Illian Do'Shek'Parn the Legend of the Battlefield, Despised by Barbarians

Skill List

Role

Chapter 6

Attaining the respect of both the Lord he looks to as a mentor in the
pantheon of Thera, and his kin of the vilalge, Illian Do'Shek'Parn has
quickly begun to mold himself as one of the better warriors within the
great village of Battle. Called by some as the Black Ghost for his
uncanny ability to chase and elude and bait prey into complex and
sophisticated traps, his guerilla-warfare tactics have proven success
on countless occasions now.

Driven with a earnest fire to search and destroy his kin in the Underdark,
Illian will do everything he can at the present moment to try and shift his
attention to Teth-Azeleth and the destruction of House Do'Shek'Parn. He
believes himself ready for the trials ahead, whatever they may be, he has
begun to love what he does, hunting and killing if only for the sake of
sport and bloodlust.

Role

Chapter 5

Springing from atop a massive mound of earth set before a barbaric encampment
set with torches burning brightly amidst a pitch-black night, a slim drow garbed in
animals hides lands deftly on his feet before racing into the crumbling walls of a
once great city of Ostagaliath.

Ducking low in a sweeping movement, a battle-mailed dwarf blinks to try and gain
focus on the blur coming at him, raising a runed crystal blade high overhead with
both hands to narrowly miss the figure cutting at his hamstring. Staggering forward
as his leg is cut and his blow narrowly misses, the dark-skinned figure infront of him
simply completes the sweep to the calf by raising the fang-hilted dagger upwards as
a arc into the thigh of the dwarf.

Blood pours from the gushing wounds of the figure as just as he gets to his senses
a dagger is flicked at his chest, opening another gout of blood to spray into the air.
Silent and grinning like some feral predator, the drow is unrelenting in his pursuit of
the prey, he takes a few glancing blows, but for the most part completely dismantles
his dwarven opponent, leveling him to the ground as he quickly discards one of the
daggers to pull forward a wicked, iron hammer.

Howling in pain as his arm is slammed beneath the weight of the hammer, the loss
of blood and intense wounds he's incurred brings the dwarf to his knees before a
sudden fire ignites in his eyes and a beam of light descends from a pitch-black
sky to surround him. Eyes wide in awe, the drow took a step back suddenly,
hesitating beneath the force of this intense power. Like a juggernaut rising from
the dead, the wounds on the dwarf would bind themshelves shut with a translucent
silvery light, it was as if just temporarily, the Gods had imbued him with power
unimaginable.

Nearly torn in two by a massive blow to his chest, the drow is sent soaring back
into a crumbling wall behind him, just barely getting to his senses to dash off
into a darkened street nearby.

The chase was on.

Rampant footsteps, jogging, the heavy gait of maille at full speed... it all
ends with a sudden silence as the drow can only hear his own heavy breath.

-Caw- -Caw- -Caw-

The sound of the carrion crows. They had a new meal of a dwarf who lay on
the ground without life left in him, a pool of blood now soaking underfoot. The
drow walks to the spot and grins to himself, snatching the coinpurse of his
dead opponent before tipping him over with his foot to face-down.

"Ah. You miserable fool. A fine test of my skill before I see my Master again."
the drow muses to himself.

Role

Chapter 4

Peering at the immense giant standing before him adorned with a glowing, feathered
headdress, a nimble, black-cloaked figure twirls a pair of daggers in his hands as he
speaks words deathly cold, "Take it off and honor our traditions or be prepared to die
here and now to me."

Thoughts coalesced in the mind of the drow, deep down, he gained only glee and
excitement from finding a reason to murder one of the supposed nobleborn giants
of the Sea, a creature who would make such proud boasts, and yet reduce himself
to the most needy and dependent of villagers. Only the weak would use the divine
relic of Galadriel.

Snapping forward a serrated halberd, a seething fire could be seen burning in the
pale-green eyes of the beast. "I will wear it as I choose to, Drow, move your miserable
hide out of my way." the thirteen-foot behemoth bellows at the top of his lungs.

A flash of steel and a black-cloaked figure swirls and dashes in and out of the vicinity,
throwing some knives before leaping and cutting at major arteries and the calfs of the
lumbering beast. Taking blow after punishing blow from the serrated halberd, some
strange medicine was being applied as he'd literally vanish into the surrounding region.

"Fight me like a man!" the half-dead giant bellows, bleeding weakly underfoot as he
can barely even keep hold of the massive halberd any longer.

A mad cackling can be heard as the black-cloaked figure springs from the shadows
and leaps on top of the blue-skinned brute, stabbing at his throat before piercing the
liver to send a gout of blood to spray in the air.

Spitting on the corpse of the giant, the black-cloaked figure simply stows his daggers
away and walks from the scene of battle without a hint of care or concern on his
features.

Role

Chapter 3

A cruel smile twists on her lips as she doesn't await a response,
gesturing with a snap of her fingers to the silent sentries who eye
one another with muted disgust before walking off and away from
the darkened training hall.

Waiting for everyone to leave, the weaponsmaster regards his
pupil with a measure of emotion, a rare sight indeed.

"I will await our next battle should you ever return." the
weaponsmaster says with a veiled smile on his worn visage.

"You've my word, cousin. As the closest thing I could ever
call to a friend, I will tell you, and only this. That bitch, Matron
Mother Kiley, will meet her end at the edge of my knife, this
swear over the broken bones of "Lightsbane" the Silent.
the young boy looks fondly to his mentor with the firm
words.

Curving a hint of a vicious grin, the venerable warrior reaches
into a pouch at his waist, producing an adamantite knife still
covered in bloodstains. He hands it to the boy before imparting
him with these final words. "Carve her name into the knife and
leave where she dies. That is the mark of your fathers ancient
guild. Carry his name with pride, Lightsbane the Cunning."

Role

Chapter 2

*CLANK* *DING* *DING* *CLANK* *SWOOSH*

The wailing sound of adamantite clashing against adamantite resonated
throughout the hollowed, spartan training cavern within the Do'shek'parn
compound. A lean youthful drow stands clutching mace and knife, he
pants raggedly as a venerable dark-elf stands opposite to the child, one
who may have seen one or two centuries too many; his one smooth and
pristine skin already taking on a calloused and aged appearance.

"...Who was he?" the boy asks simply as he takes firm hold of the adamantite
mace, composing himself into a nimble battle-stance.

"A fine question. -- The most ruthless killer in all of Teth Azeleth at one
point. He was my own mentor at one point. Amidst the Dark Covens, you
are the son of "Lightsbane" the Silent. It's a foul shame your aunt did
away with him for his seeking the embrace of another woman; it was
after all his way and she was certainly not the first or the only at the
time. The greatest assassin House Do'shek'parn ever had and he's
executed on a whim. She sold him out on his own assignment." he
says quietly, his thin black lips pursing as his indigo eyes roam to
a pair of torch signaling the approach of a pair of priestess under
escort.

Adorned in traditional drowish battlemail, a pair of silent sentries echo
clicking heels off the cold stone floor as a priestess trails along after
them, pausing for a moment to address the boy and the venerable
weaponsmaster as they appear seconds from leaping after one another.
"Illian. The matron mother has sent you on assignment. You are to
leave with brothers Dahleil, Rohael, and Mamin to attack Darsylon
and execute a nobleman whose been pleading with the elves to
begin mounting more surveillance on the swamplands we control
to the west. He is to be executed by any means possible and the
price of failure for this mission is death. Should you fail, do not
bother returning at all."

A cruel smile twists on her lips as she doesn't await a response,
gesturing with a snap of her fingers to the silent sentries who eye
one another with muted disgust before walking off and away from
the darkened training hall.

Waiting for everyone to leave, the weaponsmaster regards his
pupil with a measure of emotion, a rare sight indeed.

"I will await our next battle should you ever return." the
weaponsmaster says with a veiled smile on his worn visage.

"You've my word, cousin. As the closest thing I could ever
call to a friend, I will tell you, and only this. That bitch, Matron
Mother Kiley, will meet her end at the edge of my knife, this
swear over the broken bones of "Lightsbane" the Silent.
the young boy looks fondly to his mentor with the firm
words.

Curving a hint of a vicious grin, the venerable warrior reaches
into a pouch at his waist, producing an adamantite knife still
covered in bloodstains. He hands it to the boy before imparting
guild. Carry his name with pride, Lightsbane the Cunning."

Role

Chapter 1

The Drow
Beneath the twisting and winding ramparts of the Underdark is
the city of the dark-elves, 'Teth Azeleth' in the black tongue of
the drow. Composed of a architecture clearly designed with the
aid of enslaved svirfnebli, the city itself is formed and molded
with the very bedrock it is built upon. Warring between
factions and houses of drow are common and infact encouraged
as the various matron mothers of these said families struggle for
power amidst a futile homeage paid to the Spider Goddess, perhaps
the most devious of all the deities, the Black Widow Lloth. Here
arrives Illian, perhaps among the most cunning of male drow to
date in his early abilities of manipulation and facades, he would
carry the zealous nature of those fervorous to the teachings of
Lloth, and all the while, really plotting an escape from this life
of shackled enslavement.

Something was always tained in Illian, most of his siblings would
say it was in his fathers blood, a reveried warrior who would be
sold out by the very matron mother to whom he had called a
mistress. She would allow one of the finest assassins in Teth
Azeleth die for the sake of her own malicious desire. Illian knew
of this affair as he matured and to date, has sworn vengeance
against the 'whore' who betrayed his father.

Escaping for the surface world to start his own life after killing
three others he was sent to raid and return from Darsylon with,
Illian has proven himself a ruthless and effecient hunter, well
capable of killing his own comrades to better fufill his own
plots and dabblings. With little remorse for anything, he is
a menacing killer, intent on asserting his own power by
whatever means possible.

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