Aelarion Thal'adriel the Champion of the Virtues, Avowed of Azorinne

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Role

Chapter 6

It was an utterly strange day when Aelarion was approached by the dark-elf
conjurer, Chakos. The encounter marked an unexpected turn in his pursuit of
justice. Chakos came to him with a proposition that raised both caution and a
glimmer of hope within Aelarion's heart.

The dark-elf sought a secret from Aelarion, offering not just an exchange of
secrets but the liberation of a svirfneblin Magistrate's soul, free of the
debt binding him to shadow. Aelarion sensed treachery beneath the offer but
glimpsed an opening for the Light buried within the shadows of deceit.

Despite the potential for betrayal, Aelarion accepted the invitation,
insisting upon a meeting at the steps leading to the goddess Azorinne's
shrine. The holy place was the perfect site to share his story of hope and
redemption. Fortified by faith, Aelarion decided to lay bare a tale from his
past, one he had never shared with a soul before that day.

He told of man of his youth, one with a wicked soul but a promise of seeking
redemption. Aelarion told the equally evil Chakros of how he let that man
live, not once but three times. He told him of the last time he saw that man,
covered in the blood of his cousins as he slashed a murderous path through
Darsylon.

It was a story of failure. The weight of those lives weighed on Aelarion
still. But it was also a story of the Light's unceasing endeavor to cleanse
even the darkest of souls. One he hoped Chakos would take to heart.

At story's end, Aelarion braced himself for the betrayal that was sure to
follow. The dark-elf had gathered what he wanted. He had learned his secret.
And now Aelarion waited for the disappointment that was to come.

Surprisingly, Chakos honored his end of the bargain, promising to release the
svirfneblin from the shackles of debt. Moreover, he disclosed the whereabouts
of Bal'talon, the sacred sword stolen from Aelarion's possession and concealed
within the dark recesses of the Morian church.

Reclaiming the blade was a bittersweet victory for Aelarion. As he held
Bal'talon once more, he was reminded of his past failures, both in battle and
elsewhere. But amid these reflections, he couldn't shake the unusual nature of
Chakos. Despite Chakos's apparent zealotry for the dark god Morius, there
seemed a flicker of something else. The dark-elf had shown an unexpected hint
of honesty and compassion, perhaps even a trace of mercy and honor.

Exiting the shadowed confines of the Morian church, Aelarion walked slowly
through the peace of the graveyard, the strangeness his encounter with Chakos
etched into his thoughts. Contemplating the curious dark-elf, he dared to
consider the possibility redemption even for those lost in the deepest abyss
of darkness. Perhaps even those furthest from the Light, may still find their
way to the path of redemption. Perhaps there was reason to hope for Chakos.

Role

Chapter 5

With a curious gesture, the Elder guided Aelarion toward a broken window
filled with spiraling light. Gazing through the glass, Aelarion witnessed a
joyous scene within the Azure Fields.

The landscape stretched endlessly, a vibrant meadow bathed in divine golden
light intermixed with celestial blueish silver. The air itself seemed alive
with hope and love. Along sere pathways, Aelarion looked upon the familiar
faces of his friends and loved ones from Sylvindor as they celebrated an
endless Yuletide in this place of transcendant peace.

The sounds of stories, laughter and song echoed through the air as Aelarion
gazed on. Standing there, looking upon his people at peace and contented,
Aelarion felt a strange sense of foolishness and wisdom dawn on him.

The draw of revenge for his village's destruction had never fully let go of
Aelarion's heart. But now, witnessing the jovial scene, he realized that
vengeance was his own desire alone, never theirs. As he looked on, his mind
drifted to the Creed of the Maran. "Maran stand as protectors of the Light".
Protectors, not mindless killers Justice was his calling, not merely the
momentary satisfaction of revenge.

With a proud smile, the spectral Elder guided Aelarion outside. As they
emerged from the remnants of the church, a strange light blinded Aelarion for
a moment. When his vision cleared, he found himself standing in a Sylvindor of
tomorrow.

Stones were already being piled high, rebuilding the simple Lord's manor into
what must be a grand palace. He witnessed a team of Elves erecting a robust
wall of ironwood, coupled with watchtowers already manned by vigilant archers.
Below them, eyes not leaving the roadways and forests were a team of guards,
hands on their weapons at the ready. Behind those fierce soldiers, children
played as elders negotiated trade goods and shared gossip.

Sylvindor was being reborn. Not as it was, but greater, stronger and more
resilient. The sight emphasized the enduring strength of the Light, ever
resilient but always to be protected. The words of the goddess Azorinne echoed
in his ears. "We fight. When we must." And Aelarion knew, then, that Sylvindor
would be safe under the Light. They had learned from the mistakes of their
predecessors. They would fight for the Light, not merely hope for it. And,
Aelarion knew, so would he.

Stepping into the open, Aelarion witnessed a vision of Sylvindor in the
future. He saw the town being reconstructed, fortified with robust walls and
guarded by vigilant sentinels. This sight emphasized the enduring strength of
the Light, ever resilient but always to be protected.

As the vision faded, Aelarion found himself alone amid the ruin of his home,
the visions of Sylvindor's past, present and future all revealing a wisdom he
finally grasped in full. He vowed to refocus himself on his duty to find
Justice guided by wisdom and clarity, not consumed by vengeance.

Role

Chapter 4

Snow fell gently in the mountains, blanketing the Fortress of Light in a
pristine white. Aelarion stood, captivated by the nostalgia of the wintry
storm. Memories of Yuletide's past stirred within him, evoking a longing for
his long-lost home.

Giving in to the pull of home, he ventured to the remains of Sylvindor.
Arriving along a hidden path through the forest, he found a fresh layer of
snow masking the ruins, veiling the devastation with a pristine white cloak.
He stood awestruck by the serenity of this place of destruction, before a
faint flash of light caught his attention.

A spark glimmered through the cracks of what was once the village church. It
flickered, an ethereal glow piercing through the veil of snow and beckoning
him closer.

As Aelarion crossed the threshold of the ruined church, a chill went up his
spine as he stood in the midst of it's desolation. Amid the haunting silence,
that flicker of arcane luminescence danced in the shadows.

The soft glow solidified into the spectral form of Elder Valandrielithas, the
priest who'd first shown Aelarion the wisdom which could be found through
religion. His voice, though faint, carried the weight of ages and the
familiarity of a trusted mentor.

"Aelarion," the Elder spoke in a deep tone that reminded Aelarion of his
youth, "you walk a Just path, but there is still more for you to see, more for
you to understand."

With a beckoning gesture, the Elder moved towards an adjacent chamber. As they
stepped into the chamber, the air around them shimmered and transformed.

Suddenly, the ruins dissolved, and Aelarion found himself standing amidst a
swirling vision of Sylvindor's past. It was a Yuletide celebration, but not a
celebration of excess. The scarcity of food and resources were evident on the
long feast tables, yet laughter and harmony echoed through the festive air.

Sylvindor's resilient community had gathered for the modest feast, their faces
showing not the signs of struggle, but radiating warmth and camaraderie. They
sang songs of celebration, echoing the strength of their unity and their bond.
Every soul had a plate of food, though neither the richest or poorest among
them had more or less than the other. Aelarion felt the bittersweet memory of
that Yuletide, one of harsh conditions entwined with the enduring spirit of
unity.

As the vision into his own memory played before his eyes, Aelarion was
reminded of wise words heard more recently. The Maran's Marshall had only
recently reminded the Brigade that the strength of the Light was it's unity,
and it's bond. Aelarion saw with new eyes that the Light shone brightest only
when those of the Light stood together, united.

Recognizing the understanding in Aelarion's eyes, the Elder smiled gently with
an approving nod as the vivid vision faded, grounding Aelarion back to the
present.....

Role

Chapter 3

Stepping into a plain building near the Darsylon near the Temple of Darsylon,
Aelerion caught his breath on the simple solemnity of the guildhall.

In the entryway, his eyes caught an elderly paladin, an imposing yet kindly
figure with a long gray beard cascading down his armor. The seasoned paladin
looked up from an ancient book to regard Aelarion with a look of
understanding, born of years of service and sacrifice.

Aelarion sensed an innate goodness in the man, but hesitated briefly before
stepping forward, his voice steady but bearing the weight of anguish. "Kind
Knight, I seek your aid. Creatures razed my village and murdered everyone I
knew. They must be hunted down and killed."

The paladin's kind eyes gazed at the young Elf with a discerning scrutiny.
"Ah, revenge. All too common of a motivation, isn't it? Your anger is
palpable, young one. But is it truly just vengeance that you seek?"

Aelarion faltered, unprepared for the simple question. "Well, they must pay
for their sins, mustn't they? Can you help me?"

"Justice," the paladin spoke softly, "is not born from the fire of revenge. It
is tempered by the light of truth and goodness. In this guild, you will find
no mercenaries. We are seekers of justice, not merely executors of personal
vendettas."

Aelarion's chest tightened, grappling with the emotions that surged within him
as he rethought his quest. "I couldn't stop them from destroying my village.
But what of the next? Someone must do something. They must answer for what
they've done, before they do it again."

Smiling slightly at the Elf, the paladin considered him for several minutes
before reverently closing the ancient tome he'd been reading, revealing the
symbol of a solar eclipse. With a sense of reverence, he gazed lovingly at the
book before handing it over to young Aelarion.

"Within these pages," the paladin said, offering the tome to Aelarion's shaky
hands, "lies the beginnings of an answer to your quest for justice. Let this
tome, and let Her, be your guiding light."

Unspoken words passed before them, as the young Elf considered the elderly
paladin. He didn't fully understand the paladin's meaning, not yet. But in
that moment of clarity he knew that he could not hide behind revenge alone.

The young elf turned away for a moment as he felt the weight of the tome in
his hands, feeling it's divine aura. "Justice", Aelarion whispered solemnly.
"Justice is what Thera needs."

After a moment of contemplation, Aelarion turned, ready to express his
newfound determination to the paladin, seeking reassurance and guidance on his
new path. Yet, the aged figure was no longer there, leaving the chamber empty
and the choice in Aelarion's hands alone.

Only the entrance to the paladin's guild sat before him now, ready for him to
take the next step.

Role

Chapter 2

When Aelarion stirred back to awareness, Sylvindor lay desolated in smoldering
ruins. The aftermath was a scene out of nightmares.. littered with scattered
debris, twisted remnants of what once stood as homes, and the occasional piece
of mangled flesh of his friends and family. Amid the devastation, animal-like
tracks moved eastward-the footprints of his village's annihilators.

Fuelled by an unyielding blend of vengeful fervor and an overwhelming sense of
responsibility to protect neighboring villages from sharing Sylvindor's fate,
Aelarion hastily gathered meager provisions scanned the area for a weapon.
Reflecting the dawn's early light was a colossal claymore, tip in the ground
and standing as tall as himself. With weapon in hand, he set out on a lone
quest to find the creatures that had destroyed his home, and see that no one
else ever suffered the same fate.

Yet, his spirit was stronger than his still un-healed body allowed. Before
mid-day, his strides faltered and weakened as his injuries and battle
weariness all took their toll.

He pressed on, stumbling down the roadside for hours, legs moving through pure
willpower alone. As the evening approached, a trade envoy appeared in the
distance. As he staggered down the road, carrying an immense weapon and
covered in blood and grime, no one would have faulted the traders for fleeing
at first sight of him.

But to their credit and to Aelarion's salvation, they did not run.

They approached with trepidation, fear etched upon their faces. In that
moment, Aelarion wished for them to pass him by, yearning to follow the
sinister tracks and avenge his brethren. He snarled as they approached, too
weak to form words and tell them to leave. At that moment, his strength
betrayed him under their scrutiny. Weakened and stumbling, he collapsed at
their feet, too fatigued to carry on.

Through his clouded consciousness, Aelarion could barely comprehend the
compassion they sowed as they loaded him onto a wagon, leaving their own trade
goods behind. They risked their own safety and their prosperity for his life.
They showed mercy when none was deserved. They saved his life, Aelarion knew,
though at the cost of his own hunt.
.
Transported in a haze of exhaustion and fleeting consciousness, Aelarion's
journey wavered in and out of awareness. When clarity dawned upon him, he
found himself at the outskirts of Darsylon, a beacon of lost hope but an
unwelcome one. The trail he'd followed had long disappeared into the horizon,
his revenge with it, leaving him with a hollow sense of loss.

That vengeance lost to him, his only hope now was to find an adventurer, a
hero who could hunt down the horde even now. A Paladin, perhaps, would do what
he knew he could not.

Role

Chapter 1

Aelarion Thal'adriel was born and raised in the secluded village of Sylvindor,
nestled in an isolated valley far to the west of the Calandaryl Mountains.
Life within this haven was one of abundance and peace, leaving little reason
for an Elf to venture beyond its bounds. Outsiders, apart from the rare trade
envoy from Darsylon, would not even know of the village let alone ever be
allowed to step foot within it's walls.

In those early days of Aelarion's life, he dedicated himself to the study of
religion, aspiring to become the village's priest. He poured over sacred texts
and prayers,hoping one day provide comfort and safety to those in need. For
reasons he never really considered or questioned, he felt it was his duty to
look after others and see them cared for. And in his youth, becoming a healer
was the only way he saw of accomplishing that.

However, fate had other plans.

The idyllic tranquility of Sylvindor was shattered one sunny afternoon, their
peace forever ending with a shrill cry piercing the air. The alarming echo of
a second, then a third cry ushered in chaos. A band of monstrous orcs, reeking
of filth and hungering for Elven blood, descended upon the once peaceful
village. With the thunderous clamor of the timber gates exploding inward, the
village descended into a nightmare..

Aelarion's heart raced as he witnessed the blood-curdling scene. Fearsome
creatures withr matted fur and snarling teeth clashed with the poorly-armed
villagers. The air was filled screams of terror, the clashing of weapons and
the sounds of ripping flesh. Chaos reigned as villagers desperately swung
their few weapons against the onslaught, their terrified faces a blend of
determination and abject fear.

Driven by instinct and desperation, Aelarion lunged into action, focused
solely on an overwhelming sense of duty and protectiveness for his home and
his people. He snatched the first weapon he could find - a giant rough-hewn
club discarded by an orc now sating its vile appetite. As he gripped the
weapon, its weight tested his strength, each swing an unrefined yet fervent
attempt to defend his kin. With a determined yet unsteady stance, Aelarion's
knuckles whitened, his heart racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins,
and fear driving his every erratic movement. His raw, untrained strikes,
fueled by the weight of responsibility for those dying around him, clashed
against the twisted creatures, his own battle lost amongst a myriad of others
in the mayhem of his village home.

Amidst that pandemonium, a searing pain sliced through Aelarion's neck from a
source he never saw. Darkness encroached as he slumped to the ground,
consciousness slipping away. Aelarion's last thoughts as his vision narrowed
to blackness were of his own failure to do more.

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