Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

First Name: Andariel
Last Name: E'lyanduil (I would like permission for this surname to be used as a kind of "bastard" name for children of elven lords)

Appearance:
Race: Strikingly handsome Gold Elf of some mixed heritage
Age: Just beyond 120 years
Height 6'
Weight: 155 lbs
Eyes: Emerald Green
Hair: Blonde with auburn highlights, long and pulled back into a pony tail
Facial Hair Style: None

Personality Profile:
General Health: Average
Deity: Corellon Larethian, Though he is a quiet believer in the spirit of Angharradh
Initial Alignment: Neutral Good
Profession: Fledgling cleric, former arcane student and practiced swordsman
Base Class & Proposed Development: Cleric/Wizard/Eltritch Knight/Hospitalir
Habits/Hobbies: Prayer, Painting and Sword-craft
Languages: Elven, Cormanthan, Arcane, Sylvan
Weapon of Choice: Longsword and Longbow

Background:
Andariel grew up on the Isle of Evermeet, the bastard son of a proud Lord of House Symbaern famed for his skill in battle and a lowly orphaned Copper Elf maid. He was permitted to stay within his Lord Father's house, to be raised within his court but always held the distinction and disdain of the Lord's wife. It did not aid in the fact that Andariel began to take on a near identical likeness to his father. Andariel was made to feel different separate from the rightfully born children at every every opportunity given his half-siblings.

This caused him to become reclusive and introverted as a young child, despite the fact that his father treated him equitably and even with fondness. Still, when the boy came of age the Lord's wife demanded Andariel be sent away and so his father procured him an appointment within the Temple of Seladrine. He was specifically to train under one of acolytes of the Temple of Corellon.

Despite his good nature and the appreciation of the acolytes of Corellon, it was seen early on that the imaginative young man lacked the strict discipline, by elven standards at least, of being a priest of Corellon. His time at the Temple was a happy one and he was well received and shown an appreciation by those adherents he had not known within the court of his father. The priests of the temple noticed almost immediately that one of the few things that would keep the adolescent's attention was during his lessons regarding the arcane relationship and nature of elves.

So, once more the adolescent Andariel was sent off, albeit this time with the well wishing of his superiors, to the Home of Shialaevar’. While at first confused and perplexed by the High Mage Woman's antics, he came to be thoroughly enthralled and enamored with her. Despite her own wish of mutual despondence, she herself could not help but like the precocious young man. He absorbed his arcane lessons quickly with a relish that few could be seen producing of a similar age. Greater still, was his respect for the power attained through the use of magic, a respect that he had learned from his father and hoped to emulate.

When puberty hit, it hit Andariel fast, growing into a tall and strong elf much as his father. Although he often awaited his father's visit, he never did come to see his illegitimate son in his new found glory. Andariel's impatience to be recognized by the man he so admired, began his imagination and studies to focus on the fantastic. He day dreamed of the lessons he learned of the ancient elven empires once found beyond the see. He began longing to travel beyond the great sea and find the ruins of these once great bastions of elven civilization.

When old enough to study upon his own and no longer a dependent ward of the Great Shialaevar, he set off to study the use of the sword. He did so with her blessing, moving into the barracks of his own father's house militia and using an alias to do so. His technique and ability with a sword not only rivaled his use of the arcane but soon melded itself into style of fighting that many of the Blademasters came to take notice. Andariel's use of divine spirit, arcane fortitude and practiced swordplay was being well recognized by many of his house who had all but forgotten the boy who had left the house without so much a notice.

But, the one man whom did always pay notice to Andariel, now still did not. His lord father still had not been seen coming from chambers to see this young prodigy. So, finally Andariel went to see him but found the Lordess in his stead. She threatened Andariel, to leave the house, or face the responsibility of having his real mother whom was still unknown to him, thrown from the Lord's House and out onto the street.

In a bitter hostility, Andariel swore back that the Lordess would regret her actions and set out from the Lord's house to the street's of Leuthilspar. He found himself with all his belongings upon the docks, when fortune he thought and the grace of Corellon had found him. A ship was to cross the great sea to retrieve refugees and the sea captain needed men to help crew. Andariel volunteered and began the journey from his only home and into the great unknown.

On the voyage, when able, he read the books given him by Shialaevar. He studied them meticulously and when he came to the Ancient Empire of Myrietar with it's storied library, he became fascinated. He would find this place from where he would find his calling, to make his way and prove his self worth. If not just to his father, he wanted desperately to prove it to himself..........

Goals:
To find the ancient library and towers of Myrietar.

Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
??????????

He has come from a semi-privledged background and the hard realities of life without support should be a shock to him, causing him to question his tightly held beliefs.

We shall have to see

On this night, the 20th day of Kythorn, Year of the Bridle, a sun elf wearing the crescent moon symbol of the holy father Corellon steps into the Forest of Sharp Teeth. His azure blazoned armor shines as he peers under his cowl to look for the direction of an elven settlement for which he had been told. All he finds are filthy orcs.

His curved silver blade drips the blood of the people's sworn enemy as he moves deeper into the wood.

The gold elf emerges from a reverie that seemed to last days. He stepped out into main room of Evran's jest and stretched out. He paid the keeper his share for the next ten day, thus keeping his armor and belongings safe. He did not know these elves of the continent and he had heard rumors upon the isle that they were not above thievery and other such acts.

Still, he knew those callous young Elves from the Highborn families had not spent a day upon the continent and would not truly offer any proper insight. He watched as the keeper smiled and put the silver within an open basket on the shelf behind him. "Hmm...", he did not realize he had audibly spoken out. "What's that?", the keeper asked. "Oh, tis nothing, I am simply observing your customs", the gold elf told the keeper who in turn gave him a funny look.

When the elf stepped out of the Jest, his eyes burned as the noon sun's rays rained down upon him. How long was I in reverie, he thought, it was still but midnight when the Priestess of Mielikki guided me to this place. He felt the soreness where the Werewolves had struck his armor platting. He was lucky to have found the priestess when he did, perhaps for them both.

The gold elf adjusted his eyes, kissed his crescent emblem of Corellon and strode off to now find the keepers of this village in the wood.......

The elf walks about the shrill sounds of crickets and song birds, feeling the warm breeze upon his face. His robes began to cling to his strong frame as he walked, the humidity of this land was perplexing and oppressing but it's beauty remained a true testament to these elves resilience and planning. As he walked across the bridge of cascading water, a sudden passionate calm came to his being.

He stood underneath the shadow cast by a large elven tower he had been brought up thinking implausible for this land. These elves were more capable than he had imagined, as he stepped into the small temple, with it's alters to the pantheon of the Seladrine. Enthralled with it's simplicity and homeyness, he stood before the alter of the all father and meditated.

When finished, he moved back toward the inn of his current occupancy and there he saw his first kin of note. "Greetings to you my brother, I am Andariel of the House E'lyanduil, first of his name to step foot on this continent in centuries time", he said in a diplomatic tone and offered a gentile bow..........

After a lengthy discussion on matters of local lore, Andariel thanks Councilor Rhys. "I am grateful for your hospitality Councilor and may you build a temple worthy of our great gods in all their grandeur but I must now depart for the very reasons we discuss", he tells the Councilor while bowing his head. "I hope to see you again but till then, may you have fair winds and sweet waters, Rhys of Doron Amar", he says and dutifully turns toward the inn to collect his things.

Stepping to the bridge before the gate, he nods to the omnipresent rangers, pulls forth his cowl, speaks the words arcane and disappears from view. His journey appears far from over, though the Lord Corellon had provided him a spark. "Thank you father", he whispers to himself as he treads over the earth on the path leading him into the vast expanse of the untamed north.

((PM to be sent to Blue Hero and thank you for the RP))

Andariel entered into the dusty town, dirty and sweat drenched. He dropped the sack carrying his armor just as his back was to give out, lurching him forward and righting himself with the aid of his staff just before collapsing. He looked around, one hands upon his hip, as others bustled around him with cattle and livestock. Traders, auctioneers, inspectors and gamblers lined dirt roads that seemed to crisscross this small hovel.

His eyes scanned for help, anyone who might aid him with water to quench his all consuming thirst but no one seemed to pay heed. As he looked around, he saw only two grizzly human men wearing light deer skin and staring between himself and the silk bag which carried his armor. He could feel their glare and knew they did not intend him any aid. With all his strength, he grunted and picked up his armor and moved toward the merchant stalls in the center of town.

He saw one of the merchants, tall and lean wearing a dark hood that attempted to hide the high cheek bones and fair skin of one of his own people. Andariel moved toward this man, pulled back the azure cowl blazoned with gold which had offered him some protection from the glaring summer sun and began to speak. When the man turned in his direction his eyes went wide at seeing Andariel, causing Andariel to pause. Then he felt something splash against his cloak and heard voices behind him.

"Oi, I be tellin ye he was a bleedin knoif ear'!", one of the two human men watching him exclaimed as the other stared malevolently at Andariel, holding a half eaten apple. "I am sorry, I do not understand....", Andariel began to say, honestly perplexed by the sudden hostility, when second man took his apple and threw it at Andariel, hitting him in the chest.

Suddenly, a crowd gathered as if from no where. "You tink you can jus walk in ere' like it's nuttin elf?!?", the first man now proclaimed, obviously attempting to incite the crowd. Andariel, in his weakened state was in no condition to face such a host now gathering around him. They looked as cutthroats, beggers, ruffians and far too many for him to count. "Please, I just wish for some water...", he began to plead.

"Oi, he be's wantin' someting ta drink!?!", the aggressor said while looking around, "Well let's give it ta him mates!!". Andariel heard a whisper behind him, "Run...", but it was too late for the crowd had rushed upon him with club and fist, beating him unto the ground. He could do nothing but attempt to cover his face and head while he silently prayed to Corellon to come to his aid. There would be no help forthcoming as the last club strike from a large tusked half-orc struck the back of his head and knocked him nearly unconscious.

He could hear voices around him, felt his as his limp body was being dragged threw the dirty streets. Perhaps, it was that he did not wish to hear what was being said. Then he felt arms drop to the ground and he stopped.

"Well lads, let's show dis ere' knoif ear some Soubaran hopoitality ay!!!", the first man said and began urinating on the half unconscious elf in the middle of the road. The other men standing near followed suit laughing, as many of the women averted their eyes, some young girls looked on giggling. Andariel had not the strength to fight back, it seemed beyond his ability to even comprehend, he fought not to look and with every fiber of his being wished he could transport himself somewhere else at this moment.

When it was all done, a few men kicked him and when the laughing was over and night began to fall, they walked away to leave him for dead. Andariel lay there, weak and unwilling to move. He kept thinking what a fool he had been and s terrible sadness seeped into his soul as he wondered how the Lord Corellon could let this happen to him. Then suddenly as the Moon rose to it's highest peak and the streets were all but empty, the voice returned to him.

"I told you to run you fool...", the same whispered voice said and Andariel felt himself being lifted, one arm being slung around someone's neck. His head was to weak to look up and it with the rest of his body just hung limp as this anonymous person dragged him behind a building. He felt his mouth being opened and a liquid being poured down his throat, he choked most of it up but some still found it's way into his empty belly.

Suddenly, he felt revived. His eyes began to focus on the same hooded figure to whom he a originally looked to for aid. "Why, why did you not....", he began to ask but the figure interrupted him, "What, to save one fool elf?", the voice said to him before continuing, "There is more at stake here than one mere elf". "Now here, I managed to grab your belongings while they focused on beating you", it said to him in an almost apologetic tone.

"Lord Corellon bless.....", Andariel began and his eyes began to fill with tears. "Lord Corellon nothing, take your armor, take this potion and drink the rest of it when you are safely out of town.", the voice said sternly. "Go north, till you come to a bridge", the voice instructed. "There will be highwaymen, pay them and just beyond there will be a circle of ancient stones left by our people", the dark hooded figure said to him. "Wait there for ones whom will aid you, now go!", it finished and shoved Andariel stumbling back out onto the street.

Andariel turned to look back to the shadows of the building, to thank the figure who helped him but there was no one there. He pulled up the now urine stained cowl, leaned upon his staff as a crutch and staggered his way from this wicked place they call Soubar. He would not forget this lesson, not for the rest of his life. What ever that now seemed to be worth.........

Andariel had done all that the dark figure had told him. He followed the road without rest for what seemed like an eternity, moving as quickly as exhausted legs could take him under the dark of night. Finally, he reached the bridge where men awaited him. He did not know how he would pay them when he found a small satchel of gold coin within his bag. He knew it must have been planted there by the dark elven figure. Who was this elf, Andariel thought. The one who had seemed the cowardly instrument of Andariel's great shame, had also been the one to offer him his one chance at survival.

Andariel paid the men and watched as they eyed him eagerly. He did not know what held them back, they well knew he could not resist them if they chose to attack. Then one of their rank betrayed his terrible gaze, looking up to a ring of stone columns above. Andariel had never been so happy as when his emerald green eyes beheld the columns. He hastened his pace up the hill to find them and the promise of salvation.

By this time the summer's sun began to break above the ridge. Andariel threw his bag down next to one of the columns. He flopped beside another, pulling himself up to lean his back against it. In an almost involuntary action, he moved to pull forth the crescent moon pendant from under his robes, to kiss it and offer prayer to his god as he had done countless times before. When he caught himself doing this, he gripped the pendant tightly, tore it from his neck and threw it down upon the ground before him.

He pulled forth a finely crafted elven shortblade, gripped it tightly with one hand and with the other he rested his staff across his lap. He waited for the instrument of his salvation, or his destruction but he would do it with a blade within his hand. This much he now swore as an anger burned within his heart but tt was hours before even a breeze made way to rustle the grass before him and his eyes began to become heavy.........

Andariel now in reverie, dreamed of being back within his father's court. The other elven children running about and playing in the sun. He never felt a part of the rest of them, somehow he had always felt different. He wanted so badly to be one of them, to be accepted by them, to be accepted by him. A feeling of sadness set in, as suddenly Andariel watched himself as a child walk away from the others and toward the corner of his father's great hall to play with his own wooden toys alone. Then he saw a man walk over in shining gold armor, in all his splendor, the strongest, most proud elf he had ever known. It was his father. Oh, how he wanted so much to be just like his father.........

Andariel felt himself begin to choke, coughing violently, he felt water running down his chest and a hand behind his head. When he opened his eyes, he saw a woman's face brown olive complected and hidden beneath a dark hood which looked similar to the elven man within Soubar. He did not stop to think further when he felt her other hand take a canteen and place it into one of his own free hands. He quickly brought it to his mouth and slurped down the cool nourishing liquid heartily.

"Who are you, what are you doing here?", the woman's voice asked but Andariel's senses seemed too overloaded at the moment, too much focused on simply taking in water without choking. He felt her stand, cross her arms and look around. When he had finished, Andariel stared up to the woman huntress, clad in a padded armor, a bow and quiver of arrows strapped to her back.

The sun now shown down over head and shaded her features. "Are you Angharradh", the half crazed gold elf asked. The figure simply peered down at him with a strange glare. "No, I am Shyntvayas", she said pausing for a moment, "of En Dharasha Everae..........."

The fledgling priest had spent the past ten day with the elves of En Dharasha Everae. He had mostly kept to himself, wishing not to discuss his travels within these lands. His pride had been taken from him, yet he was alive thanks to his kin. Still, he could not bring himself to explain how he came to lay before their ancient stones, the desecrated priest of the God whom he once held as his only salvation.

It was this god who was meant to be the salvation of all his people. The priest could not bring himself to even utter his name and had taken to solitary introspection to cure his pain. It had only lead to more questions and more pain. Then on the ninth day he heard the rumors and turmoil of those copper elves whom gathered by the stream.

A call to the people had come, a gathering of all elves within these woods and the surrounding lands such had not been seen in centuries it was said. The elves of these woods did not know why, though the name Saline had continued to be mentioned with reverence. A woman of the Moor, a commander of forces and a leader of her people it was said.

Andariel became curious though his heart still beat in an anxious pain, he did not wish to become embroiled in the affairs of others who may come to question his faith, a faith he simply did not understand anymore. Then the procession began and Andariel felt as if he were almost be swept up by the tide of his own people, as they slowly entered the cursed land, the land of the High Moor........

Andariel followed the procession, listened to the young wood elven women's gossip as they looked at him and giggled. He smiled back at them in return as the sun whose heat had nearly sent him into the ground centuries before his time seemed tempered by a breeze blowing from the north. They came to a pass lined by old ruins which lead to a large valley surrounded by hills.

He did not see it at first but upon those hills were large elven men, wearing tunics and hide armor. In their tasseled and braided hair was adored feathers which must have come from some form of birds of prey. The Misty Forest wood elf procession immediately halted and Andariel watched as the wood elven men exchange greetings customarily, laying gifts down before the feet of the large elves. These elves immediately embraced and soon the wood elves were waved forward into the valley beyond.

There were tents everywhere, as far as the eye could see with elves greeting each other with signs of friendship. Andariel had forgotten all about the plight which had befallen him, now enthralled with the on-goings around him. There was the smell of roasting garlic and root vegetables mingling with that of tobacco and weed pipes. Stalls were set up in a procession towards a central hill but no one was selling anything, they were offering their goods freely.

The sun was soon to set as they drew near to this central hill, he could see a large pyre atop and the silhouettes of two figures. "That must be the Lady Saline", he heard one of the girls say. "This is the woman", Andariel whispered to himself as he strained his eyes to look out across the mass of elves and up onto the hill.

She seemed seemed a tall, proud woman whom held her chin high as she spoke out to the people gathered. Andariel squeezed through the crowd to find himself standing before the hill. He seemed drawn to this spectacle. He no other attachments to anyone, or anything in this land, he was free to take it in without concern. This woman soon to be crowned the leader of her people, this proud woman standing before him, who was she he wondered.

He watched as a tribal leader presented her the position of leader of her people. He watched as she accepted it gracefully and with great dignity but there was something amiss he could sense. He watched as she spoke, holding her hands by her belly, her dark olive skin contrasted against shinning hazel eyes. Shinning for they were filled were tears and although she spoke proudly, he watched as she scanned the crowd.

A sadness seemed to enter Andariel at this brief moment, until he heard the words of the Priestess Luthien, behold your new Queen and felt the cries of joy ring out from the people around him. He was given wine, the first he had since leaving the Temple of Corellon upon the Green Isle and soon his sadness faded away. The newly crowned Saline even stepped toward him and not knowing what to do, Andariel bowed and offered his fealty, though he had not even thought it's ramifications.

"It would please me for you to stay with us young Priest", the Lady Saline said down to him and then gave him a wry wink. The haze of the wine had set his wits to foolishness and he offered his wine to the Lady as much as his toast, which she declined and accepted all the same. When she left, the same young wood elven girls stared giggling at Andariel as he stood. "Think one of them has an eye for you", another elf and newly found drinking company said while tipping his goblet into Andariels.

It was not long before Andariel was dancing, if ever poorly next to the young lass and smiling ear to ear. He had found his calling, he had found himself and he was happy.......

Reviewed and rewarded.