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Thread: Destiny of the Valenar
Thursday, 11th August, 2005, 02:08 AM #1
Destiny of the Valenar
Post your approved character sheets here. First post should be up friday.
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Thursday, 11th August, 2005, 02:20 AM #2
Novice (Lvl 1)
Eliseri "Silverleaf" Aliqilla
Description: A strong and graceful elf, Eliseri is radiates outer beauty. Her personality is very overbearing and she has a hard time dealing with people. She sees herself as a loner when it comes to survival, not wanting to rely on anyone. But, she feels that it is her duty to protect her race and make sure they survive like her patron ancestor once did. She prefers to scout ahead and make sure all is fine for those who follow.
Background: When Eliseri was born the keepers said that her patron ancestor was a great savior and a true warrior against the giant races of Xen'drik. From that day forth, Eli trained to imitate the courage, beauty and devotion that her ancestor, Silverleaf exemplifies.
Silverleaf the True: As the dragons came down on Xen'drik from overhead, Silverleaf hid low in the brush scanning the land ahead. All was quiet except for the loud flap of wings overhead. Though it was quiet, she knew that many of those of her race weren't far behind in the jungles. Staying low to the ground and moving graceful through the brush Silverleaf advanced closer to the shoreline. Coming up to the sands of the beach, Silverleaf spotted a group of giants looking at two boats anchored offshore and everything became more perilous. How are our people suppose to flee from this ill-fated island when those who enslave are everywhere?, Silverleaf asked herself as she sat there watching them from the tree line. She knew what she had to do. Taking arrows from her quiver she quietly and tactically lay them on the ground in front of her. Notching the first arrow she slowly breathed out as she let lose the first arrow she knew was to be her last quiver.
She let loose almost her entire quiver on the two giants before they could react. Each arrow flying true, struck a mighty blow to the giants. One was dead and the other wounded badly. As she let loose he last arrow, the giant called down fire from the heavens onto Silverleaf. The last arrow couldn't have flown truer. Striking a killing blow to the remaining giant, he collapsed to ground in a cloud of sand. Lying on her back, looking to the skies through the canopy, it was all Silverleaf could do to reach down and pull up the signal whistle she had around her neck to her mouth. Giving the whistle three loud blows, the signal that her people could advance, darkness finally closed out the light of the sun.
As the legends say, Silverleaf confronted the giants knowing it was all she could do to save her people. As arrows fell from the sky, the clouds parted and the sun shined down on Silverleaf, the giants fell and her people were able to leave the island that was doomed.
Thursday, 11th August, 2005, 03:43 AM #3
Novice (Lvl 1)
Description: A slim, short elf, Well'Xix is wracked by an unending feeling of guilt. He always seems to be trying to prove himself, wielding his unusual arcana abilities to support his warband in combat. He knows that he is not trusted by his brethren and this pushes him to strive even harder to prove his trustworthiness and ability.
Background: There was more than a little confusion at Well's birth. One of the Keepers stated that his patron ancestor was a great arcanist, while another mentioned an ancient warrior. Eventually it was decided that his ancestor must have been Gala', the Horse Lord, but this was decided with some rumbling. From then on, the young man was watched with a wary eye, even more so when he began manifesting strange and potent abilities quite unattainable to normal elven arcanists.
Jull the Great Traitor: In the beginning, before there was an Aerenal, before there were Valenar, before the Undying Court, the elves dwelt upon lost Xen’Drik. They arose at the feet of giants and learned magic dropped from the mouths of dragons as contemptuously as crumbs. Then the Qori came and the giants unleashed their final solution, decimating their own land even as they banished the Quori back to their homes. Stories say that the elves took this opportunity to rise up and turn the tables on their masters, seeking to claim the glory of the giants for their own. The way the elves tell it, they were on the verge of victory when suddenly the great wyrms descended upon them, razing giant and elf alike and forcing their flight from their ancestral home. Many say that it was an elf who had called down the dragons, fueled by promises of riches and power in the new dragon-led regime.
But even for the long-lived elves the past was long ago, and stories are mistold every day. Even the race memories of the elves are not always infallible….
“Jull! Where are you going!?!?!” screamed Rior as an explosion rocked the forest mere yards away.
“Can’t you feel it?!” Jull screamed, but of course he knew that the warrior couldn’t. Rior’s arcane skills had always been weak; he was a warrior not a mage. He could hardly start a fire let alone feel the magic in the wind. But Jull couldn’t just feel it, he could taste it. As battle raged, Jull had felt that familiar tingle. He’d broken ranks, he’d fled the scene of battle, he would be reprimanded. They were fighting for their race, his commanders would say, but Jull knew that something more important lay ahead.
The other warrior called something out again but by now the sorcererous Jull was well out of hearing range. As he approached the monolith built on a scale that dwarfed even the giants who it was built for, the feeling only get stronger, something foul was in the air. He pulled his spells of protection close, this was one of the most well-protected strongholds of the giants, their mages would rip him to shreds with nary a thought if he was noticed, but he had to find out.
He breached the perimeter, finding the cracks and passages that were completely unreachable by giants but years of training had shown him how to locate. As he entered the temple he could feel the sheer energy in the walls, the entire ziggurat-like structure was funneling an inordinate amount of power, enough power to rip the sky asunder and bring the moons crashing down. He began to hear voices leak through the stonework carried by the strange acoustics of the building or perhaps by the magic. As he finally breached the final chamber he saw the true extent of the giants’ plan and his heart quailed.
The elf turned to flee, to warn his people, but he had been found. The ways were blocked, his protection spells fading away quickly under the assault of giant magic that seemed to come from everywhere. He fled through the passages weighing his options, knowing that he had to warn someone, anyone. They had to be stopped. In their desperation they had chosen a course of action that could never be undone!
As the elf nearly gave in to the eldritch forces searching for him, grabbing at him, he saw ahead of him his one chance. As the elf placed his hands upon an oversized orb of crystal he felt a bizarre pulling in his soul. For an instant, he caught a glimpse of the future, caught a glimpse of the centuries of warfare, of the creation of elf-kinds’ most dangerous and overwhelming foes. He saw it all, the thousands and thousands of fallen elves, the children left orphaned, the fall of an entire bloodline of powerful elven magic. His heart quailed, tears welled in his eyes, and then he focused his mind.
“Attention, Dragons of Argonessen! The giants have gone beyond the bounds of reason and threaten the world in their madness! Even now they plan to launch the blow which will send our world teetering into the darkness! You must come and put a stop to this! If you do not, then all is lost!”
As he closed his mind and ended the transmission the elf fell to his knees, sobbing. “May I be forgiven.”
Thursday, 11th August, 2005, 05:57 PM #4
Acolyte (Lvl 2)
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Description: Kindric is agile in mind, body, and ethics. He finds it irresistably funny to anger people who probably won't do anything about it - but just in case, he's awfully good at eluding enemies. His companions and his family are spared from this quirk of his personality, but he loves nothing so much as a debate in which he can take an excessively contrary position and use it to provoke others. The valor of the warband is wonderful and good, but really, isn't apoplexy much funnier to watch? Kindric does sometimes take risks for their own sake, and that will probably get him killed someday, but the ancestors ought to get a good laugh out of that, too.
History: Kindric has traveled a bit - enough to hide from Brelish patrols and steal mead from Brelish drinking companions. He has spent most of his time as a scout for his warband, though, and has proven his willingness to gamble everything in battle for the sake of his fellows. The wisest of the elders have said that he is a man who is not at peace with himself - or, more specifically, his patron ancestor.
Patron Ancestor: Rejar Grimbane was a killer. His black arrows slew many giants, when the time came; his black blade often danced. He pursued enemies beyond safety and reason, sometimes endangering others with his refusal to give up the fight.
He had not always been that way, of course; no one is born to such a path. He was once gentle and kind, just another archer of the warband. His wife, the great seer Eliska, was captured by the giants, and her gifts were turned against the elves. It was in trying to rescue her that he first became feared. The giants knew that a great warrior pursued their captive, wherever they moved her; eventually they sent her to one of their own greatest seers, Njalgrima. A terrible rite of blood sacrifice stole Eliska's Sight, even as Rejar scaled the walls of the fortress. Once she was blinded, the giants had no further use for her, and fed her to their beasts as Rejar came in at the door. Only Rejar left the room alive.
Eliska did not return to life when called by the priests, and Rejar became a harbinger of death among all the enemies of the warband. Others followed in his footsteps, not that he often noticed. His children were cared for in other tents, the foster parents believing that they were doing what was best for the warband.
Friday, 12th August, 2005, 01:03 AM #5
Waghalter (Lvl 7)
Background/Personality: Who am I, you ask? To know me you must know the tale of Xaelian Valera, First Keeper, for she is my ancestor. My calling is her dying words. I pledge my life to the endless task of keeping the past among the present. Xaelian was a great warrior and I could never be her equal on the battlefield. But I can maintain her dying wish and show her and my people honor in times of war. For as long as I have lived, I have always desired to honor my ancestor, and it has not always been easy. Despite our longevity, time is always a stealthy adversary, stealing away precious pieces of our memory. My battle is unending and uncompromising. To wage war upon a physical opponent often feels like a relief from my more elusive combats. But now I find you growing weary of my troubles. Fear not, I shall halt my words and grant you respite from my tireless quest.
Remember this. Remember the past. Keep these memories to keep yourself.
Ancestor Tale: So you have come to me because you are ignorant of the name Xaelian Valera, the First Keeper? Well then sit a while and I will save you from your blasphemy…
Xaelian, like all those we have learned to honor and remember, lived under the oppressive yoke of the tyrannical giants of Xen’Drik. Like all the heroes we know of, Xaelian’s exploits and deeds were many and great, but what marks her as a star bright enough to shine through time itself is her selfless acts that led our ancestors to freedom and her dying words. As you well know, the Great Cataclysm, despite the devastation it laid upon us, granted us the opportunity we had been seeking for millennia. And seize that opportunity we did, but the prideful giants would have none of it. Intent to lay waste to their continent once more solely to spare themselves a loss at the hands of our forbearers, the giants began to summon the terrible magic of the dragons they had used to end the War of Dreams. This time, the dragons would have none of the giant’s nonsense and instead mounted a frontal assault on the diseased empire of the giants. The dragons held no sympathy for our fate and countless of our brethren perished in their vicious onslaught. Some chose to stay and fight. Others looked to the seas to escape a certain death. Xaelian led the exodus from the blasted lands of Xen’Drik and became a savior of our people.
But the story does not end there. Xaelian may have seen the wisdom in escape, but having an idea and having that idea realized can be concepts that are worlds apart. Xaelian met with many of her kin to devise a plan to evacuate as many elves from the crumbling Xen’Drik as quickly, and with as few casualties, as possible. She knew that the prideful giants would not let them sneak by under their noses. Xaelian knew the giants would sooner perish at the hands of the dragons then see their elven subjugates escape their grasp. After much debate, a plan was formulated. Xaelian was to take her own path off the continent, making sure she would be seen by the giants during her escape. The other elves would leave under the cover of magical concealment. Xaelian knew the overconfident giants would fall for the plan. What she had not expected was the ferocity they would afford to muster against her upon her inevitable discovery.
Xaelian and her sparse crew should have made it safely off Xen’Drik after delaying the giants just long enough for the others to escape. The giants had other plans. Upon witnessing her flight, countless of the colossal tyrants descended upon Xaelian and her crew. Most died almost instantly, leaving Xaelian alone and vastly outnumbered. She fought valiantly, wielding her double scimitar with such speed that it is said that the driving rain never even touched it on that day. The fallen giants numbered in the dozens, but alas it was not enough. Xaelian was struck a mortal blow and her double scimitar was scattered into the vast ocean, lost forever. As she lay dying, a handful of words crossed her lips. These words were somehow picked up by the great winds and were carried to the ears of all those who had escaped. The words were, “Remember me. Remember the past. Keep these memories to keep yourselves.” And with this dying breath, Xaelian left the mortal world.
Xaelian’s dying words were not to be forgotten. Soon after, the Keepers of the Past were born. From her dying words, we found life. And to this day, she is known as the First Keeper. Remember this.
Remember the past. Keep these memories to keep yourself.