Natesthal El'alanthalantha the Ambassador of the Citadel, Marshall of the Fortress

Role

Chapter 5

"And so, Father, that is how I lead the expedition to retrieve the holy blade
known as Defiance, so that Paladin Krobror might wield it against the wicked."

Natesthal's father smiled thinly at his son. "Well done, my child. Though of
course, I had hoped you would one day wield that weapon of the Guild."

Natesthal grimaced. Of course, the moment he allowed his father to get a word in,
the conversation turned to his profound lack of Guild status. Merely a warrior.

The elder El'alanthalantha noticed, and had the grace to look embarassed. "Yes,
well, that aside, surely a victory for the Light. Again, well done."

Hmm. The older of the two men had never shied away from his disappointment - never
deflected the conversation elsewhere. What was going on?

"Son, I am happy to hear that you have found a place within the Fortress, no matter
the circumstances. Your mother and I have some good news, as well."

Aha. Father worried about how Natesthal would respond to this "good news." Hence the
odd behavior. This should be interesting.

"Your mother is with child once more, my son. We may yet keep the family paladin line
going strong!"

Natesthal felt his heart sink.

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Immortal Comments

Role

Chapter 1

Natesthal El'alanthalantha comes from a long line of paladins.
His father is a paladin. His mother is a paladin. His grandfathers
on both sides of the family? Paladins. One grandmother a paladin,
the other a village goodwife who was swept off her feet.

The family tree repeats itself all up the line. Paladin. Paladin.
Baker who fell in love with a female paladin.

So now, with no brothers and no uncles, all eyes are on Natesthal as
he begins the trials of Testing to begin his journey down the holy
path of the Paladin.

Not a single bit of holy spark, they said. As if the gods simply...
forgot to imbue him. No matter how hard he focuses, the simplest prayer
goes unanswered. No healing touch at all, either.

Weaponry, though. He seems to excel at nearly all types. Put a dagger
or whip or flail nearby and he takes to it like a cooshee to an open field.

Quite a puzzle. Perhaps he has not seen trial enough. Tomorrow we will
begin with trials of endurance, and of fasting.

Role

Chapter 2

When fasting, holy beatings, and other forms of torture in the name
of "purity" did not awaken some godly spark within him, the Guild
was baffled. They returned Natesthal to his parents, who were
loving, consoling, but clearly saddened. This sort of thing did
not happen to upstanding families like them. What were they to do?

It was the grandfather on his mother's side (with the goodwife)
that finally suggested that they send the boy to the Academy to train
as a warrior, as that seemed to suit him best, and then send him on a
pilgrimage. Speak to the gods yourself, young one. Find out what it is
they (don't) see in you.

His parents were not sure about sending him off, but he told them
he would be fine. Seek out the Fortress, they said. Perhaps some of them
can help you find the gods to speak to.

And so he set forth, and has not returned to his home. Not until
he feels worthy.

Role

Chapter 3

Natesthal's meeting with Lord Ignolmeer went incredibly well.
He learned a great deal about himself, as the ancient God Elf gave information
both intentionally and not.

The first thing Natesthal learned was that was not, in fact, being ignored
or unheard by the Gods. Secondly, he came to the realization, with some prompting
from his Lord, that his circumstances were of his own doing all along. One must
have a strong desire to be a Paladin to become one. If one has any doubts...

Now Natesthal feels less uncertainty and doubt than ever before. He is what he
was always meant to be. A warrior. No more discomfort around paladins. No more
shame. No more envy of priests of any flavor.

Now to focus on his membership in the Fortress, becoming the best warrior he can be,
and showing leadership based on the tenets and precepts of Ignolmeer's faith.

But he's still not comfortable with the thought of returning home.

Role

Chapter 4

While Natesthal ponders whether or not to return home, he has continued to train
and fight while a Squire within the Fortress. He has seen quite a number of fellow
Squires join, and many of them have gone on to become heroes within their respective
guilds. Natesthal trains, rather than joining these adventuring parties. He hunts
those that the heroes cannot touch. He offers advice and knowledge whenever the
opportunity presents itself, though it is a delicate balance between offering help
and advice and coming across as someone who oversteps his boundaries - especially
with some of the Maran.

His path within the Fortress is reminiscent of his thoughts on the religion of Lord
Ignolmeer. Lead by example, and by words when fitting. But to lead means to do - to
take that first step - and therefore the danger upon - yourself. And leadership must
be earned. To declare yourself a leader is folly - even if you truly are the best
elf for the job - because it creates tension and discord between you and those you
wish to lead.

And so Natesthal leads a fairly quiet Squireship within the Fortress, doing what
he can to aid, encourage, and grow those around him.

Soon, a trip home. But sooner, a visit to Lord Ignolmeer's shrine, perhaps?

Role

Chapter 6

Natesthal was very pleased to join the ranks of the Maran. It had been awkward,
his role as a Squire, yet leading large parties of Fortress and others, including the
Captain. The knowledge of the lands, and tactics, passed down through his family, had
certainly been useful. He pondered returning home once more, to see the look on the
face of his father when he told him the good news.

The image in his mind of his father doting on his mother and the child in her womb
caused him to choose otherwise. Rather, he chose to savor the Maran role, and throw
himself at his service in the Fortress with renewed vigor. One day, if he worked
hard enough, perhaps he would be fit to take on a leadership role. Not for Father,
though. Not for mother, nor his long line of ancestors.

For himself, and for the Fortress.

Role

Chapter 7

Lord Ignolmeer had seen fit to make Natesthal Marshall of the Fortress.
"Teach them. Share your knowledge. Train them in matters of defense, of
the lay of the lands." Natesthal had done as ordered.

For many weeks, he had interviewed applicants, showed young Squires, Scribes,
and even a few Maran some tricks and tactics, as well as the standard duties
of a Maran - hunting the wicked when possible, securing the items of Power
from the wicked enemy cabals - as well as helping young ones grow in power
themselves when possible.

This had left little time for other matters, such as his studies in
Lord Ignolmeer's service and religion. And of course, his family, though
if he were to stop and consider it, Natesthal would have to admit that the
distraction from family matters was more welcome than not.

During one quiet evening interlude, Natesthal finally declared to himself
that it was time for him to catch up on his studies. Time to begin the long
process of proving himself worthy to be an Ambassador.

Role

Chapter 8

Natesthal gritted his teeth as he walked the final steps to the sitting
room, then smoothed his features as he rounded the corner.

Mother and Father were there, waiting for him. He set his jaw
and strode forward, taking a chair opposite the long couch they
occupied. As he sat, he noticed a strain in their faces, though
they clearly were trying not to show it. Slight tightening around
the eyes on his father, and a pensive half-frown on his mother, who
normally had a smile that lit up any room she graced with it.

He opened his mouth to ask them what was wrong, but was forestalled
by his mother leaning forward to touch him on the knee. She looked up
at him and smiled. It was not the cheerful ray of sunshine that he was
used to - rather it seemed a more worn, hopeful smile.

"Tell us of your travels, my son. We wish to hear everything. Marshall of
the Fortress? Ambassador to the Citadel for Lord Ignolmeer?"

"We could not be more proud, my son." His father interjected.

Oh yes, something was definitely wrong.

Role

Chapter 9

Natesthal spent the next few hours telling his parents about his life.
They would interrupt frequently, showing genuine interest, asking him
to go into more detail. His mother asked more than once about his...
relationships. He supposed she wondered if he had met a future mate.

He assured them that no, he'd not anyone in that regard - his duties kept
him far too busy to go looking for love - but they did not show any
disappointment. Only a yearning to learn more. A need, almost a hunger. It
unnerved him.

Eventually, his tales wound down, and they could not think of any more
questions. He considered pressing them to find out what was wrong, but
decided to move on to the topic he had dreaded - though he'd been surprised
they had not brought it up already.

"Mother, Father, please, that is a great deal more than enough about me and my
life. I must ask you - when can I meet my sibling?"

His father's face crumpled momentarily before he could don his mask of
serenity again. His mother made no such attempt and began sobbing.

His father spoke gravely. "We believe she is dead, my son."

Role

Chapter 10

The story came out in bits and pieces. Natesthal had to urge his father for each
scrap of the tale. As he heard it, he began to get sick. A fairly simple tale,
yet horrible. And all the while he had been blathering on about his promotion
and accolades. Foolishness. His skin turned a grey pallor and he felt as if
he might vomit. His mother took immediate notice and quickly deduced his
thoughts.

"Do not think that way, my son. You told us of yourself not for you, but for
us. You've no idea how badly I needed good news, and tales of victory against
the Shadow." She drew him into a firm hug.

Some time later, the family had composed themselves. Natesthal began asking
for details. Where had she been when she was taken? How many had been guarding
her? Were there any left alive, that he might get details on the attackers?

He got his answers, stayed for a while longer, then set out with a grim resolve.

Role

Chapter 11

His missive to the Fortress about 'family business' sent, Natesthal set off
to the North, alone. The detective work he had done yielded very little to go
on, but the attackers had left two guards alive, and their stories, told through
bloodied bandages and broken teeth, had matched up with each other.

Along the way, he found more evidence. The ones who had taken his sister had
certainly come this way with her. The ground grew cold and hard, and soon he was
walking on ice and snow with his cloak gathered tight around him. Still he found
clues. He fought wild animals that assaulted him. Orcish raiders that
did not realize the peril they were in as this particular elf strode by
were swiftly dispatched as well. He walked for days, following sparse trails
and wishing at times he had learned to be a ranger. He was no tracker.

Yet a few days into his trip, he found them. He was certain this band of human
men were the ones who had taken his sister. He thought for a moment about
using stealth, then discarded the notion. Brazenly, he walked steadily into
their camp. Interestingly, their auras did not glow red, as he had been
certain they would.

"Oi mate! Dangerous walking alone 'round here. That's a handsome blade
ya got there. Give ya...four gold for it, eh?"

Natesthal glanced down at his jagged silver kris and bit back a
retort. "I'm looking for an elven girl -"

"Well, we ain't runnin' no whorehouse is we?! Harhar!" the slimy
human interrupted.

Natesthal ground his teeth and continued. "She is my sister, and
I know you took her. You will tell me where she is, and you will
leave with your lives."

The men around the campfire immediately lost all pretense of jocularity.

"Oh bloody hell. Right. Mate, we didn't know the lass was in that what we
took, yeah? We just wanted the shinies. We ain't kidnappers." The face of
the ringleader looked ashen.

"Fine, fine. Where is she?" Natesthal spoke impatiently, a sinking
feeling in his gut.

"Well, ya see mate, we's forced to give up some of what we steal, yeah?
Bloody Imperial roadblocks and such, you understand." The ringleader
spoke quickly, sensing the impending violence from the Marshall. "So
we's at one of them roadblocks, tryin' ta keep the lass quiet, yeah?
When one of them Imperial bastards pulls the tarp off the top o' the
wagon and sees her. Big fella. Grabs her by the neck and lifts her out
of the wagon. Ripped her dress right offa her, li-"

"Aye we didn't touch her! We were gonna just let her go!" another
of the bandits chimed in.

Natesthal fingered his blade. The ringleader continued.

"Anyway, mate, yer sister, she kicked that big galoot right where it
hurts a fella most, and tried ta run. The centurions grabbed her, and
the bigun got up, grabbed her head, and, well..."

The other bandit interjected again. "Bastard broke her neck and
spit on her! Then walked away without a glance!"

Role

Chapter 12

It played out in Natesthal's mind like an act that a group of bards might
put on at the Inn - his dagger finding the ringleader in the throat, cutting
across the hamstring of another, and on and on until they were all dead.

For an instant, life nearly imitated the art in his head. But he calmed his
raging heart and turned and walked away from the still-living bandits. They
likely deserved death, but he knew if he killed them now, it would be his own
soul that was in danger. He would not kill them in rage.

He returned to his parents, and told them the story. He then retired to his
rooms and slept for two straight days.

It was time to return to the Fortress. Bone-weary as he was, he had a new
resolve. No. Peace. With the Shadow.

One test passed. The future? We shall see.

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