Icilio De'Eelanai the Disciple of Ancient Ways, Nightreaver of Thar-Eris

PK Statistics

Role

Chapter 13

My knife took his bicep, deadened his arm. Then his lung, stealing breath.
His eyes opened wide in shock and terror. In my fury, I kicked him square in
his chest sending him back four sprawling steps. With the Earth and Fire
spurring me I was upon him as though the space between us did not exist.
Three times I thrust my knife under his ribs. I watched as blood bloomed and
coughed from his mouth. He fell to the ground, dead.

Wynd joined my side, his hand resting on my shoulder. His touch, rare, told
me this was a special day. "The Veiled draws his strength from the Earth. A
physical skill, yes, but like all things in the Way it is beyond physical.
The Earth is unmoving, unrelenting, unstoppable. Water may erode it, but it
taints the water, the air wind take it, but its dust chokes the air and only
accumulates elsewhere. Fire gives it its greatest power. So it must be with
you, Icilio. Be as the Earth, unyielding despite whatever comes your way.
When faced with forces that would destroy you, be strong and know defeat is
but temporary. When the time comes, let your lust for blood marry your
strength and nothing will stand in your way." He paused, then said, "Now
clean up this mess."

Role

Chapter 12

My opponent, a Galadonian tough captured by Jaecun and brought to our camp,
slashed toward my midsection with well timed precision. These stolen men were
my sparring partners. Skilled and desperate to escape. Hungry for blood. My
blood. Willing to do anything to avoid Jaecun's knife and cruel intent. They
fought with a fervor unmatched. It was excellent training, or so I tried to
remember as a second slash from the brigand found my cheek.

"No, boy! Do not see the attack coming, you must FEEL the attack coming!" The
brigand slammed his shoulder into my torso, sent me sprawling, and was on top
of me in an instant stabbing to kill. On my back I parried a thrust for my
chest, my opponent's blade plunged to the hilt in the dirt beside me. I
trapped his left leg under my right, bucked my hips, extended my left hand to
his shoulder, pulled his knife hand with my right and sent him flipping to
the side. I rose, he rose, he slashed again, the tip of his knife catching my
shirt and a bit of flesh beneath. Too close.

"Flow, boy!"
"How?" I called back desperately as the man's attacks started to overwhelm.
"Calm your mind, feeel," he breathed the word in a low hiss, "the Earth
beneath your feet. Root yourself, then flow away!"

As the tough circled I planted my feet, trying to sense the Earth under them.
I relaxed, allowed my mind to connect to the element beneath, allowed it to
connect to me. There was a certainty and a resolve in so doing, like an
island of calm even amidst the din of battle. Though this was not my first
attempt at such a connection, it was my first success. Enlightenment. Through
the Earth I could feel the feet of my opponent, the subtle shifts from ball,
to heel, to blade, back again. His steps were like little tremors in my mind,
alerting me to his intent. Even Air and Water were known to me as well, for
they flow with and as part of Earth.

Blows that would have found their mark moments before were now easily
avoided. I found the Earth there when I struck as well, a force to be pushed
off of for greater power, greater speed. All at once, I was a wonder.
Dodging, parrying, attacking, counter attacking. The ground between I and a
difficult opponent had evened, but I had not yet won.

"Yes! Yes! There, boy!" Jaecun's laugh held real emotion for the first I'd
heard. "Now, add you Fire! Add your passion, your will, your instinct, your
LUST FOR HIS BLOOD!" Jaecun roared and I felt fury rise in my chest. Fire met
Earth, and Earth flowed like spewing Lava devouring all in its path.

(continued)

Role

Chapter 11

I had one chance. No, one quarter of one chance. Hesitation would see me
killed. As Wynd rose to his feet I thrust my knife under his ribs, found his
heart, watched him drop. As he began to gasp his final breaths I felt what
little of anything pure left in me retreat forever into shadow. I had
betrayed my mother and caused her death. Now, I had killed my mentor as
heartlessly as was possible. I thought I could grow no colder. But when he
spoke next, I would forever know the icy grip of true soullessness.

"Well..." he rasped, his voice choked on blood, "...struck, my son."

I had killed my father too.

Role

Chapter 10

Slack jawed, eyes wide, I was as surprised as a mouse in hawk's claws. How
was my mother standing here staring down Jaecun Wynd? How had she tracked us
over the hundreds of leagues we'd wandered, killing? Above all, why was she
wearing a black Veil?

"Why Ellianna, what an unexpected pleasure," Wynd breathed with a charm like
too much honey over too little bread.

"You dragon's ass, Jaecun! You've kidnapped my son, now you will suffer my
wrath!" She held a long, thin saber in each hand. My mother with swords? She
stepped lightly, circling, maneuvering for position.

"Mother, no, please! I-I went with him of my own will!" Was I stammering? I
no longer thought I could be so unnerved.

She chanced a look in my direction, pulling her eyes from Wynd. My mentor,
who stood with arms casually folded, would not have seemed ready to strike to
the untrained eye, but to another of the Veiled he looked like a coiled
rattler.

"What?" My mother gasped. Her eyes, the fierce, pale blue of my own, flashed
back to Wynd. "No. It cannot be. I had him checked, he does not have your red
taint. He is not like you, Jaecun!" Her focus was broken. Inside her world,
which was I, a fire of grief and betrayal burned hotly. Wynd knew it. Knew
her skill would falter in the smoke. He struck.

He was a shadow's flash. Dark, fast, hard to see. Fading light flickered off
his drawn knife. It sliced, his eyes meeting hers as she parried the thrust.
In the moment of opportunity, she riposted with her sword, it cut the flesh
of his chest. He grinned, then hissed, "Bitch!"

He advanced. Slashing again with his knife, what he'd taught me as the "first
angle," then followed up with a backswing, "the second angle." Mother dodged
the first and struck at the second with her sword. Sword pushed dagger to
retreat, but did not knock it free. Wynd thrust toward her abdomen, the
"fifth angle," and my mother flowed back and to the side. Tip of knife caught
fabric, missed flesh beneath. By the gods, she was every bit as good as he.

Then her blades were a blinding whir of hunting steel. She bore down on him,
a snarl hidden beneath her Veil. Slash! Slash! Slash! The third cut Wynd at
the neck as easily as the first two had cut air. He gasped, a hand reaching
to the wound even as it began to gush. She raised one saber overhead, poised
to strike the final blow.

(Continued.)
"No!" I screamed, then immediately wished I had not. Wynd produced a hidden
knife in his off hand. Seizing the chance my shout gave him, he drove it
through her heart. Her eyes opened wide in shock. She fell to the ground,
gasping. As she turned her dying eyes upon me, I could finds only anguish in
them. Not at her death, but that I had left her. Grief and guilt washed over
me like a choking flood.

(Continued)

Role

Chapter 9

I took it all in, ever the dutiful student. The days turned into weeks, the
weeks to months, those months to years, and the years stretched beyond a
decade as I strove for mastery of all Jaecun Wynd could teach me. Then, he
gave me the red Veil. I was getting close. I was an instrument of death who
had but to find the tune.

Role

Chapter 8

IV. "The primary strength of the Veiled is proper mindset. You must have only
the mind of a killer, the instinct of a predator. If you allow them, all
manner of concerns will enter your mind and cloud this instinct. You will
second guess. You will become cautious. And, Icilio, you will lose. Remember
always, the predator does not think of what the prey might do to him. The
predator only ever thinks about what he can do to the prey. So relish the
blood even before it is drawn. Worry not for how he will cut you, think only
on how you will cut him."

V. "The second strength of the Veiled is a deep understanding of the blade's
physiological potential to kill, and a deep understanding of humanoid anatomy
and the consequences of certain kinds of stabs and cuts."

This was the most painful and difficult of lessons, as the best means to
understand what happens to the body when cut or pierced in particular areas
with particular methods, is firsthand account. Which is to say: Have Jaecun
Wynd repeatedly cut you to near death. I recalled his invitation to walk
among the Veiled. He told me then the Way would set me free, "If you live
through your training." It is a hardening ordeal, one that leaves you with
little compassion for those you cut.

Volumes can be written on this topic alone. Other Veiled have done so, so I
shall make no attempt to repeat them here. It is enough to note the
existence.

VI. "The customary farewell and greeting among the Veiled is, 'Cut swiftly,
bleed Free.'"

VII. "The physical skills of Way are where you earn your soul. You will hone
your body, beating it and making it slave to your will. You will be cut, you
will cut. You will run until you wretch, jump until your legs deaden, work
your blade until you blister and until you rend the flesh beneath blister,
indeed, until the hilt of your dagger finds your bone. Train more than your
foes. Rely upon practice, never upon luck. Though you strive for physical
success, you will gain sharpness of mind and ferocity of spirit. This is the
true benefit of following the Way, as the Way of the Blade is but a metaphor
for understanding all that is."

VIII. "In many respects, the Way of the Blade is a solitary path. You will
never lower yourself to hunt and kill with allies whom you might hunt and
kill alone. This is an insult to your Pride. You will be shunned by most as a
murderer, they will not understand your purpose and so they will claim you
have none. Yet, those of the Veiled must always have either a mentor, as you,
Icilio, have me, or they must have an apprentice, as I have you. These are
our only commandments."

(Continued.)

Role

Chapter 7

My mother's grief must have been unbearable. It was a long walk back to the
cavern, back to Jaecun Wynd, back to the Way of the Blade, for as soon as I
healed enough my mother secreted us away. Despite her efforts, whether I
would walk the path was never in question. I knew at its offering, for its
call was clarion and had such a gravity as to be inescapable. I left no note,
no explanation, no goodbye of any kind, it is a choice that haunts my black
heart like an angry specter. When she awoke, I was gone.

If Jaecun Wynd was surprised at my return, he did not show it. It seemed a
thing he took for given. The lessons began almost immediately. I shall
chronicle ones I feel most relevant below, that you may begin to understand
the Way of the Blade.

I. "Man is special among all the beasts, Icilio, for it can kill for its
pleasure. This lust for blood is the instinct of a predator, the seeking of
pride, embraced and venerated above all other virtues. It is fallacious
morality that needs a reason to kill. No reason is needed other than you wish
blood on your blade. To fight and die is a gift to both victor and defeated.
The victor takes pride, the defeated a lesson. Strive to win, to crush, to
destroy - but when defeated take your defeat in grace, considering it a step
closer to eventual victory. Do not spoil either victory or defeat with
unfairness. Rely upon your own wit, your own blades, your own strength. Only
in this way can you claim true Victory."

II. "Those who walk the Way of the Blade wear the Veil. It serves to mark our
number, and to mark the extent of one's knowledge of the Way. First, The Veil
of white symbolizes a blank canvas, one who has no knowledge of the Way.
Second, brown. So chosen as the color of dried blood, for the first lessons
will bleed you. Third, red, the color of the fresh blood, that of your
opponents. This red serves as a warning to the wearer, for though you are
skilled, you have not yet achieved full enlightenment of the Way. Ultimately,
black - the color of death itself. For to know the Way, to be the Veiled, is
to court death itself, wandering with it in shade eternal."

III. "Those of the Veil favor the blades. Sword and dagger. Elegant weapons
requiring grace and precision. They symbolize the ability to cut through the
untruths of the world, primarily the ideals in opposition to instinct, which
are Goodness and Order. For those entities would deny or restrict man's lust
for blood."


(Continued.)

Role

Chapter 6

"That is a bad cut, boy. One few know. Worse than being hamstrung, as the
hamstrings aren't really what lifts a leg to walk." Wide eyed, I looked at
him. Why was he telling me this? His cool matter of factness was unsettling.
My attacks were nothing to him. "Additionally, some twenty percent of your
body's blood flows through the arteries there. It is the worst place from
which to bleed. Coupled with the cut to the arteries on your arm, which hold
another ten percent, you will be bleeding to death in a couple of minutes."
He considered, the smile fading from his face. "Sooner, if you do not calm
down."

He was right, my heart was racing and I could see blood pulsing out of my
wounds with every beat. I felt light headed, whether from the sight of my own
insides or from the loss of blood, I do not know.

Jaecun Wynd leaned to my ear, his tone changing from taunting to a
captivating whisper. "I am called Jaecun Wynd, of the Veiled.' I am a walker
in the Way, a courter of death. Freedom is mine, earned at a high price. This
Freedom, it could be yours. I feel your heart, boy. You would call these
skills your own, and they would set you Free if you lived through your
training. Now, bleed in your little bed among the wood elves, and if you want
to know the Way return here when you've healed."

My head swam. All went black.

Role

Chapter 5

The hair on the back of my neck raised and though I thought no more
adrenaline could course through my veins than was, some found me still. At a
dead run could I make it down the path before he cut it off? I whirled from
him, and abandoning my pack and meat I shot with the speed of a roach in the
light. I made it two, possibly three steps when I felt a burn on the side of
my neck, just below the ear. A shallow cut, but bleeding and painful. I
wheeled around, turning to face the smiling man, raise a defense, but when I
turned I saw no one. I turned again toward the path home, and there he was,
blocking it. He moved with impossible speed.

"You have a knife yet, boy. You could use it." For an instant, my face was
blank. Then I remembered I was still holding my belt knife. I lived a life
with that knife in hand, always whittling, cutting, skinning, butchering. It
was an extension of me. It was sharp. From time to time, when my mother did
not watch, I practiced fighting with it. Was slashing air and cutting meat
much different than fighting a man? I was to find out.

I slashed toward him with my knife, he moved effortlessly, my knife finding
naught but air. Again, and he moved. I was fit, quick, but slash after slash
and thrust after thrust could find no flesh. Somewhere in my fear, in the
part of my mind that remained objective, I recall feeling two things. First,
impressed by the aptitude of the man I would come to know as Jaecun Wynd.
Second, anger at my own inability to draw his blood.

"Now, boy, you will know what it is like to try to kill what can kill back."
I slashed for his neck, he faded back again, but this time his hand came to
the back of mine at an impossible speed, pushing my own knife even faster.
Simultaenously his other hand, which held a knife I'd not seen, lifted at a
perpendicular angle to my slash causing his blade to intersect the inside of
my forearm, which was now being sped along by his other hand. The effect was
a cut all the way to the bone. With the tendons and muscles holding my knife
now severed, the knife fell to the floor.

"Pick it up," he ordered. I was deft, able to keep my balance on the smallest
branch, fast. I called on all my speed, snatched up the knife and thrusted
toward his abdomen. Again he faded, this time with a bow, his stomach
retreating from the point of my knife. Just before it may have found its
target, Wynd used his off hand to parry it to the side, then dropped the back
of his knife arm behind my elbow and lifted my arm even as it swung off to
the side. Once Wynd's knife had passed my leg he suddenly dropped his weight
into it, cutting across my thigh. I yelped aloud at the pain of it, which was
sharp and burning. As I tried to lift the leg to find my balance, I found it
impossible to raise my knee. I crashed to the ground clutching the wound.

(Continued.)

Role

Chapter 4

On this autumn morning Fate offered a twist that was to change the course of
my life. I trailed the deer south through the Ara'touldain forest then east
as the wood narrowed to a trail. This trail marked an unofficial border
between the Ara'touldain and the woods around a bandit encampment. Mother had
strictly warned not to cross the border. Being a good son, I was about to
turn back when I saw it.

The herd had a buck with it like I'd not before seen. Nearly a quarter larger
than any stag in the wood. Its horns, a prize among hunters, twisted into
fourteen majestic points. Such an animal was a prize I could not forfeit.
With no small amount of trepidation I trailed it toward the encampment.

I wound my way through the unfamiliar wood stalking the beast, waiting for it
to pause so I could find a shot. It finally came to rest at the mouth of a
cavern barely hidden in the brush. I took deep breath, knocked an arrow,
pulled string to cheek flexing my bow, let my air out slowly to steady my
hands for proper aiming. I sighted. I loosed. My arrow was true. The shot
found its mark in the heart of the stag, who bolted upright, and fell dead
without so much as a stumble from the spot. A very clean, respectful kill.

Suddenly aware I was far from home and in a place I was not supposed to be, I
rushed to remove the entrails and get the beast packed to move. There with
knife drawn ready to disembowel, I heard his voice for the first time.

"You call that killing, boy?" It was a calm, icy cool question, but to my
soul it was an accusation that burned in me like fire.

Jaecun Wynd stepped from the shadows of the cavern, and I was afraid. Afraid
because the dark-elf smiled. If one judged a smile only with their eyes, one
might have found that smile charming. But, because one judges a smile with
their instinct, with their heart and soul, by what they feel more than what
they see, I was chilled to my marrow. Surely if a serpent could smile, it
would smile the smile of Jaecun Wynd.

"Can that animal fight back, boy? Will it catch your scent and turn its horns
upon you, hmm? Trample you under hoof? Bite you with its dull teeth?" On
silent feet he began to flank me, moving to cut me off from the path home.
"There is no Pride in a kill like that, boy, no Pride in killing what cannot
kill back." Again, the serpent's smile. "Not like the pride in killing, oh, I
don't know - someone like you?"

(Continued.)

Role

Chapter 3

Follow me to the shadow,
Where hides the Veiled.
Here no light shall follow,
For righteousness is false and frail.
To court the Way is to know the dark,
It is to embrace blood and blade.
Forsake joy and gladness in the heart,
to follow Death into his shade.

- Excerpt from the collected works of Ebsion Dunn, Poet of the Veiled.

Life for me began not when I came screaming from my mothers womb, but on the
day I met Jaecun Wynd. Though I had drawn breath for years, I was dead, for I
had not awoken to the Way. My world was a gray haze, a heavy fog that left me
blind and deaf. I will tell you now of the day the sun rose to burn it away.


On a cool autumn morning I arose before the sun. I left our home in the Glen
and quietly faded into the pre-dawn darkness outside like a ghost. Though I
could not see them, I could sense the deer laying in their beds as I made my
way into the forest. Deer rise in the early morning to quench their thirst,
and so I swung into the branches of an oak between their beds and the stream.
In my elevated position I could hide from their line of sight as long as I
gave no reason for them to change it. There I waited.

The sun still sat beneath the horizon, but the farthest reaches of its light
began to turn the black sky to navy. Soon the deer would stir and make their
way to the stream and passed my bow. I waited patiently in the stillness, so
quiet, so calm the beating of my heart was but a vaporous whisper.

Even the worst hunter knows prey are far from predictable. They are free
creatures given to the whims of their fancy or the demands of their instinct.
As the deer made their cautious meander to the stream they broke from the
trail and forged a path behind my oak. Were I to shift to find a clear shot
they would startle. The hunt would be over. I remained motionless, waiting
for the deer to pass behind me. After a long moment I placed a hand on a
branch and swung to a higher perch behind my current. Balancing both feet on
a limb no thicker than my leg, I lifted my bow and drew the feathers of my
arrow to my cheek. As I released my breath slowly I steadied to aim, but the
shot was lost. The deer moved far enough that a loosed arrow might result in
a dishonorable injury to the animal instead of a good, clean kill.

I swung from my perch and onto the tracks of the deer. There was an
impression of a hoof here, an overturned leaf there. The signs would be easy
to follow. I would track them to where they drank, have my kill, gut the
beast, and return home to mother with the meat and hide.

(Continued.)

Role

Chapter 2

It was my mother who gave me my love of the Wild. "Step lightly, son," she
would say. "This is the elm, its bark is the color of dirt, wear the dirt and
She will hide you." "Watch for the birds, hide from them or they will reveal
you with their calls..." Without the wisdom she imparted to me when I was
young, I would not have become the hunter I am. The Way taught me only to
kill, she taught me to find the prey.

I was little more than a boy before I could harvest more game than most of
the elder wood-elven hunters. My mother saw to it I spent my time honing the
craft. I did not play games. I did not attend school. All of my life was
focused on the hunt, so I thought myself a great hunter. I was to
find out otherwise.

Role

Chapter 1

In Thera the Cycles change, the seasons pass and men die forgotten. How must
a man write his story to have it retold on the lips of Therans in the ages to
come? I, Icilio De'Ensis, endeavor now to write the words that will send my
story echoing through the eons. I have reached the twilight. Here among the
fading stars my blade is laid to rest and my blood is ready to be drank by
the cold and thirsty earth. This writing shall be all that remains of me.

This is chronicle of more than my actions. A mortal is not remembered for his
deeds alone. He is remembered for the principles and spirit that drove those
deeds. This is a chronicle of the Way of the Blade, a tradition passed to me
I now pass to the next Veiled hunter. Perhaps, reader, you will find here the
means to forge your way as one of the Veiled. If I have been enough, if the
words herein can persuade you. I suppose we will come to that later, let us
begin now at the start of things.

My earliest memories are of the quiet town called Evermoon Glen. Evermoon is
nestled between the Udgaardian Mountains and the Redhorns in a forest called
the Ara'touldain. It is no particular player in the world. Its occupants are
not of any particular note. Perhaps that is how my mother, a human woman,
wound up there with her bastard child. I do not know how she came to the
place, the same as I do not know who my father was, for I left my mother
before becoming a man to ask.

Why did I leave her? Please know, it was not that I did not love her, not
that I did not appreciate the life she provided amongst the wood-elves. My
departure was the result of a higher call to be one of the Veiled. Love, my
mother's or any other, did not lie along that path.

Sitting here with all my years passed, I can still recall her face. She was
beautiful. I remember her long hair was soft and smelled of the lavender soap
she used. When I was afraid, I would bury my face in it and I do not recall
ever feeling more safe. Her eyes were like the ones I see reflected back at
me in the still pool. Pale blue, nearly white and fierce. The eyes of a
hunter. My mother, however, smiled. When she did her tanned face would
wrinkle and her nose would scrunch. I would giggle at it, in those early
years before I came to know the Way, before I became one of the Veiled. Now,
I smile no more.

(Continued)

Immortal Comments

PK Gank-O-Meter

Skill List

Skill List

Title History

PK Wins

PK Wins

PK Deaths

Leveling History

Timeline

Mob Deaths

Edges

Flaws

Racial Edges

Class Edges

Edges