Valenthel Wyndsoul

[Broham2]

Name: Valenthel Wyndsoul
Aliases: None

Race: Gold Elf
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (though being shifted toward Neutral and Good by recent events)

*My portrayal of the CN alignment is the "I have a hard time committing myself to any one thing or plan of action, while at the same time not feeling overly beholden to the raw ideals of good - while still believing that good is greater than evil by far. A trickster and rogue who does more to cause a laugh than to cause harm." alignment. Though I have changed my tune slowly due to things newly discovered, and am slowly realizing that committing to an overall cause suits me well.. and living up to a family member's legacy requires greater sacrifices than I had previously given.

Profession: Artifact Hunter / Scholar/ Philanthropist
Deity: Erevan Illesere

Height: 5' 4”
Weight: 120 lbs.
Body Build: Thin
Hair: Brown with Red-Copper hues, normally pulled back neatly.
Skin Tone: Tanned
Skin Texture: That of a young elf
Handedness: Right Handed

Recognizable Features: Valenthel is rather non-descript. Those that know his brother Dallenthel may get a feeling of familiarity, though Valenthel’s features are plain in comparison. He carries himself with the grace normally attributed to a performer or swordsman.
Accent: Elven (Recognized as Evermeet Elven if the listener is Elven and has been there)

Equipment Commonly Worn: Normally dressed in fine clothing of silks or other expensive materials, and meticulously manicured, the actual gear worn depends upon his activities. He generally wields a rapier or short sword and is known to carry a shield in his off hand.

Jewelry Decorations: Various rings and necklaces, he shares the weakness for magical trinkets with his brother.

Known to many:
- Is the son of the late Keagan Wyndsoul, former Captain of the Weave Guardians.
- Has worked extensively for the merchant Maltz since his arrival.
- Has a brother, Dallenthel, and a cousin, Tahlenthel, both living in the region.
- Dabbles in the Arcane

Known to some:
- Valenthel works to uphold his father’s legacy by protecting travelers on the roads from Beregost to Baldur’s Gate.
- Is quite the prankster. He loves to laugh (a lot) and finds humor in most things.
- Is quite handy with locks and traps

Unknown to most:
- Is a student of Weave Exarch Elias Goodmane.
- Considers the ranger Daelthrien as a close friend.
- Donates extensively to causes he believes in.
- Would follow his brother anywhere, regardless of personal cost (not even known to him).
- Feels like he must work extra hard to prove himself. This comes from his lack of the great martial skills shared by his father and oldest brother.
- The Wyndsoul brothers have a little sister still living in Evermeet.

A brief history (copied from Dallenthel):
Both Dallenthel and Valenthel were raised on the Isle of Evermeet, in a manor house within the city of Leuthilspar. Born to Keagan and Jaylisera Wyndsoul. Jaylisera died during childbirth with the youngest of the house. Keagan left the two boys and his daughter with their Aunt Myriariah while he went to the mainland to try to work past the pain of his wife’s death. He made the two boys swear to never follow him; he told them that the mainland was too dangerous. After a few years had passed Keagan returned to lay his father to rest, he was dying of a wasting disease. During the time he spent back on the Isle, he told the young Wyndsouls of the adventures he had. How he had joined a group called the Weavemasters, and found many friends. He told them of Elias, his best friend and primary. Of Nahum, friend and protector of all those within the guild. Jhaelen Windsong, the Marching Bard, friend and companion through all sorts of adventures. He told them of the Ramsets, and the Half-breed Analesse. His stories and accounts of what happened amazed the two young elves. And when Keagan left to return, the boys started making plans to follow. It took them some time but they soon found themselves on a ship destined for Waterdeep.... The rest is another tale....

[Broham2]

‘Kissed by Erevan’

Those three words held special meaning to Valenthel. Spoken often by his father Keagan, being ‘kissed by Erevan’ in his mother’s womb was his father’s special way of explaining away his son’s mischief and aptitude for finding trouble as a very young child. Growing up, Valenthel was never overly studious. More intelligent than many his age and lacking the willpower to stay focused often led him to using his wit in ways unapproved by his teachers and mentors. Tricks, deceit, and getting away with whatever he could was much more exciting than learning books or endless drills with his chosen blade. As a child and through adolescence he had venerated all of the Seldarine – and openly held Corellon as his patron as did most of his family – but deep inside he always felt Erevan was the one that had heard his prayers.

It was when he was barely more young man than child that he began to pray to Erevan directly. His love of laughter, his penchant for roguishness, these things all accelerated once he found his patron in Erevan.

[Broham2]

Shortly after his arrival to Baldur's Gate...

As the first rooster is heard heralding dawn, a lithe shadow goes unnoticed as it quietly enters a room at the Blade and Stars. Still laughing to himself, he rouses the other who shares the room to begin preparations for their day.

One patron exits his room to get an early start on the morn and as he does so is greeted with a cold bucket of water falling from above his doorway... drenched, the man grumbles as he turns about to change his clothes.

As the cook begins stoking the fire for the morning meals, he finds that his tools and utensils have all been switched about... his stock of firewood brought in before nightfall is gone (later found stacked neatly outside with the rest of his supply). Breakfast will be late.

When the weary patrons begin to stumble down to the main room for a meal they find that try as they might, the chairs won’t pull out to be used. Upon inspection they find that the legs of the chairs have been tied to the table posts.

Several other innocuous pranks have been set up for the coming day.

As two young elflings join the bustle of the main room, in conversation about their destination and headed for the door, one of them turns back for a brief moment to observe the commotion and tries hard to stifle a smile…

[Broham2]

Days later...

It had been a long night. The wounds he suffered at the hands of the gnolls still ached, but not as greatly as the pain that still lingered upon hearing the news of his father’s death. He had spent the night in pitched battle with the gnolls that scourged the area south of the city, but the battle he waged inside his heart while doing so was even more troubling.

He and his brother had journeyed so far to see their father. No longer able to idly enjoy the beauty of Evermeet and the peaceful existence they had there, not after the tales of heroics that their father had shared, they came seeking the adventure their father spoke of so passionately. Dragons, arch wizards, demons, great swarms of undead and the myriad other things they’d only read about.

Of course they had been warned against this. No, they had been commanded not to do this. Their father was adamant that they were to remain on Evermeet with their Aunt Myriariah, remain safe beyond the clutches of the evils he willingly fought. This however was not possible for these two. The two Elflings’ curiosity and long for adventure was too great of a call to ignore. Besides, they knew deep in their hearts that their father would have embraced them… after scolding them fiercely.

As he changed the dressing on a minor wound to his torso he couldn’t help but feel conflicted as the tears welled up in his eyes. Should they stay then? Should they go back to Evermeet to honor their father’s wishes? The master ranger and the arch druid they had both recently met had explained that the Wyndsoul name was well known in these lands, that their father Keagan had been a ‘hero’ and the Captain of the Weave Guardians, that their uncle Kahlen was also a friend and at one point had led the Weave Scouts. Kahlen. It was said that he had gone missing after their father’s death. Valenthel couldn’t help but notice the odd glance exchanged between the druid and the ranger when they mentioned this. Kahlen was their grandmother’s child with a human ranger, and so had never been to Evermeet. They had heard tales though, he was said to be sometimes troubled but they knew that their father considered him a full brother....their uncle…

The druid and the ranger had urged them to stay on the mainland. They had been urged to continue the work their father had died willingly for, defending these strangers, defending this city of men, and defending those friends he had held close to him.

Valenthel clinched his jaw tightly and looked around at the blowing trees, the flowing river, and felt the breeze tousle his hair as the sun warmed his face. It wasn’t as beautiful as Evermeet. It wasn’t ‘home’ and it wasn’t the place of his forefathers or his friends… He sighed…

His brother Dallenthel was much braver than he.. stronger, wiser, and had always led the pair. He was quick with his blades and knew the woods much better than he did. He knew in the end that he would do as his brother did.

And he hoped he would stay.

[Broham2]

Weeks later...

From the bridge Valenthel could seen walking alone along the banks of the river south of Jorn’s farm.. the sun was shining high and the weather was cool and with a soft breeze rustling the leaves. Seemingly looking for something, he was reaching down and picking up large rocks that lined the bank, increasingly larger, until he stopped at one and groaned as he attempted to move it..

From a distance, it looked as if he began muttering to himself when the rock wouldn’t budge.

Suddenly the muttering stopped, he picked up the large boulder, and threw it back down before turning and half-running away...
--

That morning Valenthel had left town before the sun had rose above the city’s walls. A spring in his step and a smile on his face, he waved and yelled his greetings to the Farmer Todd as he passed out of the city. He and Todd had become acquainted after Valenthel assisted him with his work a few days prior. He seemed to be a good person and hard worker and Valenthel had to decline when he offered him his meager reward. As he went further south he quickly waved to Jorn as he haggled with a bowman over a stack of hides…

As he approached his destination, the river banks, he slowed down and began to survey the area. As he spotted an area that looked to be a dumping place of stones culled from the nearby farms, he smiled.

Valenthel was never considered ‘strong’ for his race. He was a bright child that lacked that bit of common sense that keeps young elves out of trouble (or tells them when to stop), but he was never as comfortable with a sword as were his father and brother. His predilection for pranks and harmless mischief led his father to tell him tales of being ‘kissed by Erevan’ while in the womb, and was the cause of quite a bit of frustration during his early years. Unable to muster the discipline of learning swordsmanship or the ways of nature the way his brother Dallenthel had, he instead dabbled in many things.

One of those things was magic. It was only for a brief time of course, but he had learned a few minor magics that could light fires, provide him marginal protections, and the like. He hadn’t focused enough to learn much of anything of use, but he was told that the potential was always there so he kept his spellbook and had brought it with him on his travels. It wasn’t until recently, while slipping into what he later learned was a temple of Bhaal hidden in an overrun walled fort, that he was tempted to again study the use of the weave. He had found a scroll, with magics written that he couldn’t yet understand. After days of study he was finally able to scribe the scroll’s arcane words to his spellbook, and study it in enough detail to the point where he finally felt ready to test it.

When Valenthel finally found a rock large enough that he couldn’t move it on his own he concentrated, spoke the arcane words, and waited…

Like a cool breeze on wet skin he suddenly felt a chill run up his spine and into his limbs. He felt as if the arcane power itself coursed into his muscles and suddenly felt a bit stronger. Smiling, he reached down, lifted the boulder from the bank, and lifted it above his head before throwing it back down.

Turning back toward town he walked quicker than before, and with purpose. He must find Dallenthel he thought. Moving rocks was great fun, but seeing the increased strength behind his brother’s blades would be all the more exciting…

[Broham2]

His back ached and his muscles burned under the stress of the day.. as he laid in the darkness of his inn room and tried to drift to sleep he could only wonder if tomorrow would bring as much excitement as the previous days...

He had begun running errands for a shopkeeper he had met. Maltz was a good fellow, if not a bit demanding. His new found studies in magic paid off, the use of his invisibility spell had allowed him to make the courier trip to Beregost and back for the merchant much safer. He could handle the gnolls, and even the beastly Ogres that held the road further south.. but the combined might of the Goblin warriors and their shamans were still too much to handle alone. Had he not used his spells he would never have made the trip alone.

Gnolls, Ogres, Goblins.. these are things he had never faced outside of literature and the studies he was placed in over the years. To think that he was now battling them almost daily.. it was exciting and almost unreal.

Magic. He had finally met the great Elias Goodmane that father had spoken of so highly. His father had sworn his life to protect Elias, and that meant a great deal to the Elves. During the conversation Elias had agreed to tutor the young Elf in magic, to teach him to shape his spells for the benefit of all.. and to use the weave responsibly for the advancement of justice. He wondered if his father would appreciate his new dedication to 'The Art'.

Faith. Valenthel couldn't help but smile when he thought of some of the pranks he had offered in Erevan's name. It had been a while since he had offered up a 'gift', though some of the things he found the gnolls hoarding would suffice. He would search for a suitable location tomorrow night.

[Broham2]

Removed from his normal suit of mithral armor, draped in a long cape and deep cowl, he tried to look as unthreatening as possible while still attempting to hide his facial features from the masses. It was late..or was it early…the streets were nearly empty anyway aside from the drunken men stumbling from the Elfsong on their way to who knows where. He moved from shadow to shadow attempting to stay as hidden as possible. Choosing his steps carefully to avoid scuffing the cobblestones he moved quickly away from the torch-bearing guard moving in his direction..

Alone in a dark alley, safely away from prying eyes, Valenthel slowly knelt down. Looking both ways to be sure he was alone, he looked up at the night sky.

The moon was full and provided ample light for him to work. He quickly pulled a dagger from his belt and pried loose the cobblestone in front of him. Removing a small golden ring from his belt pouch, he pressed it into the soil and covered it back up with the stone. Using chalk, also removed from his pouch, he scribed a crudely drawn star with irregular rays on the wall just over the now replaced stone. He bowed his head, made a small prayer to his god, and quietly left the way he came.

As he turned the corner he moved with a bit less stealth than before, and slowly made his way back to the Blade and Stars.

Unseen and unheard, a bright blue flash erupted in the same alley he had been in minutes before..and beneath the rock the gold ring disappeared. Somewhere beyond the realms of man Erevan Ilesere was pleased.

Weary from the day and finally alone in his room Valenthel felt a brief, sudden tingle over his body. Odd, he thought.

[Broham2]

Valenthel exits the Blade and Stars with a broad smile on his face. He feels rested, and is ready for whatever the day’s adventure brings. Another trip to Beregost will be made today, and he is more confident today that he can make the trip alone. As he takes in a deep breath of the crisp, cool air his senses are suddenly assaulted by the smell of dirty men, animal dung, and the various other odors of human civilization. His smile somewhat dulled, he winces a bit. As he shakes his head he realizes that this is still a very different place than ‘home’. Lesson learned. Laughing to no one but himself, he continues on his way.

As he passes by a beautiful fountain at which he has sat many times since his arrival, he decides to peruse the bulletin board for anything that may pique his interest. Amongst the various wanted posters, fliers from merchants and adventurers alike, and the smattering of Ducal Proclamations he notices one word on a post nearly covered by the others…

Eldreth.

Seeing a word in Elven makes him smile a bit, until he pulls the post out of the mess and reads it in entirety:

The notorious Eldreth Veluuthra have been spotted disguised as an Elf hunting party traveling the roads between Bergost and the Gate. Since their arrival Human disappearances around the Gate have increased and neither the Fist nor the local Elven community have stepped up to help stop this menace. We must put an end to this before people start taking the law into their own hands and Elves start getting hurt who have nothing to do with this.

Searching under the nearby posts he notices another from what looks to be the same time period:

Travelers are hereby warned to pay heed to any and all elves who claim to belong to the "Victorious Blade". They are fanatics who have orchestrated both murder and attempted murder. These people are hereby declared outlaws, and are to be offered shelter nowhere, and any citizen who contributes with information to their goals, ideals or brings one of their proven members to the Flaming Fist - dead or alive - is rewarded in accordance to below:

Valuable information - 200 gold.
Dead member - 500 gold.
Living member - 5000 gold.

They are known to be armed with both weapon and magic, well-trained and extremely dangerous. Anyone who intends to confront their members is advised extreme caution.

Looking around at the passing crowds, suddenly feeling judged, he lets out a great sigh. His smile has left him with a quizzical look of confusion on his face and something akin to fear and sadness in his heart.

What would make his people do something so.. drastic? The call of ‘The Retreat’ was relatively fresh (having only been made a few years ago – a brief moment in elven lives), and he had heard tales of groups of Elves that were still refusing to accept human expansion… but kidnapping? Murder? Surely this would not end well for the Elves. The humans may not win in the short term, but by sheer numbers alone they will win in the end. This much he had been warned of many times as a child.

Perhaps he and his brother… and his aunt that had recently arrived (but had thus far been avoided successfully!) could find this group and speak with them. Perhaps they could be reasoned with.

As he walked away, all traces of mirth removed, he wondered… what would happen if they could not?

[Broham2]

It was early morn and the fog was just lifting as two slowly lumbering shadows were spotted by the gate guard, approaching the city through the farms while sharing a man-sized but cloak-draped bundle between them.

Alerted and suspicious of the duo, two guards came running toward them, halberds in hand.

After a brief exchange it was determined that the pair were Valenthel Wyndsoul, newly arrived son of the late Keagan Wyndsoul, and Jonas Rokranon, Paladin of Ilmater. The package they shared was soon revealed to be the corpse of a drow.

The two men were aided to the citadel of the Flaming Fist, where the drow was taken and the men debriefed:

The drow had been discovered within a cave in the Wood of Sharpteeth following a battle with a horde of Cave Trolls. After the main party had been forced to retreat due to the sheer number of the beasts present, Valenthel had snuck back inside in an attempt to recover bodies and hopefully heal the wounded. Coming upon a hooded figure sharing tense words with the Sun Elf Morwen Elesfar (//sorry if that is spelled wrong), a member of his original party, Valenthel quickly used his skills in stealth to slip behind the man. Coming forth with the element of surprise Valenthel had the man remove the hood which revealed his true form.

The drow was seemingly unfazed by the armed folk surrounding him (the rest of their party had just re-entered the cave) and took to taunting the young Valenthel. A few of his party members attempted to question the drow but it would not be reasoned with. Afraid for his life and unsure of the drow's next move, Valenthel shot and killed the drow with a single arrow to the neck.

Aware of the bounty, and confident that the Flaming Fist needed to be made aware of the rogue drow, it was decided that Valenthel and Jonas would take it back to the city.

--