging his favorite son on.

[DeSpainJE]

"Simply stated, it is sagacious to eschew obfuscation."

 

 

Watcher "Ashen Black" Irali Serokai AkA Badger Black
Race: Serokai(Nameless)
Sex: Female
Age: 45
Classes: Cleric(Cloistered)/Watcher of Fisali/Contemplative
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Deity: The Eighth
Specialties: Divine Casting | Domains: Betrayal, Fate, Time(WoF)
Campaign Feat : Improved Unarmed Strike
Bonus Skills: Craft(Origami); Knowledge(Fasali)

Appearance: Ashen is a tall woman with ravened black hair, bright green eyes, and dusky skin that was kissed by the desert sun. Though few have ever seen that in the last twenty some odd years. Ashen prefers wearing a robe or a cloak, that gives her a shifting appearance of size. It is dark red, almost as if crafted from dried blood, in some lights it appears dark enough to be considered black. Often the hood is raised hiding Ashen's face, through a clever trick of sheer fabric placed in the recess of the hood, the face is obscured from those attempting to look with in the hood. The veil is rigged to slide over the face if griped when the hood is tossed back to reveal the face. Often appearing to be unarmed save for a simple knife at her belt. At times when fully at rest, the cloak falls still enough that Ashen's build is revealed to be slender, almost feminine, leading to questions of whom actually lives under that hood. At all times Ashen is found with a long slender quarter staff made of resin impregnated bamboo that she uses as a guide stick. For all appearances whom ever is under the hood is blind, yet seems aware of what ever is going on around them.

Personality: Aloof but not unapproachable, willing to give advice, but never in absolutes always in options. Not exactly quiet, but generally only speaks when she feels there something that needs to be said, extra words might be undue influence, till there needs to be a little undue influence. Efficient, and typically on the lookout for ways to remove inefficiency may not always do so due to her mandate. Confident bordering on arrogance, trusting her own thoughts and abilities. Strong Willed, Charismatic, and inspiring when she choose to let people in on the secret. Ashen can seem stubborn, domineering, and intolerant once she has set her path. Often her neutral stance makes her appear emotionally vacant, cold, and ruthless, like the hand of fate she sometimes has to be. Her friends know her to be one to share deep passionate and meaningful conversations, friendships not built upon routines, but upon shared experiences.

 

Background: Expanded Background Ashen Black

Born to the name Irali Serokai, Her parents were proud to have a beautiful strong healthy daughter. Like all of her people she was taught the basics of how to defend herself with her hands. at a young age, she knew she was destined to do something else, like a calling on the winds. At the age of 12 she became an Acolyte at the Church of Fasili, dedicated to the Eighth, She who is all and nothing. As an Acolyte and a Cleric her family life carried no burdens, nothing that hinder her. Many trips to many temples she undertook as the Whims, wills, and world called her. When she discovered her calling to embark upon the path of a Watcher, she returned to her family, and asked to be released from her name. To be disowned. This was not well received in most instances, this is considered a dishonor, a betrayal to the family. As she held oath to both the family, and to the Betrayer, she knew a decision needed to be made. It took more than a full moon cycle to convince her family elders of the need. It was not a decision that was entered into lightly, she had to make this choice to continue her calling to Fasili. Many members of the Family saw the honor of her decision, even if it marked her as dishonored. A few saw it as double dishonor, first dishonor at being nameless, and second dishonor at her willingness to do this for no need. At the end of the ceremony, Irali, adopted the name Ashen Black, and raised her cowl for the last time. After that moment, it was rare for Ashen to show her face in public, including adding the veil to the cowl to make it more difficult to discern her features.

Over the years she has served in many capacities with in the church of Fasali, Archivist, Teacher, Negotiator, Judge, whatever was asked and granted by Fisali. As she entered the path of the Watcher, just before her twentieth name day. She learned more closely and directly the nature and will of her goddess. Along the way earning herself the nick Badger Black for a particular incident, where she defied the mandate to not get involved. While often it is said it is better to beg forgiveness, that does not always work with the Eighth, sometimes one will find simple atonement does not even the score as she sees it. Atonement may have undid what was done to Ashen, it left a permanent reminder in the nickname. The incident left its own reminders, and there are still times she awakes from dreams of that encounter. Having observed a death, she felt compelled to step into the trial that was being held as a witness, when she asked to get involved she was told no by Fisali, there was no need for an explanation of the reason, it was simple as the goddess did not wish it. Unfortunately for Ashen it was not as simple as that and it should have been. She knew the man on trial was innocent, she had seen the entire thing the death had been accidental. Yet they were going to hang this man, because they were afraid of him, they called him the Mountain Troll, while it was true he had some trollish features, perhaps even troll tainted blood, that was not the man's fault, why make him live in the high mountains, and allow people to go up there to torment him. It was almost a local sport it seemed. Despite Fisali's rather straight forward answer, Ashen testified at the trial. They released the man, he went back to his mountain retreat. Ashen felt inclined to visit the man, which was when she learned the truth. He was more trollish than appearances would lead people to believe, and likely fiend possessed. His lair was littered with treasure and bones of those he had killed, some even gnawed upon. As it lay dying singed and smoking from the holy flames that Ashen had called to her defense, she understood, the Magister was a wizard, a truth seeker, and would have discovered the fiend has Ashen not spoken for him, and thus given the impression her Goddess said this man was innocent. Had she just gone on her way after the trial this fiend would have remained in possession of the children he kept in cages, like hens waiting to be cooked. It would have continued to terrorize the country side, and it would have been Ashen's fault, but Fisali would have been blamed. This she thought long and hard about as she trekked back to Halvanna as a Badger her punishment for violating her oath.

Ashen has presiding over weddings, and funerals all the ilk of an iterant cleric as she travelled the lands. She has settled disputes to avoid wars, and walked away from negotiations that started wars. Her goddess seems fickle, but it is in the right to chose that all beings find freedom. It is in the acceptance of the consequence of those choices that a being finds wisdom. She has learned from the Archgate Kereboros, whom is the chief proponent of the nickname Badger Black, he thinks it was a fitting reminder from Fisali of the misdeed and fit the personality of the person it had been bestowed upon. He has even gone so far as to have furs shipped in to line her cloak, from the Badgers supposedly much more vicious less afraid cousin, that for some reason they call the sugar badger or something like that from the hot plains. He thought the golden color of its fur reminded him more of honey, and that was why he chose it. Despite contentious arguments, and heated debates, Kereboros and Ashen are friends after a sort. A mentor teacher relationship that has evolved into a friendship that is strong, and true. Kereboros sees Ashen as one of the few that understand the full burden of being the Archgate, and Head of the Watchers, and controlling people like her.
While serving at the Temple in the Halvalan capital Ashen met Misa Serokai, Misa was considered the best at what she did, the pre-eminent fitter despite being blind, and they were technically cousins, it was almost like seeing family, yet the nonjudgmental type. They became fast friends over tea, and cookies while discussing fabrics, and cuts, and what might look best in the neutral facade that Ashen was trying to portray. Over the next few years as they were friends, Ashen also came to know Didina, and her friendship with Misa. In the beginning Ashen disliked Didina, even know she is not as close with Didina as she is with Misa, but over time the dislike has turned to grudging like, Ashen still does not like everything Didina does, but has learned to be more neutral in her judgement, and tempered it a bit with the view through other people’s eyes. During this same time period as Ashen grew as a Watcher she became closer to Kerebos the Archgate of Fasili, while they are friends persay, they are cordially conversant, and equal adherents to the dictates and wills of the Lady Eighth. Each has their own methods, and while they do not always agree it is have never been truly adversarial between them. They can share a cup of tea, a game of stones and a conversation. Both are knowledgeable about many things, and it makes it easy to get someone else's view point on an issue without getting too involved in said issue.

This was also the time when she began to create her own network of agents and information suppliers throughout the city. Just those willing to bring her news and information that she might need to hear. She did not want to rely on the information sources of someone else. That was how she came to know Anorde, he became the backbone of her network, because he already had one, and the arrangements were simple, there was a retainer fee, and back flow of information expected. Over the years that they have shared information, the two have learned a bit about each other. Learned to trust the information being shared, or not shared was in the considered best interest of the party in question. Anorde once aided Ashen in uncovering a fiendish cult planning to open a portal to the Fiendish Realms underneath the City. While none of the Cultists were of any true power save one, even the minor fiends they had been able to summon were no feastday picnic to banish or destroy. While Ashen had been involved in the clearing and cleaning up of the mess, she deferred to the shadows when it came time for Credit, letting that honor fall to Anorde and others. It took her sometime to understand that it was not that Fisali did not want credit for what had happened, she did not want the City to come to expect her aid in that manner, that they must learn to defend against such things, and be watchful as they always had, not wait for some other being to notice and say hey!.

Ashen spent the time of the last Demonmoon Wars as she had the two prior, as a battlefield healer and conduit of divine retribution against the fiends, albeit the first time when she was 14 she had little to add, and mostly worked really hard at staying alive. Now days She is a caster of some power, and often found herself facing off against mid-level fiends that had caused lots of destruction. She was a resource that was moved from hot spot to hot spot, that was how she was not involved in any of the decisive battles instead she was at the fringe fighting all the medium fires, so those that had too could fight the biggest fires. It was during this time that she first met Anorde, and coordinating with Kereboros and Anorde's information she was able to use the Eighth's power to its full extent entering and exiting battle fields when she was most needed. It was a tiring time and one she does not ruminate upon often, many horrors were seen, and dealt with during that time. She cannot think on all the lives she was unable to save, only those she was able to.

During the troubles that followed it found Ashen on the hunt for Fiends that had still remained that had not yet been dealt with, as well attempting to investigate what was the source of these troubles. With all the recent upheavals, both have their own opinions on what needs to be done. With the Lady's permission Ashen has set out to join those in active investigation of the issue, not knowing of the involvement of her friends Misa and Didina.

 

(Mood Music)

The light was fading as the night closed in on the city, the open courtyard was a comfortable place to work the forms of her childhood, she had not pursued a Martial life, but still prided herself on defending herself. Like the sands on the winds, her feet and hands shifted in intricate patterns. Very little went under Ashen's notice. The Cowl made people often think otherwise, hence when she stopped mid pattern to face the interloper, it caused a moment of interest between the two, as masked face regarded hooded one.

"You came to me, so what is it that I may assist you with?" Ashen asked with a quiet but direct voice.

The interloper dressed in black and hidden behind a smiling mask in blacks and greys, shrugged slightly before speaking, "Curosity mostly" it interceeded, "We are aquainted with some of the same people, and I wanted to know if you knew what they were upto?" extending the walking stick Ashen was rarely found without towards her, using it to read her as was in his purview of abilities.

[/b]"Ahhh so you are a Hand of the Eighth, a Watcher of She who is all and nothing, is that why you gave up the name Irali?"[/b] as Ashen's hand came in contact with the Stick. Ashen merely shrugged, it was not as if she hid her connection to the most powerful of all the Gods of this Plane, or any Plane for that matter. The fact that he knew the name she had not spoken in twenty or more years was a bit concerning. "Perhaps we can be be of aid to each other?"

Ashen was interested in the offer, but rarely let that type of thing be obvious, that was to be involved, and she was to remain neutral for the most part. It was time to feel out this a bit more first, "And whom are you, that you can help me?"

The man laughed slightly, "I am called Many Faces by some, but 'Faces' will do to save time" before he could continue there was the sound of approach foot steps moving rather rapidly, "Well for now I must be going, but I will be back, See you in another life" he said turning towards the sound, which caused Ashen to glance that way as well, and that was all that it took, the man was gone. The only evidence he had even been near was a gold coin slowly spinning on the paving stone he had been standing on, till it lay still. Ashen had just stepped over it when Kereboros appeared, with a few of his retinue, mostly Temple Guards.

"Someone has entered the temple unannounced, have you seen anyone?" one of the retinue asked, it appeared they were moving Kereboros to some where deemed safe in case it was an attack of some sort.

"No one that I think will be an issue to the Archgate, but someone bearing a Watchers Attention at least." Ashen replied, as she bent to retrieve the coin, examining it for a moment. If an Archgate could not defend himself against this threat the guards were of no aid to him.

Kerboros raised an eyebrow but said nothing, he could hear more than the words that were said, and knew that he would hear the rest soon he was certain. Ashen was now examining the coin and was not entirely focused on the needs of the Gaurds, or the needs of those around her at the moment. Did the face on the coin change each time she flipped it over? She was certain that it was. Searching teh recesses of her well ordered mind she was seeking a factiod from a book that she had read many years prior. Hmmmm, Val'erin, but he was supposed to be dead she thought to herself. Was there a connection? More Questions than answers.

 

Ashen had retreated to her room, after having spoken to Kereboros, he knew little that was an aid or substance. He had never heard of any being named Many Faces. Or if he did know anything he opted not share. Incense and holy water were the only material components that she needed at the moment, this was all that she needed. The incense was lit, and the symbols drawn as Ashen Settled into meditative position in the circle she had created. Her eyes closed, and her breathing settled. The presense of the Eighth was felt as the spell was completed Ashen knew she had minimal time, and it was not to be wasted on silly things like basking in the Lady's presensce. There were questions to be asked.

"The man that visited me is Many Faces his actual name?"

'unclear'

"Should I seek him out?"

'Unknown'

"Will he return for the Coin?"

'Yes'

"Should I return it?"

'Your Choice'

"He stated it was involving my friends, does this involve Misa or Didina?"

'This I can not reveal'

"Should I worry about this man"

'I would'

"Does this bear connection to what has been happening in Halva recently?"

'Yes'

"Was this being a man?"

'As such things are often quantfied'

"Does Kereboros have information on him that will help?"

'As much as anyone does'

"Does this man live in Halva"

'No'

"Is he connected to the Fiends?"

'Not as you suspect'

"I feel this needs investigation and requires I be involved, Do I have permission?"

'Yes for now'

With the end of the Commune with the Eighth, Ashen was left with more questions than answers. Kereboros had information that she needed on this man, unless the meaning was actually that no one had information that would help her. She examined the coin again, she had already decided that she would return it, when he came for it, or if she could find him. There were a few sources left at her disposal, the Sages of Fislasyth, if they would speak with her on this that was. It was already late in the evening they would have to wait for the morrow, she would not wake them for this. Instead there was a man she had treated with more than once that she could seek out this evening.

 

Theme Music
The scents of the slums were a bother, but one that Ashen seemed inclined to ignore. With hood pulled forward and walking stick guiding the way, she seemed an easy mark to some, but for some reason none dared to make the attempt this day. Perhaps it was the gods own luck, or more likely her small but weekly payment to a man named Tipani, whom she was certain ran most of the street level crime in Halvaana. As haunts went it was not her favorite, not even close, most of the time she avoided the Tavern crawls, she preferred quieter more controlled settings. Then again a tavern served its purpose, the Telalla Wen Tavern, it was fairly well known, more importantly it was a place that was known to be someplace you could find an information broker named Anorde. Anorde was whom she saught at the moment. Between the two of them many a minor mystery had been solved. Sometimes it was coin that he wanted in exchange, normally it was information or a favor that he requested. They had a very tet et tet balance sheet between them. Ashen was certain that he fed her information in hopes of influencing her decisions, as much as she fed him information for the same reasons. She never questioned his sources, it was just bad form, instead she would use alternate means to corroborate his information. The robed figure ghosted through the front door at a glide, mostly ignored, people understood the need and want for anonymity here. Ashen was known enough that she was waved into the back, ostensibly it was likely assumed that she was here to meet with Anorde, it was not completely uncommon for her to do so, just not a daily occurrence.

As she entered the quiet back room where Anorde waited, "I take it you received my message, you do not look surprise to see me." Ashen stated as she went to be seated at the table, and pulled her hood back, it was a rare occasion for her to show her face, but it was a mark of the trust between her and Anorde, she did not try to conceal what he was likely to have a want to find out, it was a payment from the first dealings that they had between them. Ashen was a lovely woman, but convincing her of that was a battle that had been lost over two decades prior, she had never felt uneasy about donning the hood, it had been a concession to losing her name as well, but many things brought her to this decision.

Anorde nodded, "Though I must say I am not certain what it is you wish to speak with me about, I would think your request would fall better on your own orders ears, or perhaps the Sages of Fislasyth, why you would think I known anything about unknown Visitors to your temple" Anorde stated flatly.

Perhaps a bit to flatly for Ashen's liking. So she quirked one dark eyebrow, the dark red ravening of her hair glimmering in the light of the room. "Too Quick to answer that, are you losing your touch, or are you rattled?" Ashen asked quietly, "I was visited by a man in a mask, and asking about him brought me back to you, seems no one else has associated with him directly, but he is a shadow of some sort it appears, and now I need you to share what you know of him, left this behind" Ashen stated producing the coin, which did in fact get Anorde's attention as it was the same one that was twirled idly across the back of a hand at another meeting in this place.

"I think he will be wanting that back, I can get it to him" Anorde said before realizing he admitted knowing who it belonged to. It was a rare slip by the man, this information broker of note was rarely caught out like that.

There was another voice from the doorway, "Why don't I just take it back myself?" the man referred to as Many Faces, also known as Mask.

Ashen turned to glance, but the nod from Anorde was confirmation enough. "Here" the coin was flipped end over end through the air back to it's original owner.

"Have a seat Mask" Anorde said as he took a sip from what ever beverage it was he had infront of him.

The name made a few things click for Ashen, Mask was a known thief, specializing in high end epic capers. "Is this how you are so well informed Anorde, you have him steal the documents that he finds in peoples homes?" That still did not explain how he knew her name.

"That is because not everything is as easy to explain as simply as that Ashen, very few things ever really are, I took the liberty of ordering for us all, Ale for Anorde and I, wine for the lady, Veal for me, mutton for Anorde, and I was surprised that you were vegetarian Ashen, does not strike me as your style, I would have sworn in a past life you were an almost obligate carnivore." Mask said as he settled into his seat. The chair might not have his name on it, but the casual arrogance of his posture and seating said he owned it, and felt perfectly comfortable in the room, without a concern, even with the bounty on his head. Mask smiled winked, and his eye color changed. It was a simple enough effect, but one that intrigued Ashen, was it a spell, and item, or something else? She would have sworn her peripheral vision showed him with brown hair, not the current blonde at their earlier meeting. "We are not here about the coin though are we, talk with Morgan Wainraith, if you want to know more about it, he can share much more than I can, or is it that I will"(...To Be Continued)

 

(WIP-More of a short story than a conversation)

 

Kereboros looked up his attendant squealed and stepped back, and of all things holy or unholy a badger came waddling into his antechamber, a holy symbol of Fisali around its neck on a ragged leather cord, and dragging a satchel behind it. Kereboros wanted to laugh, it was not the first random animal to wander into his domain, and he knew what it wanted. At least this one had come prepared. His eyes twinkled with suppressed laughter as he recognized the satchel. "Watcher Black, it appears She who is all, and nothing, is displeased with you at the moment"

The badger rolled its eyes as if to say, of course she is, I am a badger aren't I. Ashen knew that she had made a mistake, it all began with lunch on a cliff overlooking a waterfall. The badger sighed, and considered biting Kereboros as he drug this out. Kereboros stepped forward and took the satchel from the badger and looked at the others, whom wondered for a moment why he was speaking to a Badger like it was a member of the clergy, few knew the extent of Fisali's displeasure at being defied as a Watcher did. Last he heard Watcher Black was back in the foot hills of the mountains scouting out information on a Fiend cult that wanted to open gates into this realm and release fiends under a non-demon moon. That couldn't be the burrow she had stuck her nose in that was not allowed. In the Satchel Kereboros found a prepared prayer book, since Watcher Black could not have done this as a badger, it must be then that she carried it prepared for having to deft her deity. Pragmatic on the face of it.

Kereboros looked down at the Badger, "Are you repentant of your sins? Do you seek atonement for your deeds against our Lady Fisali" The badger nodded enthusiastically. Kereboros continued, "Do you plan to work harder, and more dedicatedly to your tasks?", again the badger nodded enthusiastically, Kereboros held the book in his left hand, "Will you do this again?" The badger nodded enthusiastically, then sudden stopped and shook its head no, Kereboros figured the first answer was the more honest, but trekking many miles as a badger and not getting turned into a hat, was likely punishment enough, or the Lady would have nudged him to not do this. "Very Well Badger Black Arise" . The badger knew without a shred of doubt the name was here to stay, even as she began to turn back into the lovely dusky skinned woman she once was. As she was of little shame so was not overly bothered by her complete and total nudity save holy symbol, as it was all the clothing she felt she needed, despite the need to comb her now wild hair, and wash away the musk of badgerdom.
-to be Continued-