Angaarn Stormborn the Hand of the Unseen, Seeker of the Paragon

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Role

Chapter 5

A palpable calm can be felt as the winds surge down the northernmost mountain
peak, a storm is on the brew. The Icewing hunters feel the change in the
weather as well as any of the creatures who claim the northern winter lands
their home. Their hunt for the escaped tainted will have to wait. Judging by
the intense winds now assaulting them the party will have barely enough time
to return to their city in the sky. Their worst fear being bound to the
earth for the duration of what smells like a storm to mark centuries. The
largest of the Icewing hunters throws his shimmering white cloak to the
ground allowing his glistening cerulean wings to reach to their full
potential. Reminiscent of the angels of lore the mighty Maran raises his head
into the air and lets out an earsplitting warcry. As swift as the wind itself
the war party, a mere thirteen, converges on their leader. All twelve adorned
in shimmering white cloaks, camouflaging them into the ocean of white
covering the winter plains. Soon after the party follows in tow discarding
their robes and spreading their wings in hopes that they will make it to
their precious city before the full brunt of the storm besets them.

As the thunder booms and lightning flashes overhead a feeling of dread
assails the leader of the Icewing hunters, "Down!" he screams as the
lightning begins to bend and strike at the party as they desperately race to
their home. A massive bolt of lightning arcs out and strikes one of the
Icewing hunters as he frantically tries to change his direction, instantly
engulfing his body in blackfire flame. There is no time to save their comrade
as he plummets to his death, time is of the essence as the storm begins to
center over their city growing at an unnatural rate. Knowing now the folly of
their ways the Maran change their retreat into what they know will be a last
stand as the army below begins to materialize out of the shadows. Ebony
figures begin to engulf the immaculate white plain as though a plague is
eating the land itself.

Below he sees the escaped prisoner, the broken manacles still tightly clasped
to his wrists. The Drow mage managed to find a passage through the mountain
around their outposts, it was only a matter of time before the city fell. He
should have killed him, he could have prevented this. Together uttering
prayers of faith an enormous blinding white light surrounds the remaining
twelve hunters. The army below halts for a moment the holy light too
unbearable to gaze upon. The captain quickly turns to one of the hunters and
orders, "Evacuate the city, save whom you can!" and those are the last words
from the Captain's lips as the remaining Maran dive headfirst into the heart
of the blackness.

Role

Chapter 4

Born into a world where he was constantly on the run, Angaarn learned his
place. At an age in which exploration was encouraged he was prisoner within
the darkness of caves, where others would be taught heritage and history he
was taught when to run and where to hide. Threatened relentlessly by the Drow
the few that escaped took shelter in the northern mountain caves, he was the
lone birth those arduous first weeks of escape. Only a few hundred survived,
the rest, casualties of the DarkStorm.

It was here in darkness Angaarn learned of his past, and what it meant to be
an Icewing, their home once a floating citadel of hope, now lay in ruins
buried in the snow. The legend was his bedtime story, and the city in the sky
was always in his dreams. It was in his dreams he saw the utopian society
where peace and happiness flourished, yet every morning he would wake to the
echoing of water falling from the dark damp cavern which he had to call home.
Rage and hatred surrounded most of his youth, yet it was tempered by his
mother, and purified by Icewing dogma. He was molded as most things within
this world are into a being of purpose. Rid this world of those who would
cause the misery and despair that he had to experience, it was not revenge
but a hope of a new world. This new world was a world in which children did
not have to worry if they would live long enough to eat their next meal or if
their mothers would be there to greet them. He was becoming much like his
father, yet the path he walked down would be very much different.

Role

Chapter 3

Forced to escape countless traps and Drow extermination parties Angaarn
learned his trade. His wings never fully able to extend and gain the strength
to carry him, due to the confines of the cave, are weak and fragile making
flight nearly impossible, yet they served him a valuable purpose. Through
years of practice he sharpened his abilities so that he could create winds
and sounds to mask his footsteps making him virtually undetectable, even to
the honed ears of the Drow. He began to infiltrate their posts, capture
prisoners, and drag them into the caves for interrogation. He had to know how
much they knew of the last Icewing settlement, bound and helpless they were
raw to be forged. Each prisoner would beg for forgiveness for their
transgressions, and he would purify them through the ultimate release.
Angaarn would never make the same mistake as his father, he would grant them
mercy in the most painless death but death they would all receive.

Never forgiving the elementalists for the destruction of Icewing citadel, he
has a very strong aversion to Invokers, particularly ones who manipulate the
winds or lightning.

Role

Chapter 2

The monotonous drone of water slowly falling from the stalactites fills your
ears, and the reek of death and decay lingers in the stale air. Deep within the
darkness of the cavern a scene begins to unfold. Enormous beyond that of
normal duergar heritage the king looms before his elven slave, his voice
booms against the cavern walls, "Yah do as I command, wretch!" The lithe
elven woman shies her face away knowing the blow about to be bestowed
upon her but she is unable to run. She is a mere slave to the duergar king
nothing more, her neck covered in unhealed burns, charred and blackened
from the iron collar that imprisons her. The massive iron gauntlet falls
across her faces and the smell of burned skin and sizzling blood wafts into
the air. Roaring with laughter the king gazes upon his captured toy,
suddenly he turns with a puzzled look upon his face as a soft breeze blows
in the windless chamber. A flash of cerulean blue from behind the king is all
that is seen as the massive duergar crumples to the floor, unconscious and
unknowing. Steeping from the shadows Angaarn begins his practiced trade,
wrapping his rope around each wrist and leg, continuing to tie the duergar
king. As he finishes his trussing of the king he lightly wraps a blindfold
around its face cinching it tightly while shoving a gag within its jaw dropped
mouth. The squire's eyes begin to take on a reddish tinge as he unsheathes
his diamond dagger named 'Light of Redemption', the dark rage within him
beginning to surface.

Time itself begins to slow as the Arial lunges at his hapless foe, the elf
recovering from her stupor and grasping the sight before her reaches for the
Squire's feathered leg. It is the beliefs of the innocent that only mercy and
forgiveness separate us from the wicked. Sensing another foe hindering his
attack Angaarn spins in the air, slashing out with his dagger across the neck
of the advancing creature. The collar falls from her neck, sliced completely
through, a thin red line forming across her neck. As she falls to the floor of
the cavern, a single tear falls from her still beautiful face. Sudden realization
hits the arial harder than any dark lightning ever could. As he falls to his
knees the rest of the raiding party enters the cavern taking in the scene
before them. Rushing to the aid of the dying elf, a dwarven paladin lays his
hands upon her restoring that which was lost. Shame beyond any that can be
explained, rage beyond any that can be tempered, and knowledge that he has
stepped too far from the light overwhelms the Squire. He raises his head
looking into the eyes of his brothers in arms, and sees only pity. He is lost...
the world swirls and blackness ensues.

Role

Chapter 1

The stench of ale floats in the air as the distraught arial stumbles into the
watering hole. Lost and unknowing he returned to the forge, if he could not
turn to his beliefs he truly was lost to the abyss. Trkroo Forgefeather's eyes
fall upon the pitiful sight, knowing what must be done he grunts, "My son,
you have told me how you seek to smelt the souls of the wicked, temper
them with your blades, and bend them as you would steel. Yet you yourself
are lost. Look inside, for the Smith's of the Paragon must forge even
themselves." Angaarn's red tinged eyes glare at the Paragon Smith as he
turns to leave his gaze falls upon the forge. A sense of belonging overcomes
him and he begins to remove his glistening armor and trade it for the
garments of the forge. Placing the steel within the forge smelting and
heating it Angaarn raises his hammer as the song of the forge begins to sing.
Blow after blow falls upon the heated steel hammering out the impurities,
tempering the metal before him, and with each strike of the hammer the
darkness and rage within Angaarn's eyes seems to fade slightly. Almost
ritualistically he continues the song, white sparks of light begin to fly from
the hammered steel. It is as if the taint which was residing and enveloping
the Squire was being purged as the impurities were purged from the steel.
Hours pass with no rest as the Squire continues his tireless quest for
redemption, and in the end as he gazes upon the perfect sword he sees his
own eyes in the reflection, glistening as white as snow.

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