Description
A tall Elf stands proudly here, with the natural grace common amongst Elves.
His frame is slender and long-limbed, but there is an inherent internal
strength to the way he holds himself. Pale silver-blond hair hangs to his
shouldersin a series of elaborate braids, each one shimmering in the light
as he moves. His face is sharply defined, with high cheekbones and a narrow,
upward-pointed nose. Blue-gray eyes, clear and steady, regard the world with
a detached patience as they calmly scan his surroundings. A thin scar runs
across his left eyebrow and into his hairline, a pinkish contrast to his
otherwise fair and unblemished skin. His long, sharply-pointed ears peek
perhaps an inch above the carefully manicured braids. Resting across his
back is a slender staff, worn by long use. There is little wasted movement
in him, and though he stands at ease, there is a sense that his attention
never drifts far.
Role
Journal Entry I, The First Strains
Added Sun Apr 27 16:19:53 2025 at level 1:
Wise men have been known to say that putting your thoughts to parchment can
offer clarity and enlightenment. With that goal in mind, today I pick up the
pen. In doing so, it seems only fair to begin at the beginning.
I am Caladrieth Tyr'athanel, born to Larethien and Velysara of House
Tyr'athanel, minor nobles among the ancient bloodlines of Darsylon. My father
was a scholar, a man who believed tradition itself was a kind of armor. My
mother shaped her social circle as deftly as any smith shapes mithril,
building influence with well-chosen words and well-timed glances. I was raised
to believe in our ways, to trust that the wisdom of centuries could not be
wrong.
My days were filled with lessons in history, ethics, law. Knowledge was not
merely encouraged, it was expected. We were Elves, after all. I questioned
often, more than was considered polite, but never out of defiance. There were
answers my instructors gave willingly, and answers they polished so carefully
that it was clear the question itself had been unwelcome. It was a subtle
thing, but I noticed. I have a tendency to notice things others may miss.
My first true friend was Riven. He was a Half-Elf, abandoned in Darsylon by a
human mother and raised by his Elven guardsman father. Even without pure
blood, he carried himself with the same dignity as any of us. He was kind,
patient, endlessly hopeful. Where I questioned, he reassured. Where I doubted,
he believed. We spent long hours beneath the Ironwoods, debating whether pride
was a virtue or a weakness, whether tradition was a shield or a shackle. Riven
always chose to believe the best of our people. I admired that, even in the
times that I found it naive.
At first, I envied him. He moved so easily among the others, laughing,
smiling, trusted to join any conversation. But in quieter moments, when he
stepped away, I began to see the gaps he left behind. Conversations resumed,
lighter, freer. Honors that should have included him quietly did not.
Invitations arrived late or not at all. It was not cruelty. It was worse. It
was indifference, born from the certainty that we were good and just, and that
anything else was inferior.
There was one afternoon I remember more clearly than the rest. A gathering of
young nobles, games played in the gardens below. When teams were chosen for
the contest, his name was forgotten. Not mocked, not refused, simply..
overlooked. I caught his eye across the field, watched as understanding
flickered for a moment before he smothered it with a practiced smile.
He never spoke of it. He continued to believe. I said nothing, though the
words burned at the back of my throat.
That was the day I understood something I could not unlearn. I learned that
pride, even well-founded, can hide the truth. That goodness alone is not
enough.
My friend Riven believed he was accepted by our people. Perhaps he needed to.
But I was never one to give in to illusion.
Journal Entry II, Shrouded Fractures
Added Sun Apr 27 16:23:18 2025 at level 1:
My formal studies shifted as I grew older. In the eyes of my elders, I was
preparing for a proper life among Darsylon's nobility, perhaps overseeing the
guard or as a legal arbiter. I spent long hours in the shadow of the city's
elite lawkeepers, Elves whose mithril arms and armor marked them as trusted
stewards of our peace.
They were wise as a whole, and undeniably proud. Their words spoke of
vigilance, duty, and the guiding light of our traditions. Yet when I raised
questions about dangers cloaked in civility, the answers came too easily.
I debated carefully, never disrespectfully. I suggested that vigilance must be
living, not simply ceremonial. That evil, if it crept among us, would not wear
the face of a snarling beast. It would bow politely, speak our language, honor
our customs even as it corrupted them from within.
The responses were equally polite but unshakable. I was reminded that the
strength of our traditions shielded us. That our vigilance had already proven
itself across ages. That doubt, if left unchecked, would fray the very unity
it sought to protect.
I listened. I learned when to speak, and when silence would carry further. But
inside me, doubt settled like morning mist, thin but undeniable.
It was during this time that rumors began to surface more often, quiet
whispers that something in the lower branches of Darsylon was not as pure as
it should have been. The rumors centered around the strangely accepted
Thieves' Guild. Some whispered that its leader was no mere trickster, but
something darker. No proof was found. No charges brought. No true
investigation was ever even conducted. It remained, officially, a matter
beneath concern.
The reasoning was the same as I had heard countless times.. If corruption had
rooted itself, surely it would be seen. It would reveal itself. It was simply
impossible for it to hide beneath the Elves' vigilance.
But I remembered Riven's quiet smiles. I remembered the small gaps he left
behind him, unnoticed by those who believed themselves too wise to be cruel.
I could not share their certainty. I knew, obfuscated by their hubris, there
was more to these stories.
Even Riven laughed off the rumors, though with less conviction than before. It
was easier, he said, to trust the strength of the city than to imagine cracks
forming beneath our feet.
For a time, I tried to believe it. I reminded myself that rumors, left alone,
wither and die. That truth has no need of panic.
But the lesson had already been carved too deep.
The law was crucial. Keeping the peace essential to living a good life. But it
could not be done through apathy.
I began to realize that within Darsylon, the welcoming peace I longed for
could not be truly preserved. I must clarify that I did not hate my city, and
I do not hate it now. But I understood then that if I wished to build a place
of true safety for all, I would need to carry that burden beyond its borders.
Journal Entri III, Fissures Revealed
Added Sun Apr 27 16:35:32 2025 at level 1:
It was in the dawn of my one hundred thirtieth year that the quiet certainties
I had clung to finally tore away.
The guards of Darsylon, clad in mithril and tradition, turned their attention
outward, chasing rumors of threats beyond. They patrolled the edges of the
forest with diligence and pride, confident that no shadow could cross beneath
the Ironwoods unnoticed. In their vigilance, they left the heart of the city
exposed.
It began quietly. Elves disappearing without a trace, various guilds left
inexplicably unprotected. Each absence was explained away. Those who noticed
whispered of evil, but few truly listened.
I listened. But when I confronted the guard with my concerns, I was met with
polite reassurances, reminders of their vigilance and their skill. Reminders
that evil would never go unnoticed.
Yet I knew it did.
I caught them at last, through charting disappearances and well-reasoned
assumptions. A grim duergar warrior and two dark-hearted mages, stalking the
quiet quarters of the city. They moved swiftly, striking only when alone eyes
watched.
Armed with nothing more than a walkng stick, I challenged them, foolishly with
no plan to speak of. I warned them of the law that bound all who walked within
this ancient city. They laughed maliciously as an iron axe and bolt of magic
assailed me without warning.
As I lay bleeding along the roots of an Ironwood, the world dimming at the
edges, I saw them turn toward Riven's home. I tried to rise. I could not. I
watched, helpless, as they struck him down at his threshold, his form
crumpling without a sound.
Guilt tore at me, before darkness closed in.
I awoke to the quiet whispers of prayer, the soft glow of healing light woven
by unfamiliar hands. A Paladin, a stranger to Darsylon, had tracked the
killers where others had seen nothing. His voice, when he spoke, was firm but
without mockery. He praised my courage, even as he scolded my recklessness,
and urged me to seek strength worthy of the judgments I wished to make.
Still healing, I sought the Paladin once more before he departed, asking not
for comfort but for purpose. He guided me to the guild near the city's temple.
It was a place I'd always considered for others, never myself. But as I stood
there, I realized I'd found the answer to my doubts. Using my walking stick as
a crutch, I limped across its threshold with a newfound understanding of duty.
I became a Paladin not by birthright, but by necessity. By the certainty that
I must be wise enough to see through the shrouds of masks and pride alike, and
that I must be strong enough to pass judgment. I began this training within
Darsylon, but I knew even then that my home could not contain my purpose.
I love Darsylon still, but my eyes are open to the limitation of what it has
become. I am proud of my heritage and the duty that comes along with it. Yet
that duty is not to the past, but to the future.. and now that duty calls.
Journal Entry IV, The Hollow Spire
Added Tue May 13 23:30:19 2025 at level 28:
The Spire is quieter than I had imagined it would be.
Perhaps not overtly so. Noise abounds, as expected of a place nestled within
the bustling city of Galadon. But beneath the surface, there is a stifling
stillness. It is not peace, precisely. I would characterize it as stagnation,
mistaken for order.
When I accepted the duties of a Magistrate, I did so with measured conviction.
I believed I was entering a place built to preserve justice through clarity of
judgment. I expected challenges, but I did not expect complacency. I most
assuredly did not expect to find so many who chose to mistake blind obedience
for virtue, and structure for purpose.
What troubles me is the overt alliance I have observed between Magistrates and
Imperials. They speak of it with rationality, as they point to the Empire's
law and their adherence to order. While true on the surface, they choose to
ignore the greater truths. The Imperials do enforce law, but they twist it to
further subjugation not peace. Yet far too many Magistrates willingly embrace
that illusion of order, masking the slavery beneath.
I see what transpires here, and I will stop it.
To that end, I was blessed to meet Lady Azorinne not long ago. The goddess was
not what I expected. Instead of feeling unworthy and unclean in her presence,
I felt seen and welcomed. But I also felt the weight of responsibility. She
left me with a task. To find those within the Spire who's mind is not yet lost
to the wickedness of the Empire or shadow. To understand those who could yet
be enlightened. To understand how they differ from my own perspective, and how
they align. Then, to draw the Light up around them. It is a task I take
seriously, one that must be accomplished if I am to see the Spire into a
brighter place.
The law itself is not failing, to be certain. Yet it is the interpretation of
many that has faltered. We were never meant to follow the written words
blindly or without thought. We were meant to weigh, to discern, to refine. I
have seen too much eagerness to enforce and too little willingness to
understand. Judgment without insight is nothing more than repetition in
uniform.
After conversation on the subject with the Provost, I have given thought to
the path of the Justiciar. Not for fame or glory, but to deliver a wiser
interpretation and implementation of the law. I see none within the Spire I
would trust with the task, yet if the Lady Azorinne trusts in me, then I must
do the same.
For now, I remain a junior Magistrate, my opinion still unheard. Though the
day may come when my voice carries weight throughout the Spire. I must be
ready.
I will observe carefully, speak deliberately, and act when clear judgment
requires it. I will not let the Spire drift further from what it claims to be.
The Light has not abandoned this place, but it has grown thin in some corners.
It's glory will return when the Spire is made worthy.
PK Wins
May 8, 2025 |Lv 23|The North Road|Fereshti vs 1: [23] Caladrieth (100%, quick strike)
May 14, 2025|Lv 29|Voralian City|Kallara vs 1: [29] Caladrieth (100%, slash)
May 27, 2025|Lv 38|Organia, the Veil of Shadow|Vexeria vs 1: [38] Caladrieth (100%, defilement)
Jun 2, 2025 |Lv 50|Ruins of Maethien|Ruumozai vs 1: [50] Caladrieth (100%, claw)
Jun 3, 2025 |Lv 51|The Spire of the Blood Tribunal|Puffun vs 4: [51] Aevylen (24%, noxious force), [51] Caladrieth (16%), [51] Goje (18%), [51] Dhurrean (40%)
Jun 4, 2025 |Lv 51|Voralian City|Esotawuyon vs 2: [51] Caladrieth (53%, pound), [47] Filandoril (46%)
PK Deaths
May 28, 2025|Lv 38|Azreth Wood|vs 1: [42] Vexeria (100%, piercing electricity)