Forums    Newsletter    Guestbook    About    Search    Updates      
         Copyright © Randy Bowers. All rights reserved.


Green Warden Belar

Neutral Good Male Half-elf (Tenerthor)
Level 12 Druid
Level 6 Green Warden

Str 8   Dex 11   Con 14   Int 13   Wis 23   Cha 15   Hit Points: 111

Status: Alive
Campaign Appearances:
        Ashes of Arend

"Tharomas, this invites darkness into our sacred order, it is an unhealthy and unnatural darkness that you suggest our order consort with. We cannot trade our history away, we must not!"
    They stood before the ancient monolith of stone, roots engraved upon its surface to form ancient druidic seals and roots twining thickly about its base from the massive trees that had grown in the master grove since the breath of light had come to the world. Widdershins the raven-haired druid paced, his breathing regular, his feet navigating the thick roots after many years of practice while his fingers caressed the ancient stone.
    "The Halls of Parnor gather dust, Belar. Our order, your order, has failed. Ghosts walk its halls. Night must end every day, and the sunshine of this world now fades. We must make ready for the night that comes. The knowledge of those ancient scrolls will not guide us through the darkness to come. If this world is to have guardians then we must have guides through the dark. If they possess the power to unlock the old Ways, then it is a fair trade."
    The older man stood opposite the monolith, but stared through it at the younger druid. His bones ached from the long wear that the Conflict exerted upon him, not merely from age. Picking his way over the roots he stood before the stone, a bearded wall between monolith and Tharomas. He could not give up hope that the light of the world would yet resist the gathering evil in the world.
    "You speak madness. Who knows what keys we hand the forces of the night if we surrender Parnor? And the Ways were sealed by our ancestors for a reason, that which is trapped within. You are mad and I will not allow you to sacrifice what remains our own for your dreams of power."
    "I will not be opposed, Belar," Tharomas spoke dire and low.
    "Nay. This path will now open for none but you," spoke the older druid, stepping aside.
    Confident, Tharomas finished the final steps and turned toward the stone. The roots of the earth pulled at its center until it parted as a doorway to darkness, though flowers bloomed before the entrance and then quickly wilted. The roots of the earth shivered. Tharomas strode through and vanished. The doors closed. The stone was whole.
    Belar sighed. "Ancients, do not remember me for this that I do," he spoke to the forest. His staff rose into the air and smote the monolith.
    The forest was quiet. Ancient trees towered over and knotted their roots about the stone. The rent that split its heart from forest floor to sky would someday gather moss. Perhaps men would forget the ancient Ways. With secrets safe from the forces of night, perhaps daylight would rally and again flourish.

    Ashes of Arend: Belar leads the circle of druids that operate in the Kingdom of Arend, the Forests of Greentree, and the wild lands nearby.