Character Information Main A Portrait Background Character Sheet Magical Items Thoughts Ambitions Ironhelm Keep Xi'an's Current Companions Agog Natalai Nimbus Starron Taine The World of Pai-Lau

Personal Thoughts A lone shadowy figure walks silently through the mountains far above the bustle and construction surrounding the growing skeleton of what will one day be Ironhelm Keep. He is noticed by no one in the teeming throng below, for the simple reason that he does not wish to be noticed. Though the individuals below have come at his request, he feels no particular attachment to them. They are simply something to do; a means of passing the empty years. Another generation of soldiers and professional killers trained by his hand, come to learn the art of death from one who has long studied its ways. Oh, they will eventually serve a good cause -- bringing order and peace to the shattered remains of the Scavenger Kingdoms. They will fight, die and kill so that others might live their lives in peace and safety. And most importantly, they will win. When his work is done, he will have formed them into the best and finest military force in all of Pai-Lau. They will be able to easily crush any bandits or remaining Enkari soldiers that are marauding the lands. He takes some small satisfaction in knowing that his students will be more than a match for any force twice their number, and will be stationed in a keep that will be nigh impenetrable. His small secret smile does not last long however, as he considers the condition of Pai-Lau. With his growing military presence he could easily gain much influence, or perhaps carve a kingdom from the disordered chaos of the land. Yet he has no interest in such goals; gaining power just to be able to command others or for personal glory seems so very petty. His quite sigh is lost in the wind whistling through the mountain peaks. Almost two centuries of life, and what to show for it? His thoughts wander over the past years and the events that have filled them. Good friends caught up and lost fighting the mad power struggles of others. Promises and sacred trusts broken by those he once held the deepest respect for. Years spent battling for a cause that was not even his own, and decades lost as a slave within his own mind. And blood... How many have died at his hands over the years? He cannot even remember any more. Only a few faces stand out from the hundreds of souls who's blood stains his blades, and even those no longer matter. He spent his life training for battle, and he had blooded his weapons before even the eldest of his current companions was born. Even in the past, only a few were ever able to approach his level of skill in personal combat. Now he has raised his abilities to a form of art -- the art of death. He has learned all the weakness and frailties of the mortal body, the proper points at which to strike to disable, and to kill. He has even learned how to move swiftly and silently enough to fool the senses of mortals. The physical conditioning and years of training have crafted him into a deadly warrior. A warrior who now spends his days teaching and sparring with those who do not truly understand the beauty of combat. He though that passing on his skills would bring some measure of fulfillment, yet he was mistaken. Those who he tries to teach are young and idealistic -- full of dreams of glory and grand causes for which they fight. They do not comprehend the meaning and artistry of the dance which they are learning. One day they will learn its grim truths, and its harsh beauty, and then they will understand -- if they live that long... The unseen warrior stands from his rocky perch. Perhaps one day he will meet another who truly comprehends the dance of battle. One who can match and test his skills at combat. Until then he will continue as always: teaching, training, adventuring, and always seeking such a kindred spirit. He disappears from the mountaintop, and only the cold uncaring wind notices his passing.