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Castien Telendil was born in Silverymoon to a family of prominent arcanists in the Year of the Buckler, 1200 DR. The Telendil, a branch of the venerable House Telen’quest’iir of Evereska, were renowned for their insights into the mysteries of the arcane. The rare birth of the next generation of Telendil during a prophesied year of emblematic physical defense caused a stir amongst the elders of the family. It was decided to adopt a “wait and see” attitude towards the infant Castien, their newest scion, to see how fate would exert it’s presence upon the elf.

Castien grew up a precocious young elf. Constantly reading up on the histories of renowned elven heroes and seeking his own adventure through the halls of his ancestral home, he quickly made a name for himself amongst his relations as a rambunctious thrill seeker. His favorite stories, and thus the central theme in most of his “adventures” with his young cousins, were of Maladrac Telenque, the famous adventuring spellsinger bard. All of the family history books cited the elf hero with his ancestral moon blade, Tahl’larlylth, a rapier which sang in the hands of its illustrious wielder.

So enamored of his ancestor’s tales was he that young Castien forsook wizardry, focusing on his blade work and sneaking off to every inn and tavern in Silverymoon to hear the latest songs from traveling minstrels. His parents were mortified at his behavior. Sneaking off was bad enough but neglecting spellcraft was unconscionable! They became ever more restrictive, forcing him to classes and threatening innkeeps to have him barred from entrance.

In desperation, Castien ran away from home. He was determined to become a wandering minstrel and swordself. Running from a family of wizards was no mean feat as it turned out. In no time at all, his parents had magically tracked him down and confronted him at a roadside inn. His mother was ready to ensorcel her young recalcitrant son into obedience. His father finally recognized his son’s strength of purpose and will in pursuing his dreams. Soothing his wife’s rage, Castien’s father sat down with his son to discuss matters and approach a peace in his household.

“Elves cling to their traditions, my son.” He said.

“We do not easily let go our desires, especially when prodded to do so by others. Not you, nor your mother.” He continued with a wry grin.

“Hrrmph! He must learn…” Castien’s mother started to say, but bit down on her tongue when his father raised his hand.

“Son, Maladrac Telenque was a famous adventurer. He traveled extensively, achieving great feats which he turned into fantastic tales. His life was blessed and no one can blame you for wanting such a life for yourself. Your mother and I will not stop you from setting out on your own journey…” He paused. “When the time is right.”

Laying a hand upon his son’s shoulder, he explained, “Even Maladrac had to study before he could become a bard. You must come home and resume your studies.” He held up a hand to forestall any argument as he laid out his compromise, “You do not wish to become some dusty old wizard in a tower and I recognize that. You want to swing a sword and cast flashy spells in a dervish’s dance. What if we, you, your mother and I, could have both? There are disciplines in wizardry which combine spellcraft with bladework. We will provide you with the finest maestros in Silverymoon to train your arm. In return, you will provide us an excellent mind to be trained in the arcane arts.”

Castrien was dubious that such a wizard as his father described existed, but the reproachful look his mother gave his father went a long way to convincing him that there just might be such a thing after all. He agreed and returned with his parents to Silverymoon.

The years of training were long, but that was not due only to his arcane training. He spent years learning that he had so much to learn to become a proficient swordself. In fact, he came to realize that the division of his labors helped him to keep both his body and mind alert and growing, making each the stronger for it. As he came to understand this, he delved ever more deeply into his work, striving not to excel, but to absorb everything possible so as not to be caught unawares.
1344 DR. Castien had set down the last book in the library. He had earned high praise from each of his maestros. They all reported that there was nothing more than experience which could teach him now.

There were bills posted throughout the city calling for adventurers. Castien responded to several only to find that they did not fit his own expectations or requirements. It was weeks before he came upon a group that suited his temperament. They styled themselves the [insert party name here] and they were looking for a new member. Their leader, Tandall Ironsoul, appeared to be in his late youth. He had a vivacity that sparked the imagination. Castien put his name to the company charter, gathered his belongings and set out with his new companions.

For months, the party had great excitement on the road. They fought off bandits while guarding a caravan. They hunted down goblins terrorizing a village. Once, while on a return to Tandall's home, they were beseeched by the local clergy to enter into the cemetery and rout out undead. While there, Castien met the family of his captain; his wife and small daughter, Avilyn. They stayed on in the town for a few days before heading back out in search of fame and fortune.

The adventuring company continued their travels. Some months later, word came to them of a treasure hoard. A hoard that was said to include a rare elfwrought sword. The friends shared a smile. This was just what they were always looking for; wealth. Who cares that there is supposedly some vile creature guarding the treasure. They were adventurers dammit! They got paid for practicing homicide.

Deep in the woods, they came upon the entrance to the lair of which they had been told. They entered and began their search. They quickly discovered that the natural cave led far deeper than they had expected and, in a short time, found the walls, floor and ceiling were worked stone. They encountered many monsters as well as some evil cultists profaning what had turned out to be a tomb.

One of the party members had recognized the stonework as dwarven and the treasures found throughout the tomb were amazing, but everyone was stunned to find a sarcophagus holding what appeared to be the skeleton of an elf within in the tomb. Moreover, to find such an exquisite sword in the hands of the corpse, even knowing to expect it, amazed the friends. The long tapering blade came to the hilt decorated with moonstones. The pinions were capped in moonstones and the pommel held by far the largest, clearest moonstone any of them had ever seen. Next to the corpse lay a resplendent lute of a wood so dark as to look black by the light of the torch. There were several other valuable items found in the sarcophagus.

Tandall took up the blade and, inspecting it, noticed that there was some type of inscription on the blade. Holding it closer to the light, he could make out the characters and realized they were Elvish. He called Castien over to read the inscription. Upon reading the blade, the moon elf gasped, his jaw dropping. His friends pressed him to tell what it was on the blade. Castien slowly breathed out a single word, “Tahl’larlylth”

It was the blade of Maladrac Telenque!; constant companion to the famous bard. His forbearer’s moon blade. He told the story of the blade to his companions. He looked wide eyed to each of them. “Please may I keep this blade? I would count it a boon from each of you and forego any other treasure from this tomb.” His friends bade him keep the blade. It was finely wrought but there was no magic upon the blade and could not be worth that much to give up a share in the prize. They agreed and Castien received his family heirloom.

For several nights, Castien thought about all of the stories he had read and heard growing up. He knew that the sword must have magic upon it yet he could not perceive it. He studied the blade and meditated with it in his arms. It was a night of the full moon and he was deep in reverie when the voice called to him. It was a cheerful voice. He heard it for the next several hours until daylight broke the spell and he came back to his senses.

Two days later, the company came to rest in a tavern. Castien was sipping at his ale when he heard a voice say, “Ah, that seems a fine ale, my boy. Certainly they have another back behind that bar to share?” Startled, the elf looked around. His friends were in the midst of a joke. There were no other patrons nearby. Again the voice came to him, “Come now, there’s no need to be stingy. Share and share alike I say!” Castien whipped around in his chair looking for who was casting their voice in his direction.

At his antics, his friends took notice. “What troubles you, Castien?” asked their leader.

“I heard a voice speaking and thought it was directed at one of us.”

“I didn’t hear anything.” replied their dwarf friend.

The group went back to their drinks and stories, soon forgetting the matter. After another round had been served, it started again. “Oh, come on!” exclaimed the voice. “You have got to be kidding me! What must I do to get service here?” This time Castien realized he was not hearing the voice in his ears.

Who is projecting their thoughts to me?

Why I am, of course. Was earlier, too. Are you finally listening? Could it be I’ll finally get my drink?

You speak to me in my native tongue. You are an elf?

I don’t think so. I’m pointy but not in the ears. HA!

Castien peered suspiciously around the room trying to discern who it was projecting to him. Who are you?
You know who I am. I heard you tell the others my name in the tomb.

Castien gasped. You do not mean…

I do mean…

You are Tahl’larlylth?

See? You may be bright after all. That would be a refreshing change…

What? What do you mean refre—Wait! You are a sword. How are you able to speak with me?

How else was I supposed to get you to order me an ale. The ale here is good, no? It’s been ages since I had an ale; good or bad.

I cannot believe that this is happening! Swords do not speak.

What did you expect to happen? You communed with me in reverie under a full moon. I accepted you. That’s how this works.

Castien furrowed his brow. How what works? What do you mean you accepted me? What is that supposed to… Oh, Corellon! You are an actual moon blade?

The voice gave a long resigned sigh before continuing. Oh, gods! Not another one. You’re going to be like that twit, Mal. Bad enough he was a half-elf, but then he goes off with the rest of them…

“What do you mean he was an half-elf!” Castien blurted out loud.

“Cast, you okay, buddy? Maybe you should slow down on that single ale you been nursing.” The cleric snorted at his own joke.

…that dwarf was the only good decision he ever made… Huh? What? Whadya mean half-elf?

“I asked you that.” The elf furiously whispered at the sword hanging from his hip.