DragonSon's Wrath of the Righteous

Game Master Ryuko

Kevril is the son of an Elven veteran in the Knights of Ozem. His father Diaz Silverkin is a veteran of multiple crusades, having participated in both the Third and Fourth Crusade much was expected of Kevril even from a young age. His Father decides to wed and give birth to a half-elf under the stories of old. The previous herald of the Knights of Ozem was Arazni an immortal however her defeat spelled a possible end to the knights but they found a new power in a then mortal Iomedae. Diaz believes that by birthing a son of a long lived race and that of a very short lived race he would grow to understand the two worlds that the Knights of Ozem have protected.

Kevril was born by a human mother in Castle Everstand, his mother was also a crusader at the time and had served with her husband Diaz in the Fourth Crusade. From a young age Kevril was taught the heritage of both his parents understanding the responsibility he would one day hold as a Knight himself. He trained hard under them as well as the many knights of Castle Everstand. However he was an unusual sort of knight, he did not like mounted combat nor was very good at it. He did not specialize in the lance. Instead he specialized in axes, which is odd for any knight but his brethren accepted this odd quirk as he kept all their teachings to heart.

However that isn’t to say he was different in mentality to other knights, he would still charge headlong into a fight with axe held high and golden armour shining. He was a successful new recruit when he reached 16 out in the field battling Orcs that attacked from Belkzen. His promise finally came to light when he lead his rookie squad when their captain was wounded, unlike many new knights he had overflowing charisma and a talent for leading. This while good worried his Father and other knights, he had learnt the fight, and he had learnt how he must be but not why.

This started to change however one fateful day when the boy was 20 years old he was on his way back from Castle Overwatch he travelled through Fangwood with his squire. He happened upon a young white lion that was wounded, he was unsure of what to do at first but he remembered his knightly honour. Seeing such a regal and powerful creature he tended to it, even though he might have his head bitten off at any point he thought it best that such a proud creature was left to flourish. Throughout the year he came back to visit the lion to see how it was doing, the lion grew accustomed to Kevril’s presence. Though Kevril would never approach close to the lion he would talk to it from afar. Kevril would talk to it about little things, troubles, aspirations and love. Kevril never expected a reply but he found comfort in the animal.

Kevril returned when he turned 22 to see the lion once again with some of his brothers-in-arms. Kevril had told them all about the lion plenty of times before but none would believe him so they came on his birthday to indulge the young half-elf. Unfortunately for him the lion was under attack by Dryad’s that had been affected by Darkblight when Kevril arrived. Kevril immediately sprang into action, taking foot into an unrelenting charge, batting away the fey creatures. His friends came to his aid and defended the lion with him. However the battle was a slippery slope to their demise so his friends eventually retreated. Kevril was bade to follow them however he did not budge from his position, defending the animal. Unbeknownst to Kevril’s friends this is because he found a reason to fight, he knew why he fought, he knew the courage he had inside, it was his right, his duty to defend those he held dear. Without valour in combat, the knighthood he wore was naught but a title. Kevril fought to an inch of his life killing the remaining fey that assailed his crestfallen companion. Sadly, it was the end for the lion, they were not able to staunch the wounds of the creature. Then and there, with his friends as his witnesses Kevril took his axe, knelt in front of the corpse of the white lion and swore upon the code of valour.

”I, Sir Kevril Silverkin, will abide by the code of Valour. I will accept any challenge to combat if given honorably, regardless of my opponent. If I know combat to be the best course of action, I shall not let an enemy discourage me from it with a threat of overwhelming force. Once battle is a forgone conclusion, I will be among the first of my allies to charge and engage our foes. I shall not willingly succumb to fear. If retreat is a necessity, I will be among the last of my allies to leave the field of battle. I will not leave any of my allies on the field, nor will I abandon them while they are in immediate danger. I will be a knight of valour, courage be my shield!”

Under his new code, he took the lion with him. His friends did not know the reason why but it was clear when they returned to Castle Everstand. Kevril took the lion to a skinner and asked him to make a cloak from his friend, his friends were at first appalled by this but Kevril explained.

”I failed my friend, I failed my duties, I will wear him as a reminder of my failure. He will see the battles I will fight. He will see the man I am to become. I will carry him so that he may see that I am better and I that will NOT fail again.”

Now three years later, our story begins as Kevril enters Armasse

Kevril is a half elf that is quite young compared to his elven father anyway. At about 25 years old. He is a relatively slender half elf but muscular nonetheless, it is needed to heft his axes. Kevril is a knight above all but fights in a very different manner to his brethren. Kevril holds an air of grace and nobility with his back always upright and well groomed hair. Despite the battles he has fought in he tries to show that he can be a cut above the rest. Appearance is everything in that regard to him, so even if he is bleeding from his chest he will maintain the grace needed of his heritage.

He sports a customary golden chestplate of the Knights of Ozem. He has brown hair down just past his shoulders. He has a pair of piercing green eyes. Lastly his most defining characteristic, he sports a cloak made of a white lion that he wears on his back. The head of the lion resting upon his right shoulder. He is very proud of this cloak and despite offers to sell it keeps it with him at all times.

It is customary for all Knights of Ozem to participate in Armasse at least once in their life. Kevril had not done so, deciding that 25 was a good age to try a bout or two he set out from Lastwall to Kenabras. Kevril was not accustomed to long travel and unfortunately arrived a few days late to the festival. However he was glad he was not late for the tournies.

Approaching one of the organizers clad in his white and gold armour he asks the organizer present at the fields about his position. ”Forgive me for my Tardiness, I should have registered a few days ago. My planning was not apt enough that I arrive at the start of the week.”
The somewhat gruff human scratches the stubble at his chin eying the man up and down. He finally mutters ”Kevril I presume?”

This took Kevril by surprise. I know my father is famous here as he worked in the Wardstone before. I had not thought he would tell the populace of my existence or praise me for deeds I had not done. He knows better…

Kevril nods slowly then cautiously asks. ”How is it that you recognized me my good fellow?”

The organizer laughs, slamming his hand on the table all the while. As he catches his breath he says ”Oh er, Sir Kevril, some other knights recognized your name and wrote down to look for a lion. I can see what they meant now.” The organizer lets out a chortle.

Kevril breathes a sigh of relief, thanking the organizer for signing him up and he wanders to the festivities.

Child of the Crusade
Orc Impaler (Lastwall)
Contagious Mettle (He must follow the Code of Valour)

I have tried to tie all these in my story, I will take penance as necessary if I fail my Code for example.

The character will stick 100% to Warlord and move into Marshal for Mythic. I intend Kevril to be a decent fighter but mostly a leader. Kevril is intended to be a martial buffer, I don’t like it that in base PF that is usually only relegated to spellcasters and to a lesser extent the Cavalier but the Cavalier doesn’t come with nearly enough aid to do that. This is why I’d like to play a Warlord, I will be up there in the enemies face barking orders, aiding PCs and NPCs alike trying to be the tip of any spearhead into the breach.

All his focus beyond the basic things any melee character needs (Decent hp/attack/AC) will be to grant bonuses to his allies.

Michael Carenae (20pt variant)
Angel-Blooded Aasimar (Angelkin) Paladin (Divine Defender) 1
LG Medium Outsider (native)
Init +0; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception -1
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 10, flat-footed 18 (+6 armor, +2 shield)
hp 11 (1d10+1)
Fort +3, Ref +0, Will +1
Resist acid 5, cold 5, electricity 5
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee Heavy Shield Bash +5 (1d4+4/x2) and
. . Dagger +5 (1d4+4/19-20/x2) and
. . Longsword +5 (1d8+4/19-20/x2)
Special Attacks smite evil (1/day)
Spell-Like Abilities
. . At will—Detect Evil (At will)
. . 1/day—alter self
Paladin (Divine Defender) Spells Prepared (CL 0):
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Statistics
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Str 18, Dex 10, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 8, Cha 18
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 15
Feats Saving Shield
Traits Child of the Crusades (1/day), Natural-Born Leader, Ethical Leader
Skills Acrobatics -6 (-10 jump), Bluff +5, Climb -2, Diplomacy +8, Escape Artist -6, Fly -6, Heal +1, Intimidate +5, Ride -6, Stealth -6, Swim -2; Racial Modifiers +2 Heal
Languages Celestial, Common
SQ aura of good
Other Gear Breastplate, Heavy wooden shield, Dagger, Longsword, Backpack (21 @ 36.5 lbs), Bedroll, Belt pouch (2 @ 2.5 lbs), Belt pouch (empty), Flint and steel, Holy symbol, silver (Iomedae), Holy text (Iomedae), Mess kit, Pot, Rope, Soap (5), Torch (5), Trail rations (5), Waterskin, Whetstone, 65 GP, 2 SP, 8 CP
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Special Abilities
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Aura of Good (Ex) The paladin has an Aura of Good with power equal to his class level.
Child of the Crusades (1/day) Against possession/incapacitation, free action: Reroll failed save, keep 2nd result.
Damage Resistance, Acid (5) You have the specified Damage Resistance against Acid attacks.
Damage Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Damage Resistance against Cold attacks.
Damage Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Damage Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Detect Evil (At will) (Sp) You can use detect evil at will (as the spell).
Natural-Born Leader Your cohorts, followers, and summoned creatures gain +1 vs. Mind-affecting effects, +1 Leadership score if you have the Leadership feat.
Ethical Leader You gain a +1 trait bonus to your Leadership score if all your cohorts and followers have an alignment within one step of your own.
Saving Shield As an immediate action, add a 2 shield bonus to an adjacent ally's AC.
Smite Evil (1/day) (Su) +4 to hit, +1 to damage, +4 deflection bonus to AC when used.

The Carenae were a well-respected Mendevian family, descended as they were from a long and proud line of warriors, paladins and clerics in Iomedae's service, with rumors that many generations back one of Iomedae's divine servants had contributed to their bloodline. In fact, Michael's grandfather had been a minor hero of the Third Crusade, which earned him a distinction... Until Michael's father infamously fled the field during a pitched battle during the Fourth Crusade, abandoning his allies without a word.

He never spoke a word of why he'd run, or why he returned the next morning, and accepted the accusations and imprecations without comment -- and although the fact that he appeared to retain his abilities as a Paladin indicated that he had not left Iomedae's grace, the tale of the "Coward of <TODO: come up with a probable location>" spread like wildfire and the family fell into disfavor with his exile.

That should have been the last of it...But several decades later his son showed up at the barracks, bearing Iomedae's favor brightly enough to be visible to the mundane eye.

By long tradition (and due to a perennial shortage of manpower) the Crusades accept any and all applicants that aren't outright and obviously evil or incompetent -- and Michael was very explicitly neither. However, his obvious resemblance to his father did him no favors among the veterans of the Third Crusade, very few of whom bothered to hide their contempt and disdain for "the Coward's Son"... And more than a few of them had risen to positions of authority in the army.

They were careful to not break any actual rules or laws while making Michael's life as unpleasant as possible, but it's downright amazing how inventive you can get when you want to go out of your way to be petty. Worse yet, the other recruits picked up on the fact that the brass had it in for Michael and most either kept their heads down rather than get caught in the crossfire or figured that there had to be some good reason for it and responded with distrust of their own. It was a situation that would have tried the patience of a saint, and Michael was no saint.

Things finally came to a head one night in an altercation that left several other recruits in various states of consciousness and injuries. Despite the best efforts of two of its members the subsequent tribunal had no choice but to conclude that Michael had not, in fact, started the fight... But, with the Fifth Crusade about to kick off they could cite 'discipline problems' and 'potential morale issues' to decide that it would be best for all concerned if Michael were assigned to patrol duty while the Crusade went underway.

Michael ground his teeth, but swallowed his anger -- his duty was to serve and protect, not to complain about petty abuses of power by old men holding a grudge against who his father had been -- and set out on patrol, hating every moment of it.

... And then the Fifth Crusade met with disaster. With the remnants of the army in a state of emergency and pretty much everyone who'd originally hated him dead, there was no reason not to return immediately and offer his services once more. Mendev was going to need all the defenders that could be convinced to come.

Being unfairly blamed and judged for his father's actions have left him something of a Knight in Sour Armor and a Cynic -- he doesn't have a terribly high opinion of of the Crusade's leadership anymore (especially the parts of it that didn't survive the disaster that happened to the Fifth Crusade) -- but despite everything thrown at him he keeps doing his duty anyway, although on particularly bad days he decides to spend a night getting too drunk to care.

Code of honour:Like all Paladins of Iomedae, he lives by Her tenets, or at least generally tries to; some tenets are easier to live by than others, and he's just a bit out of practice when it comes to living as an example to others.

Good Is Not Soft: Michael will accept the surrender of a defeated enemy, if it's a sincere and unconditional one. However, an enemy that breaks their parole will not receive another opportunity to try to surrender. Lawful Good does not mean Lawful Stupid.

Angelic Beauty: Michael's Aasimar heritage manifests itself in the glow behind his eyes and sleek gold-red hair.

Chronic Hero Syndrome: It kind of goes with the job...

Sophisticated As Hell: Celestial speech is usually considered a caress upon the ears of those who hear it. Michael primarily uses it for swearing when he's in a foul mood or fighting something evil..

Imagine, if you will, your idealized image of a Paladin with an angelic heritage flowing through his veins. Let your mind's eye rest on the sculpted muscles moving easily as if the plate armor they're wearing weighs nothing at all; picture the lantern jaw and blue eyes shining as if lit from within, framed by hair that looks like spun gold set alight...

... Now add three-day stubble, a perpetual grumpy scowl and bear in mind that the hair is unkempt, and while the armor is in working order it's seen better (and cleaner) days. That's Michael.

Despite his unkempt appearance it's quickly obvious that neither his armor nor his sword are anything other than well maintained, and the Sword and Circle that are Iomedae's symbol is clearly visible on the shield.

Dallion Elvenmere is the son of Tallen and Solena Elvenmere. Dallion’s parents vanished while he was a just a babe, after his parents vanished he was sent to be raised by his aunt Selvea. Selvea was a mage in the city of Kenabres. Growing up in his aunt’s home exposed him to magic and knowledge. At an early age Dallion showed an affinity for the arcane arts. He picked up on the required semiotic components easily and was able to focus with great ease.
One day while he was roaming through the streets of Kenabres Dallion stumbled upon a man bleeding to death. When Dallion went to check on the man his hand grazed the man and the bleeding suddenly stopped. Dallion panicked and ran from the man, when he burst into his aunt’s home she stopped him. He explained to her what happened, after hearing his tell she explained to him about his parents. His parents were Riftwardens and that after he was born they went on a mission into the Worldwound. It was that day he swore to avenge his parents and eradicate all evil he came a crossed. Dallion left Kenabres to further his training in the arcane arts and melding it with his sword training.
Now 35 years later Dallion has returned to Kenabres to see his aunt to only find out she has disappeared less than a month ago.

Dallion stands tall for an Elf in fact he is taller than most races at 6 feet and 6 inches, he isn’t very muscular but there is quickness about him. He has blonde hair hanging from his head like straw. His slightly tan skin seems to bring out his sea green eyes. He seems to carry himself with a slight edge about him.

Orphaned only a few weeks after birth, Lethander was adopted by a family close to his parents. Both humans, they did what they could but grew old quickly and before passing on because of their age, they told him about his parents.
Despite being 40 years old, in Elven society Lethander would still have been considered a child when he learned about his parents disappearance inside the Worldwound while on a mission for a group called The Riftwardens. His young mind became obsessed and ever since that moment, Lethander has devoted his life only on finding out everything he could about their deaths, the Riftwardens, the Worldwound and how to fight the foul demons it spawned.
Showing great intellect and a natural talent for magic, Lethander had no trouble finding tutelage under a group of wizards who specialized in demonology.
Now several decades into his studies, Lethander he knows he's not yet ready to take the obvious next step: battling demons. He must first gain more experience and power and seeks to adventure until he's convinced he's powerful enough to face his enemy head-on.
Lethander specializes in Conjuration -something used quite often by the demons he studied and he plans on fighting fire with fire- and Abjuration spells to protect against their evil powers and magic.
He has a burning desire to enter the Worldwound and fight demons. But while confident of his power, he is also smart enough to understand that he needs more preparation and possesses the patience -and the natural longevity- to take the time to grow in power and knowledge.

Little more than 5 foot tall, Lethander isn't nearly as tall as other members of his race. Also unlike most elves, he is completely bald and instead of their typical long hair has a large, strange looking birthmark covering large part of his scalp.
Having spent most time inside in candlelit rooms, bent over books and scrolls, he has a very pale, unhealthy looking, skin complexion and he often squints his eyes in daylight. A lack of physical exercise also visibly had had its toll on his muscles. He's not just slender like you'd expect from an elf, he's much thinner; weighing only 85 pounds, many would even call him scrawny.
All this combined, he'd appear to be sickly and weak if it were not for the extraordinary confident way in which he talks and behaves and if not for the passion burning in his eyes. His manners are almost arrogant. He obviously thinks he's the smartest person in the room -but, let's be honest, he usually is- and he is confident in his goals and the means to achieve those goals.

Three days...
Three whole damned days.
And four more would follow.
Madness.

Inside a small candlelit room, the pale, scrawny looking elf counted every minute these cursed 'festivities' lasted and counted how long it would be until they were be over.
"The stupidity of you people, of this whole damned town! Anyone with a little common sense, half a brain and the ability to read a book or a memory longer than that of a fruit fly -granted, that's not really that many people in town- could tell you that this 'feast' is meant to be a day of study. Of contemplation and self-reflection. So you'd maybe understand how you screwed up, allowed all this #@à$ to happen and maybe think it'd be a good idea not to repeat those same mistakes. Not just another one of your *@#%*#! excuses to drink yourselves into a stupor and bed some semi-conscious tramp who's awed by your petty displays of brute strength or what passes for 'skill and talent'!"

Lethander would have shouted it out loud but he knew there wasn't any use. No one would hear him over the racket of the crowd outside his room's small windows. He'd closed the shutters, the windows and the curtains and had tried blocking the noise out even further by using his sheets, blankets and anything else he could, but to no avail.
Just like every year the past couple of decades, he sat there and sighed deeply, cursing himself for yet again not taking the time to learn a decent Silence spell and vowed to do so... just after he'd finished the topic he was working on right now.
Or would be working on if I weren't being constantly distracted by that infernal clamour from those drunks outside!
After another hour of wasted effort, Lethander shook his head, snuffed the candles with a wave of his hand, reached for his mantle and made sure he had his coin purse with him.
"Can't get anything thing done like this. Might as well make the best of it.", he said to the darkness.
A couple of beers and some cantrips to impress the ladies would be all it would take to at least find someone to warm his bed tonight and maybe get his mind of things for a little while.

“You want to learn how to ride, little sir?” the horsemaster asks, looking down at the hooded figure. He could not help it – even with his above-average height, the gnome just barely reached the man’s waist. “I think we have a pony around here that would be just the right size for you.”

It takes a moment or so for Gwyndle to process the man’s words. “Wait, what?” he responds distractedly, giving the horsemaster a double take. The sudden movement is just enough to knock his hood loose, unveiling his head of wild white hair. “Oh, no. Nononono. I was just taking a look, catching a breath after all the walking.” Right next to the horse manure, apparently. “This festival has been pretty exhausting, if you know what I mean.” As though to prove his point, he steps away from the fence, sighing. “I’m sure that your time would be better spent on some of these other fine folk.” He looks up to see whether the man bought his excuse.

“Oi… you’re as pale as a ghost!” he exclaims, much to Gwyndle’s chagrin. He was not particularly shy about his appearance, or his condition for that matter, but having it brought up in conversation tended to stir up some unpleasant memories. Fortunately, the horsemaster jumps to the wrong conclusion. “Don’t tell me you’re [i]afraid of horses?”

“Not really, no,” he replies with a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. “Just not very good with animals, is all. They usually get spooked by me, but these ones seem fine.” Probably because they aren’t charmed. “Still, I figure that I shouldn’t take my chances. Thank you anyway, though.”

“Spooked of you, eh?” The horsemaster lets out a bout of some hearty laughter, as though Gwyndle had just told him a joke. Still, it was a great deal less deprecating than the gnome might have expected. On the contrary, he found himself laughing right alongside him. After a minute or so, the man waves him off. “All right, I’ll see you around then.” Gwyndle somehow doubted it, but it was a nice thing for the man to say nonetheless.

As he walks away, Gwyndle draws his hood back up, contemplating the absurdity of the last few moments. He could not remember the last time he had laughed so hard. The gnome glances at the back of his hand, as though to look for some semblance of color. Nothing but white. Oh well, he thinks as he sinks back into the crowded streets, I have more important things to do here anyway…

Kenebraes is as far from home as Izah has ever been and the skies here, especially at sundown, look like the world beyond is ablaze. Hues of amber and crimson paint a bloody path across the heavens and make it seem like the river beyond the city's high walls is made of molten gold. On stepping out of his carriage, Izah is taken aback by this sight and pauses just outside the carriage door to take in the vista.

"You should see it at night," an old man in plate armor notes on approach, his gaze matching Izah's where it is cast out over the horizon. Blinking, the ifrit turns his fiery stare on the knight, noting the emblazoned emblem of the Knights of Ozem on his tabard.

"You must be Sir Gelder," Izah wagers, slow to pry his attention away from the horizon's colors. The crusader cracks a smile, then runs one hand through his scraggly, gray beard. "And what," Izah adds, "[/b]happens at night?[/b]"

Sir Gelder grimaces and shakes his head, resting one hand on his hip. "Best not spoil it for you if your Marilictor didn't." That the term rolls so easily off of the crusder's tongue is a surprise to Izah. The ifrit takes a step closer, black chainmail armor rattling as he walks.

He sizes up the old man, hastily, and agrees nonverbally with a nod. "I was told there was a detachment of my order here, and you could show me to them?" Izah glances at the setting sun one last time before focusing on Gelder, who loses his good-natured smile with the question. He nods, slowly, and motions for Izah to follow before setting out across the street.

Puzzled, Izah's eyes narrow to glowing slits. He hesitates at first, then follows Gelder's brisk pace for a man in such heavy armor, all the way across the broad street and through a temple's bustling courtyard. The presence of an armiger of the Hellknights draws only modest attention from the other crusaders on the street, though their expressions are painted with a mixture of emotion that Izah finds disconcerting.

It is because of this distraction that he does not notice that Gelder is leading him into a cathedral, assuming the stone structure to be a fortress of some kind instead. Rather, it has become something else entirely. As the pair enter through the large, double doors, Izah asks after Gelder.

"Has the Order taken up garrison here?" One prominent brow raises as Izah passes by an engraved statue of a penetent knight kneeling in... reverence? No, mourning. Gelder opens a door to an antechamber without progressing into the main hall, and does not go in. Instead, he holds the door open for Izah and motions inside.

The ifrit steps into the doorway, chain armor jingling as he walks, black cloak dragging behind him on the ground. He stops, there, wide eyed. Thirty-six white sheets cover shapes unmistakable as anything other than bodies. Izah's breath hitches in the back of his throat and he takes a step out of the room, shooting an accusing look at Gelder.

"These are the only ones we could find," are words that hits Izah harder than any weapon.

Statistics
Name
: Elanorthel Caethel Landregil
Sex: Female Race: Elf Class: Druid Age: 120 Height: 6'
NG Medium Humanoid(elf) 

Init +2; Senses Low-Light 60ft; Perception +7

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DEFENSE

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AC 16, touch 12, flat-footed 14 (+2 Dex, +4 armor) 

HP 8 (1d8+0)

Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +5

Immune to magic sleep effects
+2 vs enchantment spells and effects


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OFFENSE
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Speed 20 ft. 
 (30 without armor)
Melee Longsword +1 (1d8+1)/19-20/x2
Range Compound +1 Str Longbow +3 (1d8+1)/19-20/x2


Space 5 ft., Reach 5 ft.

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Nature Bond - Animal Companion (Darius, a wolf)
Nature Sense - +2 Knowledge(nature) and Survival
Orisons
Wild Empathy
Two-World Magic - Ray of Frost


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STATISTICS

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Str 12, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 16, Cha 12
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 
 14

Feats
1st: Point-Blank Shot

Traits: Exposed to Awfulness and Two-World Magic and Broken Mind

Skills ( ranks): (6 level, 1 Favored Class)
(1) Craft(Bows) + 6
(0) Diplomacy +1
(1) Handle Animal +5
(0) Heal +3
(1) Knowledge(geography) +6
(1) Knowledge(nature) +8
(1) Perception +9 (+2 from elf)
(0) Sense Motive +3
(1) Spellcraft +6 (+2 to identify magic items)
(1) Survival +9
Languages: Common, Elven, Drudic, Sylvan, Celestial


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DRUID PREPARED SPELLS

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+3 to overcome SR (lvl 1 + 2 racial)

Level 0 - Save DC 13
Light
Guidance
Ray of Frost

Level 1 - Save DC 14
Cure Light
Magic Fang


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GEAR/POSSESSIONS

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Druid Kit - 14gp
Hide Armor - 15gp
Composite +1 Str Long Bow - 66gp 6sp 7cp
Longsword - 15 gp
Arrows(60) - 1gp
Dagger - 2gp


Carrying Capacity Light: 32.25 lbs. Medium: 32.26-64.5 lbs. Heavy: 64.6-97.5 lbs.

Currency: 6 gp 6 sp 6 cp 3sp 3cp from Nidthel’s bow creation

Total Weight: 86 lbs. Though Animal Feed from Druid kit would be at house, along with several other items in it

It was a magical day, when the Ladrengils’ were graced with a pair of twins.With elven numbers in decline and their naturally delicate constitutions, the birth of healthy twins was considered a blessing and a good omen for the family and surrounding community. They named these twins, Elanorthel and Lothuialthel. During the first crusade, their father moved the family to Drezen. He wished to join the crusade, and felt the city was safe enough to take his family there as well. IIt was a change from the small community where they had grown up. Things seemed to be going well for them there, that was until the demon’s came again.

After the dreaded attack on Drezen, the Ladrengil’s were forced on the run, fleeing their former neighbors and beloved aunts and uncles. They spent years trying to find a place safe from demon attacks. Arrival at Kenabres provided no safety however. The large influx of refugees and increased suspicion of demonic activity had led to heavier enforcements on traffic flow into the city. They camped outside the walls with the other war torn refugees. It was not long before rumors began to circulate. Besides the two girls being elven twins, their mother had obviously suffered psychological trauma from watching her friends and neighbors turn into beast like creatures. Trauma that changed her behavior to something dangerous and unbalanced. Things worsened when the others at the camp learned that they hailed from Drezan, and whispers about them being cursed followed the girls wherever they went. Met with hatred and suspicion, their father made the only choice he felt he could. They left the refugee camp, moving out into the woods away from everyone to wait for the hysteria to subside. They were still within a few days travel of the camp, allowing their father, and sometimes their older brother to travel back to the camp for supplies. When their father traveled there he worked to get his family a pass into Kenabres. This left the sisters primarily on their own, straying out into the woods to play.

Around this time, the crusaders were working to place the Wardstones to contain the demon armies within Sarkoris and the Worldwound, but the stones’ effectiveness were still unsteady and shifting. And in between one blink and the next a demon slunk through before making its way through the forests towards Kenabres-towards two elven children with magic in their being and power in their veins. A flash of claws and teeth and the demon was upon them both. It was only the fateful timing of their brother’s quick thinking that saved their lives. Hearing their screams, he grabbed his sword and ran into the forest. He didn’t pause when he saw the demon attacking his sisters, instead, he jumped into the fray, slaying the demon. The girls had survived, but there was something on the demon’s claws that forced the two injured girls into a coma, leaving them bedridden for weeks. After they had finally awoken and their wounds had healed the girls were changed. Almost every night they experienced nightmares. Soon, Lothuialthel didn’t want to sleep, kept awake by not only her own nightmares, but those of her twin. Somehow, Elanorthel did manage to sleep between the nightmares that bombarded her and her twin.

When their father returned home to this changed family with a chance at a new life. He had acquired a pass into Kerabes. Soon, the family moved from their home in the woods to the city. The girls took this change in their life to choose their names. Elanorthel, the eldest, became Caethel; while Elanorthel became Nidthel. Their father took a job with the city guard, while their brother joined the crusades. He wanted to stop what had happened to his sisters from happening to anyone else. Anytime the girls spent at home, it was with their mother.

Occasionally, Caethel would leave town to go be back amongst the trees, to escape. She found peace from her nightmares there. The forests felt like home, even with the dangers of demons near. On one of these such trips, she came across an orphaned wolf pup, his parents slaughtered up the way by some creature that was long gone. Unable to leave him to die, she snuck him back into the city with her. It was there that she raised him, naming him Darius. He was second in her heart only to her sister. With her father often at work, and her brother off in the crusades, only her sister and Darius were constants. Her mother was to far gone, too broken to be a constant. With all of her mother's moodswings, home was not a happy place. Finding any escape from the house she could, Caethel only left her sister's side when she wished to go to the forest for some peace.

-Fwump- 'Deep Breath. Aim. Release.' -Fwump- The arrow had flown true striking it's target, and it was not the only one. "Look, boy, I think I stand a good chance this year." A large smile graced Caethel's face. Darius looked up at Caethel, giving her a doggy smile and a tail wag happy. As she took a moment between shots, she realized the position of the sun. "Oh no! Is it that time already? We'll be late!" Caethel rushed to her target, removing her arrows stowing them for later. "Time to go home boy." Caethel took off running to get home, Darius close on her heals.

When she arrived home, she entered through the backdoor, to avoid mother if at all possible. She had a feeling Nidthel was still asleep. Making her way upstairs as quietly as possible, she moved to gather her things. Today was the day of the contest after all. "Rýneth, wake up."

"Rýneth. Wake up. I don't want to be late." Caethel started shaking Nidthel to wake her up after not getting a response the first time. She was excited about today. Nervous and excited.

Nidthel opened one eye and glared back at Caethel "Meionee go away, this is not a day for sunlight."

"B-but the it's... Armasse. A-and I compete today..." Caethel looked slightly saddened that Nidthel seemed to have forgotten. She had been looking forward to this day for months.

'Armasse. Oh. Right.' "I'm up, don't cry, we won't be late." Nidthel rose quickly, pausing for the head-rush. "How long have you been up? You're going to wear yourself out before you even compete."

"A couple hours..."

"A couple of-" Nidthel glared at her sister. "Have you broke your fast already or were you planning on allowing Darius ferry your food back and forth once you were exhausted?" She leaned closer and looked her sister over, as if trying to perform a physical just with her eyes. "Meionee you've gotta take better care of yourself!"

"I am taking care of myself. I'm fine. I just... couldn't sleep anymore..."

Nidthel sighed, knowing that the nightmares and the following exhaustion was the only reason SHE was asleep at this time. Caethel could sleep through the night but Nidthel would sleep later. She pulled Caethel into a hug, "I know I know."

Hugging her sister back, she gave her a smile. "Let's get going soon, okay Rýneth? I... want to get there early. I don't want to be late."

"You and your early bird tendencies." Nidthel pushed Caethel back gently. "Let me get dressed and then we'll go."

"Yay!" Caethel bounced happily, excited. She couldn't wait to compete.

Statistics
Name
: Lothuialthel Nidthel Landregil
Sex: Female Race: Elf Class: Magus (Hexcrafter) Age: 120
NG Medium Humanoid(elf) 

Init +2; Senses Low-Light 60ft; Perception +3

--------------------

DEFENSE

-------------------- 

AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+2 Dex, +3 armor) 

HP 8 (1d8+0)

Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +3

Immune to magic sleep effects
+2 vs enchantment spells and effects


--------------------

OFFENSE
-------------------- 

Speed 30 ft. 

Melee Longsword +3 (1d8+3)/19-20/x2
Melee Warhammer+3 (1d8+3)/x3
Range Composite +1 Str Longbow +2 (1d8+1)/x3


Space 5 ft., Reach 5 ft.

--------------------
SPECIAL ABILITIES
--------------------
Arcane Pool +1 bonus for 1 min
Spell Combat
Cantrips


-------------------- 

STATISTICS

-------------------- 

Str 16, Dex 15, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 13, Cha 10
Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 
 15

Feats
1st: Arcane Strike

Traits: Exposed to Awfulness and Suspicious and Desperate Resolve

Skills ( ranks): (4 level, 1 favored class)
(0) Climb +3
(1) Craft(alchemy) +6
(0) Fly +2
(1) Intimidate +4
(0) Knowledge(arcana) +2
(0) Knowledge(dungeoneering) +2
(1) Knowledge(planes) +6
(0) Perception +3 (+2 from elf)
(0) Profession (Librarian) +1
(0) Ride +2
(1) Sense Motive +5
(0) Spellcraft +2 (+2 to identify magic items)
(0) Swim +3
(1) Use Magic Device +4
Languages: Common, Elven, Sylvan, Draconic


-------------------- 

MAGUS SPELLS

--------------------
+3 to overcome SR (lvl 1 + 2 racial)

Level 0 - Save DC 12
Daze
Spark
Flare

Level 1 - Save DC 13
Shocking Grasp (prepared)
Shield (prepared)
Hydraulic Push
True Strike
Color Spray


-------------------- 

MAGUS ARCANA

--------------------
Arcane Pool: 3/3


-------------------- 

MAGUS HEXES

--------------------


-------------------- 

GEAR/POSSESSIONS

--------------------
Explorer’s Outfit
Spellbook
Magus’s Kit (22 gp)
Longsword (15 gp)
Studded Leather (25 gp)
Composite +1 Str Longbow (67 gp)
Arrows (60) (3 gp)
Warhammer (12 gp)


Carrying Capacity Light: 76 lbs. Medium: 77-153 lbs. Heavy: 154-230 lbs.

Currency: 96 gp

Total Weight: 69 lbs.

Older Brother-Rythian
Father-Caeledor
Mother-Nathelia

It was a magical day, when the Ladrengils’ were graced with a pair of twins.With elven numbers in decline and their naturally delicate constitutions, the birth of healthy twins was considered a blessing and a good omen for the family and surrounding community. They named these twins, Elanorthel and Lothuialthel.

During the first crusade, their father moved the family to Drezen. He wished to join the crusade, and felt the city was safe enough to take his family there as well. IIt was a change from the small community where they had grown up. Things seemed to be going well for them there, that was until the demon’s came again.

After the dreaded attack on Drezen, the Ladrengil’s were forced on the run, fleeing their former neighbors and beloved aunts and uncles. They spent years trying to find a place safe from demon attacks. Arrival at Kenabres provided no safety however. The large influx of refugees and increased suspicion of demonic activity had led to heavier enforcements on traffic flow in and out of the city.

They camped outside the walls with the other war torn refugees. It was not long before rumors began to circulate. Besides the two girls being elven twins, their mother had obviously suffered psychological trauma from watching her friends and neighbors turn into beast like creatures. Trauma that changed her behavior to something dangerous and unbalanced. Things worsened when the others at the camp learned that they hailed from Drezan, and whispers about them being cursed followed the girls wherever they went.

Met with hatred and suspicion, their father made the only choice he felt he could. They left the refugee camp, moving out into the woods away from everyone to wait for the hysteria to subside. They were still within a few days travel of the camp, allowing their father, and sometimes their older brother to travel back to the camp for supplies. When their father traveled there he worked to get his family a pass into Kenabres. This left the sisters primarily on their own, straying out into the woods to play.

And that’s when the demons attacked. The impending loss prompted the leaders of the Mendevian Crusaders to make a fateful decision— they pulled their support from Sarkoris, allowing the demon army to descend on what remained of that land, and instead concentrated their efforts on erecting wardstones along the West Sellen and Moutray rivers. The price of their actions proved steep, but, as the wardstones flared to life, the menhirs contained the demons within lost Sarkoris and saved tens of thousands from grisly deaths.

Around this time, the crusaders were working to place the Wardstones to contain the demon armies within Sarkoris and the Worldwound, but the stones’ effectiveness were still unsteady and shifting. And in between one blink and the next a demon slunk through before making its way through the forests towards Kenabres-towards two elven children with magic in their being and power in their veins.

A flash of claws and teeth and the demon was upon them both. It was only the fateful timing of their brother’s quick thinking that saved their lives. Hearing their screams, he grabbed his sword and ran into the forest. He didn’t pause when he saw the demon attacking his sisters, instead, he jumped into the fray, slaying the demon. The girls had survived, but there was something on the demon’s claws that forced the two injured girls into a coma, leaving them bedridden for weeks.

After they had finally awoken and their wounds had healed the girls were changed. Almost every night they experienced nightmares. Soon, Lothuialthel didn’t want to sleep, kept awake by not only her own nightmares, but those of her twin. Elanorthel did manage to sleep between the nightmares that bombarded her and her twin.
When their father returned home to this changed family with a chance at a new life. He had acquired a pass into Kerabes. Soon, the family moved from their home in the woods to the city. The girls took this change in their life to choose their names. Elanorthel, the eldest, became Caethel; while Lothuialthel became Nidthel. Their father took a job with the city guard, while their brother joined the crusades. He wanted to stop what had happened to his sisters from happening to anyone else. Anytime the girls spent at home, it was with their mother.

Nidthel became determined to stay as far away from home as possible once inside the city walls.Her mother was unstable without their father nearby, and was known to fly into vicious rages that kept her children on edge. When not sticking close to Caethel (which was a rare occurrence in of itself), she found herself watching swordplay and the witches within the walls. Their treatment since being forced from their home town left her with a deep well of rage. Through might and magic she swore that she would gain the power to get vengeance on whoever wronged her and her sister in the future.

It was warm and the air was filled with the excitement that the tournaments always brought with them. Nidthel watched the crowds restlessly. She didn’t recognize many of the faces this year. That…worried her. Her sister was surprisingly insistent about attending though.

"Nidthel, hurry up. I want to make the archery contest. I was hoping to compete this year."

Caethel was actually a little impatient for once, excited about the festival. She had been practicing hard to try to compete in archery.

"Ugh, I'm coming I'm coming.” Nidthel replied, “It's not even noon yet, I don't see why you're worried." Nidthel sidled through the crowd uneasily, and she shot a glare at anyone who got too close. "There's a lot more strangers here than normal, don't you think?"

Caethel smiled back "It's Armasse. Of course there are strangers. And it's because of this there are crowds." Caethel gave the crowd an uneasy look, before she motioned for Darius to keep close to her side.

"Are you dueling later?" Nidthel watched as her sister dodge a large crowd of people that seemed to have found her invisible, and her hand automatically shot out to pull Caethel closer and away from the herd.

Filthy cows. She muttered curses under her breath shooting dirty looks at the group that continued on before she addressed the question. "Probably not. I dislike fighting against drunken revelers." She gave her sister a feral grin before continuing, "wouldn't be fair to them." Nidthel's grin slipped off her face as she looked across the crowd again. If Caethel thought she was going to leave her in this crowd she was insane. "I'd much rather watch you win anyhow."

A happy smile lit across Caethel’s face and Nidthel basked in the warmth of it as Caethel spoke again, "You and Darius can cheer me on." The sisters continued towards the square before Caethel paused to look over at Nidthel. "I think we might have time to look around the shops before we go? Maybe we can find Darius a new collar."
Nidthel approached closer and ruffled Darius' fur gently "We've got plenty of time. I'm sure we can find SOMETHING that will dress up our little brother, right?"

"Then let's go." Shopping for Darius would be fun. Maybe the vendors had special collars just for Armasse. Caethel started heading off to where some of the festival shops would be located, Nidthel following close behind.

The jousting is still hours away, and Jens is growing impatient. Four decades of life taught one to be patient, but the Ulfen man only has so much patience for doing nothing. True, there was revelry all around, but the revelry wasn't the reason he'd come to Kenabres. The blue and white spiral painted on his shield - that was the reason.

Alfsigr was growing restless in the stables - he knew this because, when he'd dropped in to check on her, she'd kicked up an awful fuss. He'd managed to calm her down easily, but not after getting a dirty look from the stablehand. Back down, lad, Jens had thought at the time. I've been handling horses since before you were born. He'd kept his mouth shut, however, and promised his animal would be better behaved. The sad look in her dark eyes had hurt, but he'd had to leave her at the stable - she was restless there, but in the crowd, she'd be downright skittish.

He strides through the town square, a big man with a big presence. His well-worn chainmail clinks and rustles as he walks, and his footsteps are heavy on the stone paths. The death-spiral on his shield is weather-faded and chipped. By contrast, his weapons are in good condition - a longsword at his hip, a bow on his back, and a lance carried upright in one hand. He preferred not to leave it with Alfsigr - the stablehand had looked a little shifty, and he didn't trust the lad in the slightest. He didn't mind carrying his gear around town - at least the sight of a man armed to the teeth and fully armoured didn't raise many eyebrows in a town full of crusaders.

He finds himself a seat, somewhere shaded from the sun of high noon. There, he stays, watching the square. Watching the people.

He's getting old, but he doesn't resent the younger men who laugh and joke with their fellows. His wife has been dead for years, but he feels no bitterness towards the couples he sees. It's only the children that reopen old wounds - where were his own? Dead? Alive? Changed?

He'd found his wife - held her body, seen her lifeless eyes, buried her with his own two hands. But his children...

He shakes his head and looks down at the shield in his left hand, at the worn spiral, faded to a pale blue. "My lady of graves," he murmurs, lips moving through a gold-and-silver beard, "let my fate come quickly. Let me find my way to your side soon." With that, he pushes aside his melancholy thoughts, and resumes watching life go by.

Male human (Kellid) Cavalier 1
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +0, Sense Motive +4

--------------------
DEFENSE
--------------------
AC 20 (+3 Dex, +6 armor, +1 Shield), Touch 13, Flat-footed 17
CMD 17
HP 12 (1d10+1+1)
Fort (2) +4
Ref (0) +3
Will (0) +1
Defensive Abilities None
Immunities None
Resistances None

--------------------
OFFENSE
--------------------
Speed 30 ft (20 ft. in armor on foot; xx feet mounted)
Melee
Scimitar +4 (1d6+3; 18-20/x2)
Scimitar +4 (1d6+4; 18-20/x2) Two handed
* Lance +4(+5)(1d8+3; x3) *Double dmg. on charge; +1 BAB if attacking from horse back (elevation)
Club +4 (1d6+3; x2)
Scimitar +2 (1d6+3; 18-20/x2) and Light shield +2 (1d3+3; x2)

Ranged

Special Blade of Mercy (no -4 penalty on your attack roll, and gain a +1 trait bonus to any nonlethal damage with slashing weapon)

--------------------
STATISTICS
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 8
Base Attack +1; Melee Touch +4;
CMB +4

--------------------
Feats
--------------------
Challenge 1/day (Cavalier 1)
Mount (Cavalier 1)
Order of the Shield (cavalier 1)
Tactician - Paired Opportunists (Cavalier 1)
Two Weapon Fighting (Human Bonus feat)
Improved Shield bash (Level 1)

--------------------
Traits
--------------------
Indomitable Faith (Faith): You were born in a region where your faith was not popular, but you still have never abandoned it. Your constant struggle to maintain your own faith has bolstered your drive. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Will saves.

Blade of Mercy (Religion): You know that within the heart of even the most hateful and cruel living creature exists a sliver of shame and hope for redemption. You have trained long on martial techniques to use bladed weapons not to kill, but to subdue.When striking to inflict nonlethal damage with any slashing weapon, you do not take the normal –4 penalty on your attack roll, and gain a +1 trait bonus to any nonlethal damage you inflict with a slashing weapon.

Touched by Divinity (Campaign): As long as you can remember, you’ve had an unexplainable interest in one deity in particular. One of your parents may have been a priest of this deity, or you may have been an orphan raised by the church, but these alone cannot explain your deep connection to the faith. You’ve always felt calm and at ease in places holy to the deity, and often have dreams about the god or goddess visiting you—most often in the form of a sacred animal or creature. Your faith is strong, even if you don’t happen to be a divine spellcaster—if you are a divine spellcaster, you should be a worshiper of this deity. You begin play with a silver holy symbol of your chosen deity for free. In addition, choose one domain associated with your chosen deity. You gain the use of that domain’s 1st-level domain spell as a spell-like ability usable once per day (CL equals your character level).

Skills
Bluff (1) +3
Diplomacy (1) +3
Knowledge (local) (1) +5
Ride (1) +7 (+3/+1)
Sense Motive (1) +4
Swim (1) +7 (+3/+1)

Languages
Common, Celestial (?)

Breastplate 200 gp +6 +3 -4 20 ft. 30 lbs.
Quickdraw light wooden shield 53 gp +1 - -2 - 6 lbs.

Scimitar 15 gp 1d6 18-20/x2 - 4 lbs. S -
*No (Lance 0 gp 1d8 x3 - 10 lbs. P Double dmg. on mounted charge, Reach)
Club - gp 1d6 x2 10 ft. 3 lbs. B -

Armor and weapons: 268 gp; 53 lbs.

Cavalier's kit 23 gp 112 lbs.
Bagpipes (Musical instrument) 5 gp 3 lbs.

Grand total: 296 gp

It was another rainy afternoon in Gudrun. Fog was creeping in through the muddy streets of the shanty town, poised on the brink of two rivers. Once a small fisherman village, Gudrun was on the direct path of refugees running from the demon incursion in lands known as Sarkosis then, but simply called Worldwound now. Because of that position Gudrun has seen worst parts of human nature (as well as natures of all other species).Usualy Dolok hated rain, but today he was happy that it was there. He let the rain fall all over his face, hoping no one will notice the tears in his eyes. A long, very emotional farewell with his family left him vulnerable, and no amount of armor could help there. He was confident that his brother Jarmil will be able to take good care of his their twin sisters Arana and Aleida, as well as their mother Shelen. Jarmil was a farmer, a pigkeeper actually, and he was good at it. Jarmil had the knack for handling domesticated animals, and he was an astute merchant. Must have picked it from their father. "Their father" - although his siblings never made any point of it, neighbours in their small village made sure he did never forgot that they did not have the same father. He was a bastard, born out of wedlock, pure and simple. But his mom never regreted it. She simply told anyone that she had to do it and she did it. Plain and simple, no excuses, no explanations.

Mom was different. Mom was always a soldier, a fighter in the crusades, and she had different mentality than most if the people in Gudrun. And she made sure that Dolok was raised in a similar way. Whenever he was crying or complaining to her about other children (and often adults) teasing him, she would simply tell him to suck it up and endure it. "You are not like them my boy, you have the strength, you can take it. Be strong Dolok, be strong"

And he has been strong. All thought his life. He was courageous enough on that day when he had the dream. Other kids, even most of adults were shunning Walk of Lost Gods. Surrounding Gundrun rose the weather-worn standing stones of old Gundrun’s deities, with monuments to Gorum, Gozreh, Sarenrae, Torag, and Urgathoa being the most prominent. As refugees passed and settlers returned to Gundrun, they brought with them their gods as well. More than a hundred carved logs, metal markers, and etched stones leaned amid the ancient monoliths, memorials to the innumerable deities of Sarkoris—many long forgotten. He was playing there, running among the monoliths, chasing butterflies over the etched stones, and as usual he felt asleep, exhausted from his games. And then he dreamt of Her. Back then he did not knew who She was, but he felt her kindness, the goodness in her and he enjoyed basking in her light. Many times later he would come there, to the Walk of Lost Gods to play and dream of Sarenrae.

It was here that one day he dreamt of his first adventure. He was 15 at the time, already a big and strong boy, he was helping his brother at the household but still he could not help and disappear from time to time to relax in his favorite way. After the dream, he knew exactly where to go, although he has never been there before. He traveled north for almost half a day, until he found a cairn. He slept outside, frightened by the distant howls of wolves and other creatures of the night, but nothing happened to him. Tomorrow morning, on the 10th of Sarenith, Day of the Burning Blades, sun which was just rising above the horizon illuminated an entrance to the cairn and a wheel of dancing flaming sunlight appeared clearly. With no fear, Dolok approached it and touched the symbol. The doorway opened in front of him, and he stepped into a dark crypt where an armored skeletal figure awaited him. It was there that Dolok met Khair of Solku, great champion of Sarenrae from the days of old, left here unto this world to do one final task in the service of the Dawnflower. He was to train an apprentice, a successor of a kind. And Dolok finally appeared.

It was a strange time for Dolok. He was still spending most of his time on his family farm on the edge of Gudrun, and then he would disappear for two to three days to listen to Khair's stories and train under him. One might think a sentient, skeletal undead creature would be a very scary sight, but Dolok felt secure with Khair, for he knew that although he did not look like it, Khair was still in the Everlight of their lady. Soon he knew most of "The Birth of Light and Truth" by heart, but Khair went a step further. He was teaching the boy not only to recite the words, but to understand the meaning conveyed. And Dolok learned - he learned about compassion and patience and peace. But most of all, Dolok learned about redemption. For it was a sad, yet hopeful story of Khair's life. After some time, Dolok understood that his apprenticeship is a final step of redemption, an atonement of a kind of a fallen paladin who has shown true repentance. It was due to the story of Khair's life that Dolok came to be wary of paladins and their orders, their high ideals sometimes so high that they were quite removed from the ordinary people they have pledged to protect. It was that story, which told of a great paladin who heroically fought against a demon in order to protect a village. Due to his great skill, paladin overcame the demon who tried to escape, and Khair followed him doggedly. They fought a running battle and Khair was determined to win. To finally banish this creature once and for all and to return to the village, to be recognized as a great hero he really was. And he did won, but returning back he found the village pillaged and destroyed. While he was chasing the demon, blinded with his fury and his eagerness to win, lesser demons raided the village. Village he was assigned to protect...

Numerous were the stories told by Khair, some embarrassing, some full of hope and adventure, but still they were nothing compared to his training. Sword wielding lessons, education on demons and devils their temptations and their weaknesses, fragility of human body and strength of human determination - all of these were eagerly accepted by young Dolok. Numerous tests were devised by Khair, and as a reward for passing some of them Dolok gained tokens. Various minor items, pieces of equipment, then the shield and armor, lance and finally - a scimitar! Still he remembers fondly that only few days ago skeletal apparition gave him one final gift - a small silver pendant shaped in the image of goddess. The moment Khair placed the holy symbol into Dolok's hand, a loud rumble shook the foundation of the cairn. "Go now boy, your apprenticeship is finished here. Now you are worthy of becoming a Knight of the Shield. But remember, you must keep earning that right every day!" And with that, a single sun ray broke through the ceiling of the cairn and engulfed Khair. Dolok still remembers the sound he heard through the chaos surrounding him. Throughout the rumble and the heat and the light dancing around he could not see Khair anymore - but he heard this sound. He heard a very soft "Thank you" followed by Khair's laughter...

Dolok is an athletic, wiry tall man, with a thin sharp-featured face. His skin is very tanned, tending toward a copper-ish coloration, showing that he has spent significant amount of time in the open. He has long, blonde hair, usually worn in a single braid at his back, no facial hair, and radiant blue eyes which seem to be constantly in motion. Smile rarely leaves his face. His blue hair and blue eyes show that there is a bit of Ulfen blood in him as well, but Dolok Kadarn considers himself a Kellid.

He is wearing an obviously very old and quiet dented green breastplate armor, with only a few hints of blue. The armor has obviously seen better days, seeing that it was punctured, bruised and patched in several spots. However, despite obvious patches, it seems that armor is still functional, offering ample protection. Strapped across his back is a round wooden shield, with a metal rim running at it's edges. Shield itself has a simple five points white star painted on it. At his hip there is a curved sword just a bit shorter than a long sword. The outer edge is viciously sharp, and the back is flat, giving the blade a triangular cross-section. The sword also has faint green-bluish tinge to it, showing that both the sword and armor were forged from similar metal.

Dolok came late for the beginning of the festival. His arrival on the second night went largely unnoticed by anyone, since most of the people were involved in festivities happening all around. After some wandering, he managed to find a very nice stable, and he made sure that Hareika (his horse) was properly stabled. He spent some time grooming her, and gave her the last of the carrots he brought from home. He thought of maybe going into the night, filled with laughter and revelry, but he quickly decided against it. The ride to Kenabres was very long and he was quiet tired. So he bribed the stable boy with a few remaining pieces of silver, and went to sleep on a very comfortable haystack.

As usual, in the morning he was up at the crack of dawn. He helped around the stables, ignoring the astonished looks of several stable hands, and joking with them lightly. He even went so far as to offer them to share his paltry breakfast, consisting of some stale bread, few choice pieces of dried meat, one sausage and a small quantity of dried apricots. Next, he undressed to his waist and went to wash himself up at the nearby well. Finally, he went to retrieve his mother's final parting gift and walked outside into the city which was still waking up.

Looking at all the various entertainers, Dolok was honestly delighted and his eyes betrayed it. He went to see all of them - although the old diviner lady seemed to charge quite a lot - either not enough diviners around, or she's really good enough to ask for so much. And that guy with gray hair manipulating that giant bubble - hmmm, that was a treat. And it even seemed not to be magical...

Remembering finally what he is carrying with himself, he locates a nice free spot, with a few stumps in the shade of an old oak. Sitting down on one of the stumps, Dolok slowly unpacks the present from his mother. In his minds eye can see her face clearly, saying her goodbye, and he can still hear her voice "Take this my son. It has been a long, long time since moors and hills of Sarkosis heard this sound. Take it and spread it's sound across our ancestral lands." Lost in his thoughts, Dolok starts playing and one constant, legato sound starts drifting across the city. Almost spellbound, Dolok does not notice that at his feet, children started gathering as he plays his Great Highland Bagpipe.

Le'Rose was on the edge. He had lost a lot of blood and the edges of his vision were going dark. Did my heart just stop? or is it just so weak right now?

He had at best a few moments left where he would be alert and conscious. If he drifted off then death would soon follow.

The training sword had been useless in trying to subdue such a highly trained combatant, so he let it drop. The second sword on his hip lay ready, curved and sharp. Made by elves to cut easily through flesh and armor. Le'Rose imagined that he could fit it between the breast plate should pauldron.

He thumbed the silk ribbon sewn around the hilt. A reminder of what he would be destroying if he drew his weapon to kill... His had left the weapon.

Instead he preyed. Let me understand him, and where his ugliness comes from, please

Detect Evil

He saw deep into his opponent's souls feeling the evil that drove him. He had to reach him, at least then dieing would mean something.

Wexley was born and raised in Mendev, training from a very young age to fight demons. He has never been especially passionate about protecting others, but he was raised for a purpose and intended to fulfill it. Every good soldier knows his place.

Wexley's parents were reasonable folk as far as drow go, but since his training he hasn't seen them much. However, seeing family is not a soldier's duty, so he doesn't especially find himself missing them. He has heard of two older siblings, a sister and a brother, who were also raised as soldiers. However, he has never met them since they left for war before he was born and have not returned. While perhaps he should consider this as a bad omen, he believes that exhaustive training will protect him from the same fate.

Wexley is very particular about his appearance, keeping himself well dressed and well groomed. Commanders can't afford to look sloppy, so neither can those with ambition to become one. His chain shirt is neatly hidden by a black linen jacket matching his well ironed pants. His soft leather shoes are dulled rather than shined for practical reasons. Even his facial features appear to conform to the same rigid perfectionism represented by his attire, with hard, dark eyes set into a narrow and symmetrical face.

Although he would prefer to be training, Wexley was rather forced to take the day off as his instructors had also done so. Thus, in hopes of learning something new to put him ahead of his class, he set out towards the festival. Upon his arrival, however, the crowds were thick with gawkers come to watch the tournaments, and Wexley was simply unable to find anyone of sufficient martial skill to impress him. With the daylight beating down, blinding his sensitive eyes, he decided to find a tavern near the edge of the excitement. "Something for the headache." he said as he slapped down a couple of silvers on the bar, rubbing his head. "Why aren't you out at the festival?" the bartender asked while moving some casks. Looking around the place, Wexley suddenly realized he was the only customer. "I have no taste for tournaments, unless they involve me. Winning, specifically." he answered as his drink was poured. "More a player than a spectator?" the bartender asked as Wexley downed half his drink. "Well I have a dartboard in the back, if you think you're any good." Wexley eyed the man warily, estimating his skill and coordination, before finishing his drink. "I'll go first."

"Good! You're getting the hang of it!"
Elsbeth smiled encouragingly, but the young farmhand didn't look very encouraged as he wiped the dirt off his backside for the fifth time and picked up the fallen training sword for the eighth.
"I know it's hard," she said, "but I can see you speeding up each time; you're getting it. Just remember to keep those knees bent."
The boy started to nod, then Elsbeth thought she saw his eyes flick to the side just for a second, as though distracted by something behind her. Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Elsbeth suddenly understood: among the ring of spectators, there was a particularly cute country girl who was watching with a little more intensity than the rest.
Elsbeth returned her attention to the lad.
"Okay, come at me one more time, then we'll give someone else a turn. Remember: stay focused, keep your elbows in, and keep your head on straight." Shifting into a ready stance, Elsbeth continued, "Ready? Begin!"
Elsbeth saw the boy start to lunge, but she smiled ever so slightly as he caught himself and took two measured steps forward before his first swing. She blocked it easily, with time left over to tap her arm and mouth the word "elbows" before deflecting his next blow. Despite their difference in skill, Elsbeth could see improvement in each of the boy's attempts at hitting her. She hoped his crush was sharp enough to notice.
Unfortunately, the boy got cocky. He looked at the girl and said "Watch this!"
Then he raised his sword over his head in two hands, and immediately hit the dirt again with a stinging pain across his chest and the sound of wood smacking ribs.
Just as Elsbeth was about to explain the importance of focus (again), she heard something terrible behind her: a giggle. The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he scrambled to his feet and ran off - but not before yelling something at the girl about distracting him and costing him the match.
"Hey, you were doing great, you just need to focus–" Elsbeth started, but then she heard the girl behind her also start crying and run off in the opposite direction.
Exasperated, Elsbeth rubbed her temples and took a deep breath, but was interrupted by a woman whose face was way too close, and a bit reddened.
"Couldn't you have just let him hit you that time?"
It was a harsh whisper from what was clearly an upset mother, who then went chasing off after the boy.
Elsbeth shook her head at the ground as she finished her interrupted sigh, with a single thought on her mind.
"Dammit."