 About Rydell EllinndorRydell was born to a human mother of Tranu, his father, a drifter elf, surprised everyone by remaining in the town. Rydell’s father was something of a ranger, in only a few years, his father new every nook and cranny of the area surrounding Tranu, He was what the people of Tranu referred to as the white wolf. Referring to his snow white hair and his ability to hunt packs of orcs, goblins, even giants down and remove the threat to Tranu. When Rydell was only 6, his father began to teach him of the woods, how to wield a blade and bow. He taught him which plants could harm, which could heal, and which ones provided sustenance. He told Rydell stories of old rangers, protectors of civilization, living on its edges keeping the horrors of that wild world away from the goodly folk. Of great men besting dragons through wit and skill of arms alone, no challenge was too great for a ranger! He would come to teach him much, and would become beloved of his son. Strange it was that his father was the only member of the town to not have a hopeknife, when asked about he merely put on a face of distaste and disgust. He told his son Rydell why he hated so the hopeknife when Rydell Received his. He told him that to him, the hopeknife was ironically named because it was a tool to take away hope. His father claimed that it was a detestable and weak thing to take one’s own life. It was in a form to his father, giving up, and that is one thing Rydell’s father never would do. Several years later when Rydell was 17 and a fledgling ranger he and his mother were on a walk in the forest outside Tranu, gathering herbs and other supplies when suddenly they were set upon by a large raiding party, a score of orcs and two giants! By all rights, both should have died that day, where it not for Rydell’s father. He had been scouting the woods near where his son and wife walked keeping an eye on them as he worked, he had seen the force and had prayed to Erastil that they would not meet, Erastil had not heard him. Rydell’s training showed itself then, he let loose several arrows from his bow, unfortunately, he had not taken his training as seriously as he should have been due to the town having a relative peace after his father had taken to living there, and missed all but one orc. It fell dead with an arrow protruding from its chest. Then his father burst from the trees, raining down death upon the rushing orcs. Each arrow finding its mark, each one dropping an orc, by the time the orcs had reached them they were one less than half their number, Rydell drew his blade as his father did, it seemed pale compared to the reddish orange gleam of his father’s sword. Rydell was a naturally gifted swordsman, cutting down a couple orcs himself in the melee, his father, a trained one, dancing among the beasts with a grace unmatched felling all but one. The supposed leader of the raiding party. It stood tall and proud, shield and spear in hand, behind him off In the forest another score or more of orcs could be seen coming, and the giants had closed in on them. Rydell’s father turned and told his son to flee with his mother and to keep her safe. He began to argue at first, but the look in his father’s eyes silenced him. He saw his father fight on, slaying another score of orcs and a giant before the trees and hills of the forest blocked him from view. It was then that the two orcs struck, having chased them from the skirmish. One fell upon Rydell, bringing him down low in a wrestling match, the other grabbed for his mother. Rydell felt his arms tugged behind his back and could only watch in horror as the orc began to rip the clothes off his mother. His mother become very still, an empty smile played across her lips. She drew forth the hopeknife she had tied around her neck the orc attempting to ravish her not noticing. He watched as she slit her own throat, hitting the arteries they had taught him when he received his. There was pain, then anger, then black. When he awoke, he was at the gates, carrying his mother in his arms. That night, he waited his father’s return, they waited for three days but he never returned. The town decreed him dead and many families wept at the loss of one of the town’s greatest protectors. Rydell would return and search the area of the battle again a week later, finding nothing but broken sticks and churned earth, no bodies, not even the blood remained after the rain. But there, stuck in the ground with a bow strung across it stood a red sword, gleaming orange in the sunlight. He knew that blade. Several years later- Rydell now hunts the wilds of the town of Tranu like his father once did. While not as skilled as his father he has proven himself by slaying a small raiding party, and even managing to best a small cave giant that had wandered too close to the city. He trains daily, vowing to one day surpass his father, and protect the ones he loves, never again would anyone have to use the hopeknife when he was around. That was the vow he had made to himself. He still holds his hopeknife, his father’s words echoing forever in his ear. “to forsake hope and give in, that is what that knife stands for” the traditions of the town, causing conflicting emotions and beliefs tearing at him daily. Perhaps it was a fight he would deal with for the rest of his life, with no clear victor, but for now he kept the blade, for now he would use it to end the lives of threats to his town, for now he would continue to wage the war of beliefs in his mind, for now, his father’s words were winning somewhere deep down inside him, he believed his father was still alive. He also wished to become a legend, like the ones in the tails told by his father, the ones that slew dragons. You must be new to this town. Well, I hope you came here with a fighting spirit. Damn well gonna need it. Orc, giants, untold horrors. People of this town always seem full of fight, until they get captured. He takes the small hopeknife hanging from his neck and throws it on the table. Around here, that item is only used if you are caught by orcs. Its used to take your own life. Make of it what you will, I've not decided yet whether I approve of it or not. However, I use that dagger not on myself, but on anything that threatens this town... That's what my father would have wanted. He hated the damned things... Lost them both that day. One to fighting to the last breath, the other, my mom, I watched slit her own throat with her own... She didn't have to endure torture or rape... but shes gone all the damn same. My father, well, everyone thinks he died that day, fighting to protect us. I don't. He left me this blade, and this bow for a reason. I don't know why he left, but he did. He is alive. Somewhere, and one day I'm going to find him. Until then however, I will carry on his legacy here, and do what I can to keep this town safe. Hopefully, wherever mum is, she knows I'm still here to defend her home... Alright then, you've heard my story now get. I want to be alone for a bit. No, I don't want a damned drink. TL:DR- self-proclaimed town protector, orphaned by the dangers of the area and blames himself for the loss of his mother. Wages a war in his mind with two conflicting views, one from his father, one from his mother. Goals- protect town, surpass father, and become a legendary ranger like in his father’s stories, discover truth of his father’s fate. [spoiler=Crunch]
Twin blades: +3
Trunau Dagger: +6
Morning Star: +5
Longbow: +3
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Background Skills:
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