Hal'dorel aka "Hal Greenwater"'s page

When he closes his eyes, Hal'dorel can see the forest canopy and the azure skies beyond. Echoing from the cliffs nearby the howling winds stir branch and memory to speaking all around him.

"Where do they go, cousin?"

"I know not. But they go with war in their hearts..."

He and Fir'umil would frequent the treetop aerie, the view eastward towards the ruined city clearer than most.

"Father says a darkness is there...and it taints our heritage." Without looking at Fir'umil he asks the question again. "What is it they go to fight, cousin?"

Ever mysterious in his constant contemplations, Fir'umil only says, "I know not."

Hal'dorel opens his eyes and the forest and memory fades away. Arsmeril is once more separated from him by time and distance. He stares up at the ceiling, the damp beams and shoddy construction a reminder of the city outside. Nearly a year in Riddleport had proven to the elf that no matter what magicks were used, he'd never be rid of the stench.

"Why am I here?" he asks himself, taken aback when he speaks in the pig's tongue of the humans.

"I know not." His cousin's memory responds in elvish.

Hal'dorel stands from his cot, stooping slightly as to not hit his head on the low slope of the ceiling. All the forests of his homeland and he is forced to live in an attic. The sun is coming up over the east, shafts of light suffused with the gray pallor of the city lancing through breaks in the wall and the single window with its broken shutters. He pushes the shudders aside and peers into the city. A swirling miasma of smells assault him; mud and cheap alcohol and the villainous concoctions the locals pass off as tobacco.

...and human. Always the stink of human. A bombastic, impetuous lot, prone to finding the treasures of the world and squandering them within the fog of their short-sighted natures. Hal'dorel's time among them is showing there are few redeeming qualities to the puzzle of the human condition.

"You are adaptive, Hal'dorel. Quick to study your quarry, quick to learn their proclivities." His father's words over a year ago as he lay out the reasons for his deployment to Riddleport. "This city is a rotted watering hole, but it still serves all those creatures who seek its sustenance. You will watch, you will listen, and you will report what passes through the city. Anything that poses a threat to our home, anything that jeopardizes the balance we've struck, we must know of it."

*scratch scratch*

Hal'dorel steps out of his reverie to the familiar sound. From the single table he grabs a hunk of fatty meat and goes to the door. Outside it, seated in his customary morning spot, is ragged hound staring up with the ears pricked forward and wrinkles on the top of his head as he studies the elf.

"Inceku," Hal greets, hunk of meet secured behind his back. "What have you for trade?"

The dog rolls his head slightly at the word 'trade', then paws at an object in the floor. A heavily chewed rat by the looks of it.

"Well done," He acknowledges and gives the meaty morsel over.

The dog takes it gingerly and then enters the room to curl up in his customary spot to enjoy the meal. Hal'dorel had learned early on that other strays in the neighborhood were stealing these treats before Inceku could enjoy them.

He let's the dog finish his meal while he gets ready. Once done, both would depart and go their separate ways, their daily ritual complete. Hal'dorel never knew where the dog went to during the day. Oddly enough, he respected the animal's privacy more than he did the city on which he was sent to spy.

Hal rests a hand on the hilt of his longsword, still uncomfortable at its less than balanced weight when compared to his curve blade back home. With the limited resources to his disposal and wanting to not proclaim his elvish ancestry, he'd opted for the human implements. At the least, the longbow over his shoulder is a serviceable weapon.

He leaves behind the Banded Fist tavern and the attic he calls home, heading west to meet with a potential employer. Something to do with following a man for the next few days to see where he goes. He looks upwards and spies the dark cloud hanging over Riddleport. Not for the first time since its appearance, the elf considers that the mercurial gods these humans worship may have finally had their fill of this pig's trough. Perhaps a well-earned and thorough destruction to blot this pustule from existence was eminent. The thought brings a rare smile to his face as he considers his destination for the day; a gambling den called the Golden Goblin looking to make a return to prominence. Hal pulls up the hood of his cloak and flows into the sweaty throngs like a leaf on the river.

A fellow sent from the Mierani Forest to Riddleport in order to surveil the goings on in the city. Hal'dorel has proven adaptive, observant and patient; all the qualities the Mierani elves require in a good spy.

In the months he's been in town, Hal'dorel has established himself as a minor player. Just enough demonstration of skill to place him as a fixture, but not enough to light a bonfire to attract attention. He keeps his heritage as under wraps as possible, being short for his race and going by the name Hal Greenwater.

Other than watching and learning, Hal'dorel is not aware of the true intentions of his superiors back home. He hails from the cliffside village of Arsmeril that stands as a watch tower of sorts, keeping careful eye on the ruins of Celwynvian. He's had no interactions with the darkness that dwells in that place, but he has often inquired after the topic with his father...but to no avail.

The whys of his mission are unclear, but he will not let curiosity lead to questioning his duty to his father or to the Council.

Hal'dorel is barely tolerant of humans, but his skill at bluffing and saying next to nothing has allowed him to be ensconced among them as an observer. Playing the part of "Hal Greenwater", he's earned his way as a bodyguard and urban scout for minor players in the city. He's affable enough among the populace to continue getting work, but he knows his primary obligation is the his homeland.

Despite his general disdain for humans, he's managed to develop working relationships with a cross section who display few of the common predilections of the race. His sense of elvish honor allows him to overlook their limitations to see thru to their redeeming qualities.

He is a good listener and observer, but he can be prone to rash conclusions. His words are few, but precise. Leveraging his observational skills, Hal has learned to adapt to those around him whether in conversation or in combat. It's for these latter qualities that he's been retained on occasion for protection work. Small jobs here and there; conveying a passenger to the docks safely, watching out for cut purses and cheats in one or two gambling establishments, scouting a potential location for negotiating shipping costs.

Possible Hooks
Just outside the city, Hal'dorel has established a hidden location into which he drops the occasional piece of information for back home. Each time he returns, there are cryptic missives of instruction left in return.

Inceku (for later)
110 lb Varisian Ridgeback (based on Rhodesian in body type and temperament)
Stray who follows Hal around town. Always ends up at the door of his little hovel.