The Pyres of Irefell
Son of the Nightingale, Commander of the Iron Dragons
A tall drow fighter, standing at 6’ 1’. His silver hair is shoulder length, and tied off in the back. He has many scars covering his body, from repeated fights. His eyes gleam golden, an unusual trait, but one caused by his almost lifelong exposure to sunlight. He carries his father’s shield and sword, and dons a well-made sturdy coat of chain mail. Once a commander in a military unit, he is often respected for his accomplishments, while simultaneously derided for his heritage.
Saving Throws: STR, CON
Background: Soldier – Officer
Personality Trait: Faces problems head on. Simple solutions are often the best path forward.
Ideal: Ideologies aren’t worth killing for or going to war. We are all part of the same system.
Bond: Forever tied to his home on Felathil.
Flaws: Fights for his people, despite the circumstance.
Drow Weapon Proficiency
All Armor, Shield proficiency
Simple, Martial weapon proficiency
Fighting Style (Defense) – +1 to AC
Born on the island of Felathil, a cold and inhospitable island nestled in the far northern seas. Felathil, once a stepping stone for an attempted Drow invasion to southern islands, became the last hold out of the remnants of the forces. The island itself is mountainous and dangerous.Ehtar was born in Autumn, on the night of the new moon to Angren and Lilaith Feltín. His early years, the first 50 or so began as all others. Weapons training began early on, from the moment he hit physical maturity. From that point on a series of brutal tests and terrifying practices of indoctrination began. He learned of the history of the Drow, and taught that all others despise them because they are a superior race (which of course seemed ludicrous to him at the time). By his 40th year, he had mastered many forms of fighting. His father, who was often hard on him, taught him to command. Tactics and strategy were his forte, as well it should be. He was, after all, the general of the Nightingales, the front line warriors in the Drow Army. Ehtar often heard others refer to his father as the Lord Nightingale. Angren was also a kind and fair father, when times warranted. He loved his child, and only pushed Ehtar in hopes that he would some day succeed him. In many conversations in the privacy of their homestead, Angren would try to explain to Ehtar of the failings of the Drow, and that the hardships that had befallen the Drow were no fault of the other races of the world. Ehtar was often conflicted by the two opposing opinions, and tended to lean more towards his father’s way of thinking. Ehtar’s 50th name day had come and gone, and as he was heading towards his morning training, the bells rang demonstrably through the halls of Felathil. Warriors rushed passed him, clad in their armor. He turned to join them, feeling himself a capable warrior, when he saw his father rush toward. “Ehtar! Come with me!” his father yelled to him. Ehtar obeyed, but noticed that they were heading in the opposite direction of the soldiers. “Where are we going? What is going on?” Ehtar said as they wound their way through the halls, back to their home off of the central square. “They’ve found us…gods forgive us, but I knew this day would come. Listen to me, you must go with your mother to Nostín. Most, if not all of the fighters are fighting, and there will be none to protect the women and children. Gather your friends, and protect them.” his father said, sadness and panic rushing across his face in equal parts. “Who’s found us? I don’t understand.” Ehtar said, as his father handed Ehtar his sword and shield. “The sins of the past. The High Elves of the islands to the south. We thought we were safe here, obscured by darkness, obscured by the ice. They must have been searching this whole time. Ehtar, listen to me there are things that you must kn-” an explosion echoed through the halls distant cutting Angren off. It was distant, but powerful enough to shake the dust loose. “Ehtar, I’ve tried my best to instill in you an understanding that the other races are not bad. We made mistakes that caused us to be this way…Your mother and I did not want you to end up like we did. Whatever happens, remember that we love you. Do not let our past define you.” Angren said, a tear rolling down his face. “I know what this day holds for me. Do not mourn for me…Now go! Find your mother, find your friends!” and with that Angren pushed Ehtar out of the door. Before he could say anything, his father ran off in the direction of the fighting. Ehtar was about to turn and head to the Nostín, when a louder and more powerful explosion rippled through the halls. Stones and boulders began to fall from the ceiling, and before Ehtar could raise his shield, a particularly large one crashed into him, knocking him unconscious. When he awoke, his hands were bound and he was being dragged by his feet. His vision, blurred, and then came into focus. He looked around and saw bodies. Hundreds of his kinsman piled high on either side of the avenue. He noticed several faces in the piles, people his father had served with, people his father commanded. The dim light caught on an object pinned to a particularly charred body; an insignia he had seen throughout his child hood on his father’s coat. It was a gold nightingale framed by a silver moon. Sadness and rage welled up within Ehtar and released in a blood curdling scream that echoed through the corridors. He stopped. He was no longer being dragged, and through his tears he looked up at the assailant that was dragging him. It was an attacker, that much Ehtar could be sure of. He was clad in shining gold scale male, with a helmet made to match. Though Ehtar couldn’t be sure, the elf seemed to have a somewhat sympathetic look on his face, until one of the other attackers came over to see.
“This one’s awake. Surprising considering the size of the boulder that fell on him, " the elf in the gold armor said.
“Yes, my lord. Shall I dispatch of him?” the second responded.“No, I will deal with him. Go, search for others. If they don’t fight, bind them and load them up onto the ships.” the first said. The second nodded and went further into the tunnels.
The elf in the gold armor continued to drag him. Further and further they went and the brighter the surroundings became, until suddenly a flood of white light burst through. Ehtar’s eyes, which had never truly seen sunlight, began to burn with white hot searing pain. He tried to close his eyes, but the light penetrated even his eye lids. Through the pain, he could feel that he was still being dragged.When they finally stopped, Ehtar laid face down for several moments, trying to regain his constitution. When he finally mustered the strength, he opened his eyes. They burned, but through the tears he could see, and what he saw took his breath away. He saw the ocean waves gently lapping against the shore. He saw the green reeds on the dunes swaying delicately in the breeze. He saw the snow covered sands. All of these things were beautiful, new, and exciting. He had never left his home, and did not know such things could exist. Ehtar stared for what seemed like hours, when he felt the presence of someone nearby. He turned to look, and saw the same elf, staring at him with an slightly bemused look on his face.
“You are truly a strange one, aren’t you? What is your name, youngling?” the elf said.
“E-E-Ehtar, " Ehtar replied.“Ehtar. Stand up. Let me get a good look at you.” the elf said. Ehtar stood up, realizing for the first time that he still had his father’s sword and shield. Rage and sadness crept back to the surface, and for an instant he thought of attacking this elf. The moment passed, and realizing he was surrounded by an army and at a clear disadvantage, due to his eyes, decided not to attack. “What is your name?” Ehtar asked of the elf. “Angrín,” the elf replied simply. “Angren?” Ehtar asked, more than a little confused. “No, Angrín. The name seems to mean something to you.” Angrín replied, somewhat pensive. “It does, but now is not the time to discuss it. Why am I still alive?” Ehtar asked. “You are special, and more yet, you are special to me. I want to ask something of you. This day has been terrible, despite the victory that I have enjoyed. I do not relish the thought of killing. It leaves a bad taste…but I answered the call. I did what needed to be done, and it led me to you. You are different. I see that now, as I saw it in the halls. You care for things, and I do not feel you to be a threat. I would like to bring you back to my home, train you as my own. Trust me when I say the alternatives are far worse.” Angrín said, and Ehtar could sense no attempts to deceive him. “Will you answer a question for me, " Ehtar asked, “The elf in there, wearing the insignia of the nightingale. Did you kill him?” A brief look of sadness crossed Angrín’s face. “He was your father?” Ehtar nodded. “I was not the one who took his life, but I am the commander of these forces, so yes. I killed your father,” Angrín said, “and you have every right to hate me. But believe me when I say that I did not want any of this. Your kind, misguided as they may be, are acting on their own path. It is not my place to say whether they are right or wrong.” Ehtar believe the words of Angrín, not to mention he was not a fool. He knew this was to be his only way out of this alive, and after several long moments, Ehtar said “I will go with you.” They camped out on the beach for the night, and at first light, boarded Angrín’s ship, and began their several month journey south. Throughout the journey, Angrín would visit Ehtar below deck, and talk to him about where they were going. He encouraged Ehtar to join him on the deck. They began to form a mutual respect for each other. When they finally reached the southern islands, Angrín explained that there would be no respite from the light of the sun. Ehtar, who’s eyes still burned when exposed to sunlight, felt confident that he would be able to make the journey to Angrín’s lands. 4 months at sea, and 5 weeks over land, and they finally reached the estate. Ehtar settled in quickly, picking up where he had left off. His days consisted of training, and his nights consisted of learning. Angrín insisted on teaching him the history of the lands, the history of the elves, and the finer points of elvish nobility. For nearly a century, Ehtar learned and trained. On the night of the harvest moon, Angrín brought Ehtar in to his study, and explained that he would name him an Elder, a first in his house, set to inherit the lands and titles that Angrín now possessed. A feast was to be prepared for the following evening to celebrate the day. Ehtar, now mature, physically and mentally, wanted to contribute. He went out into the woods to gather game for the feast. The night he left, the steward of the house confronted Angrín about his decision, stating that Ehtar was tainted, a stain on the world, and should not be given the honor. Angrín stood by his decision, and the steward became angry. He murdered Angrín and in turn sent out fighters to hunt Ehtar down. Ehtar fought off one of the soldiers sent after him and fled. For several years, Ehtar fled from the steward’s men, and on one fateful night, ended up in Umbrose. There, he ran into an old friend of his from Felathil, Enialis. He told him about a company of mercenaries that accept all fighters, regardless of race or belief. Ehtar joined the mercenary band, tactfully called the Iron Dragons. His entry depended on besting a trained fighter, which Ehtar was able to do handily. He was placed in the same company as his friend, Enialis. The mercenaries fought in many battles, big and small. They help save villages from monster attacks, as well as fight off neighboring armies from invading. Over the course of a decade or so, Ehtar went from a foot solder to a captain, to the commander of the Iron Dragons. As they succeeded under his command, so did word spread of the Drow commander leading them. Fight after fight gained reputation, until the army of the Steward of the Angrín household found them. They surrounded the band soldiers, and attempted to get to Ehtar. Ultimately, the Dragons lost, but Ehtar, Enialis and several dozen others escaped. They parted ways and didn’t look back. Ehtar, feeling doomed to live a sad life, turned to his one last hope: to gather his people and retake his home. For decades, he traveled, searching for those that survived the attack a couple of centuries ago on his homeland, which lead him to the city of Arsanople. On the third night in the city, he felt a rush of wind blow by him and saw a shadowy figure run off. He chased after the figure, only to find that it was his good friend, Enialis, and that Enialis tried to rob him. After a good laugh, and a couple of drinks, Enialis told Ehtar of word of a small band of survivors from Felathil that were massing in somewhere in Irefell. They were looking to return to Felathil, but that an evil had taken hold in their sacred halls. Ehtar, encouraged by the prospect determined that he must sail to IronPort in search of his kin. Enialis declined the voyage, saying, “These conflicts are behind me. Plus, opportunities to make coin are plentiful here. Perhaps, someday we will meet again!” Ehtar, invigorated, set off on a ship bound for IronPort, unsure of what will come, but hopeful for what it will reveal…