About Eliyah BelegosCrunch:
Eliyah Belegos Female Elf Armorist 3 Init +3; Senses Perception +6 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 10 (+3 Dex, +1 Dodge) hp 22 (3 HD; (10+6+6-3) +3 Favored class bonus Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +4 -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee Dagger +6 (1d4+3/19-20/x2) Bound Greatsword +7 (2d6+4/19-20/x2) Ranged (usual) Summoned Composite Bow --------------------
Bound Equipment: Greatsword
History:
Eliyah was born to an to an odd sort of elven pair. Her father was a weaponsmith, a Tower elf of the empire, and her mother was a Dusk elf huntress. Their partnership attracted much gossip in the earlier years, but ceased to be of interest to any but strangers by the time Eliyah was born. When she was still a girl, her mother disappeared while on a hunt, and very little sign of her was ever found - the town concluded she had been taken by a beast of the wild. Despite this sorrow, Eliyah’s childhood was, for the most part, happy. Her father was renowned amongst the smiths of Nordholm despite his status as a foreigner. But he still had enemies. Eliyah remembers the gossip and rumours, the whispers her father tried to shield her from. As she was entering her teenage years, they were getting more persistent and more wicked. Finally, one of his most zealous detractors rose to leadership of the Guild of Weaponsmiths, and the plot came to fruition. Accusations of cheating, of bribery, of double-dealing and of counterfeit work were leveled upon her father. He was stripped of his rank in the guild and eventually imprisoned. Through her father’s close friends, Eliyah learned that the Guildmaster had had an ally in the local Sheriff, an Imperial human who needed wealthy, connected allies amongst the populace he ruled. Only the help of such a lofty noble had been able to squash her father’s reputation so quickly and shut off all means of clearing his name. Eliyah was turned out of her home, and was given shelter by a family that had been close with hers, farmers who lived a few miles from the town she called home. But they could not help her father, for fear of the Sheriff. Eliyah herself had the looks of a Nordholm elf and had thus far escaped the attention of bigots. As years passed and her father wasted away in prison, Eliyah’s rage grew and grew. She would visit her father often, offering the guards bribes and lies to let her see him. It did not always work. She took to stealing away to the woods to beat at tree trunks with a stout branch, imagining it was one of the mighty greatswords wielded by the ancient elven warriors in her father’s stories. When Eliyah was 22 years old, her father in prison of starvation and disease. The town had largely forgotten him, and for that Eliyah hated them, too. But always her greatest ire was directed at the Guildmaster and the Sheriff. On the day she learned of her father’s death, she set up a pair of old scarecrows in the woods and wrote names upon them in charcoal. Then she beat at them with the branch until her hands were bloody. And still she struck them more. With one final, furious blow she swung at the Guildmaster’s stand-in, imagining she could see his leering face. The top half of the mannequin was sliced cleanly off, for she no longer held a stick - but a blade, enormous and sharp. She was so startled she dropped it, and watched it dissolve in a shower of sparks. For days afterwards she attempted to bring the blade back, and could not. Her frustration grew until she confessed it to perhaps her only friend, an elderly elven woman named Dreili. Dreili patted Eliyah on the head, told her to be patient, and that she knew of someone who could help her. A few weeks later, while Eliyah was again trying in vain to summon the sword, another elf appeared out of the underbrush. At first Eliyah was afraid it was a bandit, but was soon assured that it was none other than Dreili’s friend, a warrior mystic who lived in the forest. Dreili had gotten word to her about Eliyah’s plight. She had received word from her friend and had come to live at the farm for a time. Over the next few years, the young elf learned of magic, and battle. She learned of how she had summoned the great sword to her hands and that she could do the same with other things. She learned, too, of the Hidden Paths, the secret ways that existed between places. She learned the discipline of a warrior and how to focus her anger, control it and use it, rather than let it use her. Shortly after Eliyah’s 26th birthday, the mystic left again, claiming Eliyah had all the skills she could teach. Only a few days later the young elf put in motion the plans she had been developing for years. From a hill overlooking his mansion, Eliyah could see directly into the Guildmaster’s bedroom. He was old, fat, successful, secure in his position. Unguarded. It had taken her a great deal of time to see paths long enough to walk directly from the hilltop to his bedside, but she found them. She had contemplated all the punishments she might visit upon him. The bloody, hateful vengeance she could wreak. In the end, she barred his door, tied and gagged him in his bed, informed him of her identity, and beheaded him. It took less than five minutes, and then she was gone again. The Sheriff was a far different story. He slept in a windowless room. There were many guards about. He had survived two attempts on his life already. Eliyah spent months getting herself a position in his household, working diligently, suffering the indignities in silence. Always ready for her moment to strike. And finally it came, as she walked by his huge sleeping quarters carrying clean linen. He was alone in his room, the door half-shut and two armored guards flanking it. Without another thought she dropped the sheets, walked the Path to the far side of his door, kicked it shut and barred it. He turned to see her even as her blade appeared in her hands. Her blade had grown in power as she did, and she had imbued it with the deadliest magic she could, magic that had a price in her own blood. The Sheriff, neither coward nor weakling, fought back. But when the guards finally destroyed the door and entered the room, all they found was an unarmed, unarmored elven maiden, standing over their leader’s corpse and grinning, covered in his blood and her own. She was knocked unconscious, brutalized, starved. She was not taken to the local prison, she was sure of that. She had no idea where they’d taken her. But it did not matter. She expected some torture to lie in her future, then execution. So be it. Her task was complete. She relaxed back against the frigid stones of the dungeon cell and thought of her father. |
