The Character Biography Project

**Dellorn** · 08/11/2008 21:24:17

Greetings, fellow Telonians... Qalians, Thestrans, and Kojani...ans...

Dellorn clears his throat.

I set before me here, on this desk, a book. To the High Elves among you, yes, we Vulmane know what a book is. Shove it.

Next to it you will find an ink'd quill, with a vial next to it. I purchased the first, don't look to me to hand out farthin's for the next refill!

He leans back in his wooden chair, putting mud-covered boots on the corner of the table.

Those've you here are interesting folk. I've tracked a few of you, and the rest have heard of this place, the Tooth and Nail, through word'a mouth. I have this corner rented for only a few nights, seein' how I don' like handing out my farthin's, but I'm hopin' a few nights'll do. We all seem to sit at this bar 'ere to get ourselves at ease, but we know nothing of eachother! Maybe looks a bit, or names and faces, but nothin' of our stories, of what makes us differen' from the gnolls gnawin' at old bones of whoever falls to their crude traps.

Dellorn lifts his paws out, plaintively.

Don' waste my ink on simple name or race. To each who gives a story, I'll cover a drink should I get the chance. All this said, I'll give you the story've my and mine. Myself and my brother, and who we really are.

He sits up, grabbing the quill.

I'll write here why I and mine bear the surname Kinslayer, an' why Llenaren has no semblance of the title Nighthunter. I'd truly appreciate this tale to not be the only written here, even though it's a bit... short, as it were. You'll not see me mention a third brother, Ahranek. He's busy talkin' to treetrunks or somesuch, so you won't see his tale here today. As for Llen', he'd rather not write all what he has down himself, so he paid me to. I'll bother with that when I get the chance.

He smirks at a passing thought, grabs the book, and starts to write.

Dellorn Kinslayer, Swiftfang and Sharpshooter of Dahknarg: The youngest brother of three. 29 Winters remembered.

I, Dellorn, was born the third of three. The distance between brothers of my kin is vast, and though I love both Llen' and Ahran' as the blood they are, I hold little in common with either of them. My story is a short one, as I've done one simple thing since I earnt my title of Swiftfang... mostly for my inability to shut my trap, as it were, but some for my ability to bite when disarmed. To each their own, eh?

The story I choose to lend is one of how I got my other title, that've Sharpshooter. Sure it took a few coin to get it official, but such things can be earnt prior to getting them legal... would I lie to you?

I followed Llenaren into the Order around the 18th Winter of my life. I hold little tolerance for the outlandish Elves and Humans he chose to take up arms with, but promise of warm meal and travel to Kojan and even Qalia were more than what simple pay could earn me for joy. It was all the better a deal when I'd heard I'd have a weapon tailored for me, and being the craven I made myself out to be at the time, I chose a bow.

It looked nothing special when I first layed eyes on it, and Llen' made his fun at me for calling it an instrument, but what else it was I did not know. Something so crafted of wood, curved with care and strung with hair, could be called little else. Only played one pitch, but that one I came to love from the first time I heard it.

The bow was enchanted. I didn't know until I let loose an arrow at a boar the first day I'd gotten it, but the sheer amount of mud that leapt from the ground to cover the poor thing told a tale all its own. I named the bow Snag. Creativity wasn't something I was known for.

It wasn't until a week later, traveling up the road to that Kaon-infested Treehouse Leth Nurae, that I fired Snag at another sentient foe. I was travelling with both a Dwarven Warrior and Elven Palidan, both armored in thickened steel and thicker pride, when the thought occured to me. We'd been on a fair road for the past few days, taking our time once leaving Halgarad to set out towards Leth, and nothing ill had yet befallen us. The Dwarf was loud and the Elf louder, preaching some litany about some-goddess-or-other who sunk in a swamp made of bugs. It didn't strike much a chord with me... I always found those Elves to live up to the High they put before their names. Either way, noisily we went, and no brigand nor fool had come about to us wishing coin and namesake for spilling the Order's blood on a well-traveled route. The thought lingered with me for the next hour, my eyes itching from Nighteye I'd been careful to carry in rich supply... and let me say it here, when you first learn to use that wretchedly useful stuff, it burns. Horridly.

With the day drawing to a close and our trek not even having reached the darker parts of the forest to which we had set out, I caught a whiff of something. The undertone was a bit like a fresh kill, though the blatant fragrance said that kill had been left out for days. Rotting flesh, and a lot of it from the volume. I almost tripped when the scent first hit me, far before the other two. The Dwarf stopped to laugh when it got to him too, and offered me a hand to lift me up. The elf of course had some blasted incantation to hold his pretty little nose from stench, and called us both fools for making such a noise at a simple smell. I gave him the two fingers and took the Dwarf's hand after he gruffly insisted about it... though no sooner had I gotten to my feet than some... thing overtook the mule we had in tow. It smelt AWEFUL. I cannot quite describe what horrid stench came about that creature, but it looked like a pile of flesh and bone and smelt twice its mass of such. I fell back and wretched immediatly, the Dwarf grabbing me and dragging me behind his shield. The elf was to his right, lifting his great blade and giving a chant that brought it to an odd yellow glow. It was then I realized my eyes itched twice as badly as they had only a few moments ago, and then I realized why.

Off the path, a good 20 second crow's glide, was a figure. He seemed to glow a bit, a purple hue, which was all I needed to know. He was waving his hands and pointing to the right, at the Elf, and the creature lept from the poor mule and at the prideful paleskin.

I saw my chance. Eyes aching and throat burning from the lunch I'd let out on the path below me, I knocked an arrow on Snag and aimed at the invisible foe. Nighteye's usefulness is its ability to unmask the hidden to the naked eye, if the hidden are masked by magic alone. Giving a mental incantation to guide the arrow, I let it fly, blinking hurridly to keep my aim steady. I felt ready to pass out from sensory overload when I heard a painful shout, the necromancer falling over with blood pouring from where his left eye had once been set. An arrowhead sat there instead, and after a few short moments both he and the creature assailing the Elf had ceased movement.

We got a few coin off the vile human, and I earnt myself a bit of respect from the other two. The Dwarf offered me an extra bit of mule meat with dinner, since we'd had to get rid of the poor thing somehow, but I passed it off. The smell of death lingered with me for a good day hence, and needless to say I was everything but hungry.

That's what all I stand to write here, for now at least. I've come a long way since then, though I still have my brother Llen's tale to write, and the folk about me seem not to be the patient types. I apologize to anyone who has trouble readin' my slanty words, I felt my commentary needed to stand out away from the story so wrote the story itself all sideways and such.

A bit more is known about myself, Vulmane and Ranger of The Order of the Griffon.

-Dellorn

((OOC: Alright, I say Project in the thread title because I hope for this to become just that... Other than the "Hello, everyone!" listing at the start of this forum, we don't have much knowledge as to what kind of characters those of everyone who frequents the boards here are! Were I a programmer instead of an artist, I'd pester with getting a little wiki set up for the RP community, but I'm not gifted with logic. Illogic maybe, but logic isn't my forte... Either way, post properly here if you can; this thread is has the intent to strengthen the roleplay community across the servers, instead of just inside of them! Cheers!))

**Euza**

((Awesome idea Dellorn! Gotta get in on this))

A figure stepped out from the shadows of the tavern, standing silently. In the blink of an eye, the shape appeared standing beside the table bearing the book. A hooded cloak hung down from the tall figure, useless in hiding the vulmane muzzle protruding from it.

"Now whats this?" Euza spoke to himself, taking a seat. Pawing through the existing writing, a smile crossed over the vulmane's wolfish muzzle.

"So someone wants to know about the patrons here. I forget we have patrons... its so damned quiet all the time." And with those words, the hood covering Euza's head was shaken from it, revealing sandy-brown fur with a healthy sheen, and two emerald-green eyes gazing upon the writing. "I guess it couldn't hurt me much more."

Picking up the quill, the lone Vulmane sectioned off his portion and began to write with exceptional penmanship.



    So i'll be the second to write here I suppose. My name is Euza Raa, High Captain of the Order of the Dragonblades and i'm about 20 or so now... but the story of my title may come later. Dellorn's tale above speaking of the undead inspired me, and i'm going to speak of my own tale of death. Lets start this off right!

    I'm a vulmane. Dahknarg is not my home, but I am not a bloodhowler, nor am I of the rogue tribe west of New Targonor. I'm pretty much a piece of old, dark history in the vulmane's past, one that shouldn't be alive... but for one reason or another, I am. That doesn't mean Dahknarg accepts this though... because of my "lineage", I was never very welcome in Dahknarg... they tolerated me, as a pup. I never joined any of their tribes, I didn't get to stay long enough... and the reason for it is because of what happened one day with my friends.

    Yes, though I was an outcast, I did have friends. Vascar and Neph... both Ghostclaws, though about as young as I. Both were exceptional in their talents, as was I... though I would never show it. You see, my ancestors left me with a little bit of a present as they all died, and I have strength that I shouldn't own. Either way, I have it, and its done me both good and bad. Vascar was a shaman, gifted in spiritism and healing. Neph was a spiritist as well, but his was a darker art of using the body after the soul had left. I have a bit of spiritism too, but mine is more like judgement... being able to cause pain, and crush a soul if needed. We were a gifted trio, and good friends.

   One day, Vascar's curiousity got the better of her though. She'd spend her days learning, studying, and one day she'd recieved a few tomes from Halgarad. These tomes spoke of mystical creatures, myths and legends... one that particularly struck her interest: shadowhounds. These dark dogs, shadow and flarehounds enchanted her... she was driven to find one of her own. I was never too keen about it, but I have my own reasons for such that I shouldn't speak of just yet. Vascar was strong, and in no way stupid. This day though, she did prove my fears to be valid.

    I never stayed inside of Dahknarg... someone would always find me to do something, like I was some sort of chore-hound. Maybe it was to keep me from causing trouble that I never caused in the first place. Either way, the sun set on another day, i'd already eaten, and was preparing to rest. A familiar voice rung in my ears as my eyes shut. "EUZA!" I heard a voice shout. "EUZA, GET OFF YOUR TAIL!". I didn't at first, not until I was sure the damned yapping from Neph wasn't going to end. I got up with a groan to see what was going on, and Neph soon informed me that Vascar was performing a ritual in order to summon a hound of her own. Something didn't seem right to Neph, so he'd come to get me. I wasn't going to ask questions... a friend of mine, one of the dear people that I actually could trust and depend on as a pup was doing something that I had a gut feeling about, something that I just knew was nothing good. I didn't waste time rushing to Vascar with Neph.

    We arrived at a tent outside of Dahknarg, an empty one up on a hill. As we stepped forth cautiously, we could see silouhettes from the candles glowing in the structure, and it seemed the summoning was complete. Vascar held her arms out to the hound she'd summoned... a small one. It had to be a pup. That moment of joy for her proved to be her undoing, as a hellish roar ripped through the sky... and the beast dove upon Vascar. Her screams followed, as me and Neph scrambled up the hill. Struggle, tearing flesh, fire... all the sounds, the chaos of destruction, the power of the darkness in that hound all sounded off while we rushed forward.

What we saw that evening, no one should ever see. Especially not pups as young as us.

    When we arrived inside, it was far too late. Vascar was everywhere. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, and the only thing that rung through my mind was vengeance. One of the few things that gave me hope was taken away from me by this beast, and I knew just what to do. Diving toward the flarehound pup, I pinned it to the ground of the tent, despite its clawing. No wound would slow me in this, no pain could replace my friend. I got a long look into its eyes, to see the fear that was swelling up... and it excited me. My muzzle opened, and a single word was released upon this dog that would end it. I got some sort of cruel satisfaction, watching power tear through the hounds soul through its eyes. Neph had his turn afterwards, tearing at the soulless body in a fit of rage.

    There was nothing to bury. That night, I had horrible dreams and thoughts. All I could think about was Vascar, and her trust in that hound... her trust in dark things. It made me think about myself... for if you haven't figured it out already, i'm what some people would call a dread knight. It made me consider what I am... and how could I truely trust myself. I was the thing I worried about. I ~~was~~ am the embodiment of darkness. Trusting too much in such a force leads to fates like Vascar's. I thought that meant I couldn't trust in myself, but I later learned that it wasn't myself I needed to worry about.

But thats another story!



Rising up from the table with a grunt, Euza walked over to the bar. "Now for some apple juice."

**rikoorakoo**

Can't say I know what to write. I am simply a Raki with a ship, and I like to sail.

So many people just sit in stink inside shaded rooms, waiting for the mean sun to go down. I don't do that, I go after life harder than that. My paws do better when being active, not sat on. But I'm not stupid in my pursuits.

I came from Elf lands, but they are a little too pretty for me. I spend most of my time in Thestra, hunting after shiny bits of adventure and running clear of danger. Sometimes, it's not that easy. Luckily, I have a cat named Bete and a horse named Royal, and they can think clearer than me most of the time.

I lost my family to the Shadows years ago, save for a small whip of a cousin. My family had a servant, and he's out there somewhere, asking for me. Occasionally I send him some gold.

There's not much to me. I don't have many ambitions, and don't see the point in working so hard just to wind up chest down on a freshly trampled lawn, with a magical hum vibrating your teeth. There's too much to see and do without risking ear and fur.

Now, pass me a drink. I'll wait here for the weather to clear up a bit before I go.

Rikoo Rakoo.

Romans

"My name is Rolok Shadesting and I come with information, a history if you will, of the two Dark Elves known as Romans and Letali DeMalum, self proclaimed Sisters of the Blade.

As you know, the Dark Elf race was born into war and conflict. Animosity surrounds these people; it’s likely that it always will. The sisters were not exempt from this conflict. Romans and Letali lived in Mount Stiirhad with their father and mother, Nazanul and Ileha.

Ileha, their mother, bore a badge of great humiliation – Two daughters, and no sons. What is known and indisputable is that she loved these two offspring fiercely. It was she that schooled the two in Dark Elf tradition. It was she that secured them a place in Hathor Zhi, were they began, but did not finish their military training.

No records exist of Romans or Letali having ever attended The Hathor Zhi War Academy. I found this odd, and troubling. Dark Elves, like all Elves keep meticulous records. At first I suspected it was because they never attended, but with much effort, and expense, I uncovered additional information.

Information that I’m confident will garner your well renowned generosity, but I digress.

It is well documented that Elementals invaded and sacked Mount Stiirhad. Nazanul, as a member of the Outer-Guard was on post and defending the retreat to Hathor Zhi. It was reported by an unknown source that as the enemy crossed the last threshold the Dark Elf lines broke, allowing the Elemental attackers to gain a foothold. With the phalanx breached and the Elven Guard exposed – The defenders perished within moments. Nearly 1000 Dark Elf souls were lost, slain nearly to a man.

As the retreat continued a war-time tribunal was conviened to determine why the defensive lines were breached. The findings of the tribunal were these:

Nazanul DeMalum was directly responsible for the faltering of the line.
Nazanul DeMalum acted in a cowardly fashion thereby betraying his people, forfeiting his Houses good name and his own place as one of the Honoured Fallen.

Even in the midst of the long chaotic retreat to Hathor Zhi word spread of Nazanul and his misdeeds. With a troubled mind Ileha guided her daughters safely to the mountain fortress.

She walked the daughters to a rivers edge, looked back across the many miles at the now burning Mount Stiirhad and then slowly turned back to face the two.

She took Letali gently by the shoulders and drew her into a warm embrace. After a moment she pushed her back and lightly kissed her atop the head.

“That is so you never forget - Be loyal of hands and mouth, and serve no creature before your sister. Seek fellowship; hearken to their words and remember always my deep pride for you.”

Turning to Romans Ileha reached down and took up a palm sized stone. Without hesitation Ileha struck the adolescent so fiercely and unexpectedly that Romans fell backwards and down, bloodied and dazed.

“And that is so you never forget” Ileha spoke coldly “Submit and you will perish. Strike first or be stricken. Place no other before you sister”.

“I alone bear the shame of your father.” Ileha said solemnly. Without further words she produced a jagged blade and took her own life. "

“And that is the story of the two” Rolok states flatly. “In addition to my tale I have this journal to offer. I believe it to have belonged to the sisters, although to which, I do not know. It has been poorly treated and none but a few entries are legible. Do with it what you will.”

Flipping through the journal you find it unintelligible and damaged beyond reading. Fanning the final pages with your thumb you eyes fall upon the the last entries:

Coirë 54
Her brooding is incessant and I can take no more. It is the words of my mother hold me to her still. The human traders weigh heavily upon my mind. I do not know if I could have endured the days she spent as their captive.

Coirë 61
We travel in silence, hardly speaking. We are returning to the dark mountains. I hope there to find some measure of peace. Some meaning or purpose.

Coirë 74
It is strangly warming to be back among our kind. Things seem brighter today and both our spirits are high with anticipation. It has been good, the past days, and we have made the acquaintance of a small cut-purse.

He offered an invitation to visit and spoke freely of a hidden glade – The Tree of Sorrow. I like the name, we both do. I think we shall make the journey to this place, and see what we see.

**Euza**

Returning back to the table with his typical big, stupid doggy grin, Euza's piercing-green eyes landed on the journal left behind, and the fresh writing. He chuckled euphorically, sated by the nectar of his favorite fruit as he mumbled to himself.

"Hells... you turn around for a few minutes and things change that quick! Lets see here...". The vulmane read through the latest entry slowly, his head shaking a bit. "Elves... no matter how many I ally with, i'll never understand them sometimes. Looks like the ink is getting a bit low too. Tender!" Barked the vulmane, appearing at the bar in a light puff of smoke. "Need some ink!"

A small ink well was passed over the counter to be met with a snort. A paw slammed down on the bar, revealing five gold coins. "Give me some real ink!"

A handful of ink wells were lifted forth to the vulmane. "In a jar if you would!"

Walking away from the fairly shaken bartender with what could be mistaken for a pickle jar filled with ink, Euza sat back down to wet the quill by the book again, preparing to write. Sectioning off another part of the page...



Another entry from Euza Raa, because i'm still here. Sometimes, I wonder why we write things... The purpose of leaving thoughts and feelings inside of a book. Journals and whatnot. I always figured if something wasn't important enough for me to remember in my mind, there's no point in writing it... and I never expect anyone to read the things that I write when I write them, unless I make sure whatever it is gets delivered.

- Euza paused, scratching his chin. His train of thought went out the window as soon as he started writing something that had nothing to do with his history. The following minutes pertained of little armor sketches in his sectioned off portion, before he peered up at the above to remember just what he'd come back to do.

    Whoops. Getting down to business now. While I was getting a drink for myself, I thought about my days of exile. Yes, I was kicked out of Dahknarg, you can only guess how that went down. I'm not getting into that any more, not in a book. I had a few run-ins with bloodhowlers, none too good as you can imagine. After some frantic fighting that I just wasn't prepared for, I managed to scurry off into our neighboring town of Halgarad.

    Its so much different up there... there's more structure, more defense, and SOLID BUILDINGS! The shields were nice too, much nicer than most of the nighthunters were to me. I was also pretty relieved to see that Halgarad tended to stay out of Dahknarg's internal affairs, despite being allies. They did have an embassy I was wary of though. There were even Vulmane that belonged to Halgarad as guards! I was amazed... it was like a new world i'd never seen before. I spent a few nights there, eating tavern scraps and sleeping under a tree near the workshops. I didn't stay long, for fear that Dahknarg would decide they'd rather see me dead than gone, so I moved on. I wandered through the wilderness, until i'd ran into a camp.

    This wasn't just any camp though, this was a high-elven training camp. I didn't know it, but I think this was part of Leth Nurae's highguard. I think I remember some of the faces in some more recent events i've dealt with. Anyway, this camp proved to be where i'd learn many things about the world. The fighters there were so disciplined, so in control of their weapons and their stance, like watching the spiritists of Dahknarg perform a ritual! I mimicked these moves with my own crappy arms, and its how I learned how to keep a stable and balanced stance with a large weapon. A few times, I almost revealed myself stumbling about unseen.

    Their camp wasn't just about fighting though. It seemed they were studying something in some form of worship. I don't know if they taught anything about reading or writing in Dahknarg, but I know its not something incredibly common of our people. I was one that didn't know much about reading, I thought it was something only the ghostclaws learned. Turns out the elves were studying some goddess, Gloriann or something... I didn't look into it much. But I did want to learn how to write and read!

    It took quite some time. I watched them read things off to each other, I watched them write... when I managed to swindle some materials for myself, I started mimicking them again. After some weeks, I was able to write very sloppy, simplistic notes. I'd leave them in another part of the camp for someone to find and read, and most of it was fairly illegible. The first note that was actually understood was a simple "Hello." in their fancy elven script, with my name written at the bottom.

    I had to leave a few days later, after they'd found more notes. I'm a little sad about it, I was starting to make a friend... one elf would come looking for my notes, as i'd leave them in the same place for them to see. He'd even left one for me, which was basically the same hello, with their too-complex-to-remember name. But it was the start of the development i'd never recieved from Dahknarg.

And thats why I can write so good!
-Euza



Euza's name was indeed signed just as elaborately as the average high elf would be able to manage. He beamed proudly to himself, having entered more into this strange book in the tavern. The quill was left set atop of the pickle-jar of ink, a very bad idea should it fall into it and be left a black feather.

Walking off again, Euza yawned quietly to himself. "Now for a cheap room to get some rest in!"

With those words, the large vulmane walked to the far end of the tavern where the hearth's light didn't reach as well, seemingly dissapearing into an invisible cloak of darkness. A thud could be heard, followed by slight rustling and a pleased sigh. Light snoring soon came.

**Luper**

Walking over to Dellorn's table from the darkest corner in the Tooth and Nail, Luper's hooded figure winks at Dellorn. She grins and her large red eyes sparkle in the candle light as she says, "For a drink with you my fury friend, I will gladly scribble down a story or two."

Taking a seat next to Dellorn, Luper fidgets with her bags, which each look very unique in size, shape, and color. "Where did I put that darned thing?" She says to herself aloud, while continuing to rummage through a large bag that looks to be made out of some kind of foreign skin. It resembles a large eye, which is a bit creepy, but you are distracted when she pulls out an enchanted quill! It glows purple and has a giant ruby at the end of it in the shape of a spider. "Ah, there it is," she says. "I'd hate to use your ink dear Dellorn for my stories may be a bit long."

Luper settles into her chair and takes off her hood, revealing her silky long red hair. You can see the scars on her face, but they don't take away from her attractive Elvin features. They blend in with her complexion, bringing character to her face. She grins as she begins to write and her large pointy ears move subtly.

Luper sworn ally to the Brotherhood of the Spider: Tournament Champion and Dragonslayer

I am Luper. 50 seasons, I have lived in this world of Telon. I have traveled the world and ventured into the dangerous darkness and some of the most beautiful places. Although I have left my homeland many times, I carry the banner of Hathor Zhi proudly. I yearn for knowledge and friendship. Oh, and I have a thing with blood.

My story begins in Hathor Zhi. As a young Dark Elf, I found my love for the magic's quickly. I would write my name in the sand from the blood of mosquitoes that lived near my camp as cruel as that sounds. I loved the adrenaline rush I got from the blood. Ah, the blood. It became an addiction for me. I craved it. The energy from life is so powerful. I fear that many Telonians have forgotten this.

The other children in our village found me demented. I didn't care though. I was happy by myself anyways. Not really, but I played it off that way. One day, super duper Luper wouldn't be alone! That day was not far off.

Looking up, Luper smiled and licked her blood red lips.

One day, I had managed to get outside of the gates and venture to the hill near the Tiberian Firebirds. I liked to just sit up there and watch the lake. It was quite calming. Usually, the area was clear of unfamiliar creatures, but on this day, I found a character that didn't quite fit at all. She was a tiny little thing, and she kept putting her feet in the water and taking them out. Every few seconds, I'd hear her giggle. It intrigued me how something so simple could be so funny.

I found myself walking to the edge of the pond. As I got closer, I could see what she was doing. She had red scales that glistened and reflected in the water. Her feet kept turning red and then blue as she put them in the water. I had a feeling she had some kind of magical power. I knew I had to speak with my trainer Litrak Drathil shortly, so I pulled out a controlling symbiote and attached it to the tiny dragon. As I walked to my trainer, I learned the creature's name, which was Ruby. I decided to let Ruby go after I convinced her that I would not harm her. She then proceeded to follow me everywhere I went. After awhile, she became a good friend to me.

This is the story of my dear friend Ruby and how we met. I'm sure there will be many a story to add to this book, but I have not the time to write another at this moment. My quill and I shall return another day.

Farewell,

~Luper

As Luper wrote the final words for her first entry, she grinned and placed her quill into one of her bags. She stood up from her chair, and handed Dellorn the book. "Sorry, I cannot write you another story, my friend. I must be on my way. My allies await me at the gates of Ancient Port Warehouse. Perhaps, I will bring you a story for your book, if I should return."

**Marquesa**

Marquesa watched intently as the young dark elf gathered up her belongings and darted out the door with a grace that belied the deadly instincts he knew lay beneath the surface. He'd seen enough of the world to recognize one who dabbled in the blood magics and the reputation of the Dark Elves spoke for itself.

Several had stopped at this book and taken up a drink to read and write. As the door closed, he eased himself up from the table where he'd been sitting and walked over to the book. He relished the creak of the bindings as he opened the book and the stiff sound of the parchment as he thumbed through the pages.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the quill and sat down to write his own story.

Marquesa Ravenwolf, Lightbringer of Leth Nurae

I recount my tale here, what I can remember. My memory is a bit spotty in places, so bear with me. I'll recount my more recent memories as they are my focus now. I have little use for my childhood memories at the present time. There are more pressing issues at hand for both me and Thestra - though a bit of my history is important to my story.

Though I was born in Leth Nurae, I did not spend much of my childhood there. My father served the Queen as a member of her royal guard before advancing in rank and being sent out in service to the outpost in Elani. My mother was a ranger and very adept at life away from the niceties of Leth Nurae. My childhood was spent traveling between outposts - be it Arlinora's Retreat or the Wardship and finally settling in the Swamps.

We high elves have long known there was an ancient evil stirring in the southern swamps, but so many of the others choose to ignore what we have known for so long. Therefore our Queen sent many down there to keep watch on things and attempt to bring peace to the warring tribes of local creatures, most specifically the Flordiel.

But I digress.

My story begins on the night they revealed themselves, though whether it was a calculated strike on their part or the grace of Vol Tuniel, I will never be sure. My father was part of a patrol that was decimated by a horde of vile abominations that slaughtered them to a man. My father made it back to our doorstep and lived only long enough to tell us it was worse than our Queen had imagined....the Cartheon had returned.

My mother was torn. Should she race to the outpost and warn them or should we get word to the Queen? The decision was made for us as the sky toward the outpost was aglow with a fiery light. We gathered up our belongings and quickly headed toward the northwest - my mother, my sister and myself.

Bronwynne, my sister, is my younger sibling and fair-haired where I am dark. She has been studying the arts of sorcery, while I had been training to become a cleric in the service of the Queen...though I had not decided upon a path at that point. We had not gone far before we noticed that it was quiet in the woods. Too quiet. My mother would have surely have noticed were it not for the trauma of watching my father, her husband, die at her feet an hour before.

I noticed the smell first. An overwhelming stench that wafted through the breeze. That's when we noticed the lack of sound. The roar that filled our ears as the abomination erupted from the undergrowth was deafening. I was knocked to the ground and heard my sister scream as stars erupted in front of my eyes when I hit the earth hard. The sound of a blade slicing through flesh were distinct and the hum of magic as my sister used what little skill she had mastered to try to protect her family.

I heard flesh ripping with a sickly, wet sound and blood splattering on the ground just as my vision came back into focus. I pushed myself up off the ground to see my mother's lifeless body being torn apart by five or six undead elves. My sister was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear someone crashing through the woods to the north. I took off in pursuit.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a matter of moments I burst out of the trees into a clearing to see my sister lying on the ground with her back up against a rock. She was surrounded by a pack of wolves and zombies - their flesh hanging from their bones and flies swarming around unnoticed.

It was in that moment that my path was chosen...or chosen for me. I cried out to whatever god would hear me for the strength to save my sister. I couldn't take seeing one more family member killed by such unholy beings.

The words had barely left my lips when there was a booming voice inside my head. "You're plea has been heard, Child."

Flames erupted from my hands and engulfed several of the wolves nearest my sister. They screamed in pain as the flesh was seared from their bones by a holy fire. I had no real knowledge of what it was I was saying, only that with each word spoken another member of the undead horde burst into flames or exploded in a shower of dust as the holy words fell upon them.

I swung my mace with fury, each time I made contact searing their rotting flesh as I fought with a blind rage to push them away from my lone remaining family member. I remember seeing the last lifeless body collapse before I fell to the earth myself....weary and drained.

I heard more than really saw my sister crawl across the earth toward me and put my head in her lap. I vaguely remember hearing her plea with Vol Anari to spare the life of his newfound servant before everything went black.

I faded in and out of consciousness from there. For how long I do not know. I remember jostling across the earth and vague conversations in languages that seemed familiar and yet foreign at the same time. The gruff and rumbling sound of what must have been a dwarf stands out in my mind most clearly.

I can remember waking once enough to know that I was in a bed, wrapped in the soft linen sheets of Leth Nurae and hearing my sister's voice as she talked to me with a hint of panic and excitement in her voice. She mentioned something about research in the library.....an item to help her save the elves and avenge our family....something about a Book and a Council.....she was determined to find it.

When I regained consciousness, it was many weeks later and she was gone.

I have traveled all of Telon searching for my sister since then. I have caught wind of her in Khal on the desert continent of Qalia and missed her by a matter of days in Tanvu on Kojan. I have never come closer to finding her than that day in Tanvu. But I will find her, by the grace of Vol Anari. Until then, I travel the continents looking for anyway I can to strike back at the heart of the Cartheon Empire and the unholy abominations that claimed my family.

Avenging my family and pleasing Vol Anari are the only two goals before me, and I will do whatever it takes to achieve them and ally myself with anyone who can bring those goals a step closer to reality. I will allow nothing and no one to stand in the way.

With that last entry, Marquesa dug into the pouch that hung at his waist and placed a gold coin on the table by the book as he laid the quill down. He turned toward the stairs and moved toward the upper levels of the inn, the mace that hung by his side seeming to glow with a fiery presence as he passed into the shadows of the stairwell and retired for the evening.

Grymauch

A loud bang coming from the door shakes the tavern. A moment later, the door opens revealing a silhouette of a large man walking in.

"Idiot, you don't need to kick in the door. Doorknobs work just as well."

The man is suddenly dwarfed by a massive figure appearing behind him ducking in the doorway. The two walk into the tavern and the light reveals them to be armored adventurers, the taller one has to be a Lesser Giant as he is standing 3 feet taller than everyone else in the bar. He carries a giant axe that is as tall as his companion.

The smaller man walks over to the table in the corner where a small Vulmane sits with a book. The Lesser Giant stares at the patrons of the tavern for a moment then follows his companion.

"Well met, my new friend. What is this we have here?" says the smaller man. "Ah ha, it's a book of tales of adventurers! Heroes and villains and glory and treasure and whatnot. Well, then I suppose I shall add in a little bit of my history as well."

The tale of Grymauch and Fiallach

My name is Grymauch Huntsekker. Most people call me Grym though. I suppose you could call me a ranger too. I'm rather self-sufficient though. Making my own bows and arrows. People can be a nuisance if you rely on them too much. I'd rather rely on my own abilities or those of my companion. Speaking of whom, my rather large companion is a Lesser Giant named Fiallach Huntsekker. Calls himself the Unicorn Slayer though. I've known him for a couple years now. He has a rather sordid tale that I only know parts of, but it results in his leaving Falgarholm. Maybe he can tell you himself one of these days.

We met in Halgarad, the city of my birth, several years ago. He came seeking relatives of his, but they were killed several years before in raids by the Bloodhowler Vulmane. I offered him my home until he could support himself. That was the beginning of our time together. Now he might look like an idiot and sometimes acts like one, but there are very few people who I would trust more in a fight.

Enough back-story, on to the good stuff! One day, not too long ago, we were riding through the mountains looking for a place to rest for the night. It was a cold day and it had started to snow. Suddenly, Fiallach stopped. Before us lay a grand fortress with giant pillars of stone surrounding it. I had only heard stories of the place but from Fiallach's reaction, I knew that it was his home city of Falgarholm.

I never knew why Fia had left but from what I gathered throughout the years, he was unable to come back after pledging his allegiance to Halgarad. It started snowing even harder as we stood there. Have you ever been in the middle of a blizzard wearing metal armor? It's not exactly that warm. I knew that we would have to go forward to find shelter. I told Fia that we would skirt the borders of the city and we would be fine.

As we moved closer, a gigantic figure appeared in the blinding snow. As massive as Fiallach and carrying two wicked curved swords, he walked towards us.

"None shall enter the realm of Falgarholm!" roared the figure.

Fia suddenly grabbed me and told me that it would be better to face the snowstorm. I knew this was serious then as he never backed down from a fight even if he would be doomed to die.

The other Lesser Giant suddenly came charging through the snow and struck at me with his swords. A deep cut to my cheek has left me scarred to this day. Any closer and I would not be here to tell the tale.

I knew my bow would be useless now due to close range and weather. I pulled my axes out and tried to attack but my enemy quickly parried the attack and disarmed me. Fiallach knew that there was nothing to do now but fight. He said something in a deep voice as the other giant recoiled as if he had been struck by some unseen attack. Our adversary turned to face Fia and attacked but Fia blocked the attack and then hammer his axe into the giant's chest.

I gathered up my axes while he was distracted and hurried over to help my friend. However, when I got close Fia shouted at me that I would not help him. I saw him cringe as a sword slipped through the armor of his breastplate and stick into his side. Fia took the oppritunity to attack the hand that held the sword, which was quickly broken by the weight of the giant axe. This left the sword stuck in Fiallach but this left the newcomer with only one weapon. Fia took advantage of this by blocking the next attack and then tripping the enemy with his axe handle. As the Lesser Giant lay prostrate, Fiallach took his axe and quickly decapitated him.

Fiallach told me that if he had any hope of returning to his homeland that was now forever extinguished. The person who he had just killed had been the son of the king.

I have yet to learn anything else from Fiallach about his history before coming to Halgarad, and now I doubt I ever will. I doubt he'd like me telling you this, but it's a good thing he can't read.

The Varanjar walked away from the book and over to a table away from everyone else. The Lesser Giant followed him and tried to sit in one of the chairs next to him. The legs of the chair quickly buckled and the giant man was left sitting on the ground with a little more than his ego bruised. He pulled his axe out quickly and proceeded to smash the table and remaining chairs into dust. The Varanjar walks over to the tavern owner, promises to make him new furniture and then goes to help pick the giant up.

"Come on, friend. Let's go find somewhere to get a drink."

**Brandagar**

The little fellow dozing in the corner woke with a start as the huge folk burst into the room. He rubbed his eyes blearily and reached for the crumbs on the plate before him as he watched the smaller one write in a book that lay open on a nearby table. Munching cautiously, the little plate-armord halfling brushed crumbs from his moustache and approached the table curiously.

Leafing through the pages, he scratched his head, grinned, and reached for a pen.

"Brandagar, an Autobiography,
by Otto Baiogriffy.

"Hail, well met and howdy-do. I am called Brandagar of Rindol Wood, found hard by the hamlet of Rindol Field. I am a stonecutter by trade and a priest of Vol Anari by calling. As a young halfling -- I'm only of 24 seasons -- I have yet seen much of this land of Thestra and of the strange lands beyond.

"I can see from the illustious names and tales in this book, however, that my adventures are only beginning. Still, I feel as though we may walk the same path, we may yet have different fates, different trails we must blaze for ourselves. And so it was that I left my family and village to search the wide land of Thestra in search of my fortune.

"Well, to be honest I haven't exactly found it yet, nor the fame I had hoped would be... I don't know, maybe in Tursh, tucked next to a plate of pumpkin mash and a stein of lager. Still, it doesn't prevent me from searching each inn, tavern, taproom and restaurant across this great land.

"Oh, right. Rindol Wood. So, having left the home of my birth I sought the life of a carefree wandering priest. Among my travels I learned about the stone and crystals of Telon, and seached out the skills of a mason, turning stone to usable items. As I wandered the area around Misthaven Crossing -- an odd place, and one which still gives me the heebie-jeebies -- I learned of the depredations of the horrific Undead. It was then that I turned my studies and my efforts to Vol Anari and becoming a Lightbringer.

"As you may know, we of the Lightbringers seek to end the menace of the Undead. We do so by application of the principles of our deity and huge amounts of skull-battering. No mean feat for one of my height, lemme tell ya. And one thing about fighting undead... it raises a hunger. For pie, mostly. And ale.

"Come to think of it, so does writing. If you'll excuse me... "

**Caspin**

A small hand raises to just above the bar, "Barkeep!" With a start the bartender looks around but doesnt see who called to him. With a small sigh, Caspin taps his levitation focus and raises so that his head and shoulders are above the bar. Tall for his kind, but still a gnome in a large world.

"Oh, Caspin! The usual then?" the bartender asks.
"Yes but make it two, and bring the General's Hookah over to the table if you please." Caspin floats over to the worn table with the two tankards looking very large in his hands and sets them down with a loud thump. "A book of adventures you say, I've a tale or two to share."

Caspin smiles and opens a small pouch as the bartender sets down a modest but elegant hookah upon the table. He pulls out a palm sized leafy pellet and closes his hand around it. When he places it into the bowl it has transformed into an ember and smoke lazily drifts upward from it. Taking one hose and handing another to Dellorn he leans back and floats comfortably in the air as he exhales a puff of smoke.

"Took a bit of convincing before the bartender would let me use this hookah, but there is no better vessel in Telon for enjoying a bit of Rindol's finest!" Caspin reaches for the tankards on the table and touches each, a coat of frost expands from his touch to engulf each and he grins micheviously as he takes a large gulp from his mug. He sets it back on the table and reaches again into his pouch, this time pulling out a very odd looking mechanical pen. As he sets it upon the table he reaches across to the book and turns it open to a blank page. Placing the pen onto the page point first he releases his hold and flicks a small red gem attached to the top of the pen. It begins to buzz and whir with the top half spinning rapidly but the point keeping its place perfectly upon the page. "A small wonder I lifted from the Libarary of Mekalia when I was still a young adventurer, it is quite useful when you need to write a letter but find your hands occupied!" He grins again as he lifts his hands, his right holding the hose from the hooka and his left a mug of ale.

The pen had spun into action as he spoke, digilently recording each word. "Ha, well, sometimes it works too well! No, no stop you confounded trinket! Start over from the beginning." The red gem changes into a color to match the paper and retraces its path as it erases everything upon the page. Caspin exhales another cloud of purple smoke as he eyes the pen, choosing his words carefully before he begins to speak.

"My name is Caspin, and I have seen more seasons than fifty, but at the moment that is as many as I care to claim. I began my adventures fighting to defend my city from an invasion of alien goo but it was not long before I stepped out to the wide open space of the upside. There are a great many adventures in this world, but let me tell you the best action is still found underground! Have you ever seen the engravings deep inside Vol Tuniel or the giant caverns of Vault of the Hidden? Why there are even alternate planes of existance and wild dragons hiding underfoot! I have spent much of my time exploring this vast world and have seen much of it, I have even glimpsed places as yet unknown!"

He pauses to raise his glass once more and take a large drink. "Have you ever heard of the Cave of Wonders? I'm sure you have. I have seen it!" The pen, recording each word spoken stops dead in its tracts and emits a series of whirs and beeps. Caspin clears his throat and continues. "Yes, well...I have seen the portal that leads to the cave." The pen again begins to record. "It is a wonder unlike any other on this world and it is fiercly guarded by a host of Minotaur, I hope someday that the path will again open to the cave."

"In my travels I have slain great leaders, tyrants, and giants. I have braved the depths of the Ancient Port Warehouse with my companions and together we have tamed the great dragon. A great triumph for me especially as there are many gnomes who have been trapped there by the dangers of the warehouse." Caspin leans closer to the table and whispers to Dellorn. "I have heard rumors that the Pantheon of the Ancients has begin to change of late, and that a great shadow has begun to creep from its entrance. My companions and I are preparing ourselves for whatever threat has been awakened and I look forward to many more adventures there."

With a smooth motion Caspin picks up his mechanical pen and places it back into his pouch. He drains the last of his drink and pulls an orange gem and gold coin from his pocket. Tossing the coin into the air he laughs and wishes a good night to all in the room while activating the gem in his hand. With a flash of light and sharp crack he disappears from the room as the coin lands upon the table and spins to a stop.

**Ilservian**

Ilservian sighs and takes a long pull from the stein in front of him as he watches the Gnome disappear in a flash of arcane light. Sliding the empty stein across the table, he raises a pipe to his lips and takes a long puff off of it, allowing his ice blue eyes to scan the faces of the inn's residents as he does so. He mutters something silently to himself and rises from his chair, making his way across the bar to the table on which the lone book sits. As he moves into the lighted portion of the room, his features are more clearly seen; he is a tall, muscular Vulmane with fur as dark as the night, his face wears the scars of a life plaqued by conflict, his armor is of a dark burgundy and covered by a dark, hooded cloak, and although a great sword is sheathed on his back, your eyes seem drawn to an intricately carved hilt of a sword that hangs from his waist, its blade broken off near the crosstrees.

Settling himself in front of the book, Ilservian flips through the pages with his right paw while absently puffing on the pipe with his left. Coming to an empty page, he leans back in his chair and eyes the book as if considering something, then shrugs and mutters in a deep voice, "What can it hurt?" Leaning forward, he takes up the quill in his right paw and begins to write...

- A brief history of Ilservian Bloodborne, last survivor of the Nightwolf Pack-

    I am Ilservian Bloodborne, and I was born on the isle of Centra, off the coast of Thestra. If you have not heard of Centra, then I am not surprised, it has been deserted for years now. The Centra pack was small and we lived as best as we could on the harsh island; from the time I could hold a sword, my father was teaching me to follow the path of the warrior so that I could help him on his hunting trips and assist in protecting our village. As I grew in seasons I became stronger and more skilled, before long I was the most skilled with a blade in the entire pack, though I was still considered a pup because of my age. It was around this time that Omega was discovered...

    Ilservian sits back in his chair and frowns, grinding his teeth slightly as he does so. He reaches swiftly inside his cloak and emerges with a flask, which he takes a long pull off of before setting it on the table next to the book. He leans forward and resumes...

    It was during a hunting expedition into the deepest depths of the forest, my father was among the hunters who had gone, the hunters had stumbled upon a cathedral of sorts, decaying and grown over with vines from what must have been the result of decades of ill care. Inside this cathedral the hunters found something, a beast, it was still as a statue until one of the hunters attempted to pry the purple emerald from its body, which is when it awakened. It slew more than half the party and mortally wounded the rest, when my father was brought back to the village he was mumbling incoherently about an immortal being, a harbinger of doom. My father died of his wounds shortly after.

    We didn't have to wait long to see what my father was so frightened of; the next night Omega visited our village. The beast stood on a hill overlooking us and called down a calamity from the skies using forbidden magic; the meteor crashed into the center of the village, causing fires of pale green to consume everything within its vile reach. When I was awoken by the impact my mother had already been consumed by dark fire and I was surrounded by debris from our crumbling home. I took hold of my sword and cut a path out of the fiery tomb, coming upon a scene that still haunts me to this day; my village was utterly destroyed, buildings crumbled, corpses burned with the ghastly flame and the sound of beastly laughter carried on the wind. Rage had overtaken me, it had crushed out the feelings of sorrow that had taken root, all I wanted was vengeance. Into the night I ran, following the trail left by the devil as it retreated back into the forest from whence it came, I gripped my sword tighter; even if my father was right and this creature was immortal, I would make it feel the burning pain that I now felt before my last breath had left my body. I reached the cathedral and ran inside, the beast stood before me then; the torso of a man, the body of a vicious four-legged creature, and the head...the head was that of a demon. Within its clawed hands was a giant great sword and shining in its chest was a large purple emerald. I attacked then, slashing furiously at the beast, it is at this point that my memory goes blank; the next thing I remember is standing over Omega's corpse with my sword jutting from its eye and my fur sticky with my own blood from several deep sword slashes. I shattered my sword in the process of using it to remove the emerald from Omega's chest, I then claimed the beast's sword as my own and made my way out of the cathedral.

    My coming to Thestra proper is a blur, sadly enough; I was near death most of the journey back to the smoldering remains of my village. After cleaning and binding my wounds, I gathered what supplies were left and took to the water on one of the remaing small boats, knowing that there was nothing left for me on Centra.

    Ilservian takes another long pull from the flask, emptying it this time. He frowns as he replaces the flask in his cloak and continues writing...

    I will not go into detail on my days as a mercenary or on my chance meeting with Jim Wolfe, the Alpha of the Nightwolf Pack, only because I fear I would use up all of the remaining pages in this book. Though I will say that during my travels I gained an extensive knowledge of the written language of many of the lands I traveled and fought in. In short, after I landed on Thestra I began wandering; finally taking up with a band of mercenaries, during which time I had Omega's emerald fused with the great sword, giving it a surprisingly powerful impact in battle. Years later I would meet a great friend in Jim Wolfe, who eventually persuaded me to join his Nightwolf Pack...which is when I met her; Moonlight Tears, the most beautiful, enchanting Vulmane I have ever known. She brought peace to my life during a time when all I wanted was bloodshed, when all I felt was rage. It wasn't long before we were mates.

    Ilservian pauses long enough to let a low whimper escape his throat, but then it is gone, and he is writing again...

    Life had balanced out finally; Moon, the pack and all my new friends that came with it were what I had been searching for during my years of wandering. I had been made Captain of the close combat fighters within our pack, teaching all I could and implementing strategies when it was necessary. My fur had been a light arctic blue in those days, after I had reached maturity, though it was constantly stained red by the blood of our enemies during the years of war. After the war had ended, I was chosen by Jim to travel across the continent to one of our ally packs and deliver an important message, one that I will not share here. The journey was long and I yearned to hold Moon every night. Months passed before I finally returned to our stronghold, there had been a battle. I remember dropping to my knees in front of the main gate, the smoke still pouring off the charred remains of my OUR home. From the battlements, the bodies hung by their necks; Jim, Tashar, Sun, and...

    Ilservian grinds his teeth together, closing his eyes as he does so. Several minutes pass before he resumes writing...

    ...and Moon.

    I buried the bodies of my loved ones and cursed the Gods, I remember swinging my sword at the rubble of the stronghold main gate until I couldn't lift my arms, I remember feeling the same rage that I had felt so many years ago on Centra, I remember vengeance. It took me many months of wandering and questioning before I was able to find the one responsible for the attack; I took my time with him, choosing to use my dagger rather than my sword to bring about his slow death.

    I wandered for many years after that, joining and leaving many different mercenary bands, living no where and living for nothing, only to kill my next enemy. It is to this day unknown to me why I returned there, but my travels eventually found me back at the ruins of Centra. I returned to the cathedral where I slew Omega and approached the altar in the center of the building. I had lost all hope by this point, surrendered to the emotions that had slowly been eating away at me since the destruction of the Nightwolf Pack and my mate. I drew the Sword of Omega and roared as I slashed again and again at the strange altar, I pounded the stone to dust until even the mystical blade of the sword cracked and shattered. I dropped to my knees and howled my despair into the darkness that surrounded me...something answered. My mind was overtaken then, probed, and I remember my vision failing me and strange voices whispering incantations, then I felt nothing. After what seemed like an eternity I awoke in screaming agony, I was naked on the floor of the cathedral with the shattered Sword of Omega clutched to my chest, all around me green flame danced, it felt as if my soul itself was being incinerated. Then it suddenly ceased and I rose to my feet, a strange new understanding of the world apparant to me now.

    I remember seeing myself for the first time after that, my fur had changed to the blackest black but my eyes still shone an ice blue, holding my fierce determination within them. My former strength had left me, I felt as if I had just been born again. I remembered the ways of the blade that my father had taught me so long ago but there was something else, a strange dark power that I now posessed. It was weak though, so long ago, I knew that I would need to harness its power lest it overtake me and rob me of my soul. And so I traveled on, leaving Centra behind me, intent on honing this new power I had been given...

    That was many years ago, even now I struggle to control it, I know there is more for me to learn and I intend on discovering how far this power really goes. This is the first time I have put any part of my history to parchment, perhaps I will write more on the Nightwolf Pack at a later time, I know I owe them that much at least...

    Ilservian replaces the quill and stretches before rising and taking a final puff from the pipe. As he makes his way towards the door, he tosses a couple of coins on the bar in front of the tender. Several minutes after Ilservian leaves the inn, mournful howling is heard in the distance...