Sirfalas Tamil the Dweller of the Wilds

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Role

Chapter 3

THE BEGINNING

His earliest memory: Bound.

His hands were tied behind his back and his mouth was
filled with his own blood. He felt a hard ragged stone
beneath his tongue and realized it was a shattered tooth.
He peered up through his hair and felt as much as saw
the bright flash when his head swam and his eyes hurt.

There, in a white mist of his memory was a reed mask
slashed with red paint and a malevolent look to the eyes
behind the masked slits. A disembodied voice spoke
from behind the mask in a language he did not
understand but the intent was clear: the mask belonged
to a body with two arms and two hands and these hands
held a bowl carved out from the husk of a massive
swamp plant seed. The bowl was filled with a sweet
smelling milky liquid and the hands held it beneath
Sirfalas mouth. He felt his head pulled back and the
liquid pour down his throat and then the world was all
white mist.

BLOOD MAGIC, SPIRITS, SACRIFICE

And then his memories come and go in flashes of white.
He lived with the people he knows now as human in
Whistlewood. The Whistlewood swamplands as he
recalled were filled with nature spirits so dense he could
see them when he squinted his eyes. He learned from
this human tribe that every living being had a spirit that
was released when it died. Most spirits, like high elvish
spirits or moss spirits, are inert. They rise and fall and
lie around the living world, feeding the living much like
how a rain forest nourishes on dense piles of fallen
leaves. But some spirits are more active and malign, and
may be hostile and dangerous. To appease these spirits
and harnass their power, witch doctors must make blood
sacrifices, usually of the witch doctors enemies.

In fact, Sirfalas learned that sometimes he could control
the spirits power through cannibalism and fetishes.
Witch doctors consumed the flesh of their enemies so
that they may weaken their spirits and protect
themselves from harm, or use fetishes, like shrunken
heads, of their enemies bodies.

The blinding flashes fade away as he recalls his training
and increasing power until a day when he and the
tribesmen prepare a dwarvish for the blood ritual
different from the other sacrifices. This time, the
tribesmen cut and feasted on the dwarvishs flesh while
it still lived. Sirfalas bent down with them while the
dwarvish screamed in unnatural terror, and tasted the
dwarvish blood. As it passed Sirfalas lips he could taste
the living spirit and the accompanying rush of dark
power and lust. But then his body jerked and his
muscles convulsed.

A few years can only do so much to overcome a wood-
elfs inherent nature and aversion to unchecked black
magic, and though Sirfalas could not pinpoint this as the
cause of his sudden nausea, he retched with the extreme
discomfort. And in the days that followed, he began to
see the tribe differently, as distant Others. Though he
hunted with them still he thought often of escape
through the mist soaked days and nights until he fled
them and the Whistlewood & only to find a worse
horror awaited.

Role

Chapter 2

THE WEALD AND THE MODERN WORLD

THE WEALD AND THE MODERN WORLD

Sirfalas left the Whistlewood and made his way through
the glaurak hunting grounds into the Weald. Almost
immediately he felt the spiritual strength around his
waning not quite gone, but greatly thinned. He moved
forward despite it and came across a wonder as the trees
suddenly cut off and disappeared for a good hundred
between the treelines, was set a river of shaped stones,
cut by mans hands and set into the ground upon a bed
of sand. He stepped on to this stone river, and his
connection with the spirits all but disappeared. The
world dimmed and seemed to burn and die around him.
He would learn this stone river was called a Road.

He quickly stepped away and into the treeline, and
continued to follow it as it weaved within the Weald.
After several hours run he saw something rise above the
forest, great Cliffs of Stone, flat and unnatural. Little
people, humans, walked atop these Cliffs, staring out
across the Weald, and dark plumes of smoke billowed
into the sky behind them. Sirfalas did not need to draw
nearer to know all was dead inside these Stone Cliffs.
And this he would come to know as Galadon.

His body felt a trauma worse than when he drank the
dwarvishs blood in the Whistlewood and he shuddered.
For days he lay still, drawing strength from the Weald
and growing accustomed to this diminished existence.

Role

Chapter 1

THE TURNING

He woke on the fifth day of rest and began to make his
way back to the Whistlewood. But as he crept through
the Weald, he heard an odd noise and felt tremors in the
inert spirits around him. Following the noise, he came
across an unnatural clearing where the trees had been
hewn and cut away by iron and flame. In the center
stood a massive grey-skinned giant holding a broad
bladed axe with a half as long as Sirfalas leg. As
Sirfalas watched, the giant gripped the axe with both
hands and drove it into the side of an ancient conifer.
The tree shuddered and bled torrents of sap. Sirfalas had
cut trees before, but no like this there was no ritual to
preserve the spirit. Instead, the tree ended in cry, then
silence. Rage drew across Sirfalas face as he
lifted a sharp stick and crept around the clearing to get
into position behind the giants back as it bent over the
tree husk.

But then the clearing burst into black light!

Another figure appeared, this one a small human in
black robes wielding dark, twisted sorcery. The human
pointed at the grey-skinned giant and the giant screamed,
arching backward so that it nearly split in half. A black
liquid energy ripped itself like a molten stream from the
giants mouth and flowed through the air into the
humans outstretched hand. As the giant withered and
fell, the human grew in strength and its spirit flared
brightly in the clearing. And then, suddenly, the giant
died.

Awestruck, Sirfalas watched as the human now drew
close beside the giant. Now the man would perform the
blood ritual and protect itself from the giants spirit,
Sirfalas thought. But something & different &
happened. Instead, the black cloaked human set a pale
hand on the giants chest and whispered unknown
sorcerous words. The giants body shuddered and rose,
moving, but not alive. Sirfalas was horrified to see that
the giants spirit had not been released it was still
there, twisted by unnatural sorcery, dimly lit within the
shambling husk of the giants body.

The sharp stick dropped from Sirfalas hands. Quietly.
This world, these horrors, must end. He knew he must
wipe the slate clean so that all could be set right again.
And thus he did not return to the Whistlewood, but
instead moved to where the spirits would take him.

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