"The Mountain which guards the Tears of Lightning"


His parents always thought he’d grow out of it; his fierce seriousness. They attributed it to his youth, being not nearly half a century old, but those who met him always guessed he was much, much older. He did not joke, smile or otherwise seem to enjoy anything but relentless practice with his sword. Even that, something in which he was always distinguished amongst his peers, failed to impart his furrowed brow with the smallest sense of accomplishment. Some Eladrin speculated that his being was so intertwined with the Feywild that he simply could not relate to things so mundane and individualistic as their daily lives. Others believed he was simply an arrogant prodigy who was not worth attempting to form a bond with. Regardless, he was known by everyone as tenaciously dedicated to his duty and an extremely promising Swordmage.

Because of his single-minded focus and quickly developing skills, Asel was often given tasks befitting someone much more experienced than him, or ones of a delicate nature where his personality (or lack thereof) would fit the situation. His last task in the Feywild was of the latter variety. Upon achieving the higher state of being that is frequently referred to as “Noble”, many Eladrin simply disappear from their mortal shells and fuse their selves with nature. This can sometimes cause a bit of a political stir depending on what or who is left behind. Asel’s task was to escort a young daughter of a recently transcendent Noble to her uncle’s estate. The young girl had learned of some secrets concerning “The Scourge” from her father who was acting as a kind of arcane conduit during his final stages of meditation. This information has been kept from the populace by the eldest Mages for the protection of Eladrin society. Before the rumors could begin to take hold of what this girl had learned, she needed to be put under the watchful eye of the Mages.

Asel’s task was simple; escort the girl from her residence to the center of town and into the Hall of the Mages and don’t ask her any questions nor listen to what she has to say. Rather underwhelming for Asel’s taste, but any job is worth doing well, so he set his mind to the task. Not 15 steps outside the girl’s residence, they were ambushed. Asel mechanically slipped into his stances and fought off the attackers with textbook technique. The battle was a blur of darting blades, arcane fire and teleporting figures. It was over as quickly as it had started, with Asel catching one too many poisoned dagger as he put himself between them and the girl. His vision began to fade as one of the masked assailants eased his unresponsive body to the ground. His head fell limply to the side where the sight of the girl’s bound and gagged body forced out an airless groan. The masked assailant who had helped Asel to the ground leaned close enough to reveal Eladrin eyes under the mask and whispered, “We’re sorry Brother” in an all too familiar Elven tongue.

The next few days were a blur for Asel. Between the infirmary, the Mages and family members he could not tell if he was a hero or traitor or both. The story somehow settled upon Drow who perpetrated the incident, putting the town on high alert and nearly doubling the size of the watch. This clear fabrication seemed to have no effect upon Asel who for the first time in memory was not furrowing his brow. Instead his face had taken on a placid calmness that was difficult to look at for any period of time. His parents knew that cheering him up was out of the question, so they urged him to return to work and begin to search for the missing girl. He agreed to their suggestion, but with an agenda of his own.

As soon as he was physically able, he escaped from the Feywild, out of Farwood Forest and into the realm of Dwarves, Half-Elves, Halflings and Humans. There he is determined to live out his disgrace where no Eladrin will have to view his pitiful existence. He is frequently looking for answers to his failure at the bottom of tankards, a very un-Eladrin practice to which he has taken too swimmingly. He prefers to drink himself to “sleep” rather than the standard Eladrin practice of meditation at night, as images and thoughts of duty and honor ring louder than a hammer against his head. His latest haunt is Alan’s Crossing, mainly because he’s been escorted out of the smaller villages, but also because there are enough taverns where occasionally punching an overly cheerful Bard won’t necessarily end his night of drinking.

If you see an Elf in Alan’s Crossing passed out in a gutter, look again, as you may be looking at a legendary Eladrin; one of the most promising Swordmages in recent history.


Dal Gurath Froegiligr