Description
Your eyes are met by a svelte and lithe figure of small-stature.
Approximately two inches short of six feet with a slim build,
he seems to be without the natural attributes of a warrior. Light
hazel hair cascades either side of his noble, ivory face which
appears to be embossed with the hallmarks of a pious lifestyle,
a slim, chiseled face, indicative of a meager existence and cobalt-
blue eyes, disciplined and alert. They appear akin to those of a
hawk or similar predator but they also radiate empathy and
compassion. A necklace of crystal prayer-beads is suspended
around his neck, their worth more in application than currency.
A distressing scar runs down his forehead, seemingly caused by
a sharp object.
Role
Vigilant protector, a fate reshaped.
Added Mon Oct 3 18:21:18 2005 at level 8:
"Close your eyes, picture this - A searing pain cutting deep.
Hot blood flowing down your face, covering your eyes bringing
naught but darkness. A bloodstained blade being withdrawn for
a second blow, a blow to finish what the first started. Imagine
the final seconds of your life slowing, halting as you breathe
quietly, grasping for the final sinews of living.
Hear the shrill cry of blade upon blade, exploding by your face.
The rush of air as the execution stroke is parried by a passerby,
a lone paladin. Listen to the hoarse voice telling me to run and
my footsteps cleaving a path across the plains back to Darsylon.
Feel the shivers I felt when the death cry rang out over the air
behind me. These are my experiences and the experiences
of the paladin who traded lives with me, accepted my fate and
in doing so gave me his life. My survivors guilt, for better or
worse will not be satiated."
Born in Darsylon Vale, the illegitimate son of a young elven
maiden, Lathillian has grown up among elves. Although never
accepted as one of their own he was accepted and trained in
combat and priesthood by the elves. Once old enough, he left
the Darsylon to travel and during his travels he was ambushed
by a bandit. He avoided death but only due to a paladin and
received the scar on his forehead. The paladin died in the
process and Lathillian fled to safety. Returning with a group
of elves he recovered the paladin's body and gave it funeral
rites in custom with those of elves. Having felt he cheated
that day and traded lives with the paladin he was deeply
moved and now tries to redeem the life he feels guilty for
losing by helping others in the same way.
The nightmare.
Added Tue Oct 4 08:36:48 2005 at level 11:
You glimpse the sleeping form of a paladin lying upon a boat.
As the boat sways in the stormy waters he moans in his sleep,
you notice a look of anguish on his face and a fine sheen of
perspiration mingling with the sea's spray. It seems his mind
is just as tumultuous in sleep as the storm which surrounds it.
Lathillian cries out suddenly, your vision blurs and you see the
nightmare through his eyes.
A semi-naked form lies in a woodland clearing, stripped of
wealth and covered with ragged gashes. His surroundings are
shadowed and a single stream of light shines through the leaves
focusing on the body. A half-elven form, guilt in armor appears
holding crystal prayer-beads tightly in his right hand which is
clenched into a fist around them. The faceless form steps
hesitantly towards the body, head stooped to look at it. A cry
rings out from the darkness and suddenly a ghostly fist
bursts out of the darkness, ethereal and deadly. The sickly
smell of decomposition accompanies it, as though it were death
personified. As its tendril-like fingers grasp at the half-elven
form the body raises its arms and opens its eyes. A sterling-
silver orb envelopes the armored shape emitting a faint
golden light. The hand grasps at the humanoid but is burnt
on the orb and retreats, dragging the body away with it, eyes
open and pleading.
The dream fades gently leaving an image of a weeping figure
amidst a clearing of leaves, encased in silver and gold. A
cacophony of melodic voices whisper out 'Maethir' at once
as the image fades.
You open your eyes one more with a series of runes envisioned
in your mind, they take shape into 'Maethir' which in turn
shapes into 'Death-protected', the scarred one who traded fates.
Maethir is what the elves called Lathillian after his escape from
death. As such he has taken it on as his last name and a sense of
identity which he relates to.
On Protection and Mercy.
Added Mon Oct 10 12:28:18 2005 at level 22:
Within the Paladin's guild, sponsored by the Voralian Order a
figure kneels before Nicolette, champion of the fallen. They
appear to be discussing paladinly things.
"Greetings Mistress Nicolette",
"Hello Lathillian."
"I come to ask you to impart more knowledge unto me as I
been training hard."
Nicolette pauses, appraising Lathillian as a thief would a gold
object, or an assassin a target.
"Yes, Lathillian you have grown in power and knowledge. I
sense more strength in you than last time you visited."
Lathillian half nods.
"Very well young templar I will impart to you some knowledge
it seems you have earned it."
Hours of training pass, eventually Lathillian learns new skills.
"Now tell me young one, how is your faith? You follow-",
"The Archon Lord, Lord Corrlaan mistress."
"Ah, that's right. I have heard of his ascension to the heavens."
Lathillian nods again, half smiling this time.
"Tell me what you know of protection?"
"Here are my beliefs guildmistress"
-=Protection=-
Lathillian believes in protection in a literal sense. Protecting
other lives, such as those of his companions, protecting orphans
or protecting a traveler. He tends to stand in front during
fights unless he is more likely to save lives from behind the
battle. Lathillian will also protect all travelers (due to his past)
and he will protect the Vale of Darsylon, in particular the grave
of the unnamed paladin. He views protection as something to
be done rather than spoken of. Lathillian will protect corpses
of good and evil alike seeing it as them having paid their dues
and deserving of respect. Defiling a corpse (butchering, or
animating etc) would anger him. Necromancers are disliked
for this reason.
Nicolette leans on her sword, "I see, now, tell me of Mercy and
what you have learnt of it."
-=Mercy=-
Mercy works in many ways. Lathillian refuses to strike all but
thieves, assassins and rangers that are evil (he dislikes all evil
bandits, particularly those that prey on roads.) He believes that
all are redeemable and would rather offer terms of surrender
before battle - the terms being seeking redemption. If others
strike at Lathillian he will fight them to the death if that is what
it takes for them to see sense. He mistrusts all those that hide
in shadows seeing it as a character flaw. Why need shadows
unless you yourself are deceptive? He will listen to neutral
rangers however, although with skepticism. Any proclaimed
bandit will have no leniency whatsoever. He views bringing
death to them as mercy, taking them to the realm where the
gods may judge them.
Nicolette silently places a hand on Lathillian's head giving him
her blessing as a crimson sun rises outside.
The premonition
Added Fri Oct 21 06:32:06 2005 at level 29:
A shrill scream tears through the sky carried upon the Eastern
winds. A flash of light and your vision races across plains and
fields, up hillsides along a steep path, finally slowing upon the
choppy waters of a lake. Situated within the center of the lake
is a building, looking like a place of peace, a monastery or
some other place of meditation. As your view shifts across the
lake clawed, scarred hands grasp at you, looking down you see
dark shapes beneath the tumultuous water. A flash of lightning
illuminates their hideous features momentarily and a pang of
fear runs through you. The darkness gives way as your vision
cuts to the inside of the building where robed monks wander
looking troubled. A feeling that something is amiss strikes you.
*THUD*
A deep sound reverberates across the hallway causing the floor
to shake. Bricks loosen and cracks form, the floor crumbles
beneath you opening into an abysmal hole. You plunge into
darkness to be caught by slimy tentacles and sharp claws. Stale,
acrid smells greet your nostrils and in the distance you hear
feminine sobbing, trapped between the tangible hissing of
shrouded beasts.