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Xeth’Ariel
Queen of the Dead

Ariel Aranwë was a famed champion and one of the last defenders of Quesulus before its fall in 496NA. Caught by the fell effects of the wasting death, a foul plague set loose on the small nation by the Gháshul, most of the last remaining survivors quickly perished in the wilderness of swampy region later to be named Gháshul Swamp after the Quesuls’ defilers in Tarstan.

Weakened by the effects of the wasting death, Ariel Aranwë managed to fortify a small depression in the heart of the Gháshul Swamp to make a last stand defending her remaining peoples. Resigned to the fact she would die at Gháshul hands before the night was done, she was determined to fight until the bitter end. To her surprise however, a small garrison from Dorin Oasis traveling the Palren pass, and somehow lost on their way to trade parleys in Sysian, crossed paths with the Gháshul. The Dorinian knights tore through the Gháshul ranks from the rear until the invaders were pinned between the battle-trained knights of Dorin and the desperate, cornered, defenders of Quesulus. The survivors of Quesulus had been saved.

Unfortunately the victory would be a bitter one in the fact that many Gháshul survived and fled into the dense swamplands to breed their evil for another day, and the wasting death refused to release its hold on the people of Quesulus. Most died on the return trip to Dorin. Those who survived died soon after in the quarantines. All, save Ariel, would perish within months of being saved, and the last remnants of Quesulus would be no more.

Ariel Aranwë would struggle on until her death in the spring of 497NA For most people death is the end, but for her… It was only the beginning. After taking her last breath Xeth’Tangiel, the angel of death, came to claim her soul and guide its journey to her well-earned rewards in the great beyond. During judgment however, the reading of her soul gave Xeth’Tangiel pause. Intrigued by the life and exploits of this noble young woman after a mere twenty years of mortal life he offered her a place in Muranâth, the City of Eternal Night in Morin the Nation of the Dead, as his honored guest. Curious, and un-intimidated by Xeth’Tangiel’s horrid disfigurement, Ariel agreed, spending the next several years of her unlife in purgatory amongst the souls of those yet to pass or unwilling to pass beyond.

In time Xeth’Tangiel would come to love Ariel, and likewise she would be one of the few to ever see past the fearful gaze of the master of death and see the compassion beyond his horrid visage to love him in return. Xeth’Tangiel would eventually make her his Queen, and she would bear her throne in the heart of Morin at Muranâth where she continues to rule today at her husband’s side.

Tararuk Shagdúl
The Blood King

Tararuk Shagdúl was one of the first to breath life after leaving the breech. He quickly managed to assert himself as the dominant figure amidst the hordes that would soon follow. The hulking ten-foot behemoth quickly dispatched Sas’Sara’s guardians keeping watch over the evil passage into the elder plane, and moved his horde quickly across the lands of the east, in the few waking days before the shattering, into the lands of the west that would later come to be known as Ar’Aken. Here he would wreck havoc against the children of the dawn and the pre-cursed race of ogre, until his evil torrent of destruction was halted by Vel’s dominant will.

After becoming bound to Vel, Tararuk Shagdúl was able to retain his leadership, but now followed the “Unnamed” who would later become the “true son”, or Ba’Xeth, after Xeth’Tangiel’s betrayal which lead to the shattering. Unwilling to commit to Ba’Xeth’s dominance completely after Vel’s imprisonment following the breaking of Aleria, Tararuk Shagdúl continued to pull against his reins. He sought to increase his own strength through increasing the number of those under his command, and launched his own private war, unknown at the time to Ba’Xeth, against the gates of Lsarielian in order to gain control of the currently sealed breech. Events, unexpected, would take place however with the decision of a generally peaceful nations decision to join in the defense of Lsarielian, and it would seal Tararuk Shagdúl’s fate. Averindale sent aid to the gates of Lsarielian, an event that would change the course of history, and revealed the sword bearer’s line to all. Although Lsarielian would fall during that battle, the efforts of the conflict would spell disaster for the Bengrathy race, as only a handful would remain to return to Ar’Aken to brood until their next chance to cause terror would come.

Tararuk Shagdúl did not die at the gates of Lsarielian, but was severely wounded during the fight. Upon returning to Ar’Aken his own horde cast him out, as he barely escaped their wrath with his life. He would wander the lands of Ar’Aken after that in solitude vowing to return and reclaim his rightful place as leader. Fate, of the darker variety would shine on him then, as this being many years after the breaking he encountered the now corrupt ogre who roamed the land. Their ignorance proved to be to his advantage, as they were easily swayed by his twisted promises and words. So much so that they one small tribe even divulged the location of the blood pools, acidic remnants of Vel’s spilled blood when his children took arms against him and were forever cursed. Tararuk Shagdúl would venture to the springs of blood, and in his vanity bathe within the waters of a god. What would emerge was not the being once known, but something far more powerful, and he now had an army of ogre to obey his every command.

Although still less powerful than Ba’Xeth, and unable to overthrow his rule, Tararuk Shagdúl did reclaim his place as leader among the Bengrathy in a power struggle wrought with blood. This vengeful claim to power would earn him the title blood king. The moniker under which he would rule over the Bengrathy and Ogre alike in perpetuity until his assumed death in 312NA at the fall of Averindale.

Girabêth
The Oracle of Dorin

The third of the triad, Girabêth at first was King Guslof’s pride. He paraded her around the streets of Dorin Oasis with pride, yet with the gentleness one would show a porcelain doll. After the abduction of the second son of the triad from the castle, King Guslof took special care of his remaining two children, Girabêth especially. Tragedy would find it’s way into the desert blown walls of the castle again however, and the victim this time would be the young, innocent, Girabêth. By unexplained circumstances the young girl was struck blind at the age of three, fighting bouts of fever followed by catatonic trances in which she would mumble incoherently in the presence of nobility. At one time his pride and joy, Girabêth was now seen as a bad omen and deeply feared by the Dorinian King.

Superstitious and fearing some dark mage in a fit of rage had cursed his young child, Guslof sought to rid himself of the abomination. Unable to kill his once beloved daughter however, Guslof instead hid her and under the cover of night spirited her away to the underwarrens of Dorin to the crystal caverns. Used to house evil blaspheming users of the arcane caught near Dorin, the crystal caverns were an ancient prison shielded by dark arts to prevent the use of such arts. Though his heart ached at the imprisonment of his young child, the thought of an enspelled member of the royal line moving about freely within the walls of Dorin Oasis would be too much for the people to bear. With a last glance he turned his back, and walked away. Although he saw to it that Girabêth received all things necessary for life, secretly and discreetly of course, it would be several years before Guslof himself returned. When guilt at what he had done finally wore away at his aging heart, and his eldest son, first of the triad, had shunned him and his duties as heir after learning the truth of his sisters disappearance, Guslof returned to the crystal prison below the city. What he would learn then would change Girabêth’s life forever.

Inheriting the gift of sight from the water seer, Nalirenya her mother, Girabêth began to mumble prophetics instead of the gibberish Guslof remembered. This new development gave the Dorinian King pause, and he listened. Over the next few years, and after his first son’s return, Guslof used Girabêth to foresee outcomes and secure many victories against the blackland gnolls that so terrorized his people. Although her way of life improved marginally, Guslof refused to release her from her darkened prison since if word that he used information attained through means of something associated with the dark arts to secure his rule, certain death for treason against his own thrown would be swift. He instead hid his dark secret known to only his most trusted chosen few.

Girabêth would go on to prophesize many things in her crystal prison where she remains to this day. A young girl, the lost child, the oracle of Dorin.

Nalirenya
The Lady of the Valley

Nalirenya, a young duchess of Averindale’s capitol Vellan Shire, lived a happy and comfortable life until the age of nineteen. While watching a play at her father’s court amidst the cheering and jeers of the gathered crowd, Nalirenya fell to the floor in a feverish fit. She had been struck with the farseeing, and the dark visions came upon her abruptly. She beheld visions of chaos and fire, blood and death, the end of existence with the death of her race. Upon waking in her bedchambers she began rattling off the words of her vision, speaking doom to her fathers court with bad tidings on the air. In her feverish rage she would run the streets bringing warnings of doom and needs for preparation. All of which fell on deaf ears. Her family feared for her young mind, thinking ill winds had corrupted her, yet healers found nothing to explain her erratic behavior.

Over the next two years of heralding doom, and an embarrassing accusation against the nations greatest hero and benefactor Lairus Leorin as the bringer of this doom, she earned the reputation as a lunatic soon being considered a pariah by her people. Unable to bear the burden of her knowledge and the harsh words of her former friends, Nalirenya cast herself into the Lake of Ives, diving to her death in the soothing calm of the crystal waters. The nation of Averindale would fall within the fortnight in the spring of 312NA.

Ives having seen that Nalirenya had a role yet to fill in Aleria’s future saved the young girl by binding her essence to the waters, granting her strange new powers it would take years for her to comprehend. Nalirenya considered this act a cursing since her farseeing remained, and her home lay in ruin, while she was forced to live on in a lonely existence of solitude. Because her sight remained however, she knew the role that must be played and despised it to her very core as it spelled more pain in her now unending life. To bear the children that would determine the fate of all, and leave them behind never knowing them.

This torment burned at her for centuries, but her compassion won out in the end. With the help of Ives granting her the strength to leave her watery home for the duration, Nalirenya left for the arid desert stronghold of Dorin Oasis to seduce Guslof, the King. A year later in 991NA the triad was born, and Nalirenya, in tears, stole away into the night leaving her infant children behind.

Although knowing her deed to be for the greater good, the pain of loss once again in her life would haunt her for many more years until she could take it no more, and secretly summoned one of her children to her. That child because of this breech in her pact would become Aleria’s fallen knight.

Parcelan
The Hound

Parcelan was one of the first apprentices interred at Demerion’s Informants Academy at its inception in 113NA. He excelled at his trade, often playing off his short and portly stature that made him seem unimportant to the common man. Over time he would come to be known as a master in the arts, and revered the world over by his peers. It wouldn’t be long, however, before power corrupted and his fall from grace began. His tolerance for the ignorants on which he preyed soon grew short, and he found himself growing bored of the games that were played. After a while he would find himself taking pleasure in twisting the vices of those he stalked, and inadvertently causing mischief among the masses. He took joy in the sorrows he caused, and the lives he ruined. Parcelan became picky about the jobs he chose to accept, and only signed to those where he could cause the most personal strife or offered the most personal gain. The elders of his sect soon noticed the changes in Parcelan’s ethics, and disciplinary measures were enforced. Parcelan’s replies to these threats were the quiet, apparently accidental yet openly speculated upon, deaths of the current leaders of his guild.

Although everyone quietly whisper accusations of guilt against the young thief, nothing could be proven, and he continued his heinous acts unhindered. Eventually the hushed voices would become to loud to be ignored, and Parcelan would be forced to flee Demerion. He would make his way through the lands under the guise of a traveling dignitary, and political counselor. A profession that would grant him the ability to pursue his most favored past time, unfounded strife. Many townships, and noble houses would fall by Parcelan’s hands alone over the next twenty two years, until his death in 135NA by a mysterious man in the cellar of one of his many acquired holds.

At his judgment, Xeth’Tangiel cast Parcelan’s soul into the abyss as punishment for his acts in life. Yet even in death, and the exile of the beyond, Parcelan would not surrender to circumstance. By chance while banished to the abyss, he managed to breech the prison of the infernals. An act which set Ter’Reana loose on the world once more, and brought the dark betrayer face to face with the ultimate evil, the god of shadow and pain, Vel himself. Needing an agent above, Vel struck a bargain with the twisted man, and Parcelan once again was free to cause mayhem in the world of the living.

Following Vel’s plans and designs, Parcelan would infiltrate many diplomatic positions and bring nations to their knees for many years until his missions lead him to The Cradle to retrieve a sword that was frozen in time where it’s bearer fell. The Avariel’s who guarded the cradle by the will of Brom however would prove too much for Parcelan, and he would find himself in the abyss once more. He would remain imprisoned with his new master for centuries to come until an event foretold would release him again, with a new mission, and more blood in which to wash his already fouled hands. That event would come in the year 1013NA, and the fall of the elven nation would come in its wake by a twisted man, the hound of a god, who played the darker games of life.

Princess Aurinwen
The 7th Angel

The winged elves of Aleria at one time were quite common across the lands, but after the shadow fell in the few years before the breaking they were hunted to near extinction by the dark dragons and other evil hordes under Vel’s command. After the breaking, only small communities scattered across the lands remained. As Brom, and the other gods of the land signed their pact and vowed to leave the mortal lands forever, Angriel, King of the most prominent winged elf clan in Bromada, was summoned to the citadel on the crystal tides. Before the king lay a proposition set down by Brom himself. The small mountain crater, that would come to be known as the cradle, where the seven great kings had fallen during the first attack on Vel, held a treasure unknown. This treasure would be of dire need in Aleria’s future, if it was to survive, and the cradle where the treasure rested was to be protected at all costs. Brom asked of King Angriel that he choose of his clan the strongest, bravest, and noblest of his people to sign the pact and wear the guise of guardian over the treasure bound isle. Seven in number the great god said, no more, no less.

King Angriel returned to his castle, and set about the task of selecting his chosen and presenting them to Brom for his approval. Six came with ease, three women and three men, of whom Brom readily agreed, but the seventh eluded them. Man after man, woman after woman, King Angriel brought his chosen before the god to be judged. One after another, Brom sent them away, until one day as Angriel turned to leave the citadel in the sky the young god stopped him. For this time, Angriel’s daughter, Aurinwen, had accompanied him. The young princess intrigued Brom, and he summoned her forward. “She is the one.” Brom told Angriel, much to the king’s dismay.

Angriel pleaded with Brom that he should choose another, but the young god would not budge. He had seen the spark in her being, something of importance, and his mind was set. Aurinwen would join the others in the task of guarding the cradle, the seventh angel had been found. Leader of the seven, the angels of the heavens, Aurinwen would go on to many a successful defeat of evil plots against the cradle. Without fail, without injury, the young princess would do her duty and protect the crystal kings against all who dared attack her island home.

Only one would ever breech the outer reaches of the protected isle. A man, twisted, evil yet different, darker somehow, encroached upon the palisade walls surrounding the crystal graves. With stealth and aid of a more wicked design, the darkened soul would bring his small raiding band down upon the cradle. Under the cover of night, with the aid of shadowlings, the stalking nightmare would tear down the cradles guards until all but one remained; Princess Aurinwen. She fought on, although wounded, with sheer will and persistence managing to avert the tainted attack, killing the dark assassin. Ives appeared then, and stopped before one of the great kings. She explained to the young princess that the time had come to remove the treasure sought throughout time, but that her task as guardian was not done. Ives healed her wounds then, and turned to leave. Ives paused, speaking. She told the princess that the day would come when the kings would wake again to pass into the beyond, and that she must keep them safe until that day. Then, Ives was gone. Aurinwen remained on the isle after that, her eye on the darkness to the east. Always watchful of the day when the crystal kings would rise, she guards them in honor, where she remains to this day.

Natas Sarathân
The Dragon Queen

It is believed that Natas Sarathân was born sometime in the year 311NA although her true origins are a mystery, even to her. Her known life began in the summer of 317NA with her purchase on the slavers block by a wealthy, yet corrupt, noble named Phanan Hedgivel in an Ar’Aken metropolis, Anredhel. Bought along with another young girl from a wandering gypsy tribe by some Bosiane slave traders, Natas then under the name Goewin, entered her adolescent life in bondage. Abused and tormented throughout her youth by her seedy, and aged, owner, Goewin lived an early life of inner hatred. Her life would not be all for naught however, as Phanan would often pass young Goewin off to his political, and financial benefactors for a bit of sport from time to time. Some which would come from as far away as Ar’Aken’s capitol, Maehir. Cruel as her treatment may have been, young Goewin was smart, and kept her eyes and ears open on these “jobs”. After many years of such treatment Goewin developed a twisted view on the world, harboring all the knowledge she had gained from her excursions as the dark nobility’s plaything, and biding her time. She had already noticed that she aged much slower than those around her, and still looked lithe as she did with the onset of her womanhood. Now with eighteen years servitude under Phanan, Goewin knew he would not live much longer, and made her preparations for an escape. With Phanan’s death in 341NA after years of illness, Goewin made use of her years of preparation and fled under the cover of night.

Nearly fifty-three years would pass with Goewin on her own, stoking the fires of her hatred and malice until aged, yet still young in appearance, she would cross paths with a dark portly man bearing a spiteful grin. This strange stalker trapped the young woman with the intent to torment, but after the years under Phanan’s ownership Goewin just laughed at the small villain’s attempts. Slighted by the fact that his little bit of sport lacked the amusement he desired, the dark rogue went on to explain that he was sent with a bargain to offer. He would help the young Goewin exact revenge on the nobility of Ar’Aken, and in fact help her secure her own seat of power within its corrupt hierarchy. He also offered onto her another gift, a vial appearing in a deep and swirling red. He spoke that it promised life eternal, and beauty beyond measure. When asked the payment for this prize, the wicked man grinned and explained that there was no price, but a favor to be fulfilled when the time came. With that they parted company, and a now immortal Goewin taking the name Natas Sarathân would return to Maehir and exact her revenge on the nation of Ar’Aken.

Natas Sarathân would rise to the seat of power in 403NA after a bloody six-year revolt. She would be best known for her malice against those she has felt wronged her, and her hunt of the remaining good winged beasts of Aleria on her great black dragon steed. She single handedly hunted to extinction in the eastern continents the silver dragon lords, whose bones now decorate her throne and clothing in a twisted macabre of sportsmanship, earning her the name Dragon Queen. Her heavy fisted rule endures to present day, and although the favor promised in centuries past for her ascension is unknown, her hateful existence leaves enough to be feared.

Palren Thaena
The Lost Son of the Desert

Palren Thaena, brother of Dorin Thaena, was among the remaining generals that chose to stay behind after the shattering and guard the rest of the world against the darkness that remained in the blasted land. While Dorin moved inland, making his home around a small oasis settlement that now bears his name, Palren stayed near the shore. Those who remained behind with Palren would be the ones responsible for the construction of the Thaena-Tyredin Stronghold where the mountains met the sea, on the shores of the desert. Palren would go down in legend as one of the last great warriors of the dying age, as the companies under his command would turn back raid after raid against the western shores by early horde minions. The Thaena-Tyredin Stronghold would come to be known as the unbreakable tower, as thousands of the blackened would die at its man-crafted stone face. Those desert elves who managed to stave off the madness of the blasted lands would often pay visits to Thaena-Tyredin, and it is said in payment for Palren’s support of their people, the last magi among them sealed the fortress even further against breech by delving into the arcane. Eventually the shadow of the desert would claim the minds of all the elves that remained there, even those who reached their homelands, but it is said those runes and enchantments remained, and would do so till the end of time.

So well known, and well honored were Palren’s exploits that at the beginning of the new age, scholars would go so far as to name the vast dunes and sandy shores after the noble soldier. Thus the desert was named, and all was well in the west. For a time. Thaena-Tyredin Stronghold remained unbroken, and not a single force past the shores untested against Palren’s men and the stronghold’s mighty walls. Until the attacks seemed to just, fade away. Small raids by blackland gnolls and sandemons, the now twisted elves of the desert, remained to keep the young men on their toes, but no major raids from the east threatened the desert shores in several years. This pleased Palren, as he felt it time, and he was tired. He took the time to spend with his beloved daughter, his wife having died some years before, and did his best to be the greatest father he could. For the first time in many years, the quickly aging warrior knew peace, and joy.

It would not last however, as what neither Palren nor his men had considered was quickly coming upon them, and its hunger was deafening. The appetite of the doomed desert ached for new miseries to cherish. Unpredictable storms of wild magic, and madness still hunted the blasted lands looking for more minds to destroy. Pulling the forces arcane from the very beings trained to wield them, twisting minds beyond madness into the darkest despair, the twisted aberration unseen descended upon the battered stone fortress. Although against many armies the tower had stood strong, this was an enemy beyond physical force, and one Thaena-Tyredin could not keep at bay. The settlement within the walls of Thaena-Tyredin began to eat at itself, being destroyed from the inside out, until nothing remained save Palren and his daughter Salaires. The unseen haunting would torment them for days until Salaires could stand it no more, and succumbed to the madness. In the darkness of the tower unseen, Salaires traveled to the pool hidden in the caverns below Thaena-Tyredin and was drowned by her own mad will. The bleakness left the walls of Thaena-Tyredin then, and Palren walked its dark, and now silent, halls alone. Eventually a different type of madness would consume Palren, and he would bear his burden of loss to his dying day.

Thaena-Tyredin still stands to this day, and it is rumored that the soul of Palren Thaena still haunts its hollowed walls in search of his daughter unable to rest. Eventually the stronghold would become a hideout for many twisted dealings, it is even said the dark god Rorret sets his minions there.

Marcus
The Man Without Time

Not much is known about the man called Marcus. Appearing one day from the wilderness outside the walls of Eradi, the near naked, obviously mentally unstable, character charged nearby farmsteads without provocation. Stopping of his own accord, his inane ramblings, in a quite obviously foreign tongue, continued. Bewildered and frightened, the local townsmen sent for the monks from the nearby Temple of Karr. A young monk named Jevis Aruman arrived soon after to escort the wild man away. Marcus did not resist, in fact he quite bizarrely opened up into what appeared friendly conversation in his strange tongue, merely hours after charging the farm in a crazed fit.

Jevis would spend the next several years studying and learning from Marcus, until his escape from the temple in 762NA where he seemed to just “disappear”. Jevis managed to learn a great deal in his dealings with Marcus however, and in time came to understand his chaotic mentality. His language was that of something he called “English”, and he spoke of a place where great towers of stone and steel reached to the heavens. A time of many men, and many places, wrought with war and peace existing in time with one another. A place where great metal machines ruled the skies, and others on land provided travel to many, was his fantasyland. In fact Marcus’s descriptions and mannerisms so closely related to those found in a partially deciphered piece of writing discovered from a time long before even the Dead Age, thought to be a play or writing of some sort, that Jevis at times disregarded his testimony as pure fantasy built around this ancient text. However Marcus still puzzled Jervis because if it was a fantasy of mind, it was more elaborate than any performed he had seen, and the conviction with which the crazed man spoke demanded truth. Also, Jevis had come to enjoy Marcus’s company, and his sudden “disappearance” was unsettling.

It would be forty-two years before Jevis would see Marcus again, as he appeared in his sitting room just as he had been. Marcus appeared the same as the day he had left; while Jevis in truth was near death of old age. The crazed madman even continued their conversation where the two had left off, as if he had never been gone. Although Jevis was happy to see his old friend, he knew death was swiftly coming for him, and tried his best to prepare Marcus for this event. Marcus appeared to understand, and even went so far as to weep for his dying friend. Then, quite suddenly, the tall wiry man stood and left the temple walls, never to return again.

Many speculate, after studying Jevis’s works, that Marcus is a man somehow outside of time, and that he is quite honestly from a world long dead and gone. Others just label him as mad, and a wild animal to be put down should he ever be found. No one quite knows for sure, but there are still whispers among the commoners who remember the strange tale of the wild man from the Eradi woods. Whispers of near-naked man with a glaive tearing through whole ranks of orcs alone, of a strange shadow leaping like a wild cat from rooftops to trounce on unsuspecting prey. Ransacking of local homes in a whirlwind of destruction, yet taking nothing, leaving only dishevel behind. With no method to his madness, it is rumored he is not human, but some crazed being set free to punish the peoples of Aleria. No matter the rumor, or felled whisper on peasant ears, nearly all who hear these tales, and believe, agree that this strange man without time has a part to play. What that part is, remains unknown, but it appears he has claimed the world of Aleria as his stage.

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This is the pre-post.

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Setalena
The Lady in Shadow

In the beginning before chaos shattered the ties that bind, and the gods walked among the land of mortals, some of them would find love. Rorret, before the madness, was renowned for his chivalry and compassion, and stole many hearts in the many years before he fell. No hearts among them more cherished than a peasant beauty named Setalena. So beautiful was she that it was said even before the madness and evil were present in Aleria she sparked a great envy in the goddess Ter’Reana earning her ire. Although Setalena did not return the great gods love, Rorret would spend many years protecting his early love from his sisters wrath, never asking anything in return. He was content to do what he felt just, and reprimanded his sister heartily. The young god would spend days watching his vision of love, and sheltering her against all wrongs… Until the bleakness came. Still bearing a love for the young Setalena, Rorret began his downward spiral into the darker dealings of the world, and his heart grew callous and cruel.

Feeding off the rejection in her brother’s heart, Ter’Reana began to feed his darker half with visions of betrayal and hatred. Playing the consoling sister to her brother’s ill-gotten pain, Ter’Reana’s words fueled a poison in his dark mind and soon Rorret would lash out at the one he once loved. Having dabbled in the arts of making, and breeding terrors to loose upon the world, Rorret abducted Setalena as stock in one of his horrid experiments. The result of which would corrupt the once great beauty into a monstrosity of twisted malice and pain. The lady in shadow would be born, and Aleria would learn of a rogue threat loose on its now war torn lands. A threat with no cares for right or wrong, but a creature with only the goal to cause pain and bring suffering too all.

Setalena would bear many children, which would become the darklings of Aleria, twisted beings of shadow and pain that would stalk the lands in search of essence to devour. The eight-legged terrors that invaded common homes would become her eyes, as the spiders of the world would become her spies. Setalena would bring war to the children of Rorret, and his creations that roamed to close to her cocoon of death. Exacting justice for the crimes against her, and her eternal torment at the hands of the now mad young god.

In a twisted bit of irony, Ter’Reana the unknown tormentor of Setalena’s youth would enlist the spider queen, and her children the darklings would become the vengeful goddess’ army. Ter’Reana would gain the eyes of the spider hordes, and the darklings as her agents in the world of light from which she had been banished, and her hand would be allowed play in the world of man. Setalena continues to aid Ter’Reana to this day, but the dark goddess knows very well that the lady in shadow works within her own designs, and trusts her none the more for it.

Setalena continues to torment all things in Aleria, and cause havoc where she chooses. Her children still roam as she wishes, and hunt where she chooses. No campaign, whether small or of army scale, against her has succeeded to this day, and she continues to spin her web of pain in the shadows unknown. It is a lesson hard learned to beware the spiders in dark places.

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And.. nice, but the spider legs scare me!

Awesome work as usual Fae, you never fail to impress me.

Your blood shall be my wine, and I look forward to the taste...

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Ka'Lourin D'thBlayde impressed everyone with:
hehe, too true Pved. Fae and I nearly bugged out when i rolled a 96/100 on the blood abilities

Awesome work as usual Fae, you never fail to impress me.

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You still didn't pick one!!

Miss you guys by the way.

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Everyone wondered WTF when Ka'Lourin D'thBlayde wrote:
You do realize how difficult it is to choose, don't you? They ALL rock.

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Just try not to judge by the image, the story snippets are whats important. And thanks, and I'm sorry. It's not supposed to be difficult.

In all seriousness, I would say, and this goes against my normal personality...

either Princess Aurinwen or Palren Thaena

Love her, Fae. Rorret's one person one wouldn't want to be captured by... Bad things happen to those people...

<slurps Fae>

So far.

<nibbles a cookie merrily> ^.^

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A sleep deprived Zaza stammered:
I vote for ze Dwagon Queen.

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Hoorah for Natas!

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Katrinity wrote this then went back to looking for porn:
<dances by> I got the 100th post on this thread

<nibbles a cookie merrily> ^.^

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Ford Prefect probably says this to all the girls:
Actually, Addy got the 100th post, you got the 100th reply.

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And they both picked one.

[ 02-12-2003: Message edited by: Faelynn LeAndris ]

(I vote for the winged elf, Princess Aurinwen, only 'cos she kinda reminds me of the beings that took Abbigail's spirit after she was killed...)

Oh, and Fae, are you going to finish all the character pics your were doing? or redo them as sketches similar to these?? (askin' 'cos Abbi's pic was never fully finished... you dun lub me enuff to finish her, and killed her off... I cry... )

[ 02-12-2003: Message edited by: AbbigailSD ]

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AbbigailSD thought this was the Ricky Martin Fan Club Forum and wrote:
Where's the Slae`Tin??

(I vote for the winged elf, Princess Aurinwen, only 'cos she kinda reminds me of the beings that took Abbigail's spirit after she was killed...)

Oh, and Fae, are you going to finish all the character pics your were doing? or redo them as sketches similar to these?? (askin' 'cos Abbi's pic was never fully finished... you dun lub me enuff to finish her, and killed her off... I cry... )

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1) I have no serious Slae'Tin heroes.

2) The old character portraits, including Abbi, were not finished because I no longer have a working Wacom pen, and I don't have the $30 to replace it.

3) The characters may or may not eventually be sketched since it's iffy territory. The players were basically the heroes of Aleria's future past. (Basically, what they did is essentially part of Aleria's past since what happened to them and what they did would determine how I continued the world a few hundred years in the future. That was always the plan. This is the reason behind Aleria's motto, that all things come to an end, but it's only the ending of the begining.)

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Faelynn LeAndris got all f'ed up on Angel Dust and wrote:

2) The old character portraits, including Abbi, were not finished because I no longer have a working Wacom pen, and I don't have the $30 to replace it.

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I think you may have to celebrate your birthday early this year.

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And I was all like 'Oh yeah?' and Faelynn LeAndris was all like:

1) I have no serious Slae'Tin heroes.

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2) The old character portraits, including Abbi, were not finished because I no longer have a working Wacom pen, and I don't have the $30 to replace it.

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/agree SomeoneElse

Let's start up a collection!! Get Fae a new pen and a permanent internet connection!!

YAY!!

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3) The characters may or may not eventually be sketched since it's iffy territory. The players were basically the heroes of Aleria's future past. (Basically, what they did is essentially part of Aleria's past since what happened to them and what they did would determine how I continued the world a few hundred years in the future. That was always the plan. This is the reason behind Aleria's motto, that all things come to an end, but it's only the ending of the begining.)

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Will we ever get to play again?? I miss FaeDnD..

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There was much rejoicing when Black Mage said this:
plz k thx

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Seconded.

I really like these Fae, it's a small way to relive the glory of our campaign, eh?

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Cap'n Elethi attempted to be funny by writing:
Rad, I've been waiting for this one Fae. I always wanted to know more of the background of Fae.

I really like these Fae, it's a small way to relive the glory of our campaign, eh?

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Got distracted, so to tide over here is the old prologue to Fae's history. Yes, she is a cliche, I know, I so love tragic twists of fate.

It's also why I loved when Taran would pop on EQ and we'd RP. They were always so similiar yet nearly polar opposites at the same time. It was always a lot of fun. I miss that.

(And sorry boys, Fae's will be work safe. She does have SOME modesty afterall... when she chooses too.)

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Ghosts of Winter

He stumbled forward through the snow-covered woods, his legs aching from the effort. All around him he could hear the clashing of sword and shield, the deafening ring of steel on steel. He was surely no coward, for a hundred years or more the warrior in his blood had seen the gruesome face of battle more times than he cared to count, or remember. This time however his lust for the field, the dance of blades, held not even a candle to the importance or the doom of the burdens he carried through the snow this night. The precious bundles clutched lovingly to his chest as he trundled on seemed to move slightly at the thought, and he held them tighter still. His legacy, and his love, were wrapped in those loving swaths. He had the duty to do whatever it took to ensure they survived this horrible night, no matter the price he paid to achieve the goal.

Quickly, he dodged behind an aged oak standing strong in the frozen forest as two chain clad figures rushed by in the darkness. Warriors of Elandórë no doubt, running to the front as the enemies in the night crept in to crush the sylvan home. A sturdy race, the elves of Elandórë had faced down many of their darkest adversaries through the centuries, as he well knew. To have them catch one of their former enemies creeping in under the cover of night out here in the open would surely seal his fate, and that at this point was not an option. He waited patiently, his breathing slowed and heart pounding in his ears, watching the two figures stalk off into the darkness. They made nary a sound, less even that a leaf falling silently in the woods. Lelleorin’s Rangers obviously, a group in which to fear and with reason. His ill-fated brother in law, without a doubt, trained his rangers well. One of the many reason’s he would be entrusting Lelleorin with his treasures this night. If he survived at any rate. His staggering steps were not just the result of an ice-numbed body. The growing reddish-brown stain at his side was evidence of the more dire clock ticking away the time against him.

After deciding it safe to move again, he stepped out from his sheltered tree and again moved silently off into the night. The smell of campfires and oiled steel eventually began to reach his battle-trained nose, and he knew he was coming swiftly upon Lelleorin’s camp. With most of the battle taking place north and west of the current location, he knew the camp would be mostly empty. Still, he stuck to the shadows stepping carefully with well-honed skills. Should he be discovered, death would shortly follow. There were still enough warriors about to make short order of him in his weakened condition, and his precious treasures would be lost to the world forever. He owed it to them to see this through, and to Silia, his love, he owed that and more.

The camp was well organized, definitely a strategic assembly of fixtures. The make shift housing encircled a rough acre. Post fires burned at every odd numbered tent providing a generous perimeter of light around the area, and stretching out to fan the surrounding woods. He would have difficulty with that he supposed, less places to hide should he need to, but then he was a tactician in his own right and soon found a perimeter tent placed a bit too close to the copse he was creeping in. Young, and obviously un seasoned, the shelter’s builder didn’t pay much attention to rules on direct location, and the tent barring posts sat off just enough from tree to provide adequate shade in which to hide. With this opening he crept silently along the shelters outside skins and past the first perimeter of the camp.

The inner perimeter, although also strategically setup to provide easy access to the many storage tents and smiths, provided plenty of easy travel opportunities to move unseen with so little activity going on inside the camp. He hoped he would find Lelleorin’s council tent soon, the aching in his side was getting much worse. The blood seeping through the heavy woolen cloak he wore had managed to spread the stain from just his side to cover most of the cloak from ribs to thigh. His left arm carrying one the bundles clutched to his chest was becoming weaker, and numbing from the cold on top of the pain. Time was definitely not his ally anymore than the trained soldiers sparsely wandering the camp, and he still feared the reception he would receive at the end of his journey. Lelleorin had come to accept him, albeit grudgingly for the love of his sister, and prejudices aside had even grown to be his friend. He had no doubt Barucas would be there, as well as many of the other high heads of Lelleorin’s army however, and that chilled him to the bone even more than the biting cold.

Having been caught in thought, he nearly wandered full out into the open light before quickly stepping back into the shadows. Now was definitely not the time to forget priorities for useless fears. Concentration, he needed to concentrate. His goal was too close to lose out to clumsy missteps. He had to survive, there was no alternative.

Lelleorin’s makeshift hall stood out among the rest of the camp as he cleared the inner circles. A general’s station should always be known, a position that is as much a bane as boon. In his days as an assassin, he could easily discern an officer’s location by setup and appearance. Any half blind novice couldn’t miss it. This was of course one of the main reasons on his own campaigns why he chose to always share boarding with a common foot soldier as opposed to his own officials. Of course among his own people, assassination can just as likely come from the inside as any outside source, so it helped in that area as well. Appear when necessary, fade into obscurity when not, and always sleep with one eye open. The ways of power from his old life, one that love had saved him from. Silia, too blind and foolish to know better. She did not deserve her fate for the sins of a people.

Creeping slowly around the outside fur lined walls of Lelleorin’s shelter, he found a half opened slit not completely tied down, and slipped silently inside the darkened back room. This would be Lelleorin’s sleeping chamber of course, separated from the main council hall in front by a heavy curtain and twine-sewn furs. He heard voices coming from the well-lit room beyond the curtain almost immediately after sliding through the small opening. Muffled by the heavy curtain and furs the words were unclear, but the voice was unmistaken able. Barucas was definitely among those in attendance.

He sighed, and kneeling down with a wince, he carefully unwound portions on each of the two swaths to expose two well-tanned infant faces still asleep in their warm ignorance after the raucous journey before. He smiled in the blackness of his cowl at their darling faces. His children, his joys, and the greatest gifts he had ever received. Oblivious of course, his daughter with hair the color of fire only shifted slightly as a small tear splashed down across her cheek. Her eyes opened then, the deepest lavender, a mark of his breed. It would be a curse for her in youth, a hybrid. How strange her twin, a brother born, did not bear this anomaly. She smiled then, and the pain in his heart swelled. She would never understand the loss and suffering she would endure in life. Still, what had to be done must be done he resolved, and taking a deep breath which caused another spike of pain to creep through his bloodied chest, he rose and stepped though the curtain to face his doom beyond.

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[Edit: Ick, cleaned up formating...]

[ 02-13-2003: Message edited by: Faelynn LeAndris ]

I do believe it obviously failed. Boys never listen.

sent you e-mail.

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Faelynn
Last of the Shadowhunters

Faelynn would come from a questionable heritage, a heritage that would cause her much grief and strife. Abandoned as a child, or supposedly so, by her father she was raised by her uncle, Lelleorin. Her entire life however, her oddly colored lavender eyes would give the telltale signs that all was not as it seemed. She would find no closeness in her life outside her twin brother Faeric, and he is the only one in which she ever felt she could confide.

Still, within the great woodland keep of Elandórë she would find solace in the training of battle. So well in fact she would soon outreach most of her teachers. The fight it seemed was in her blood, a fact that she would question all her life. Through it all the stares would come, and the speculation would tear at her fragile young heart. The words and accusations of her fathers most trusted general Barucas would burn particularly hard against her soul. Tales of a vile defilement of her mother by a rogue shadow elf before he killed her. Words of poison in her blood from the cursed ones were biting, but she endured them all. She worked harder than most to gain the respect she desired for herself, and endured the hateful words and glares of her peers. Resentment ate at her throughout her youth, but determination would spur her on. She would fight to survive, somehow always alone, an outcast that could not be explained. When questioned, her uncle gave no clear answers in one way or another. Mention of who her father truly was only brought silence. So dealing with her own inner strife, Faelynn would endure the years of feeling un-whole, until the day they came.

The shadow elves would strike without warning, swarming through the woods and killing all in sight. A massacre of blood would lie out across her home, and the call of battle would heat her blood. She fought valiantly, as all expected she would, begrudgingly or not, and the defenders of Elandórë would turn away yet another raid against the accursed. All appeared well… Until the body of her brother was laid covered before her, an arrow through his heart. Faelynn would burn with a rage unheeded by sense, and her first inner mission was born. She would go on to join the Shadow hunters of Elandórë, an elite group of elves with only one goal. The complete, and total, extinction of the cursed elves of the dark places.

Faelynn would go on to become legendary in her vengeful exploits. Her wrath and completeness, was unmatched by none. She would become silent death, and a vengeful killer whispered about in the dark places by those beings that had shunned the light. The huntress she was called, and as such was the most fear natural killer of the dark elves in the history of the world. Her momentum was unstoppable, and her vengeance unbridled. Her maddened rampage would not stop until the day fate chose to intervene, and placed in her hateful path the curse that had claimed her mother so many years before. The curse of compassion, the curse of love for one whom should not be loved. Although this time, it was a child that claimed a Le'Andris heart, it was a type of love nonetheless. Faelynn would cross paths with an abandoned shadow elf girl, much as she thought she was so many years before, and stopped. Unable to take the life of a child, she instead claimed her and raised her in secrecy for many years. Faelynn had a daughter, and one she would come to cherish for many, many years.

Unfortunately the child was noble born. Discovered, by means unknown still to this day, a retrieval army was sent by the shadow elves to claim the child, and a war would come that rivaled any Elandórë’s walls had ever seen. It would claim the lives of hundreds. Those who survived fled, none but Faelynn and the rest of the Shadowhunters remained. It would be their last stand. During the fighting Faelynn would fruitless pursue the thieves of her child, and, for the first time, the huntress would fail as she lost them in the night. She would return to Elandórë, a home now in ruin, and her quest would begin anew. She would hold firm to her honor as a Shadowhunter, and stand by its creed. She would remain the most feared assassin for those who had reason to fear, but now lived as a pariah and embarrassment to her wood elven heritage. All for compassion, and her unwillingness to kill without cause, she would roam the land in search of a child lost in the night. A huntress alone, an assassin with a heavy heart, the last of the Shadowhunters would stand alone.

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Bah... history snippet was WAY too long for her, had to condense it to fit on the image. Makes it not sound as good. =/