Thalon Cor’luil
Chaotic neutral Wood Elf Fighter Level 1
Ability Scores: Str 14, Dex 18, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 8.
HD 1d10; hp 10;
Init +4; Spd 30 ft;
Armor Class 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13;
BAB +1; Grapple +2;
Attacks: +3/+3 melee (1d4 + 2/1d4 +1, crit 18-20, Kukri) or +5 ranged (1d8/crit x3, Longbow);
Special Qualities: Low-light Vision, +2 to saves vs enchantment, immune to sleep effects
Saves: Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +2;
Languages spoken: Common, Elven
Skills and Feats:
Balance +4
Jump +3
Knowledge (Nature) +1
Listen +4
Search +2
Spot +4
Tumble +4
Armor Proficiency (Light, Medium, Heavy)
Weapon Proficiency (Elf, Simple, Martial)
Shield Proficiency
Two-Weapon Fighting
Weapon Finesse
Possessions:
26 gp, 2 sp, 9 cp
Waterskin (4 lb), Traveler's outfit (5 lb), Longbow (3 lb), 2 Kukri (each 2 lb), Studded leather armor (20 lb), Whetstone (1 lb), 3 Trail rations (each 1 lb), Fishhook (0 lb), Flint and steel (0 lb), Bedroll (5 lb), 60 arrows (each .15 lb).
Total load: 54,7. Load capacities: 59/117/174 lbs.
Deity: Corellon Larethian.
Eye Color: Green.
Hair Color: Black.
Skin Color: Copper-tinged.
Height: 6' 0"
Weight: 200 lbs.
Age: 140
Appearance: Taller and more muscular than the norm, this Wood Elf has the level gaze that comes from one whose entire life has been in preparation for battle. When not actively fighting, Thalon almost appears on edge, like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. His intensity is obvious when looking into his steely green eyes which seem to be slowly scanning all that is around him, taking it in and weighing it. His long, straight black hair is usually tied back behind his ears with a thin, unadorned leather strap. His face shows much scarring, the evidence of a rough life lived in almost constant combat. His clothing tends to be a a patch-work of various shades of green and doesn't appear to be washed too often. His appearance sets him apart within the crowded confines of a city and Thalon tries to avoid these whenever possible. In wooded areas however he is able to blend in with ease.
Background: Thalon was born in a secluded elven community somewhere in the Broken Forest. His father, a seasoned hunter, and his loving mother spent lots of time with their son, and took great pride in bringing him up according to ancient elven values and traditions. Thalon rejoiced in what was taught to him, feeling at home in the forests and brother to all the beings within. Soon his heart was invariably bonded to the beauty of his homeland.
As he grew up, the young elf was taught the way of the sword by his father, a notion that was inherently different to understand for Thalon – why should there be any need to use claws and teeth, which, made not by nature, but by elven hands, would invariably destroy the perfect balance that surrounded him? His father turned away, distraught by the innocence inherent in his young son. Gritting his teeth, he then spoke of the dangers surrounding their utopia – aberrations created by foul sorcery that stalked the woods, hordes of foul orcish warriors, the anathema of everything elven, and the hideous undead ensorcelled by black magic that occasionally plagued the borders of the elven realm. Thalon took it all in with an incredulous look on his face, first believing his father to be joking. Then, the grim realisation set in: his sheltered life had as of yet spared him the dangers that plagued and haunted his people. His whole outlook of life had been a façade, a feeble attempt by his parents to protect him – their only child and pride - from reality. His eyes blazing, he for the first time ever made a demand of his father – to be given the opportunity to make himself a matched pair of weapons, and to be given the right to help his father protect the homeland. His parents argued against it, but finally had to give in to the ardent desires of their son, fulfilling his wish and initiating him into the elven troops that patrolled the borders of the Broken Forest.
His first ever confrontation would be the one that should both shape his destiny and influence his life for decades to come. A human necromancer had set up his liar in an ancient elven grove dedicated to the spirits of the Ancestors, and was unyielding in negotiations, threatening the elven emissaries with eternal unlife, should they try and use force to drive him out of the grove. The elves had ground their teeth in barely-concealed fury, but had been powerless to attack the mighty magician. The troops were rallied, as this abomination could no longer be allowed to continue. Seeing that Thalon had no battle experience whatsoever, the elven commander ordered him and a small group of younger elven fighters and woodsmen to standby as reinforcements, and only to enter battle, if the luck turned against those brave elves that would try to take on the human in a frontal assault. Thalon’s father was ordered to scout ahead, as his skill in remaining unseen was unrivaled amongst the elves.
Thalon’s group hid themselves in a small grove of trees, about half a mile removed from the site of the battle. The elves fidgeted nervously, some checking if their bows were properly strung, others sharpening their blades. Thalon drew the twin kukris his father had crafted for him before the battle, having cautioned that his son use them only in the direst need, and held them before his eyes. The twinkling stars and the beauty of the elven forest framed his face, drawn thin with worry for his father, but his focus and resolve were clear in his steely gaze. Well, then. If he had to see battle, he would make his father proud, and show him why he had always been wrong in …
A loud cry rose into the night sky, chilling the elves to the bone, followed by a flash of lighning a small distance away. The animals of the forest ceased their nightly concert, and for a few seconds, all was cast in deadly silence. Then, another cry rang out, followed by the clash of steel on steel. Exploding into motion, the young elves forgot all about their orders, drawn by the excitement of battle and fear for their kin. The small band sped along the trails, crashing into the underbrush towards the site of the battle, not caring for any sounds they might make. Battle was already joined, and danger was near.
As they reached the small grove that constituted the necromancer’s lair, they were greeted by a dreadful sight. Strewn all over the place were the bodies of elven warriors, still clad in their armor, but horribly burned and mutilated. A few were yet on their feet, fighting desperately against a horde of shambling creatures barring their way. Behind the unnatural horde stood a man clad in black robes, shouting echoing syllables at the top of his hoarse voice. An elven archer tried to shoot him with a yew arrow, but failed as the missile bounced off the human as if it were but a straw. Thalon and his band nocked their arrows and fired, a few of their shots hitting the mark and making one of the shambling corpses look like a pincushion. The undead snarled, but did not drop. Instead, it swung a mighty blow against the elven warrior blocking its path – and advanced on the young fighters, many of which paled and bolted. Only Thalon and two others stayed back, spreading out and drawing their weapons, knowing, that they would not be able to help their comrades if they did not destroy this horror first. The lumbering figure snarled again, then lunged at one of Thalon’s comrades, disembowelling the elf who could not get his defenses up fast enough. With a cry of rage, Thalon and his sole remaining companion sprang upon the creature, slashing at it from behind, but only grazing its skin, as it quickly turned away and leaped out of their reach. While the elves were still trying to find a way to deal with the undead spirit, the Necromancer, however, had not remained idle. A missile tinged with a greenish sheen shot through the air, taking Thalon’s companion in the throat and dropping him with a gurgling sound. The young elf’s mind raced. He could not beat this creature alone. He would need to …
His thoughts were cut short as his opponent leaped again, using his moment of distraction to grapple him and pin his arms to his side, all the while frantically trying to bite him. Thalon, knowing he was doomed, struggled with all of his might, but could not dislodge the undead, throwing his head wildly to evade the snapping jaws, almost falling unconscious from the stink of the creature’s rotting breath. Almost overcome, he finally resorted to a different tactic: giving in to his foe, and letting himself fall backwards, using the force of the fall to throw the vile beast out above him, and jumping to his feet again. His opponent, though possessed by a certain kind of feral cunning, never saw the move coming, and was still lying on his face when Thalon was upon him, cutting and slashing at its throat, his kukris drawing deep lines in the creature’s mottled skin, finally decapitating the struggling undead in a desperate swing. The young elf leapt to his feet, trying to reorient himself. He still felt dizzy, and his breathing hurt. No time to think about that, now, though. He leapt toward the necromancer with a loud scream, who, at this moment, was struggling with the last two remaining elven warriors, using a shimmering blade to keep one busy while trading clubbing blows with another, who dropped dead the moment Thalon entered the fray, his skull crushed.
The human blinked incredulously as yet another elf assaulted him. Would they not see that he was superior? His might would tear them all to shreds. Mumbling an incantation, he pointed a finger at the charging young warrior, his hand taking on a sickly violet glow. When Thalon was only a few paces away, a ray of energy left the mage’s finger and stabbed through the darkness toward him, a shining beacon of the elf’s foolishness. The moment it would have hit Thalon, though, the enraged elf felt something bump into him from the side, throwing him off course, flinging him a few feet away. Tumbling toward the ground in a futile attempt to keep his footing, he beheld with horror the figure of his father, standing at the spot where Thalon had stood a second earlier, frozen in his movement, turned into a column of a white, crystalline substance. The wind took this opportunity to blow through the trees, a soft breeze that met the statue of Thalon’s father, and, with a soft sighing sound, carrying away myriads of tiny particles of dust, leaving nothing in its wake.
Thalon, overcome with grief, knew nothing more at this point, waking the next morning in a clearing filled with decay and death. The necromancer lay before him, his black cloak separated in exactly one point, a kukri having drawn a second, ugly mouth across his throat. The young elf would, in all the years to come, never forget the rictus grin that was locked on the dead human’s face, in its moment of death still displaying nothing but smug glee.
After a few hours, Thalon was found by an elven patrol, alarmed by the fact that no one had sent news about the outcome of the battle the following night. They wept, as they saw the carnage in their once sacred group, and they were overcome with rage as they looked into the face of the necromancer. They took their dead and bore them back into the village, burning the undead in a small spot outside the grove. The village elders, upon listening to the story Thalon told in a flat voice, lauded him and called him a hero and a defender of the elven people. The young elf would have none of it, though. He proclaimed with an emotionless voice, that he had suffered the ultimate failure, letting the human destroy his father all because of his foolishness. He claimed that never, ever could he look into a lake again to see his mirror image, and that he was not a hero. He would, however, from this day henceforth, devote all his strength to what he perceived to be his father’s legacy: protect the homeland. But he would not stay with his own people, as he could not bear their sight as testament to his failure. He vowed for all the gods to listen that he would leave the forest and set out, rooting out the enemies of elvendom on their own ground. None that he knew of should be able to deal damage to the Broken Wood anymore. The elders tried to discourage him from what they perceived was no carefully-laid plan, but rather impulsive action caused by his father’s death, but in the end could not stop him withouth forcing their will upon him. Thus, Thalon Cor’luil left the Broken Wood the day after, not looking back, but keeping his burning eyes focused on the horizon. His path clearly lay before him.
What Thalon is up to now: Having travelled extensively, honing his fighting skills and rooting out foes of elvendom where he can find them, the young elf has just freshly arrived in the city of Cauldron, reluctantly resting his weary feet in an inn, listening to the gossip of the patrons for clues about anything that might threaten his beloved homeland.
Fears/Weaknesses: Thalon is haunted still by the death of his father, and thus tends not to talk about it. He is not quick to make friends, and many are put off by his looks, but once one looks behind the façade the elf hides behind, he is quite an amiable fellow. Not a great planner or strategist, Thalon’s biggest strength beside his skill in battle is his intuition and steely resolve, which any allies of his can depend on.