“Weary eyes cannot yet shut, for the road stretches long before me, fey blood warding off time’s grasp, dragging out decade's end to centuries’ weary final gasp. I walk ever onward, for while death is light as feathers, duty is heavy as mountains roots, and in duty may regret be laid to rest, mistakes atoned, blood cleaned from the soul. I walk ever onward for I have nothing else, and I refuse to submit meekly to this long night.”
Alverein, on being asked why he had decided to continue adventuring instead of finding a new sanctuary.
Like many stories, especially ones regarding elves, it starts a long time ago. Such is Alverein’s story, and it is one of foolish pride, brutal reality, hard won victory, and last minute bitter defeat. Once he was an open man, fresh faced and cocky, his heart on his sleeve and a smile so wide you could swear his face would crack. Then the wailing death came, bringing a wave of sorrow to the land. What had been but a boy was shaped by events into a man, forcing him to face the grim reality of events and how chaos can affect even the most stalwart of cities. As neverwinter screamed out what could be its death cry, he lead a mismatched band of mercenaries and others such as himself in search for a cure for the wailing death. He came face to face with the darkest part of the races, the greedy, the corrupt, the murderous, and the insane. And when they succeeded in retrieving the stolen cure, they were met with betrayal. They stopped it but the crowd cried out and he came face to face with the ugliest sides of everyone: fear and ignorant hatred as one of his closest friends met the hangman’s noose.
With that he watched as war brewed and sides were taken. Events transpired, war came and was stopped, the ancient evil pulling the strings struck down, a friend pulled from darkness back to the light, only to be struck down by the demand of the crowd for bloodthirsty misdirected vengeance.
With a cry of rage he turned on the man who he had thought trustworthy, and pulled back by his remaining companions who would not see him throw his life away. The bloodshed was put to rest and he retreated from the world into solemn contemplation to stomach his grief.A quiet and reserved man, he still finds himself unable to step back and let innocents die without trying to save them first. He rarely had left his sanctuary, preferring solitude, especially as many of his friends have long since passed from this world. He still smiles and even laughs on occasion, though rare is the moment it reaches his eyes. He gave his all for the world, and it barely remembers his accomplishments. Now he finds himself tired, a cursed and weary man whose time has come and passed with centuries still stretching out before him, at the front of yet another war, and an adversary he doubts he will be able to overcome.
Now dark forces stir in the land again, and he has taken up his friends blade, forced to leave his sanctuary as it was washed away in molten fire, he took up arms in service of the people once again, as a hero’s work, is never done… But that was short lived. As he lay asleep in his bed he was set upon by the forces of a mysterious cult who cast a terrible curse upon him, stripping him of power and strength. They thought him an easy target, and were proven utterly mistaken as he took up blade and slew them to a one. Now he hunts for the ones who commanded his death, and he will have words with them about their.... Actions.
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