Talisin Aranhir the Fervent Troubadour of Balance, Bearer of the Sanguine Chalice

PK Wins

Role

Chapter 4

That night, the old bard dreamt deeply. Perhaps it was the wine,
the tavern was known to serve chip swill that would leave you
ill for days after. Or maybe a simple matter of the night's story,
for it had been a long time since he last told it.

In the dream, Talisin waged and endless battle along the roads
between Isle and Village. Blood ran down his arms, as he swung
his blade, crying out in song with each stroke. He fell once, then
again and again, bodies of his foes piled against his own.

In the midst of the battle, a crimson angel appeared, hovering above
the field. The fighting slowed, and the angel conversed with the
Rhyme, its chosen bearer. Turning back to the bard, it frowned
in contemplation. The path to the Chalice was hard and narrow, and
made progress, but was not yet ready.

The dream blurred, and now the bard danced back and forth with a
rugged giant. The giant, Commander of the village, swung his massive
pole furiously, as the wood-elf endeavoured to evade it. Many times
he'd slain the bard as such, his scout's eye finding weakness. The battle
wore long, and Talisin's songs weakened the giant, stealing his senses.
At last, Aoirse retreated to the village, the giant flying quickly
above the ground. The bard pursued, and the battle resumed, with the
Destructor a third participant. Blood pooled in the dirt below,
elf and giant near death, when a final chord brought forth a ball of
fire, and Aoirse lay dead. His greatest foe now filled the Chalice.

When he woke, he was as tired as the moment he first laid down his
head, though he accounted this, at least, to the wine. The dream
had merged with his tale, but seemed so personal. Of course, this
had happened before to the bard, where he could not separate his
stories from his own past.

Role

Chapter 3

After some time, the bard reappears near the makeshift stage,
settling onto a stool. His face is somewhat flushed, and his
eyes blur ever so slightly. In his hand, he holds a massive
goblet made of bronze, and, before speaking, he tilts it back
before his face, gulping down the wine that did not end up
running down his tabard. When he does speak, his voice
somehow remains clear and unaffected by the drink.

"This wine cup here, this chalice, well, one like it, figures
deeply into the future exploits of our young bard. See, he
ended up as a Keeper of the Balance, when Marintok was the
Rhyme."

At the sound of the name, a few folks at the bar turned around
and looked back at the speaker.

"Ah, good! So you know the Cliffjumper! As fine a leader as the
Isle had ever seen, or so the bards say. But he was some
inspiration for our young hero. As a Nexun, Talisin grew to
relish the thrill and the beauty of battle. He found his senses
sharpened when blood ran down his arms, and every sigh, sound,
and smell was intensified and more beautiful. To this end, with
Marintok's example, he sought out the blessing of the Imperator,
Akresius himself. Talisin knelt, mortal before the god and
Sanguine Chalice, and was there set upon a quest, to fill the
Chalice and prove his worth. He would face five foes in single
combat, and blood would flow."

The speaker pauses for another long gulp of wine, and looks around,
"Some of you know Marintok, then you, too, know Aoirse, onetime
Commander of the Battle Ragers. The two, Talisin and Aoirse, waged
a running battle across Thera. The giant was fierce, old yet still
strong, and grizzled with the scars of ancient wars. His strength
and his cunning were great, time and time again he forced back our
hero, as Talisin's blood flowed freely from deep wounds."

"And then, by a stroke of cunning or luck, the wood-elf crept back
upon the giant, and, with a somber tune, lulled him into a deep
sleep. Talisin's drum beat out soulful song after song, and a web
of illusions took shape around the commander, who, upon waking,
found himself trapped in a land of fog and mystery. The bard struck
then, and the Commander was confounded, his strength for naught,
and, when victory seemed at hand, he was off, fleet as a hare.
With a shake of his great head, as if casting off the illusions,
dashed away to the village and safety."

The bard stands again, and heads to the bar, as an unsatisfied
murmur arises in the growing crowd. He glances back and mutters,
"What? You thought our young hero already a match for Aoirse? No,
but that is a tale for another telling."

Role

Chapter 2

Leaving the circus, he went to Galadon, where his delicate features and
melancholic voice made him a welcome performer at the local bars. The
coin he made there was put primarily toward his education and training--
purchasing any books he could find, as well as lessons with the sword
and other blades. Of course, our protagonist had become rather vain by
this time, so he always found the coin for the latest styles in clothing
and he took to using makeup to accent his features.

As a performer, he came to recognize all types of folks--the black hearted
and the criminal and those who saw themselves as pillars of righteousness.
Each was well enough on their own, but it was when they gathered in
like-minded groups that the prospects for danger arose. Put five men who
think alike together, and they'll soon convince themselves of the most
dangerously flawed ideas. And then it would no longer be safe to perform
at that inn for some time, while the radicals ran amok setting things up
the way they thought was right. No, no. A healthy discourse was always best.
After a time, Talisin had learned what he could, and squirred away enough
coin for some time. The urge to wander had returned, and was he not soon
to be an adult?

His wanderings this time were less charmed than before, for frequently
he was set upon by foes--bandits after his coin, or priests angling for
his soul--and, though he came to enjoy the thrill of combat, it seemed
to Talisin that he was constantly surrounded by the stench fo death.
whenever he made camp for the night, he would sing to himself, but the
songs took on darker tones, reflective of the journey.

And with that, I think it is time for a break, while we all wet our throats
some.

The elderly bard strums his guitar once more for emphasis, and looks out
at his small audience, before standing and drifting back to the bar for
a drink.

Role

Chapter 1

Tales, as he was known by his friends and family, was always so curious,
and this is where our tale begins. He grew up in a tiny wood-elven village
north of Galadon, where his kin scraped a living out of the plains. Tales,
a child of great beauty, was beloved by all, for he seemd to live a charmed
life, his inquisitiveness getting him into scrapes that he always managed
to escape unscathed. As he grew towards adolescence, however, this
relentless curiousity and desire for adventure soured him on the life of
his simple kinsfolk. There was nothing else to see, no more adventures to
have, and he grew bitter and unhappy. Tales, no longer, he insisted on
Talisin.

Until he left, abruptly, without saying goodbye. A note would have to suffice,
short and to the point. "I seek a life elsewhere. Do not worry. -Tales"

Now, at this point in a story, our protagonist might wander, hungry, alone
in the vast world for which he was unprepared, and we would chastise him
for abandoning his folk. But, alas, this is no tale of morality, just the
truth. Talisin's charmed life continued, for a time, and he quickly met a
travelling circus. The performers, seeing him, on the cusp between beautiful
elven child and adult, were eager to take him in. His chores were simple,
cleaning, needlework, and the like--whatever the performers needed. And in
return, he travelled, and saw the great cities of the world.

Talisin fell in love with the beauty of the circus, both the outward splendor
of the performances, and the dirty, often grim, lives of the performers.
The showmanship thrilled him, and this, you might say, is the inkling of the
idea that later led him to the Bard's guild.

Given the, well, younger ears in the audience today, the next part of this
story is rather light on imagery. Ever since he joined the circus, the
ringmaster had looked on Talisin with great envy, desiring his youth and his
looks. One night, after a rough performance where little coin was made, his
desires overcame him. Talisin returned to the wagon of the ringmaster later
that evening, sword in hand, and woke the older man. Talisin's eyes blazed
with rage as he tossed a second blade to groggy man. The battle was clumsy,
inexperienced youth against age, but when the ringmaster lay dead on the
floor, so too was ended Talisin's time with the circus.

Immortal Comments

Immortal Comments

PK Gank-O-Meter

PK Statistics

Song List

Skill List

Title History

Arena Statistics

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Deaths

Leveling History

Timeline

Mob Deaths

Edges

Flaws

Racial Edges

Class Edges

Edges