Llay’morac Basic Information Full Name: Llay’morac Age: 148 (died at 62) Gender: Male Race: Fin’ullen Altalar Sexuality: Homosexual/It doesn’t matter anymore Preferred Weapon: Silverlance/Sword & Shield Skill Information Total Points: 50 Sword Combat: 15 Spear Combat: 12 Shielding Combat: 12 Husbandry Art: 10 Frontline Command: 7 (All Talent Points) Statecraft Command: 4 (3 Talent Points) Pathfinding Art: 5 (Hobby Points) Writing Art: 5 (Hobby Points) Body Shape: Athletic, Average Body Fat Body Stat: 25 Languages Modern Altalar (Parent’s Language) Common (Free) Special Traits/Spells/Mutations Morvali: Echo Shade Banshee Shade Memory Feeding Remember Death Visual Information Eye Color: Deep Blue, N/A Hair Color: Vibrant midnight black Hair Style: Straight and long Skin Color: Fair Clothing: Preferably armour, preferably heavy, failing that anything and everything that can be found that covers the face. Height: 5'10" Visual Information (Expansion) Spoiler Llay’morac is slightly shorter than the typical elf, and a slight bit broader as well. However, that doesn’t detract from his Nelfin grace and figure, and while it’s not impossible to mistake him for Ailor it would be easy to avoid. Obviously, the most curious thing about Llay’morac’s appearance is the lack of details. There is only the vague impression of where a face once was upon his visage. This blank canvas is framed by cascading black locks. Yet even the rest of his skin is without blemish or detail. Llay’morac has a commanding, if light, voice that is flowing and silvery and lacking entirely in the gravel of a warrior. Preferring older idioms and styles, he may even speak in brief phrases of Proto-Daen to Ailor (Although he doesn’t speak the language), assuming this is more polite. Personality Alignment: Lawful-Neutral/True-Neutral Personality Type: ENFP Religion: Confused Ignosticism 7/10 Faith of Estel 3/10 Bintaar Entities 3/10 Life Story [Highlight if not readable] Life before the Acropolis is both not remembered and not relevant. Presumably Llay’morac was born to wealth and successful parents. Success enough to give their child to serve in the elven warrior order. In those brief moments of lucidity Llay’morac can remember training under the School of Aranartháï from the age of ten. It was within the Acropolis where Llay’morac first met their paramour. Another student who’s name history and time has forgotten, training at the Acropolis. The two young men became close, and their love affair continued after their leaving as they served together. Both becoming trained in the lance and sword. However the politics of the shattered Altalar states eventually pushed the two apart. They had learned too late that they had joined a dispute between two states on opposite sides. Neither wished to harm the other, but their oaths and the Tenet of Order burned fiercer than their love. Both were thrown from their mounts when lances and steeds crashed. The battle continued on muddy foot by sword and shield. It was his very lover who had struck the mortal blow. In his arms, death claimed Llay’morac among the spears and arrows of the battlefield. Yet he refused to die. With strength of will and burning rage he clawed his way back to the mortal realm. Reborn into a false body, he had sealed his curse. For some time he fumed and railed against his fate, but vengeance is a flame that burns bright and quick. Over the years Llay’morac lost parts of himself. As they slowly flaked away more and more of his features went missing. For a while he believed the two had killed each other by accident, unaware of the others identity. Then, he believed nothing at all. Eventually all that he knew, bar moments of clarity, was his own name, and that he was a noble warrior. Llay’morac wandered. Consuming memories where he could. Partaking in fights he felt he should. Trying to pick up parts of his identity, or borrow it from other people to replace what he had lost. He developed a strong interest in learning the motives of others, and this led to a rather unpredictable allegiance. He’d fight for a cause one week, and then for its opposite the next. Occasionally, he’d join a side simply because it was outnumbered. Dying became an inconvenience, rather than a tragedy. In a way, the Morvali longed for a restful death after so long. It was a strange calling that found themselves moving to Regalia. Something that pierced both the mortal realm and the Bintaar. It was far from the most intense compulsion, but they had nothing better to do at the time. So their endless march continues, hoping to one day find rest.
Here is my review! I recommend removing the mentions of knighthood from the life story as members of the school of elf name would loathe being compared to ailor knights, whom they view to be an inferior copy.
