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Bowcaster

From the Tales of Rhiannon O'Eachna

Born of a roving tribe of elves from the Northern Wood of Worry, near Khezek Tor, Alial was the first-born son of a millennia-long line of archers sworn to protect the ruling elders from harm: the Bowcasters.

Description Height: 6’8" (in sandals) Hair: Dark black, with a streak of white in the front. Eyes: Dark Purple Apparent Race: Rhiallon (High elven) Age: 100 Alial is not a fair elf at all, his apperance being the very least of his esteemable qualities. He is a Rhiallon elf, having the characteristic dark hair and eyes of that elven line. He wears very practical travelling clothes and boots, and is rarely seen without a backpack, a sword, a shield, a quiver, and a bow. In contrast to his very common and rough appearance, his armor is of masterful and delicate quality, and it stands out highly. Any discomfort at being a Rhiallon is completely absent or at least well masked by his driving desire to atone for his losses.

The Bowcaster line was renowned for its uncanny excellence in both the arts of wizardry and archery and their reputation was irreproachable; until a band of rogues attacked a group of elders – elders there for fast and meditation. The Bowcaster honor guard accompanying the elders was overrun and all were slain; all save one young Rhiallon lad. A lad hardly old enough to draw back a bow and loose an arrow.

This young Bowcaster was knocked unconscious in the initial rush of the murderous rogues, and denied the honor of defending the elders. He was haunted by nightmares of his failure for years, years spent hoping that one day the band of cutthroats – whose faces were permanently branded into the mind of the once lad – would cross his path again. Then, by Tor, they would taste the vengeance of Alial Bowcaster.

While away from his camp, on a personal retreat of fasting and prayer, Alial had horrible visions of his tribe being brutally massacred. He raced back to the Rhiallon encampment, only to find his worst nightmares realized – the entire camp lay brutally murdered.

There, at the family tent, Alial's fair sister and delicate mother lay broken cut, white from lack of blood, looking for all of Angaria like a cruel jest carved into an alabaster statue. Behind them lay his father, an assassin's blade buried in his back. The elves had made what reckoning they could – a few of the scattered bodies of the brigands responsible for the massacre lay about. To his further horror, they were some of the faces that had haunted Alial's dreams for the last few years.

From this moment on, Alial Bowcaster swore revenge on that band of outlaws he had failed to defeat as a boy. And to this end, he set off towards Lyrenn. Tor guide his blade, and may the Dagda guard him from Fafnir's tread.