Ifriq Stormhollow the Legend of the Battlefield, Commander of Battle

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Role

Chapter 3

As dawn broke over the Wyrmwood, a widows wail heralded the most chaotic
day the village had ever seen. Ifriq walked out of her house covered in
blood, carrying three heads in one hand and a bloody knife in the other.
There was a madness in her eyes as she neatly set the heads and the knife
down on the ground and calmy stalked back into the home. A few moments later
Ifriq remerged from the house, and in her wake came billows of smoke. She
had turned her home into a funeral pyre, and before this pyre Ifriq sat with
her collection of heads. It took the better part of a day for the fire to
burn itself out, through it all Ifriq sat, watched and sharpened her knife.
She cried quite a bit, sometimes for her loss, sometimes for what she had
done and sometimes for what she was to do next.. through it all she continued
to sharpen her knife.


As the night set over wyrmwood and the embers of her previous life went out
in the steady evening rain, Ifriq took up her collection and stalked off into
the night. The night was ripe with screams of rage and gurgles of the dying,
became the emobodiment of rage that night. As the sun rose over
wyrmwood that morning, the terrible reality of Ifriqs rage became
evident. The king and his entire council had been murdered in their sleep.
The pupils of the school of necromancy had also been butchered, along with
their with their undead scourge.


The village awoke to a macabre scene in front of the school of necromancy.
Decapitated heads of the nights victims had been arranged in a tidy pile
at the gates, the head of her dead husband at the very top. On the walls was
written a dire warning PRICE OF MAGIC HAS BEEN PAID IN BLOOD & RAGE!

Role

Chapter 2

The wight began taking pupils and over the last decade he had taken a pupil
every year, Ifriqs husband was chosen to be the 11th pupil.The day the
poor soul found out, he was mortified. Not because of the uncertain fate
that awaited him at the hands of the wight, but of the sound thrashing he
would get when he went home with this terrible news. This man may have lived
in fear of his king and his undead necromancer, but he was down right
terrified of his wife. Ifriq may have been the love of his life, but she was
also one of the most ill tempered women the world had ever known. In fact
Ifriqs husband did not go home for whole week after being selected as one
of the pupils. It was not until she found him, drowning his sorrows barrel
of berry wine that Orius confessed his plight to Ifriq.He told her about
being selected and that he had less than three weeks before he was to report
to the school of necromancy. What followed was perhaps the most brutal
thrashing the village had ever seen, Ifriq beat her husband from one end of
their village to the other. Screaming that no husband of hers would ever be
a pupil to a wight as she paraded him home, one brutal bludgeon at a time.
The rest of the story gets a little fuzzy from here some people claim that
Ifriq raged through the night, yelling screaming and beating her husband
until he succumbed to the beatings and passed away. Others claim that
terrified by prospect of the next three weeks with his very angry wife, Orius
chose to take his own life and end his misery.Popular theory is that the
Ifriqs temper drew the ire of the king, and the king sent the pupils to
dispatch both Ifriq and her husband in the dead of the night. Regardless of
which story you believe, what happened next is the gods own truth for one
and all.

Role

Chapter 1

Henlon was crowned the 350th king of Wyrmwood almost eight hundred years
ago. His entire reign he had been seeking for a way to leave a lasting
legacy among his kin, something that would mark him as the greatest king the
wood elves had ever known. There had been many false starts to this quest
some comical and more than a few that were tragic. This time however, Henlon
was convinced he had perfect way to secure his fame into eternity. Henlon
would be the king that brought magic to the wood-elves, the gods had
conspired to keep magic away from wood-elves and Henlon would set right this
mistake.


Henlon hired renowned magicians of every school to open guilds in his kingdom
and offer apprenticeship to his people and kept pouring a kings ransom
into this project for almost a century.To date his efforts had borne
absolutely no fruit, over a century of studies not a single wood-elf had been
able to pull a single mote of mana from the veil. Perhaps it was desperation
of mortality or plain hubris but at a certain point Henlon become convinced
that the traditional guilds had all failed him.Transmutation, invocation,
shapeshifting and even the conjuring guilds had all tried, and they had all
failed.Henlon turned to the dark arts and in particular to a particularly
wretched wight that promised unlock the secrets of necromancy unto the
kingdom of Wyrmwood. To think, Henlon the great would have power over death
itself!Henlon was absolutely smitten with this idea and the legacy of magic
that he had long abandoned reason and any semblance of morality.

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