Eled the Disciple of Ancient Ways

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Role

Chapter 1

The shadow slipped in and out of the torchlights of the mercenary camp and
made its way cautiously by the heads of the defeated, which formed a gruesome
corridor to the mercenary captain's tent. He would complete his task, and be
welcomed into the dark brotherhood he had so long supported in secret. Those
who had mocked him in his youth and weakness would do so no longer, he would
have power, and they would pay. The death of a Battlerager would be his ticket
to greatness. None of the order could deny him a place, he would kill this warrior,
and raise his corpse as his servant, none would stand in his way. He dropped off
the path and snuck around to the back of the tent, none would even know he had
entered the camp until his slave rose from the dead and burst from his tent, hell
bent on destruction of his master's enemies. He carefully lifted the side of the
tent and slipped underneath the sidewall, the sounds of rain spattering the
muddy ground replaced by a gently crackling fire and the pattering of rain against
hide. Across the floor of the tent he could see him, a massive barbarian. His skin
was darkened and scarred, from many years on the campaign, and perhaps he
was also half drow, he could not be wholly sure. A large blanket, probably from
the hide of a bear, half covered the barbarian's naked body. On either side of
him, two woman, beautiful, and equally naked. Seven jugs of what must have
been ale lay on their sides. Perhaps, he could take them as well, though he was
unsure whether they would be more satisfying dead, or alive. As he neared him,
he could feel the magic rising in him, he could feel the Veil lending him power.
Excitement, fear, anxiety, power, all rose in him, mixing with the magic and
adrenaline, he was becoming euphoric. A bony, pale white hand stretched from
black, woolen robes and pointed at the barbarian, he began to recite the
incantation that would release a terrible necromatic power straight into the brain
of the sleeping barbarian. This was it, he would have his power! But something
was wrong, the magic was leaving, the Veil shivered around him and then, the
barbarian awoke.

Something told Eled to awaken, to rise quickly from his slumber. His eyes had
only just opened, and the Veil shivered, and in front of him was a skinny figure in
a black robe, its bony hand pointed straight at him. Magic was on his lips.
MAGIC!! Fury rose in Eled and rage consumed him, and blood filled his vision. He
exploded in sheer hatred from his bedding and leapt at the form, just as a terrible
necromatic power burst from his fingertips. Eled's head flared into a white hot
fire just as he reached the terrified mage. Eled saw the fear and surprise in his
eyes as he bellowed a terrible warcry and his right fist connected with the pale,
thin face of his would-be murderer. Bone and sinew crunched, and blood spit
from the other side of the magi's mouth. The left came across and smashed the
right eye socket of the reeling necromancer. The apprentice fell backwards,
tripping on an empty tankard, and Eled was on top of him. In seconds, the head
of the magic was literally a sack of hammered bone and brain, blood and tissue
seeping from the eye s

Role

Chapter 2

The inside of a mercenary tent fills your vision, a large table surrounded
by many arguing captains dominates the center. Three men stand tall
and proud in the back, but they are not warriors of any kind. They wear
soft silk robes, their hands are delicate. They are mages. The argument
appears to be about their presence.

"Like hell yer gonna let them fight with us!" Faleed was furious. A
rival captain had brought the mages with him, planning to use them on
the battlefield. Faleed felt it was an insult to his very core, being a man
who believed the only way to make it in this world was by your sword
arm and your wits. He was not a student of the Battlerager philosophy,
in fact, he had been paid to fight for mages and happily accepted their
gold. But their place was in their towers, scheming. Not on the fields of
battle, where the real men were forged.

"They will fight Faleed, they will stand with us, they are good men," the
opposing captains voice was smooth and diplomatic.

"No, their damned pantywaists, and any man who fights with em is a
coward." Faleed glared across the table, to call one of these men a
coward was to strip him of his very manhood.

"Coward is it?! Coward!?" Diplomacy failed, now there was only the
diplomacy of mercenaries. "Ill kill you, you bastard, I challenge you to
battle!" The challenger yanked one of his axes from his belt and pointed
it across the table at Faleed, a clear challenge.

"Lets git after it then, the birdsll be eatin in ten minutes." Faleed
stormed out of the tent, throwing the door flap wide on his way out. The
rest of the men filed out, anticipating the coming fight.

No more words were exchanged between the combatants, but a din was
rising in the camp, men making wagers, staking claims and generally
making a ruckus. The circle formed, and the two joined in combat.
Faleeds swords moving in perfect harmony, stabbing, slashing and
parrying. His opponents axes moved with nearly the same grace, and
just a bit more power. Back and forth they went, two of the finest
warriors these soldiers had ever seen. Eled was awed by the fight. Soon,
Faleed gained the upper hand, he pressed his advantage as the offended
captain tired. All of the sudden, he slipped, his arms went up as he tried
to catch his balance and his opponent took his chance, cutting deep into
Faleeds exposed side. The crowd fell nearly silent, in disbelief that the
finest swordsman they had ever known could falter in such a way. A few
of them began to point at a patch of ice that had appeared on the ground,
rumblings ran through the crowd as Eled knelt down to Faleed, who had
waved him over.

"Ya listen here boy, ya make me a promise now," Faleed coughed up
blood as he struggled to talk. "Ya git on outta this camp, and ya git
yerself to the Academy. Use my name at git yerself inta the Warriors
coughing, Faleed was fading fast. "Ya git ya some learnin from them,
and then ya seek out them Villagers, them ones I told ya about, finest
fellas ya ever seen in a fight I tell ya. Ya git on with them, and then ya
kill every mage ya see. Kill them bastards fer not bein proper men, kill
em fer the Bear. Kill em cause I cant. Ya got me?"

"I promise," there was no sadne

Role

Chapter 3

The heart of a raging battle fills your vision, dead bodies lay scattered
everywhere, and a small band, under a banner of black with a white bear
on it, fight on against overwhelming odds.

"To the last men! Welcome sweet death and glorious victory!" Faleeds
warcry could be heard over the din of battle by all on the massive field,
many even stopped to look at the band of mercenaries, awed by their
unbreakable courage and battle prowess.

Eled battled on a slight downward slope, taking on two axemen with his
longsword and his shield. First pushing and stabbing forward, and then
suddenly he was on their flank, the first fell, the sword going through his
shoulders, in the right and out the left. Eled released his grip on his
sword and threw the shield at the bewildered survivor. Before he knew
what hit him, his axe was on the ground, and the screaming half-breed
had straddled him and was crushing his face with disturbing glee. The
axeman ceased his struggles as Eleds final blow crushed his cheek bone.
Eled rose, his fury once again stored just under the surface, the cool and
collected mind of a well-trained fighter returning. He looked up the
slope to the banner, where Faleed stood, waiting patiently for three
enemy soldiers to attack him.

The first, a spearman, feinted left, moved right and took two quick, long
strides towards the mercenary captain, the tip of his spear shooting
dangerously forward, a signature move of sorts, he had obviously killed
many men with this tactic. It did not faze Faleed, as the spear came
forward, Faleed dropped his left foot back, easily dodging the thrust,
Faleed held his left hand back, and with his right, struck underhanded at
the oncoming spear. His strength, speed, and expertly sharpened blade
cut through the stout wooden shaft of the spear, and then the mans chest
was suddenly opened by two blades, parallel lines exposing the mans
innards. Faleed had pivoted backwards on his right foot, spinning
around and bringing all his strength to bear, ripping the man apart.
Finishing in a half-crouch with his left foot forward and his blades low,
he shot his right foot forward, planted, and thrusted forward with both
swords, rising slightly as his blades buried themselves nearly to the hilts
in his next victims chest. With uncanny power he pulled the blades
straight out and the man fell limp. The third soldier, another spearman
lunged forward at the waiting captain. It looked as though Faleed was
going to meet the Warder, his swords were at his side, there was no way
a man could stop the lightning strike aimed for his chest. But the black-
skinned mercenary captain from Hamsah Mutazz was not done yet. In
an incredible show of swordsmanship, he cross-down parried the
oncoming thrust, stepping over his blades and demolishing the
bewildered soldiers nose and face. The man rose in confusion, blood
streaming from his nose, and that pause was all Faleed required. He
spread his blades wide, and brought them on a nearly intersecting path
through the mans neck. A thud on the blood-stained ground and Faleed
rushed forward to find more enemies. Eled chuckled and yanked his
sword from his opponents shuddering corpse and turned to find another
fight.

Role

Chapter 4

A ragtag mercenary camp, on the outskirts of a great battlefield fills your
vision.

"Boy! Bring us water!" the black-skinned mercenary bellowed. "Boy!
Hurry yer ass!"

Llibani came running around to the front of the tent with the pail of
water. He was ten now, and strength was coming to his skinny frame
from all the work he was made to do. He passed the water around to
Faleed and his men. He was turning to go back to his meager lean-to
against the corral when Faleed stopped him.

"Git over here boy. Now, I didnt take ya ta be my servant fer the rest of
yer life. Hell, Ordasen knows its hard enough ta find a proper trained
soldier in these lands, with all the recent madness. Ya aint fer gittin
water no more, I got me a couple a new slaves fer that," Faleed motioned
to two hobbled felar who were lugging the armor of dead men from the
battlefield. "I won em in a fight to the death against another captain.
Won me his men too, reckon only eight of em re any good ta me though.
Dont like yer name though. So Im gonna name ya after my old man.
From now on, yer ta go by Eled. I am Faleed ibn Eled, and you are Eled
ibn Llibani, got it? An yer only duties from now on, are ta make sure my
armorn weaponsre in order, and yer ta train every day with a sword,
and with yer fists. Only two weapons truly fit fer fightin ya ask me.
Hell, them other onesll do the trick in a pinch, but I reckon a couple a
swords and a mans fistsre all he needs ta make it in Thera. Now git,
and tend ta yer new duties."

Role

Chapter 5

A poorly lit and smoke-filled backroom in the South Dairein settlement
fills your vision. Two men sit across from each other, a third man off to
the side. One of the men is overweight, balding, and sweating profusely.
The other, a well-muscled, fine human specimen who looks unnervingly
calm. His skin is black and his dress is much like the citizens of the
desert city Hamsah Mutazz. Behind the portly man sits a dejected
woman, with a small, half-breed child dozing on her lap.

"Alright you no good mercenary, lets raise the stakes," the portly man
looks back and forth from the card in his hand to the calm soldier across
the table.

"Alright then Goreyell, name the price."

"You throw in that blade of yours, and Ill throw in the whores bastard,"
Goreyell jerks his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the small child.
The woman starts to protest but a savage backhand from Goreyell drops
her back into the seat before she can even get a sound out.

"What the hell would I want the bastard son of a whore for? He likely
dont even have a name!"

"Not that you will even win," Goreyell smirks as he looks back and forth
from his card to the soldier, "but, you are a great mercenary, should you
not have a servant boy, a squire of sorts? His name, is Llibani, after her
customer, she took a fancy to him, even though he was the creepiest
damn drow I ever seen."

"Llibani eh? Alright," the mercenary thought deeply and smiled to
himself. "Deal. Show yer card."

Goreyell drops his card first, with a smirk on his face, revealing
Daurwyn the Wielder of Ancient Magic, Preceptor of the Golden Tower.
The soldier chuckles and calmly drops his card, revealing Dhaevor the
Keeper of the Village Tablet, Leader of Battle, the greatest swordsman
Thera has ever seen. Goreyell bellows in anger and throws his mug of
ale across the room, he knows he has lost.

Role

Chapter 6

Eled is very much a mercenary. He will do just about anything for some
gold, or a fine piece of equipment. The one thing he will never do is
betray those he fights for. Short of that, just about anything goes. War
is obviously his primary sphere, but Greed and Deception are right
behind. He does not "worship" any gods. He follows the tenets of
Ordasen, because that is how he was raised. He will however, at some
point seek out both Qaledus and Iunna, though for very different reasons.
He was born the bastard son of a whore just before the turn of the age,
aquired by a mercenary captain in a game of heroes, and raised in a
mercenary camp. His father is Ssriel Llibani, of the Eldritch
Consortium, though Eled knows very little of his mysterious father, or
his involvement in the events that heralded the coming of the fourth age.
He has no manners, and will fight at the drop of a hat.

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