Iltanthal Valmet the Tempered Blade of the Fortress, Captain of the Brigade

Role

Chapter 11

|----------------------------------------------------------------------|
| "Leave her alone, you bastard!" The words were, of course, as futile |
| as his struggles, but they were all he had. The gnomish transmuter |
| was good at his work, and held Iltanthal as still as stone while the |
| other magician, a dark-elf necromancer, stood over the body of the |
| young elven maiden, working his dark magicks. |
| |
| "Rest assured we'll leave her when we are done with her, lightskin," |
| cackled the ebon-skinned warlock. "There won't be much left, but it |
| will be all yours!" |
| |
| And so, barely old enough to be allowed to hold a weapon, the young |
| elf male was forced to watch as his baby sister was violated. |
| Sexually, spiritually, mentally, magically. She endured more than |
| most Acolytes would agree to endure for another. She endured more |
| than anyone ever should have to, in an entire lifetime. And all in |
| the 'short' span of 32 painfully deliberate hours. |
| |
| Milking the final scream, a nearly silent hoarse whisper, the dark |
| wizard wiped the sweat from his brow. The 'session' had even taken a |
| toll on him...though only physically. |
| |
| "Before my associate lets you go, lightskin, you should know that it |
| is not just your sister who has furthered my studies. You yourself |
| have made a significant contribution. Her fluids contain her terror, |
| her anguish, her torment...but also they are flavored with your own. |
| A pity for you that I've no use whatsoever for male fluids, or I |
| might end your suffering by draining you, as well. But no, I think I |
| will allow you your miserable life...to do what you will." |
| |
| With that, the necromancer waved his hand, and the gnome turned and |
| walked away, releasing Iltanthal from the magic that had held him so |
| easily. A dagger came swiftly to his hand and flew toward the back |
| of the departing magi, but it struck some unseen barrier and fell to |
| the ground. The necromancer uttered an arcane word, and a dreadful |
| slumber overtook Iltanthal. One filled with the screams of his baby |
| sister. |
|----------------------------------------------------------------------|

Role

Chapter 10

Iltanthal started out of his slumber, rubbing a dirty hand through his thick, grimy
locks. The nightmare again. He could still hear the screams of his sister, as the
torments were inflicted upon her. Same as every night. Groaning and stretching,
Iltanthal tried to put it out of his mind and get ready for the day ahead.

Brushing aside the thought of a bath or washing up or even changing clothes, he
looked over his weapons. The tiny, useless dagger that he now carried only for
remembrance still had bloodstains. He would never wash it. Not that the stains
would come out of the wood now. That was the dagger he'd used when he Judged his
first gnomish mage. It wasn't the last "innocent" mage that he'd stuck,
but it was the first, and the only one to feel the tiny agony that the
sharpened stick had to offer.

Once again the rage grasped Iltanthal. The Dark-elves were SUPPOSED to be the enemy.
He'd been taught that from the cradle! But gnomes? Gnomes were silly, little
people, with nothing on their mind but frivolities such as food, magic, and mating.
How could they participate in such unspeakable evil, and not bat an eye?

He'd killed more than he could count. His elders had heard of his deeds, and
while at first they attempted to sweep it under the rug, eventually he had to
be cast out. He followed the Gods of Light, and was virtuous and true, but while
his lust for vengeance had been sated, his irrational mistrust of the gnomish race
was beginning to cause a disruption in Elf-Gnome relations. It took several years
for him to not attempt to kill any gnome he came across. He still bears them a
deep suspicion.

They cannot be trusted. Can they?

Unfortunately for Iltanthal, young elven males are not particularly resistant to
the mind-bending ways of the Illithid. The mindflayers are particularly devious,
and relish the despair of elf-kind above nearly anything else. While the torment
of Iltanthal's sister did happen, and was committed by a dark-elf necromancer, it was
no gnome who held Iltanthal motionless. No, this particular mindflayer took amusement and
pleasure in knowing that this young elf would forever harbor resentment toward a race that
seemed to be rather resistant to the works of the Illithid. Two surfacers with one stone,
as it were.

And so we have the tale of a righteous crusader with a deep-seeded mistrust of all
things gnomish, who is in fact an unwitting fool.

Poor bastard.

Role

Chapter 9

The nightmare came again last night. Iltanthal has learned to expect it.
He woke with a groan again, and rolled over. There, staring him right in the face,
was a gnome. Ambush! Gripping his daggers, Iltanthal lept into action. And then
realized that the gnome's eyes were closed and it was snoring.

Oh. Right. That was his traveling companion. He'd been convinced to trust him in the name of smiting
evil, and smiting they had done, though there was always a dagger ready to fly at the various extremeties
of the gnome should he decide to betray Iltanthal.

This was not the first gnome that Iltanthal had eventually trusted his life to. In fact, no
gnomes he had ever met had shown the slightest hint of evil. Other than the one who - no,
better not to think about that.

It was all very confusing. All of these gnomes seemed to behave just as the Elders said. Not at all evil.
Why, then, would one of them betray the Elves and - NO! Shaking his head, Iltanthal muttered quietly
and began preparing to continue his travels, with this companion.

Role

Chapter 8

The azure-colored sky heralded the coming of the dawn, and the light tickled the
edges of Iltanthal's slumbering consciousness. He awoke slowly, savoring the
cool morning air filling his nostrils. He stretched deeply, yawning as he -

The realization hit him like a clubbing by a fire giant. He hadn't been awakened
by the nightmare of his sister's screams! For the first time in...well, since he
could remember...a good night's sleep. He felt rested, and ready to face the
new day. More ready than ever before.

He also felt ready for a bath.

Role

Chapter 7

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. But now that you're at my
mercy...I..."

The dark-elf smirked. "You cannot. How pathetically weak."

Iltanthal had, at long last, tracked the dark-elf necromancer who had brutalized
his sister so long ago. Aging and decrepit, the foul magi's magics had
faded, no matter his earlier successes. Now he was weak, and completely
helpless against the young Squire.

"Why a gnome? Why? Why did a gnome help you?"

The dark-elf's laughter made him cough, spitting up blood. "A gnome."
He smirked again, wiping blood from his lips and wincing. "You actually
fell for the Illithid's mind-games."

A mindflayer! The revelation hit Iltanthal like Krikar with the Wand of Orcus.

A hot sensation ran up his spine and flushed his face. He had been
so righteously angry with gnomes, with the Council...and it was all
a lie. He felt an idiot. He released his dagger from the throat of
the dark-elf and put his hands to his head, groaning. "I'm such a fool..."

Seeing his chance to escape, the dark-elf cast a sleep incantation at the
young elf. His magic was as weak as he, however, and Iltanthal reacted
without thinking. Before he could even stop himself, a dagger had found
its way into his hand and plunged deep into the heart of the drow. Mithril.

A fitting end to a monster, he thought, dimly, as he considered his next steps.

Role

Chapter 6

"Of course, all is forgiven, Iltanthal. Though you had nothing to seek
forgiveness for." Iltanthal heard the words coming from the mouth of
the Council Elder, but he wasn't certain he truly believed them.

The first step in redeeming himself for his ignorance and stupidity, falling
so blindly into the simple deception of the illithid, losing his
trust for the Council, nearly losing his entire faith...the first
step he made was to humbly approach the Council and ask forgiveness.

His heart was indeed mended somewhat, having received the forgiveness
of his people. But he felt he needed to do more. He had held such malign
thoughts of gnomekind, for no good reason whatsoever. What deed could
possibly make up for years of distrust?

Iltanthal did small things, aiding gnomes here and there, but it all
felt...hollow. Until one day...

Role

Chapter 5

Iltanthal shifted uncomfortably in the early morning hours. He wanted to try
to get back to sleep. After so many years of nightmares, he rather enjoyed
getting a good night's sleep.

Sitting up, he shrugged. It wasn't going to happen. His rear end hurt. Still.
There was no physical problem, many Fortress healers and paladins had made
very certain of that. No, it was all mental. But how do you forget the tearing
pain of a bull's...anatomy...being roughly inserted into an orifice that should
be exit-only?

The mission had been a very successful failure. Or a miserable failure of a
success, depending on how one viewed it. The call had gone out - Tubnic, a
silly gnome, had drawn a bad card from the Deck of Fate, and was trapped in
the dreaded Inferno. It was the perfect opportunity for Iltanthal to do
right by a gnome, and perhaps help feel better about himself.

Iltanthal successfully bargained with Minos (Sin 1). The deal was that Iltanthal
would enter the Second Circle and beyond (Sin 2), and lead Cormindon with him (Sin 3).

If they failed, Iltanthal would switch places with Tubnic. If they succeeded,
Iltanthal would switch places with Tubnic. Either way, thought Iltanthal, we
free the gnome. I am glad to take his place.

The Lady Baerinika was not as...optimistic...about the whole affair.

Role

Chapter 4

Iltanthal asked the Lady for forgiveness for his sins, for he knew he had
sinned in his attempt to free the gnome. After a long while, Baerinika
freed him from the prison (surprising Iltanthal immensely, for he did not
expect such generousity), commanding him to promise to attempt to learn
more about Balance, to temper his extreme behavior (anger toward gnomes,
then extreme guilt and overly nice treatment to gnomes). He sought a Nexun
for a long while, though he had little luck finding one. Finally the aging
bard Jakziim agreed to speak with him. Though no longer a Nexun, he gave
Iltanthal a very interesting perspective on Balance. It helped Iltanthal
greatly.

Role

Chapter 3

Iltanthal: Lorn paid his debt to the Tara'bal.

With that announcement, a page turned in Iltanthal's life. Lorn, a gnomish
shapeshifter of the Nexus Island, had struck the Tara'bal alongside dark
sorcerors from the Chasm. Iltanthal grimly set out hunting him, and when
he found the mage on the North Galadon road alongside a Nexus warrior, he
struck swiftly, without the hesitation he might have felt long ago.

The warrior, Grimthor, was not to be hunted, for he had done nothing. He tried
to help Lorn, pummelling Iltanthal, striking vital areas, but the closer he
came to the daggers of the elf, the more he ended up doing himself harm.
Finally, Lorn fled back to Galadon, with Iltanthal in dogged pursuit.

A lizard. An armadillo. A dire wolf. The gnome shifted and squirmed and
in the end broke his own body with his panicked attempts to escape
Judgement.

Later, Iltanthal reviewed the fight. A definite end to one Chapter
of his life, and the beginning of a new one.

Role

Chapter 2

His palms were sweaty. His heart was racing. A small sheen of sweat appeared on
his upper lip. He went through the forms in his mind, calming himself. Thrust,
pivot, hamstring, throat. Stab, dodge, pivot, strike. Repeating them did seem
to help. Some.

His nervousness was silly. He is a member of the Holy Brigade of the Phoenix.
A true Maran. The Captain of the Fortress of Light and, therefore, a member
Of the Council of Light. He had faced dragons, dark knights of immense power,
even the vaunted Empress Ahtieli, an undead lich sorcerous of considerable
mystical might. And not once did he back down, nor show fear.

He had romanced many an elf maid, drank ale for ale with a dwarf on more than
on occasion, and yet here he was, frozen with fear, unable to open the door.

Iltanthal tried to muster his courage. He had braved the depths of Hell with
a (faked) laconic smile of one being waited on by a bevy of buxom beauties.
And yet the formidable pair on the other side of this door were his biggest
challenge yet. He kept trying to steel his resolve, but each time he made
to reach for the door, his hand wouldn't seem to move.

Suddenly, the door started to swing inward of its own volition. Not yet!
It is too soon! I am not ready! He tried to turn to leave, to hide, to
do...something. But he remained frozen, a grim frown on his face, waiting
for the phrase he dreaded...

"Come in. Come in, our son. We are very proud of you."

The voice of his father shot a bolt of lightning down his spine, forcing
him into motion. Lumbering like one of the Lich Satebos' undead, he
entered the room, feeling numb. The door closed behind him.

A hug from his mother, and the tears began to flow. Everything poured out.
His life to this point, recounted for them. They deserved that much.
That much and so much more.

Role

Chapter 1

Iltanthal has never been a one-maiden elf. Sometimes not even
a one-woman-at-a-time elf. He never wanted to get tied-down.
Well. Not in the relationship sense, anyway. Ahem.

Lately, though, he has taken to attempting to comfort
Celenai on the loss of her dear friend Ryasyn. Oh, the two
elves had always flirted with each other and such, and
he romanced her as much as, if not more than, the next maiden.

But lately, his mind drifts toward the icy-eyed beauty more often.
At inopportune moments, at times. While lying with a pretty young
half-elven serving maid who enjoyed a good canoodling, he once
told her "Ah, that feels good, Celenai." One does not have to guess
how the rest of that evening went.

Yet it is unlikely Iltanthal will pursue a deep relationship. Not
out of a hesitancy to "settle down", though. Well, not entirely that.
His fallen brother-in-arms, Cormindon, was once romantically involved
with her. Somewhat seriously, perhaps. Is it possible to betray the
dead? Iltanthal would rather not find out. Best to think of other
things. Difficult to do, when each time you close your eyes you see
someone's face.

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