Unalethekai Trah'Vella the First Knight of the Maiden, Cardinal of the Golden Sun

Role

Chapter 13

Born in a small village, on the shores of the Aryth Ocean, Unalethekai was
raised by a pious and superstitious community rich with culture, but poor in
material goods. This was largely due to the fact that the village was plagued
by the marauding pirates who took great joy in traveling the coast and
raiding the peaceful fishing towns periodically. Unalethekai's kin would
make offerings to the Storm that they worshiped, for protection, and their
faith was strong, even when the weather seemed to favor the raiding ships
more often than not.

Unalethekai's parents were simple folk, and raised him with strong morals and
a sense of stewardship for those who had less. His father was the local
priest, more of a tribal shaman, really, who believed that if they stood as a
village, performed the proper rituals, and made sacrifices to the Storm, the
village would remain safe. He was grooming Unalethekai to take his place when
he died, as the spiritual leader of the village.

A natural born leader, Una knew that if his village ever hoped to experience
long-lasting peace, they would have to do more than pray. His faith was
strong, but so was his arm, and it didn't take long for him and a number of
other young men to adapt their fishing spears to pierce the crude armor worn
by the marauding pirates. They made a plan, and prepared themselves, floating
just beneath the waves as the sun sank into the ocean.

The dhow, its crude colors snapping in the breeze, approached the small
village silently, the evil men on board fingering their blades as they
prepared to ransack the unprepared, undefended village. Or so they thought.
Suddenly, the ocean seemed to explode around them as the group of storm
giants sprung from the water, clambering over the railings and onto the deck
of the ship, swarming the surprised pirates, who fell, staining the planks
red with their tainted blood.

As calm returned to the ship, the only sound was the lapping of the waves on
the gunwale and the heavy breathing of the villagers who had finally stood up
to their opressors. Then, cheers erupted from the village proper as the
people realized that their plan had succeeded.

Standing at the helm, Unaleth offered a silent prayer to Neltouda, the Storm
Born, giving thanks for the brisk wind that had risen to blow away the scent
of death and replace it with fresh smell of brine. Then, a thought struck
him. He turned around, grinning down at the ragtag group of fishermen
standing on the deck of the small, but well-equipped ship. His gaze took in
the sails, snapping crisply in the offshore wind, and he reveled in the
sound. This was his ship, now. And he would no longer spend his days casting
his net. He would become a fisher of men, as his Father hoped for, but not in
the sense that his father had expected.

There were other villages, like his, undefended. There were other peoples,
like his, oppressed, with no one to stand up for them. He had a ship. He knew
how to sail. It was time to take from those who made thievery into a trade,
and give back to those who had been stolen from. He would sail far and wide,
inspiring the faithful who worshipped the Storm that gave them life, teach
them of the Lady Captain, who, like the storm giants, came from the Storm
itself, and raise them up, teaching them

Role

Chapter 3

A long overdue update.

Unalethekai's getting older. It's unavoidable, but he's bearing it with a
good deal of grace. Any complaints he makes are usually in jest, and although
his joints are aching more often from the cold mountain weather, it doesn't
seem to put a damper on his easy grin and optimistic manner. He still feels
bolstered by his faith, and is always aware of the Storm's own strength
augmenting his own, flowing through his veins.

Having had proposed to Padwei, and her accepting, didn't change much, save
giving him the additional headache of trying to arrange times and invitations
for the wedding ceremony. No one seemed surprised by the betrothal, although
Una has suspicions that Sil's good-natured joking about how disappointed she
is is only half-joking. A pretty elvish lass with an endearing boisterous
manner and a penchant for strong ale, and a hunger for adventure nearly a
match for Unalethekai's. Certainly fun to flirt with, but then again, what
pretty lass isn't?

But it's Padwei his soul feels drawn to. Her strong will and unceasing
devotion inspire Una, and whenever he's feeling disappointed or discouraged,
she's always there to remind her fiance' of everything he has to be thankful
for. He loves and respects her more than any other mortal, enjoys making her
blush (it makes her freckles stand out, which he loves,) and knows he's found
a kindred spirit who will always put the needs and happiness of others before
her own.

She deserves to be happy, she deserves to have a man she can be certain she
can always rely on at her side. She's earned the right to the joy they share,
a thousand times over. In a way, Una's her karmic reward for all the good
she's done, and he feels that she's the same for him. If it wasn't for that,
he'd be much more opposed to the idea of getting hitched. He never imagined
himself married, or even monogamous, but you sail where the wind's blowing.

Role

Chapter 4

Sighing to himself, Unalethekai leaned back against the reef, the sharp coral
going unnoticed through the layers of armor he wears day and night.

Jern. The young minstrel. Barely 18, and already a sworn Bloodoath of the
Empire. Unalethekai had spent the better part of a day with the lad, who had
come upon the Cardinal as he was striking the killing blow on the Imperial
Vanquisher, reclaiming the radiant crystal orb once again. Unalethekai
sensed something in him, some glitter of innocence beneath the layers of
propaganda already piling on top of the child like excrement in a latrine.

Jern's story was all too common. Oldest son of a drunken father and a mother
who worked herself to death trying to support the family. Forced to grow up
too soon, to take care of his young brother and sister, with nothing but the
harsh lessons of a mother turned hard and cold by necessity.

Unalethekai tried to explain how Jern would be turning his brother and sister
into monsters in order to keep them from becoming victims. How the price for
order and prosperity need not be paid with your eternal soul. He spoke of the
light, of family, and did his best to fan the tiny ember of hope that still
burned in Jern. Drawing on his faith, he tied in his own deep reverence for
his ancestors, and tried to relate to what Jern felt......

But the lad, perhaps by necessity, had become closed off. He needed to, in
order to protect himself emotionally from his abusive father. A product of
violence, he would only beget more violence.


Unalethekai shook his head, fingering the mantle of the Cardinal that hung
about his neck, floating in the water before him. He wouldn't give up on the
child. If he had learned anything, it was that there is always hope. Few
souls are so polluted as to be beyond saving. Few men were as well equipped
to save them as he was, Storm be Praised.

Role

Chapter 5

Wexlan, the half-drow shapeshifter, seeks to be a Squire. With an alligator
and boulder hawk, Unalethekai knows he'd be a potent weapon of the Light.

But the shifter's rise in his guild was rapid, and both Goganop and Una were
worried that he was a man who would grow impatient as a Squire, with nothing
but the hunt to drive him.

So, with the words of Neltouda echoing in his head, and bearing in mind the
duties of the Acolytes, Unalethekai came up with a plan. He would be sure
that all the new Squires and Scribes had something to take joy in besides the
War, before he would give them a recommendation.

Una recognizes the importance of being able to step away from the blood and
violence from time to time to appreciate the gifts of the Light, whether they
be companionship, listening to or playing music, art of any kind, tale
telling, appreciating fine ale or wine, or evencherishing the warm embrace
of a woman.

By stressing this in his interviews, he'll ensure that the Squires and
Scribes are well rounded, their spirits tempered, and less likely to become
distraught and depressed in the face of adversity. Una can't think of a
better way to safeguard their spirits preemptively, and it will also make
life in the Fortress more interesting and entertaining for all involved.

No one will lose sight of why they fight as long as Unalethekai Trah'Vella
roams the Grey Halls.

Role

Chapter 6

Speaking with Lady Baerinika was an enlightening experience. He hadn't sought
her, in the past, so busy with his own Captain and his duties to the Fortress
and the Thundering Maiden, and decided to rectify that.

He understands, now, that she would never accept an Acolyte as Marshall, and
after one question from the Spearmaiden, understands why he couldn't forsake
his Acolyte Oaths to become a Maran.

"If you had the choice between saving one of your brothers or sisters who is
on the verge of death, or striking the killing blow on one of the shadow,
which would you choose?"

To Una, the choice was obvious. He didn't even have to consider his answer.
He would save his brother. Apparently, a Maran wouldn't make that decision.

This took Unalethekai aback, as did her answer to his question about how he
can improve himself in his duties.

"You don't know the Creed of the Maran as well as you think you do." she had
said, her voice quiet and contemplative, clearly not chastising but instead
seeking to impart wisdom.

Unalethekai recognized her intent, and humbly vowed to rectify this lack of
understanding.

It was true, in retrospect. He had always believed that preservation of the
light should come before destruction of the shadow, and he lived that belief
every day. But he had also believed that the Maran felt the same way, that
they destroyed in order to preserve, and given the choice would save a
brother or sister in need over pursuing a foe.

He understands, now, that the Maran's duty forces them to make difficult
decisions, to consider what will serve the greater good. Although they would
never harm one of the Light, they would make the difficult choice, knowing
that those of the Fortress have resigned themselves to occasional death in
the line of duty. The Maran would seek to destroy the thing that threatens
the Light, so that it couldn't continue to spread evil and pain across Thera.
If it meant the sacrifice of a life......so be it.

Unalethekai knows he need not bear the title of Marshall to defend the
Redhorn gates, or to train the squire and scribes in defense. He had hoped
that having an Acolyte who was also a Marshall would be a symbol of unity,
but he has resigned himself to continue working as he has, striving to reach
out to each and every member of the Fortress, learn their strengths,
weaknesses, fears and hopes, and bring them more firmly into the flock of
souls he tends with compassion and care.

In retrospect, he laments that he was so confident in his knowledge that he
allowed himself to believe that the Creed was simple enough to be understood
solely through reading the texts in the Hall of Light, and the histories of
the Fortress.

He'll strive to speak to each Maran about what the Creed means to them, to
further his own understanding. Although he will likely never possess a heart
hard enough to make the choices the Maran must, it's important he knows the
Creed as well as the Maran, so that he can impart that lore onto the young
Squires and Scribes, and be better equipped to strengthen the bonds of
brotherhood within the Fortress of the Light.

Role

Chapter 7

Unalethekai grunted, sweat dripping down his brow and onto his wool tunic as
he rolled once more onto his back to begin his third set of sit-ups. The Hall
of Fire felt like its name, warm as a furnace, although it was likely only
due to the fact that Unalethekai had been exercising for the last hour.

It had started when Isendor made a comment about his stomach. By no means
fat, Unalethekai HAD developed a bit of a paunch lately, no doubt due to the
fact that he no longer needed to sprint from all corners of Thera to the
Redhorn gate for defense. Succor, it seems, is a mixed blessing.

Panting, he rolled again to his knees and started his third set of push-ups
as he continued to consider his motivations.

There was a woman. As there usually is whenever a man becomes hyper-aware of
his physique. Padwei, Elder Prophet of the Light. She had surprised him, the
other day on the Snow-Covered Ledge. He thought she was going to chastise him
again for his rough manners, but instead she gave him gifts. One, a big
fluffy pair of socks, and two.....a kiss. He cares for her a great deal,
perhaps even loves her, but he's hesitant about pursuing anything.

His first duty is to the Light, and the Fortress. And it seems that in the
coming days, even more will be asked of him. He has no doubt that he can
handle the burden of leadership, but he won't risk compromising it by trying
to spread himself too thin. Captain of his own ship, First Mate of the
Thundering Maiden, Acolyte of the Golden Sun...it's a good thing that
leadership has never been much of a burden to him, as used to it as he is.

Unalethekais, massive, bulging arms shook with fatigue as he stood
once again and moved towards the weapon rack where Defiance waited for him.
He took the blade in his hands, reveling in the balance and the feel of the
hilt in his calloused fists, and aware, as he always was, of the blade's
legacy. It reminded him, as his Lady Tempest did, that the mortal will is
capable of anything, if it is strong enough.

He began moving through the forms, slashing, lunging, thrusting, sweat
pouring off him now. His conversation with Isendor last eve had also helped
to steel his resolve. The Marshall sought to be with his Beloved, and who
could blame him. What could be more precious to the Light than a love that
transcends the boundaries of the mortal coil?

So much rested on Unalethekai's shoulders now, and he couldn't chance being
weak, or soft, or lenient. In the past, many of his enemies had escaped death
at his blade, and he couldn't allow that now. A tainted soul allowed to
escape meant one more threat lurking, waiting for an opportunity to harm
those he loved, Padwei, or his brothers and sisters in the Fortress.

He had learned a good deal from Isendor in the decades since he had enlisted
as a Scribe, and he knew that if he hoped to be Marshall, he would need to
hone his bladework, perfect his strategy. His prayers were powerful, his
healing touch renowned, but if he hoped to stand at the Redhorn gate, repel
any attackers that might come, and pursue them into oblivion, as a Marshall
of the Fortress should, he would need to forge his body into a weapon of the
Light.

*****

Exhausted from the hours of exercise, the sweat-soaked Unalethekai sheathed
Defian

Role

Chapter 8

Recently, Saerali expressed to Padwei, Elder Prophet of the Light, that she
felt Unalethekai was condescending and bossy. Padwei spoke to Unalethekai
about this, who was flabbergasted and at first thought she was joking, as he
had spent the last decades of his life lifting people's spirits and doing his
best to spread joy.

Never one for politics or tip-toeing, Unalethekai immediately decided to
figure out who had the problem with him (As Padwei wished to keep it
confidential) and discovered it was the healer, much to his surprise. He
hadn't spent much time with her, and when he did, he found her quiet and
unassuming. He certainly didn't feel he had ever treated her with anything
but respect and friendship.

Troubled, he sought the Lady Neltouda, who had always helped him to chart his
course and find his bearings whenever he felt as though he was drifting. She
reminded him that if she had enough faith in him to name him First Mate of
her ship, he should not doubt himself, and that many people are simply
oversensitive and too sheltered to be comfortable with his boisterous nature.


Reassured, their talk turned to other subjects, and of Unalethekai's desire
to be Marshall of the Fortress. Since enlisting as a Scribe, he had always
known that he would straddle the line between the Acolytes and the Maran, for
many reasons. A formidable opponent in any battle, Unalethekai always seeks
to maintain a balance, spreading comfort and blessings with his left hand
even while the hammer in his right rends the shadow that seeks to overwhelm
those he protects.

A Captain of a ship must be capable of doing any task his crew is asked to
do, capable of taking on any role, be it that of priest or father, taskmaster
or cook, disciplinarian or comforting mother. Most importantly, a Captain
must never let his ship be taken.

Unalethekai has spent his whole life defending his own ship, the Blessed
Behemoth, from attack, and has never once lost her. He feels the most comfort
when he stands at the side of the Tara'Bal, repelling the shadow's forces
from the Fortress' walls. He's confident that although he will take on any
position of leadership, and undertake his duties to the best of his
abilities, his true calling is that of defense, of bolstering the spirits of
the defenders, healing their wounds, and not budging from the foredeck of his
ship, which in this case is the Redhorn gate.

He feels that although the position of Marshall is traditionally given to a
Maran, a sufficiently battle-tested Acolyte would actually do better, as they
are more defense-minded than the Holy Brigade out of habit. Unalethekai sees
himself as a rock, the light's anchor, and letting his enemies break their
teeth upon him as he doesn't budge from the Fortress' gates would inspire all
who dwell within its walls, reassuring them that there is great strength in
the Storm, and in the Light, that cannot be overcome by the filth that seeks
to swarm it.

Role

Chapter 9

Unalethekai glanced up from the still form of Jaisel, resting now that the
plague had been purged from his prone form, just in time to see the slim form
of a dark-elf pass by arched entrance of the Dark Temple. Jaisel noticed too,
his face contorting into a snarl.

"Itzel." the assassin said, warning clear in his voice.

"Mmmm." said Unalethekai, the comment sounding like a rumble of thunder on
the horizon as it reverberated around within his massive chest.

The Storm-born Knight considered his situation. Jaisel was seen to, cured and
well. The drow, however deserved careful consideration. Never one to strike
without thinking, the fact he had never met this drow ranger before made him
even more hesitant.

"Know anything about him, lad?" Una said, peering down at the assassin at his
side.

"I know he's a drow, and that's enough," said Jaisel, the zealotry evident in
his voice. Unalethekai chuckled at hearing this.

"Aye? Well, not enough for me, lad. If I've learned anything in life it's
that you check your charts before you raise anchor."


***********

Suddenly you find yourself watching the scene from a distance. Unalethekai,
massive as an anchor and ablaze with righteousness is speaking down to the
dark-elf Itzel, dwarfed next to the storm giant. Itzel's manner is reserved,
his posture relaxed, unthreatening. Sincere. Unalethekai has a smile on his
face, and it's clear by the way he's moving his hands that he's preaching
something, and without hearing his words you're certain he's speaking of the
soul's journey, and how enlightenment can come to all beings if they are
willing and sincere, resolute in their faith that anything is possible.
Itzell is nodding now, a small smile playing across his lips, his eyes
brighter, now, inspired by the larger-than-life Knight standing before him.
He no longer sags on the boulder where he sits, and his shoulders straigten
as both storm giant and drow turn to look in the direction Unalethekai is now
pointing, towards the Temple at the peak of the mountain above Mourdroular's
Monastary.
************

As though transported by thought, a vision of a pulsing altar of pure Light
fills your mind, in an austere room carved from white marble. You realize,
now, that this is where Unalethekai has sent Itzel on his quest for
enlightenment and repentance.

***********

As the vision fades, the clear, strong voice of Unalethekai echoes within
your mind.

"May the Strength of the Storm ease your burdens, brother, the rains wash
away your sullied past, and the lightnings strike you dead if you betray your
soul and my trust by stepping off of this path you've set yourself on."

Role

Chapter 10

An Entry from the Captain's Log Book

Much has changed since my youth. If you had told me, some ten years ago, that
someday I would be the Captain of my own ship, I may have believed you. If
you had told me that it wouldn't be a fishing vessel, but instead a dhow
outfitted for war, I would have scoffed

But here I am, A Buccaneer, and a Priest of the Lady Tempest. The Storm's
winds blow, and you can either unfurl your sails and ride them, or spin
without direction, tossed by the waves.

The filth that sail the Aryth are nothing compared to the likes I have met
since joining my brothers of the Light within the Fortress. While the
pirates I have made it my career to hunt are motivated largely by greed, my
enemies, now, have black hearts full of dark motivations. Some wish to herald
in a time of Eternal Night, to see the seas becalmed and the Storm quelled
beneath an ink-black sky. Others, like the Orc, seem to thrive on the pain
and terror they cause, feeding on the flesh of the people I have vowed to
protect. The Imperials would take away the freedoms of Thera's people, force
them to live in fear, and to pay tribute for a measure of peace. The enemies
of the Light are numerous, and I have become a student of the Art of War by
necessity.

Those who share my burden, my brothers and sisters of the Fortress, have
become like family to me, if not yet as close as my own crew. They each have
their strengths, and weaknesses, and I find myself paying careful attention
to their actions in battle, critiquing them and for the most part, holding my
tongue.

It's a Captain's job to see that his ship sails smoothly, and the Fortress of
the Light is a ship full of good intention but lacking in discipline.

I have stood now at the Redhorn Gate more times than I can count, at the left
hand of the Maran, defending his flank and unleashing the terrible fury of
the Storm upon any who would think to assail these hallowed halls.

I learn more of defense every day, and have come to think of the Stone walls
of the Fortress like the hull of my own ship. I study the tomes of history,
battle strategy, and anything else I can get my hands on. They are my charts,
that I will use to plot my course and the course of the Acolytes. My faith is
my sextant, and I have set my eyes on a distant shoreline. I will make
Captain Neltouda proud as the next Marshall of the Fortress, and I will never
abandon one of my crew to stand alone, undefended. The Captain goes down with
the ship, and so will I fall before I allow the Redhorn Gate to be breached.

Role

Chapter 11

Spiritual Views

Unalethekai, raised in a more shamanistic culture, shares a view common to
Buddhism or Hinduism, that of Karma.

The soul travels through a cycle of rebirth, and the form you take when you
are reborn is based upon the karma from your previous life. Doing evil things
like murdering, torturing, stealing, and to a lesser extent, lying, are bad
karma. Selfless acts, charity, and noble speech and action promote good
karma and happiness, both in yourself and those around you.

Violence, to any degree, brings a soul a measure of bad Karma. This is a
large part of the reason Unalethekai has taken it upon himself to eliminate
the threat of those who take pleasure in and perpetuate that violence.

An innocent fisherman who defends himself against a marauding pirate cannot
avoid the negative effects of his violent actions on his peace of mind and
his soul, even though he did not choose to seek out conflict. Suffering has
come to him, although he otherwise leads a peaceful life.

Thus, Unalethekai devotes himself to taking on the karmic debt of the people
by eliminating the need for good and simple folk to defend themselves. He
hunts down those who revel in the violence, who make a living from it, or
support it, and cuts them down and sends them to face their own Karma and
unfavorable rebirth before they can pollute anyone else's with their
mindless, uncaring actions.

He believes that, if he leads a virtuous life, the peace and happiness he has
promoted will balance out the violence he surrounds himself with on a daily
basis. This makes it very important that he takes every opportunity to help
the needy, and even seek out those in need before they come to him.

That, and he believes his own strength of will would never allow him to be
reborn in a less enlightened form, his spirit strong enough to retain the
wisdom it has gained in this life. This is his ace in the hole, his fallback,
his last hope.

He is inspired by the tales of Captain Neltouda refusing to accept her fate,
and reaching a state of enlightenment by sheer force of will, and seeks to
emulate that strength.

He's sure in action and deed, honest nearly to a fault, and will always take
the lead, unless he's having trouble finding his land-legs, which tends to
happen (AFTER 5PM EST, WHEN HE IS MUDDING FROM HOME AND HIS ROOMMATES ARE
HOGGING BANDWIDTH WITH P2P SOFTWARE AND UNALETHEKAI IS LAGGING. >:-(..... )

Role

Chapter 12

A bit about his personality.

Think Robin-Hood esque with a Pirate flare, a bit more rough-around-the-edges
than your typical Paladin.

Hes gregarious, outgoing, and generous, most of the time. Although hes
gentle giant around those who might be frightened by him, hes more than
capable of working himself up into a righteous fury that matches the power of
the strongest tempest. Having spent so much time at sea around
less-than-reputable people, hes developed a few bad habits, one of them
being rather free with his words when taunting his enemies. Its something
hes working on, because he knows he has to set an example for his crew,
and be fair of speech, but its hard to resist bellowing out some witty
warcry across to the enemy ship that they are about to board. It just seems
to add to the excitement nicely.
He learned from his father the importance of tempering your words and actions
to provide a good example, and he strives to perpetuate the tales of him and
his ship that work their way down the coast. He feels that its important
for the common people to have a hero, someone on the seas fighting for them,
making the waters safer for the fisherman to ply his trade in peace.
Hes patient with his crew, but very strict. Its his policy to not allow
any of them a share of what is taken from the pirate ships they destroy. He
has brokers in all the major ports who he trusts to give a fair price for
whatever stolen goods are recovered, and when they cant find the original
owners of the stolen goods, theyre donated to the local temples to be
distributed amongst the needy. The crew is paid a generous wage from the
coin generated by the selling of the loot that goes unclaimed. Not too
generous, however, as he wants to be sure that those who sail with him do so
because they want to contribute to the greater good, not because they want to
get rich.

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 2

The scent of briny sea air intermingled with the distant clamor of Hamsah's
busy port, dimly heard through the dense morning fog that had crept its way
into the city. Standing on the Street of Guilds, Unalethekai grinned to
himself and muttered a brief prayer to the Storm for Strength as he watched
Alzinghul, Ikda, and the duergar thief Yashemsomething advance down the
crowded lane towards him.

"Keep behind me, lass, and don't let that orc get his teeth into you. This is
goin' to be rough" Una quipped to Illian, who hovered in the air over his
shoulder.

Then, they were upon them. Bracing himself for the impact, Una met the Orc's
charge with his own shoulder, waiting for the duergar to step out of the
shadows. Nothing, in his opinion, is more dangerous than the evil you don't
know. Or can't see. He barely felt the knife sink into his side, but it was
all the opening he needed. He struck out at the thief, nearly taking his
black, greasy haired head from his shoulders with one blow before the
bilge-rat turned up its tail and fled.

Striking the thief had cost him precious time, and having been so long from
dry land, he was feeling stiff and rusty. Combined with Ikda's constant,
powerful blows that nearly crushed his platemail with every strike, Alzinghul
was bashing the beast of a Paladin into the ground, slowly but surely. Too
late, he thought to retreat, and uttered a prayer of recall, and the dark had
begun to close in when suddenly a screech of fury filled the air as the
golden eagle plummeted down from the low clouds that hung like smoke over the
city. Padwei had arrived. His love. His savior.

The eagle landed on his shoulder, and life flowed into him. As gravely
injured as he had been, a cut away from death, the cost of Padwei's
altruistic prayer nearly killed her outright. Almost simultaneously, Una
staggered to his feet and dissapeared, transported a few blocks away to the
temple from the prayer he had already uttered.

"Padweiiiii!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, nearly shaking the
foundations of Hamsah's ancient temple with the thunderous roar even as he
sprinted back to the fight.

He could hear the shrill warnings of Illian as he approached the melee. "Take
off! Take off!" she screamed at the eagle, who was being crushed beneath the
weight of orc and fire giant. Too late.

Role

Chapter 1

The rage burned away any coherent thought. Unalethekai bowled into Ikda,
knocking away the hammer and smashing a gauntleted fist into the fire giant's
face. He felt cartilage snap and teeth scatter, and brought Defiance around
in a mighty swing. For Faith. For Hope. For deliverance he struck, and Ikda
was thrown from the room, writhing in agony even as he sprinted for the
Healer. Illian, quicker than the lumbering Unalethekai, caught Ikda first,
but the Orc was on her before she could so much as raise her knife. Una
followed a moment behind, and raised a thunderous call of the martyr,
throwing himself in front of the battered and bloody Squire. A veteran of
preying on weakness, Alzinghul quickly returned his attention to the thief
and struck a mortal blow, as Una took the head from Ikda's shoulders, the
cobblestones soaked with the flood of intermingling blood. Pure and tainted.
Good and evil. All red.

Inwardly, Una cursed as he felt himself shrinking as the magic that had
enlarged him dissipated into the copper-scented air. It was all the Orc
needed to do as he always did, and the brute snapped Unalethekai's spine over
his knee.

Torture. The only way to describe being forced to watch Alzinghul and Ikda
desecrate Illian's corpse while they stripped it bare. He seethed inside, his
rage the only feeling in his paralyzed body, so intense that even his sorrow
was washed away like a shell in a tidal wave. Thrice more the bastard of an
Orc broke his already broken spine, each fresh break sending a wave of agony
through him and robbing him of his ability to move. Between the second and
third breaks, the air around them grew cold and a fetid scent filled his
nostrils. Satebos had arrived.

He almost gave up hope. Then, he heard a voice.

"May Neltouda's grace fill your sails, Captain."

To this day, he can't remember the name of the youngling who spoke the words,
but it was all he needed. Steeling himself for what was to come, he knew that
if he lived it would be by the grace of the Tempest . He wouldn't allow the
lich to have him. He had to get away.

Nearly dead, his prayers of sanctuary fallen, Una watched as the Orc guzzled
the healing potions that the bastard had stolen from Illian's corpse. Potions
that Una had given her to keep her safe and alive when he couldn't be there.

And finally, the blinding pain abated and Una managed to get the potion of
transportation to his lips before the Orc was upon him again.

He grunted as the magic dumped him unceremoniously at the base of an ancient
tree in the Dranetty, bleeding and broken, but thankfully, miraculously
alive, Storm be praised.

Immortal Comments

Immortal Comments

Immortal Comments

PK Statistics

PK Deaths

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Wins

Title History

Skill List

Leveling History

Timeline

Mob Deaths

Edges