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         Copyright © Randy Bowers. All rights reserved.



Female Drakher Elf
Level 7 Warlock

Str 11   Dex 20   Con 14   Int 16   Wis 12   Cha 15   Hit Points: 47

Status: Alive
Campaign Appearances:
        Virtue Sin Love

My name is Amaria. This is of little consequence, save that you will know it is me when others speak my name. I am a humble servant of the Companions, a devoted foe of undeath and the true evil that lurks beyond the sight of normal men. I am also a Drakher elf, a race that are themselves strongly associated with evil, and rightly so. You may ask, how did a dark and evil underworld dweller come to be a champion of Light in the world above? Listen well then, and I will tell you.

In deep places, evil dwells. Small and fearsome beings who were once elves, and are now, perhaps, something different. Cannibalistic survivors, fierce competitors in a world that rewards the strong and devours the weak, perhaps their dark tendencies are understandable, or even justified. This is the world of my birth, a midnight place where the light was a detriment, and the sun a horror.

Even at my youngest, I was different. I did not know why then, but my kindred treated me as if I were a precious thing. They marked my body with arcane marks, had our holiest men examine me, probe me, test me. They guarded me, as they did no other, protecting me from the jealousies of my lesser brethren and the terrors of the dark world.

Only when my courses began to flow did I realize why. I began to have dreams of terrible rage and horror, in which dark beings whispered of the power that was my birthright, of the respect and fear that I could claim with their help. And then the pain began.

Have you ever experienced static shock, the short burst of sky energy that comes sometimes when touching another? Imagine that feeling, but along your entire body, and lasting for minutes or even hours. That was my introduction to the eldritch blast. Crackling purplish energy crawling up and down my limbs, burning, uncontrollable.

The holy men of our clan taught me secrets, meditations and disciplines, and I grew to control this power, but it was a terrible time for me. The markings on my body were foci to enable budding warlocks to focus and control the energies of the dark powers. I learned I was not the first of our line to manifest this power.

Among my clan there exists an order called the Bitter Night. Their members consist almost entirely of warlocks who have mastered The Dead Walk invocation, as well as unique Greater and Dark invocations that allow them to raise up even greater undead monsters. Each member controls a small army of unliving soldiers they can hurl at the clan's enemies, and it was clear my fate was to join these hellspawned freaks.

But I was different from my kin in another way, one that I had kept hidden. For I had enjoyed other dreams besides the lures of power. Shistar's voice had called to me, offering me enlightenment and the chance to rise above my dark heritage, if only I could escape, flee to the land we call Hell, the terrible hot and bright lands under the Eye of the Demon.

Secretly then, I practiced other skills, learning new invocations, while pretending difficulty with the necromantic powers the Dura would have me learn. And when I was prepared, I used my powers to flee my clan, and the relentless pursuit of the Bitter Night, who considered my retreat a terrible betrayal of the gifts they believe had been given to me by Brakah himself. But their own focus on martial and necromantic invocations made them ill-equipped to counter my own stealthier powers, and I made my way to freedom, emerging finally into the bright and heat, where they were unpreapred to follow.

My next few weeks were ones of terror and sickness. I developed serious burns from the glare of the Demon's Eye, and grew deathly ill. I would have passed away, if not for the intervention of a small tribe of goblins, who captured me and took me prisoner.

I have no idea what use they hoped to put me to, but they fed me, helped me regain my strength, and I learned their speech. Whether they hoped for ransom, or perhaps hoped I could lead them to treasure was never quite made clear, but it was among them that I met a strange goblin who would change my life forever.

His name was Kukulmak, and he was a rarity among his kind for his intelligence and good heart. Unappreciated by his kin, he took to me, and we became friends. I believe it was his intervention that prevented the goblins from killing em after they found out my gifts. The goblins were terrifified of my power, but Kukulmak convinced them I could be useful.

And so it was, that when the tribe was hired by a merchant of Hana, I was allowed to accompany them. The job turned out to be a terrible fiasco in which the tribe was trained as assassins and rogues, and used up in a brutal secret war with another merchant prince. Eventually, the remanants of the tribe fled back to their swamp, but Kukulmak and I remained behind. I sought out a temple of Shistar, and convinced them to aid me in my quest to find another source for the power I possessed, while Kukulmak joined a group of like minded folk and took a place among the Docks.

I spent several years with the Shistarians, and was trained for a special regimen, a discipline that could be followed by fervent worshippers that enabled evil men to repent and learn the ways of the Light. By following this path, I believe I will be able to channel the Light. To that end, I have made special vows, setting aside material possessions, wearing myself to the Companions as their servant, and agreeing to turn my power against the undead that plagued the people of Hana.

As to my friend Kukulmak, I have heard that he has made a name for himself among a group of great heroes. Perhaps it is time to look up my old companion once more, and put my skills finally to use once more. As I take these first steps on the path of redemption, it will feel good to act the hero at last.