A young elf eager to take vengeance against the Fangs
Blonde Hair with a large bang down the right side of his face. There is always a different colored streak depending on the his Eladrin mood reflects in the morning. The rest of his hair well groomed. He wears armor on his chest with a armor skirt below his belt. He has a black cloak with etchings of bat near the bottom and runes that line the inside.
He has one pauldron on his left shoulder and chin guards over sandals. He has a Glaive and a Shield on his back. On his belt he carries a small dagger and a sword in a red decorated sheathe.
Around his neck is a platinum amulet with a beautiful dragon carved into it.
The wind was cold that night, blowing in from the east as it always does in early spring. It sweeps up from the valley bringing what is left of the rigid winter air of the season. Almost as if, in warning, nature itself was trying at the attention of the Eladrin orphan who had always dreamt of being the hero.
Memory: “One…two…three on the right, one…two on the left, big one in the middle…,” sweat dripped down elf paladins forehead and he battled fear and calculated all the possible outcomes….
“Three cheers for the elf boy who had returned with Lucille!” cried the drunken villager, as he helped hoist Bryn Elderwind from the ground and into the air. The metal sounds of armor scraping together was drowned out in cheer as this village celebrated the heroic rescue of Lucille Ashmary, the fair skinned black haired daughter of the town blacksmith. 2 days ago, goblins had attempted a raid on the village. Their only prize was a girl enjoying flowers outside the village.
Memory: Flashes of his training invaded his mind, studying the military tactics of the Dragonborn, the humans, and even the Fangs themselves. The smell of rot and old flesh in the dark, moss-ridden cave is difficult to push out of his mind as he is trying to figure out a safe way to the girl and out of this cave. It is at this very moment, he sees the blood covered meat carving knife in the hand of one of the goblins. The goblin licks his lips smiling ready to carve and eat their new hostage
The mayor of the village, Leorin Elderwind, had been trying to contact a hidden sect of paladins who trained in the forest nearby, in which his adopted son, Bryn was a part. The Order of the Platinum Dragon had trained in secrecy for centuries, avoiding detection by the Fangs and smiting them where they could. They were out on a training mission, with the oldest paladins in training. The hidden sanctum was empty. No capable warriors were around to aid the village. When they were finally contacted, the young elf paladin stormed off on his own to rescue the girl. The girl he swore he would marry one day…
Memory: “…Drop the Boulder from the top, if the leader is stunned or killed, the little ones will run or leave themselves open in….”, a rushed rhythm pounded in the armored chest of the elf. What was he doing? He should have waited for back up, but knew in gut that if he did not act now, the love of his life would not see another dawn.
A loud dwarven accent rings out as he recants the tale of the hero elf, “I donna ne’er wudda belief’d myself! Dat elf boy been tellin’ tall tales for years, and he mosies right up back ta’ village with Lucille in one arm and da goblin head on his pike!” It was excitement and celebration that filled this crowd, but for Bryn and Lucille, it was a fulfillment of a promise. One made as children….
Memory: Eyes darting back and forth, time seems to slow and become surreal as stealth no longer seems to be the option. The goblins are about to eat the girl alive and distraction may be the only option. “Septus’s silvered sword out come in handy about now….” He muttered. Wait, that’s it. Bryn reaches into his pouch and pulls out a Silver Elven top out of his pocket. The elf smiles to himself. “I’ve played the fool already, might as well finish the part.” He spins the top from behind the rock and in to the goblin filled room. Spinning and falling, a echoed tap resounds throughout the cave. The goblins look down seeing the top spinning….and spinning….and spinning. It was then that the fool came out of the smoke from above sword in hand….
Music resounds across the valley as the inn bards and performers celebrate with the sound the lute and harp. A melodic and jaunty tune almost forcibly inspires the legs of all nearby village folk to dance. The village square is full of laughter and drinking in revelry and celebration. Songs ring out joyfully expressing, “The hero of Frostboro! 12 goblins slain! 1 maiden found! Tonight they dance, and this spring they wed!” And for the first time since Bryn can remember, he was happy. Hand in hand with his love, and recognition for who he dreamed to be, a warrior, a soldier, and a hero.
Alas, It was then that nature, so intrinsically bound with the Eladrin cast its final warning with a gust, blowing out the lanterns and torches in the area. A slow, rhythmic clapping echoed in the silence from a tall, slender, robed figure at the end of the square. On either side, two armored knights, head to toe covered in red Plate mail, with the heads of two halfing heads stuck on the pikes they wield.
“A beautiful performance, one would not think that a back water village like this could have such…raw talent hidden.” The robed figure, moved across the square to be in front of Bryn, almost as if he was gliding without touching the ground. Smiling, and showing 2 protruding fangs from the top of his mouth, he spoke, his voice almost resonating as if dozens were speaking at once, “It’s rare to see a strong heart accompanied by an able body these days. Tell me boy, you wouldn’t happen to be…affiliated with those small folk over there?” He points to the heads of the halfings on the pikes. Bryn immediately recognizes them. They were his comrades who had trained with him since he was a child.
“It’s such a terrible state of affairs when the law forbids loyalty to anything divine…except to us of course!” A cackle resonates through the tree.
“My Lord!” An older voice rings out, “Excuse my lord, I am Leorin Elderwind, Mayor of this small village. We are loyal to the houses and have been since the village’s founding.” The cry of a baby can be heard from the edge of the square. The wind, while blustery before, seems to have come to a standstill. “We would never ally ourselves with anyone or anything that would defy the houses! We are a simple village, we brew ale to survive.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I can tell when you’re lying half-elf.” With a sudden flash of smoke, the tall figure appears in front of Leorin, this time hood down. His face was hidden from Bryn but his skin was pale white, he had no hair and one large scar across the back of his head “You are right about one thing though, this village is inconsequential. I could care less about your ale or your celebrations. I have come to erase all who would oppose the Houses! Shall I start with your would be hero? Unless you have someone else to offer?” He smiles.
“My lord! You can’t-“ Leorin cries out in panic.
“No? How about the girl he rescued then?” He raises his hand and points towards Lucille, who was cowering and hiding behind Bryn. Her eyes glaze over and she walks towards the figure.
“No!” Bryn rushes past her towards the figure pulling his sword from his hilt. He lifts up the sword only to have it be parried by one of the Red armored guards Glaive who came with the Fang. The guard slashes across Bryn’s armor and then uses the blunt end of the pole to smack Bryn across the forehead. Darkness overtook Bryn’s vision.
Dull screams heard in darkness. The crying of children and the yelling of the men to protect their families. But It was the sound of the last breath of a single woman that woke up Bryn into conciousness. The woman, whom he had slain goblins for. It was this woman whom, as children, promised to always be a princess in need of rescuing by a handsome prince. Bryn’s eyes open only to see the back of the Fang biting into the neck and taking the life of Lucille. It was as if time had slowed down. He could hear his heart beat racing as hers was slowing, he could the steps of the village people running on the streets, but louder than anything else, he heard the breathing stop from Lucille. A scream escaped Bryn’s mouth as he tried to get up off the ground. Holding his movement was the hand of a large armored silver scaled Dragonborn.
“We need to go!” the cry was muffled in the screams of the villagers as a weak Bryn was carried away from the square. It wasn’t until later Bryn would realize he never held the dead body of his love.
There are certain kinds of elves who are still very much attached to the Nature that their ancestors danced with. And it’s said that every so often, one of these elves emotions can influence the very nature that surround them and have an effect, changing the very way nature represents itself in land. A cold wind still blows through Frostboro. But now, it’s no longer a warning.