Travelar: The Darkened Age
Kiierun Level 1 Elven Ranger (Archer)
6 attack with longbow 1d10+2
Excerpt from “An adventure in radzyn” Chapter 4 “Enter Beauty”
Trilliaeini, the 17th princess in waiting of the throne of Evermeet stepped daintily onto the rough hewn dock of the shores of radzyn. Much too royally trained to grimace from the smell of dead fish, and bad ale, Trilliaeini smiled instead, hoping the gesture would hide the obvious paling of her fair skin.
Twenty three members of her entourage took their places in a horseshoe pattern behind the princess. Her royal guard were all well known to her, having been raised with her since birth. Their only job in life being the preservation of her life. The number stood at twenty four for the first seventy three years of her life, until she had been attacked while trying to dissuade half-orc loggers from destroying a forest of the second generation.
The half-orc leader had struck her so quickly that the guards could not react in her defense until after the blow had landed. Trilliaeini had never forgotten the way Kiierun’s eyes had narrowed to nothing more than small jet black slits of pure anger.
Before any of her other guards had time to react, the elder bladesinger had moved with otherworldly speed and sliced the throat of the leader, even as he impaled himself upon the blade of the half-orc. Dizzy with the feeling of the ancient magic being drawn upon, “Tri” (as she was called by her closest friends and family) quickly began chanting her own magic to heal her fallen friend and lifelong guardian, even as she knew it was to late.
The half-orc’s had charged at the sight of their fallen leader, and were quickly overwhelming the valiant yet horribly out numbered elves. As Tri found herself being pulled away from the combat that she knew would end the lives of her guards, Kiierun locked eyes with her and whispered a single word in Elvish which drew a single word from the other guards in unison. Understanding the price her guard would have to pay, she pulled a small ivory wand from the folds of her sleeves and with tears streaming down her face knelt and broke it over her knee.
As the world slanted the last thing she saw was Kiierun in the ancient bloodlust that would end his life, taking and ignoring blow after blow from the half-orcs he was killing with but a single swing of his blade.
The journey was instant, Tri and twenty three of her royal guards arrived safely within the temple of the lightbringer each with a wound received on behalf of the sacrificed guard. Crying out in anquish she had secluded herself within her small cottage she had created within the roots of the great oak within the castle walls. There she stayed in mourning for three years.
When she had been summoned to the glorious palace of the queen and given this mission, she had refused outright to leave the island again. The sounds of people gasping in awestruck silence at the insult of refusing the queen anything, was hardly noticed by the queen. “Trilliaeini my love, I of all people know the pain that you have endured with the loss of your friend. It is an insult to his sacrifice if you wither away here until you leave this realm. If you had intended this, it would have been better had you simply allowed yourself to die on that battlefield.” As the princess began to weep again, the queen continued, “You will take this mission Trilliaeini, and you will leave this very minute”.
As she was about to protest again the great doors of the throne room were opened wide to accommodate her personal guards. As was tradition the position of the first guard was empty as an honor to the fallen. The stoic faces of her male and female lifelong companions were stern, yet sad, as they stood ready to do the queen’s bidding.
“I go in honor of the fallen my queen.”, said Trilliaeini modestly.
This is where the story of Kiierun begins.
When the last orc had fallen on the blade of the bloodless bladesinger, his lifelong oath had been fulfilled. The life of a bladesinger was a life of sacrifice, he was happy with his work, and the highest honor an elf could receive. He knew he died a champion. Songs would long reverbrate with his story across the land, soon even the human vermin would hear the song and their bards would carry his story to even further reaches. His only regret was the loss of the one woman who he loved among all others. The one person in the entire world he could not have, and the only one he had ever wanted. Kiierun died with regret at never making her his own. As his world began to spin, he knelt to the ground. Balancing there on the exquisite ancient longsword that had served him for hundreads of years, ye could not bear the thought of such a fine weapon falling into the wrong hands. Cradling the sword in his lap with fingers quickly growing numb Kiierun focused on his ebbing strength and shattered chalice. The resulting explosion consumed the blade singer, his blade, all of his possession and every single corpse within 100 feet in every direction. The elves would never again visit this desolate patch of earth. They would avoid it for eternity. However, mages are curious sorts. A few hundread years later during a Drow attack on the glorious isle herself, a certain swordsman had secured the trophy of an intact elven skull found grinning at him from a tarnished helm just under the surface of the lowered water level of the lake bed. He had taken the trophy and presented it to his master, a human wizard feared by many. This wizard had polished the skull and meant to attach it to a staff he was planning to create. Yet there on the shelf the skull sat for another hundread or so years. As all tyrants must face a bitter death this wizard was no different and succumbed both to old age and madness. He turned to lichdom to extend his life, which brought an immediate response in the form of holy paladine. The paladins that destroyed the lich, and all of his belongings stopped at the skull of the elf, and was taken from the accursed tower, only to be stolen from a saddle bag by a local overly brave young thief. This thief attempted to sell it to a priest as a religious relic, at a time when every sword of justice was needed. Against the wishes of his elders the priest resurrected the elf kiierun, who had no memory upon his waking except for the picture of a beautiful elven maiden in his mind. He knows not her name, he knows nothing of his past, and could not even move nor speak. After much work the young priest helped kiierun to regain the use of his limbs, and handed him a bow to work his arm muscles. For some reason, kiierun was a natural in the use of the bow, and quickly excelled at every test of his skill. When the young priest was summoned to the ancient kingdom of Radzyn, he said his goodbyes to the elf, and departed. Kiierun took his bow, and left to seek adventure, to find out who he is or was, and to find the elf who’s face he hold captive in his failed memory.