Relonvyr'ven
From Valwiki
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| Player: | Phantos. | |
| Title(s): | Marquis, Dragoon of the Underworld. | |
| Age: | 90. Born in 34 BF. | |
| Race: | Drow. | |
| Eye Color: | Red. | |
| Hair: | Black. | |
| Skin Tone: | Gray. | |
| Height: | 5'11. | |
| Weight: | 155 lbs. | |
| Alignment: | Lawful Evil. | |
The world will be brought together, even if it needs to be brought to its knees first.
Contents |
Personality
Relonvyr'ven adheres to a strict moral code which he never violates intentionally, having a strong personal sense of honor in addition to being trained in the ways of the Dragoon order. This code includes, among several others, tenets such as never using poison against an enemy and always allowing his opponent to begin a fight on a fair level with himself. He is also bound to the life-force of the world and considers the greater scheme above all else, as his affiliation with the Dragoons requires. However, this honorable nature belies other sinister tendencies which hallmark his people and hearken back to the days of his youth; he will not hesitate to lay waste to innocents if he believes them able to defend themselves. His goals include genocide and even deicide, if he had the chance at them. He is an otherwise quiet individual, slow to respond as he weighs his words heavily.
Equipment
Relonvyr'ven is a mobile fighter, and as such does not often carry much beyond his combat equipment. His armaments include a barbed long-spear and a kris kept sheathed at his waistline, having no use for a shield. His armor is considered half-plate, an ornate make of the craft dating back several hundred years, with many spires rising from it. His helmet, horned and black, radiates a faint red glow from within.
Abilities
In lieu of any spells, Relonvyr'ven is trained as a Dragoon and knows many of their techniques. He is a well-versed melee combatant, therefore, and expresses great affinity for jumping and long-distance combat. He is a competent tank and will meet any foe to give friendly spell-casters a wide breadth, if the situation demands it. Otherwise, he prefers the air, swooping down on his prey.
Background
It is common knowledge that the Drow of Thuulstrea once offered up slaves monthly in honor of their goddess, Searith. The process by which slaves are chosen for sacrifice is done by a lottery of sorts, though sometimes the sick or elderly are disposed to cull weakness. Relonvyr'ven was no such slave, having been born into a merchant family outside of the enslaved caste. Nevertheless, merchants are less prized than warriors in Drow society and the seventh child of the An'yeseran family desired a better future than peddling wares. The young Drow boy trained himself hard in hopes of attending the military academy, even though his family could not spare money for the boy's tutelage. He would often work in the fields, doing heavy lifting and sprinting bouts in a poor man's training regiment, and it was among these fungal fields that he would gaze upon the tireless workforce that was the slave caste.
Every chance he got, the young Drow would work beside them, eventually befriending some of the younger slaves (the elders knew better than to be found with someone outside of their caste), learning much from their plight. Though he wouldn't blink an eye at the evils done in his society, he understood the usefulness of slaves and sympathized with their lot. In time, he would grow attached to a female slave by the name of Jhael, herself born into a life of servitude. He kept this relationship a secret, still a young boy and easily outcast from his family for such taboo practices. Together with his new found love, Relonvyr'ven grew in strength and dexterity until he could compete in yearly shows of physical fitness, all with the hopes of catching the eye of those that worked for the military academy. Success and tragedy struck when, after being accepted into the academy by the merciful call of a government agent, Relonvyr'ven learned that his lifelong love had been selected for ritual sacrifice.
He watched from a distance as she was lifted into the pyres of the city altar, throat slit and then body cast into the deepest waters to be consumed by the Great Mother herself. In his heart, he knew he would make them pay. His people, so twisted by the government and their obsession with the vain goddess Searith, had led to the ruin of so many. He thought nothing of stealing away in the night, traveling to places he knew not where; it was simply a matter of running from all that he had worked for and lost. He had heard rumors, in the slave fields, of an ancient order of men that fought the Drow in ages past, and he desperately wished to join their ranks so that he, too, could learn their ways and fight against his people. Surfacing for the first time in his life in pre-flood Meridiem, the Drow spent months trying to find his way around the alien countryside, nearly starving to death when he couldn't find anything that looked like familiar food while evading strange predators (19 BF, age 15).
It would not take long for the Drow to learn that the kingdoms of man were not unlike the kingdoms of his people. Petty, self-centered, and wholly invested in subjugating a lower class of people as the wealthy or privileged benefited. In time, his journey would take him from Meridiem's vast landscape to Kharlia in the north, rebuilding after a catastrophic flood. During this time, he learned much of the different cultures and their heroes, but he would eventually return to the Underdark anguished, finding little evidence of this supposed order of warriors (9 PF, age 43). Resting aside an underground river, intent on living the rest of his existence as a nomad of the caverns, a figment came to him in his dreams. In it, he saw a dark sky above like the nights on the surface; a red star gleamed bright red and he knew it was all that he despised. Shadowy figures rode beasts of great power and approached the star, far out into space, piercing it with their spears. They called to one another, and a voice spoke the name, "Dragoon." Relonvyr'ven awoke to the hush of the river's path, and cleared his face with its waters, staring narrowly into the darkness before him. He knew this was a sign to not give up, and continued his search for the order in the depths of the Underdark (13 PF, age 47).
Just as his resolve again began to wane, the Drow came upon an ancient door engraved with many familiar shapes. They were the beasts from his dream, and surely a sign that he had discovered the order at last. Prying the door open, he found an underground monastery filled with relics and furnished in the styles of man; its walls were that of shimmering glass, and the ceilings so high that it made the Drow wonder if it stretched to the surface. When he came to the final chamber, the Drow passed several traps and came before a throne where a man in dark armor sat. Taking him to be long dead, Relonvyr'ven approached to investigate and was shocked when the figure moved. "Thou hath come far, and yet, to what end? Vengeance? These petty things are of no concern to Draco's chosen." The figure stood, and readied its weapon to strike the Drow, "Thine heart is polluted, yet I sense a clear desire in thee. To roam the world and protect it from the unholy scourge thy people worship as a god. To this end, I shall act as thy master and guide in the arts of the order; So shall my curse be lifted, yet should thee falter but once, mine blade will cleave more than just the flesh." Relonvyr'ven threw himself to the feet of the ancient figure and agreed, spending years under his master's will (15 PF, age 49)
When it came time for the Drow to travel onward with all he hard learned, the figure sat upon its throne and spoke its last words, "Forsooth, with the passing of this knowledge comes to end of mine curse, and so my spirit shall travel to the blessed realm of Draco. Do not forget these teachings, Dragoon, lest this curse be passed on and thy soul damned to this watch forever more!" The figure seemed to sigh in its seat on the throne, and slowly its bones withered away to dust, leaving only the dark armor for which it wore all those years. Relonvyr'ven donned it and took up the spear he had trained with, leaving behind that secret place. Traveling to the nearest major city, Sslodraeth, Relonvyr'ven joined the House of Troubles as a means to an end, hoping to learn more of current events and influence the Drow faction within. (35 PF, age 69)
He soon learned that the cult operated in cells, small groups of worshipers that answered to a decentralized group of religious leaders. It was therefore easy to impress each cell and gain trust among a select few before moving up the ranks. The recently-trained dragoon used his skills and his experience with other cultures as an acting diplomat for the cell. When the The Divide occurred, the brotherhood bid their members to spread forth from the underground city and begin new cells of their own (38 PF, age 73). Traveling to the surface, Relonvyr'ven made his way to what was now known as the Kharlian Mainland, gathering intelligence and communicating with the brotherhood as contacts were pulled to begin a satellite group. It was here that he served under Theodin Lament, taking advantage of the Kharlian lands during and after the Imperial War (45 PF, age 79). He used this time to acquire more knowledge of recent events and to look for any sign of dragoons or their fabled city, all the while serving dutifully under the HoT where he gained first-hand knowledge on how the dark gods' believers operated.
When the House of Troubles in northern Kharlia disbanded after being routed by the Hand of Dawn, Relonvyr'ven moved on to other fields of interest (46 PF, age 80). His ulterior motive still in place, the Drow sought the magical city of Dragoonia and, as in the past, found little evidence of the mystical island. He had met a few dragoons, and even draconids, in his journeys but brushed them off as outcasts or "untrue" dragoons, as they did not resemble the ones from his dreams. Traveling to the lands of the north, he came to what is now known as Duthelm and what used to be Dragoonia, but could not accept that this was the fabled land in his visions (47 PF, age 81). He knew that the order had to relocate at some point in the past, and continued his investigation into the original promised land.
Notes for later: Visions begin to turn grim, eventually joins the Undying Court, acts as the Marquis (49 PF, age 83). Time and relative wealth allows him to meditate on his visions, becomes more withdrawn and brooding (52 PF age 86). Putting aside his visions, he steps up to assist the Court in purchasing Osengrad and cementing their place in the world (53 PF age 87). Begins coordinating movement into Bastion, calls for elections in Osengrad (54 PF age 88). Poisoned during feast investigations (55 PF age 89), leaves to seek cure and guidance. Imprisoned, breaks out and makes way to Ironcaps.
Quotes
On Politics
- "What good is serving the people of a land but not the land itself?"
- "Royalty fancies itself superior to all else by reason of bloodline. They forget the seniority of the soil beneath their feet."
On Revolution
- "Let the so-called civilized races rise up against their masters if they wish. It is little more than the ebb and flow of a single day's tide."
On Love/Sexuality
- "Dedication to a cause is greater than any fleeting tryst."
- "Love places your focus on something small, when our minds should be concerned with greater."
On Country
- "Pack animals treat one another with more dignity than the so-called "civilized" societies do with their own."
- "Mournirra is a disease. Just beyond view, but slowly growing and ever-destructive to its host. I shall administer the cure."
- "Even the most fair of governments ignore the world around it, just as a tyrant would his people."
On Race
- "We are all connected. To the world, we are the guest and it is the host, and its logs are filled with those before us."
- "The Drow, if given the chance, would set the world aflame if only to light a candle in their mistresses temple. I will honor this desire by casting them into the funeral pyre."
On War/Military
- "If you collected every drop of blood spilled for a hollow cause, it would rival the Flood."
- "Nothing is brought to fruition by the hand of a single man."
On Religion
- "Why do they worship gods who have such little stake in this world? Our plight is our own."
- "We are born with the ability to learn and make rational decisions. Let us repay the favor by using these gifts to solve our problems."
- "The Spirit calls to me in my dreams. It is no god above, nor devil below. It is simply all around."
On Literature
- "The temptation for evil when writing history can be greater than a king and his army."
- "The feather of a quill is greater than the fletching of an arrow."
On Philosophy
- "Every man holds his own interests. Few interests deserve to hold men."
