About Radin EldenNarrative Backstory:
A loud warbling horn-like call breaks the silence of early morning. With a muffled groan the blanketed form shifts on the ground near the burned out fire then grows still. A few moments go by before a soft wuffling sound is heard in the air outside the blanket but the covered form does not move. Abruptly the blanket is lifted into the air exposing the form of a mature man with his arms cradling his head pressing his pillow to his ears. “Fine, Fine! I guess since you wake with dawn I must as well, even if I need twice the sleep you do!” With that the reclined figure clanks up to sitting position and stares up into the face of a large Matara with a blanket hanging from its mouth like some oddly colored beard. “There you happy? I'm awake, cold, cranky and exhausted and its all because of you.” With another wuffle that would have sounded an awfully lot like a chuckle to someone watching the camp site, the Matara opened its mouth and deposited the blanket directly back on the head of the sitting man and slowly walked away. With a flurry of flailing arms the man throws the blanket to the ground. The man is armored in dented and slightly rusted plate of sturdy yet old make. His features are hard and chiseled with skin reddened by sun and lined by care and age matching the light streaks in his otherwise dirty blond hair. Several days of unshaven silver flecked beard partially hide the long scars across his left cheek and jaw. “May the Balance take you before you have a chance to pee, so that the pressure of your water follow you into the next life.” the man curses at his large quadruped companion. Sighing the man makes the sign of the Two Moons, joined as One in front of his chest and holds his breath for a moment. With a pulse of energy the man lets out his breath and a feeling of relief and relaxation passes over his features. Seemingly to no one the man says as he begins to get up, “Waste of energy that I may need later but there is no way I was going to sleep out in the open out of my armor.” As he begins pack up his gear he says, “Now get over here, we need to make good time if we are going to reach Mistcrest before Dead-Hand gets there.” Surprisingly the large creature ambles over to the man and allows him to load up his gear behind the saddle on its back, after rubbing the base of its antlers of course. .- .-.-. -. Several hours later the pair trot into the Mistcrest town square. On his feet the man would have towered over most of the inhabitants of the city but on the mighty metara he easily looks out onto the roofs of the village, and over them in some cases. Looking down from his great height then man asks a boy pushing what looks like a wheelbarrow piled with quickly collected household goods, “Quick, boy, where is the militia marshaling to hold off Dead-Hand?” The boy stares up at him then finally starts, “Thos'en that can't or won't run are over by the mill. Most of us are making for the forest, better chance against the haunts than Dead-Hands army.” With a sigh the man says, “Thank you child, you better hurry along. I'd leave that barrow behind and just take warm clothes and make for the hills and Fort Darren. If you are lucky you can make it by midday tomorrow.” The man and his giant cervid turn and head toward the large building the boy indicated. At the base of the mill at the water's edge, several groups of men huddle together holding odd implements newly made or rusted weapons from ages past. Similarly the men, and no few women on closer inspection, are like their weapons -- too new and fresh to be tried and effective, or so past their prime that they will likely break at the least force. From the largest group a voice challenged, “And who might you be, large fellow?” Looking down the man saw a gray-haired soldier, still fit and strong, wearing the tabard of the town guard and the insignia of the captain. Dismounting, the man said in his native tongue of Lathendar, “Stay here Mystery, this shouldn't take long.” Smiling the man walks over to the guard captain and says, “I'm Radin, Radin Elden. I'm here to offer what aid I can to help hold off Dead-Hand. Though it looks like we may be just holding them off long enough for the civilians to flee the city.” “Don't think we can hold 'em off do you?” the guard captain barked. “No, Ol' Timer, I don't. Last I heard Dead-Hand had over 200 swords following him, a Balance Cursed blood thirsty lot to the last of them. The best we can hope for is to make them bleed a bit and bunch them up before we run.” “Who you calling Ol' Timer? You're no spring chicken yourself. And for your information, we have at least 30 more archers already on the roofs in addition to the 84 of us here. This is our city and no group of thieves is going to take it from us!” “Peace, I apologize sir, I meant no disrespect. I am sure your men are as rich in valor as they are in years....er, I didn't mean it to come out that way. What I mean to say is, where could you use me and Mystery?” With a downcast sigh the guard captain says, “No, you have the right of it. We have maybe a dozen actual fighting men in the lot, the rest are retirees, children or women. What I really need is someone that can hold the bridge long enough for two volleys of arrows. With any luck they might pull back long enough for the rest of the village to clear out.” “Mystery and I will hold your bridge for you. Just make sure you leave us some archers to cover our withdrawal, and don't count the women out. They will fight twice as fierce and twice as mean as any man if their family is threatened. Remind me to tell you the story about how I got this scar on my cheek tonight after we make it to the hills.” Three long horn blasts filled the late morning air. “That's the warning call; you better get to the bridge. Their lead group will be on us in a few moments.” With that the guard captain began ordering groups off down different side streets to take up positions. Radin rushed over to Mystery and mounted up, “Looks like we get to be heroes again today old friend, let's not get too many new scars doing it.” Turning the metara, Radin guided his mount around the mill and onto the bridge over the swiftly moving stream. “They should be coming out of the forest any time now, I'll keep them off you if you keep them off me.” Radin said idly. One moment, then two passed with no sound. Then they heard it. With an echoing roar men began pouring out of the tree line. Not in dozens but in hundreds, and they kept coming. “Balance save us, we would need a whole war party of clansmen to hold this bridge. Mystery, this is probably a good time to pee.” With that, a wave of screaming thugs pounded onto the bridge and swarmed the the knight and his noble steed, though they managed to take a few of the thugs with them before falling from the bridge clouding the water red with blood. . .
The Last Oath of the Silent Moors:
A soft and persistent breeze stirred through the low brush and heather. The breeze brought the damp chill of the night over the moor and with it the scent of decaying peat and wild flowers. In the near distance a soft drumming sound could be heard, echoing off the large green granite monoliths scattered about the landscape. Following the sound of drumming leads up a gentle rise, out of the lowlands, to a pine covered stone mound. The underside of the trees reflected the flickering light of a bonfire who's light spread out on the low fog coating the ground. Chanting voices rose to join the drumming. Deep base voices full of gravel of old men, the harmony of three female voices of obvious skill and several higher shaky voices lacking skill or confidence. Rounding a large protecting granite block reveals a group of men an women dressed in a combination of metara hides, blue paint in complicated patterns and little else. Standing before the larger fire is an old man, formerly of substantial build now withered with age, dressed in a loin cloth and cloak of a single whole metara hide topped with a full set of antlers. His slightly clouded gaze is focused on three youths, painted lightly with simple patterns, kneeling before him. In the shadowy surrounding are a mixture of men and women similarly garbed as the old and while few match his age all are past their prime. With a raise of both hands out to his sides, the old man motions for the chanting to cease. “Unnamed of the Silent Moors you present yourselves before your tribe seeking to receive your true names and your place amongst the tribe. While nothing would give me greater pleasure the Balance has decreed that it is not to be so.” With a barely suppressed sob, “You three are the last of the Unnamed of the Silent Moors and there will be no more to follow you. The Balance has seen fit to take nearly all those not strong enough to survive the Rising and those brave enough to stand against it so that we few might pass on our wisdom and there by prevent another Rising.” “We all have our paths to follow in life. On your naming day you accept your name and your path. Some are named as hunters, some as herders, some who are to support the tribe with skill of craft and others with skill of war. We few of the wise were called to seek with wisdom in the Balance and learn to work it for the betterment of the tribe or preserve it in song and story.” “No none of these paths remain open to you. The Balance is screaming in pain and the souls of our ancestors have been ripped from their slumber. Man with his violence, avarice and greed has tainted the body and spirit of the land and only man can right it. The path each of you must follow is to right the balance. Give rest to your ancestors and see that which caused them to rise never does so again.” “Here and now I place on you your oath and geas. May these words guide you and protect you and in the lonely darkness of the unbalanced world give you strength to carry on.” “Repeat after me now. I will be the light in the darkness”
“I will stand against the unbalance of man. Stopping pain with healing, loneliness with kindness, fear with hope, and violence with strength.”
“I will knowingly shed no blood except that of the fallen, those who have chosen to commit violence for their own gain and with remorse.” “I will seek to turn back those unbalanced to a life of balance and a respect for all life.” “I will destroy any creature of unnatural origin that seeks with its action to damage the balance.” “I will put to rest the souls of the dead and see that they do not rise again.” “As my life was spared by the sacrifices of those stronger than me I will protect those weaker than me so that they might grow and survive there by paying back my dept a hundred fold.” “Now I shall give you each your name. Your names shall be unique to you as no one before has walked your path and so that news of your deeds shall spread and give hope that there is good in the world” A man steps forward from the shadows carrying several hides and hands one to the elder. The old man steps before the first youth, a girl of 14 with curly straw colored hair bound back behind her head. “You I name Colodeyn Elden, my your speed and agility keep you out of harm and lead you where you can do the most good. Michall Wordkeeper will go with you on your journey heed her guidance.” Before a young man of maybe 15 already showing signs of the giant warrior he is destined to become if he can survive the next half a dozen years. “You I name Rockfort Elden, may the strength of our people that you bear be a totem of power before your enemies and a symbol of protection to your friends. Velence Wordkeeper will go with you on your journey heed her guidance.” Looking sadly down at a stick of a boy barely half the mass of the newly named Rockfort. “And you I name Radin Elden. Your heart is strong and your soul is untainted. May the balance protect you as you find your destiny. I, Elder Tomen Spirittalker, will go with you on your journey and you will heed my guidance.” With that the shadowy figures rushed forward to welcome their newly named tribesmen. Giving simple gifts and tools to help them on their journey. Elder Tomen still locking eyes with young Radin. “I wish we had more time here for you to grow Radin, but the tribe cannot hold these hills this coming winter. We must disperse and join those tribes that will take us in but none could take us all. Too much was destroyed in the Rising and there are too few hands to bring in food.” Looking up at the elderly man, “I know grandfather, and I also do not want to stay were I may see mother or father again.” With a sigh from the older man, “We will not rest until they do once again.”
The Crunch:
Radin Elden Lauthander Paladin (Warrior of the Holy Light) 5 LG Medium Humanoid (Human) Init +1; Senses; Perception +10 ------------------------------------------
AC 25, touch 12, flatfooted 24 (+9 armor, +1 enhancement, +2 shield, +1 enhancement, +1 Dex, +1 deflection, +1 NA)
------------------------------------------
Speed 30ft. (20ft on foot in armor)
Powers:
------------------------------------------
Feats: Mounted Combat, Bludgeoner, Ride By Attack, Spirited Charge Traits Seeker, Sacred Touch Favoured Class Paladin
Equipment:
Mystery:
Mystery Divine Bond 5 Large Animal (Metara) Special Qualities low-light vision, scent Init +2; Senses; Perception +5 ------------------------------------------
AC 22, touch 12, flatfooted 20 (+4 armor, +1 enh, +2 Dex, +6 NA, -1 Large)
------------------------------------------
Speed 50ft
Powers:
------------------------------------------
Feats: Light Armor Prof, Nimble Moves, Acrobatic Steps Tricks: 3xint +2 + Combat Trained
Skills
Equipment:
|
