D'thandrel's page

D'thendral slowly walked into a small crowd of people gently bumping into some sort of human in full plate with a towering shield. The human nearly jumped out of his suit of armor with fright. D'thendral shrugged and continued to the grave site.

Partly out of habit, partly out of boredom, D'thendral started sizing all the newcomers up for graves. It's something that he truly enjoys. He eyed the frightened human (Size 32) thinking, No matter how much armor you have, you're going to hope you end up in a nice soft grave and not in the mouth of some hideous beast.

Turning he saw a dwarf (Size 19)with a very stern gaze. Thinking to himself, This little one is going to make the gravediggers very busy but one day, if he's lucky, he'll end up in some old dusty tomb with the bones of his forebearers, and not intestinal tract of some foul creature. Either way, they'll all be carrion for the next generation one way or another.

A simple elf named D'thendral. Boring in most respects. D'thandrel is an orphan left at the steps of a Pharasman temple as a babe. No one has found out why or who but no one really asked either. At the very young age of 10 he became an acolyte in the church. He had no discernible talent, no real gift for clerical duties. He was shunted around from church to temple to shrine in various locations across Golorian over the next 50 years. There was only one thing the church thought he was good at, digging holes. The next 50 years found him at many funerals. He was always awkward, not particularly feeling any emotion towards the dead or the living. He liked the solemnity of the night. The church decreed his one skill was needed the most in Ustalav. There were a strange amount of bodies needing put to rest. So, towards the end those 50 years he resigned himself to digging the graves of people who hated him. The sentiment was not returned. Indifference was his attitude. The teachings of Pharasma ignore the petty emotions of the living, showing all things have an end.

Then one day about 15 years ago he was given a task outside his purview. Simple enough, take a letter to the temple in [not sure what town the professor is in]. It was night. It was always night for D'thendral. On his way to the temple he ran into a man being accosted by a being he'd never seen before. This is not odd for him since most of his life has been spent in various graveyards. It was the way they moved that seemed odd. He looked down to see the bodies of elven guards. Without thinking D'thendral picked up a long curved blade. Running over in a calm he had never experienced, D'thendral brought the sword down nearly cleaving the attacker in two. The man looked up with greatful eyes an profaned his thankfulness. D'thandrel only got his title. The blood pumping in his ears. Professor? The professor shook his hand telling he owed D'thendral a debt and scurried off into the night. After having delivered the letter he told the priests what had happened. Even showing them the blade covered in black ooze as evidence. There was a quick bustle of commotion. Everything changed for D'thendral after that day.

The next 15 years were spent training. The priests thought his talents of the night were better suited for honoring Pharasma in a different way. He learned of the true creatures of the night. The abominations that are meant to be sought out and forced into to the circle. After all, all things must come to an end if there is ever going to be a beginning.