Your Story.

[Dakirennis 959]

          My name is Dak'ir Des'Nox. Okarir'ker of Ker'lomi, the under city of Annil'sul. And this is my Lord of the Craft. I strive to lead the dark elves and keep them safe. But I was not always in this position. I was once a lowly thief, stealing food and small items in Malinor to keep myself alive. Sleeping in the forests or in an abandoned camp within Anothos' icy north. My fate was changed one night, when I met a young durid dedicant named Elorna. She spoke to me of the druids and their goal. The next day, I found myself in their grove as a dedicant under a druid named Isabella. 

          But sadly, this fate was not meant to be. A few days later, Malinor fell to corruption and the druids were scattered. I was once again without a home and left to wander. I eventually found myself in Darkhaven with a real home and along side my people. I received a job under the Ousanna clan as a body guard and life went on. And once again, we were displaced. The dark elves dug a new home beneath Leanniel, were we coexisted in peace for a long time. Though once more, evil came to our doorstep. But this time we fought. Along side a Lich, we raided the Manor that the Scourge had taken over. Saving slaves and slaying their cultists. 

          Though darkness is an unstoppable tide and before long, we all retreated through a portal to the Fringe. We were scattered, each nation carving out borders and before long, banded together to take down the Scourge. Though before long, war broke out. The elves and the humans against the dwarves and the orcs. I realized that the dark elves were broken and tried to collect as many of them that I could, seeking refuge in the wood elven town of Lin'ame. But unbenounced to me, we were in violation of a law set by the high elves that led the nation. I saught out the Sohaer, a peculiar yet entertaining man named Kalenz, and explained to him how our people were leaderless. I offered to take up the mantle, and with his blessing, I carved out a new home for the dark elves.

          Through the Fringe, Thales, and here today in Athera. I still find myself at the helm. While stife once more came in the form of a civil war between the wood and high elves. I stepped back in perhaps a cowardly display. But I refused to watch friends butcher one another. But now, the high elves are gone, both a curse and a blessing in ways 

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

My name's Phaedrus Lle'hileia, and I was a simple Wood Elf, whose true story starts when I stumbled upon the Druids' Grove while looking for work within the Fringe. A craftsman in all manners, but specializing in metal works, I happened upon a particularly eye catching, red haired Druid who required a few doors for her dedicants' rooms. As I worked on the doors we talked, and as I took my breaks we continued to speak into the night. Until one day she invited me to a new settlement founded by the mali'aheral, named Lin'ame. And so I, naturally, chased after the pretty, little Druid woman, and founded my first forge within the town, named the Diamond Dove, after the Druid, her name was Elorna. Looking forward to my days as a forge master, that reality was quickly shattered as I was forced to stab an Orc through its mouth with a spear I made for the district's guard, right in front of my otherwise unprotected forge.

 

In time I joined the chapter of the guard, the Elberu'cinhir, and rose to the position of their commander. A veteran of the Bloc Wars, I grew stern and cold, efficient and at times cruel in my duties to uphold order within his city. Despite my service however, my diligence and my sacrifice for the sake of the city, the mali'aheral that originally sponsored our district in the Fringe continued to ignore mine and others' pleas, requests and even demands for the betterment in our opportunities for government and general treatment, as non-mali'aheral. Such words were ignored.

 

In time, I lead a revolt against the mali'aheral, and I succeeded. The world itself seemed to stand behind my cause. I was once a simple craftsman that came to a newly blooming district because a pretty, little Druid woman asked me to tag along. Now, I'm the leader of my own nation and the most efficient Elven fighting force in current existence.

 

I am Phaedrus, and this is my Lord of the Craft, because I made it myself. 

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

I'm Gabrielle, an' this is my Lord o' the Craft. My brother an' I lived on the streets o' Oren, orphans y'know. One day 'e got the idea t' try joinin' the White Rose, they were a pretty respected military order an' it seemed like a better life than the one we 'ad, so I tagged along too. Well, 'e got in but things were 'arder for me. They 'ad no place for a girl an' they let me know it. They started 'avin trouble in the ranks too, so my brother an' I decided t' leave, an' we ended up with the elves. Nice weather, an' nice people for the most part, 'cept for the 'igh elves who'd call us "dirt skinned valah" for bein' southerons. I met someone else who was even worse, a lich who went by th' name Laurina. She said she'd teach me magic but instead she stabbed out my left eye. All I got is an empty socket now. As I was adjustin' to bein' 'alf blind my brother went missin'. Just like a man t' abandon ye when ye need 'im most. I was in a rough spot for a long time, didn't 'ave a 'ome or family or friends.

 

Then one day I met a woman named Mirshann who said she could give me a family. A mother, sisters, an' magic on top o' it all. All I'd 'ave t' do is be cursed. A curse that would change my appearance but give me th' power t' shapeshift, that would force me t' cannibalize men but let me manipulate ice an' snow. Well, o' course I accepted. My skin went gray an' my 'air turned white, my good eye started t' glow blue. An' I 'ungered for the flesh o' men. All other food tasted like sand. Aye, it was 'ard gettin' used t' eatin' men to live, but after all this time I wouldn't 'ave it any other way. I've made some friends, fought some fights, eaten a lot o' people, an' even saved a few. I'm not all bad! Least not mostly. I'm Gabrielle (some o' th' time), I'm a Frost Witch, an' this is my Lord o' the Craft.

[Demotheus 651]

My name is Scylla and this is my story, try not to cut yourself.

 

 

I can't remember when I was born. It was roughly four hundred years ago, I think. Probably. Who knows for sure. I sure don't. I've always had trouble in life due to my frail bones and tiny, childlike, impish form. Being mixed elf and dwarf is a terrible idea, but at least I wasn't mixed with human. At least I'm kind of cute. I'd be cuter if I wasn't so edgy. At about fifty years old I was still living with my parents as I studied magic. There was no possible way I could have done much else due to my already frail stature, so I needed something to do and something to protect myself with. That was when the orcs attacked.

 

It was like, three orcs or something. Busted into our little home and stomped the life out of my parents. It was a bloody affair. They thought I was a child, and so didn't expect it when knives started floating and stabbing them. That was the first time I've ever killed someone! I wish it never happened, since it royally screwed with my mind. I never wanted to do that. And after fifty more years of dwelling on these things and doing awful things to stay alive, I went mad. My little sister was thus born. Her name is Lotha. She speaks in the third person. I love her dearly, but she is so, so very weird sometimes. And lesbian. That bugs me, but I can't exactly do much about that. 

 

Over the next couple hundred years we galavanted around looking for things to do, power to grab, magic to learn, so on and so forth. After being called an edgy little freak so many times we decided to collect edgy things just to screw with people. Mostly strelts. We managed to procure two katana's. Never used them, never even bothered trying to learn how to use them. They're gags, so calm down, you freaks. These and other assorted edgy goodies gave us something to do for a while. Strelts can't handle edge, apparently. I find that odd because they're word for a greeting is ej or something.

 

So now, massive blanks in my memory later, here I am. Writing this. Why? Probably an enchanting accident or something that knocked another screw loose. Oh well.  I used to be a freaky cannibalistic blood drinking freak edge-meister, but I'm making an honest effort to not do that. Getting Lotha to stop bragging about how she and I eat people - which isn't even true any more - is my next goal...

 

...And I know what you're thinking! Bullshit, right?? No! Don't even start with me. I live in Pravets with strelts and other assorted people, and Roy's asked me to create swords with holy enchantments on them to fight Iblees. I'm good, see??? I'm still edgy hooded and robed, but I'm on the good side!

 

And it's totally not just to pay my rent.

 

[The Fact Core 511]

I am the Boogie Man, the weirdest and most annoying Scarecrow in the realms. I have no idea where I come from or why I look like the vomit from a rainbow. But I know that I'm obsessed with Puppets of all kind. Not that I would like to play with dolls, but that's exactly what I do most of the time and the people love my style of puppeteering. I'm not sure if that was a word but I started my carrier in Anthos, where I appeard in a little town called Vaerhaven and annoyed the nether out of everyone until it was taken over by frozen Knights from the Red Realm with dissociative identity disorder. Because of my obsession and hate against myself, I wanted more and so I created my own magical Art to force the living to dance with me on my fake weddings, just to throw them off from cliffs like a wolf who likes fast running chickens.

 

But like every little maggot who wanted more in his useless life. I joined up with the "dramatically dark beings that want to scare Anthos until everyone dies" and destroyed "accidently" Luminaire, it was totally not my fault that I planted this Elder Tree eating Monster under the earth, just because someone called my mother fat. Anyways, back to topic. I also found out, how to summon the power of Apparitions, those spectral beings that spook the nether out of your brain until it's only soup for the Orcs and ice cream for me. Some time passed, some days left and so I moved out of the Scourge to annoy the Druids once again because I was the first one and still the only one who is "Kill on sight" on the shunned list. Because of my sadness and love towards the Tree huggers, I keep annoying them, because I want to destroy their precious connection to Nature for no real reason at all. Now we have Athera and I'm propably the only being who ignores the Undead completely, pumpkins would be better.

 

I am the Puppet King and this is my Lord of the Craft.

[Ventai 291]

You wish for this one’s story? Truly it is of no importance to anyone, this one is but a nobody in this world. Yet still I will provide. My name is Corvo De’pale, I simply grew up in a small little town within Asulon. When this one was old enough I was consumed by a small sin, Greed. Truly this one wished for power for a simple reason. I wished to be a king. So I and a few friends began a little gang of thieves that stole about in the lands of Anthos. Not long before then I decided to expand my source of money to that of larger quantities. Slaving was my source to obtain such a weight of money. However wounds and blood stained my crew through all we performed. I required power, A source of protection for me and my friends and thats when I learned my first art, The art of Illusion. I began to study such art until certain conflict occurred with myself and the Dark Brotherhood. Honestly I rather not speak of such, as I think back about such it leaves a sour taste within my mouth. The guild disbanded and I continued my studies until I became adept within my art.

 

To my surprise a new opportunity was granted to me, a man with a hat grant me a lead role with resurrecting his old group of bandits, The hatters. We ruled the Oren docks in Asulon performing many crimes, including that of infiltrating the all mighty High elven city, until he gained the bright idea to kick myself and my partner out. This one had rage within his eyes anger to the bone and then an old friend came, one from my slaver days. His veins were bulging on his arm, jet black blood staining his veins such color. With his hand holded out he spoke to me “Corvo what a pathetic display you host, come with me, our lord awaits.” I took his hand and before I knew I was upon the ground in moments. A strange dark art was given to myself, Necromancy. Later on this one joined the Mages guild with my master. As of now we are within Athera and I am but a master of my arts and still but a mage to such guild. Now please do leave me be, it is all you require to know about myself. I am Corvo a necromancer and this is my lord of the craft.

[Lawrna 440]

I am Lelien Aeléyèlsa, and this is my Lord of the Craft.

 

My story began in the High Elven city of Haelun'or, in Asulon, just before the destruction of the entire land. Throughout my life I was surpressed under the age restrictions of the High Elven society, though at the age of twenty-five, in the lands of Anthos, I became the head librarian, the youngest ever.

There on I grew, and learned. I learned that those outside of the city had no interest in peace nor knowledge, as taught within the city.
 Soon enough, the violence came our way, destroying my library and city.

 

My people were spread out over the lands for many years. I decided to be useful in New Malinor, and then the Conclave when it fell.

The yearning to be with my people could not be pushed back, and so I joined them in the Tomb. By this time I was fifty, finally an adult.
Soon thereafter, once in the Fringe, I became the Sohaer, the leader. Here began my demise.

 

I floundered with war, and was waltzed over by the other races. A leader I could never be, and thus became the librarian once more, as I should be. The humans did not approve of my choices and so, I was beheaded.

 

Now I am simply a shadow of who I once was, an Eternal Librarian.

[Samson Option 9652]

 

The din of drums, the echo of trumpets. The cry of the slain, the mourning of the widows. The wings upon my helm, my hands gripped firmly on my zweihander. Need I say my name, I am the first Hochmeister.

 

My story began not in Aegis, but in Asulon. Heaved through the portal from whence we came, from icy steps to forested wood. My ambition is quite remarkable, usurped the soldiers of a pitiable knightly crew foolishly bent on aiding some Archmage named Cataris against the Undead. We climbed the highest plateau in the eastern mountains and constructed Nuremburg, from our highest perch did King Edmund watch us most jealously. The fool! He should have never laid claim to the men I had and babbled like a babe in fear of the Black Cross flown overhead. Regardless, five successful sieges later and the realm of Man bent a wobbled knee before the might of the Teutonic Order.

 

Both Ascended and Undead laid slain, I had no care for their religious tenants in the might of our Most Almighty Order. They could not seduce me, I kept my vow of celibacy and only unshealthed steel. They could not break me, I held Konigsberg and it remained the last standing structure that even Iblees could not penetrate. They could only respect me.. they could only fear me.

 

Am I the Lord of the Craft? Never, but I fulfilled my ambition and am the Lord of my Desires.

[Endovelicus 613]

I'm Kristoff Herrick, a old veteran from the Order of Saint Amyas.I was born in a Anthos, as a child my parents raised me into the church.After the fall I traveled the Frindge doing odd jobs and the like, to get some coin.Only in Thales did I find a home.That home was with the other menbers of the Order of Saint Amyas.It was too long since I was reunited with God...Atleast I thought so.I lost my left eye and my right hand in that order, thinking that I was doing the right thing....Then I realized that the mass slaughters weren't what we were about...I soon after joined good Bishop Jeramo as a Deacon. He trained me for a while until he vanished, to this day I do not know what happend to him.I wrote a letter to the High pontiff and he welcomed me with oppen arms, now I'm under him for training.I'm a soon to be priest. This is MY Lord of the Craft.

[Giga 357]

My name is Gi'Garun, a short, spindly wood elf. The most notable beginning to my journey was within the realm of Anthos, where I wandered and wandered for many a while. I spent most of my time within the Elven city of Luminaire, which I quickly came to call my home.

 

An elf named Indriil led me to the Druids' Grove, where I was accepted as a Dedicant. As the Black Scourge came down from the North, I quickly realised that the safe haven I had become accustomed to, was shrouded in darkness, and knew it was time to fight. Soon after, I was attuned to the totem Pine.

 

Now embraced by the Aspects, I sought to fulfil my duties as a servant of Nature and wandered the land, fighting the corruption that spread southwards. I assisted in the growth of the Wood Elven town of Le(a)nniel, and ascended to the position of Guide within the Druidic Order.

 

Like some I battled the waves of taint, like most I wept upon losing the fight to protect Anthos, and like very few others, I was reluctant to leave the land I had become one with.

 

Through the Fringe and Thales I continued to teach, now an Archdruid alongside the Solstice and Apple Druids. After arriving in Athera, I was on my toes settling the Druidic Order into the new grove.

 

The Solstice Druid soon passed on, and tis now my responsibility to uphold the teachings and traditions of my order alongside the Elk Druid and the Apple Druid. As well as that, I now fight the Undead amidst a council of the most powerful magic users in the land. I can only hope we defeat the Betrayer and return Athera to a time of peace and prosper.

 

This is my Lord of the Craft Story.

[MongolKhan 255]

I am Thórvárdr Fáoláín. A Highlander. Chieftain of Clan Fáoláín. My story is not well known among others. I was born the name of Nym Vala. A wood-elf within a tribe of an Old Clan. Wood-elves wishing to be Northerners believe it or not. My father went by the name of Thórvárdr Vala, he was a cruel man to them around him, his own people called him Thórvárdr The great. Infact he was not that at all. He just wished to give himself a good name. At the young age of 14 I left my clan, seeking to get away from the horrors of battle and lead a peaceful life. This changed quickly enough. I was unlike most wood-elves. I was tall, a boy of some strength. I looked older than I was. I live a good life now. I have friends...peace and a castle to myself. I took my fathers name and cut my ears. I didn't need to look like an elf. I wanted change. I am now a brute looking man. I stand at the height of 6ft5" and now know nothing but war. I've had love many the times and have myself three children. Two twins. I am harsh to them. As any father should be. I am a man. Not well known. Though one day. Perhaps my time shall come. Maybe the Lands will tremble at my name. Who knows. 

 

All I know is war and terror. Many run at the sight of me. I fight for what is right. I fight for order and proclaim. But what I most of all fight for is riches. Money is what drives us as the mortal races foward, so why don't we wish for more money eh? Good bit of money does the lands some good, the gods love my clan and I. They support us and shall drive us foward. Though our time has not begun. Perhaps it will. In time we shall become stronger, grow as people and in strength and once that comes. Riches and plunder will fly toward my clans way. I only wish for the best of my people. Perhaps that time shall come. I shall wait and see as I walk the lands. Waiting.

I am Thórvárdr and this is MY Lord of the craft.

[A Spooky Witch 156]

Hi, my name is Poppy, and this is my tale..

 

My story began in the city of New Malinor in Anthos when I was six years old when my Haelun left me there by the big bridge to the Silver City. I have curly white hair like my Haelun, though my eyes are lighter green than hers. I am a Mali'aheral, and I have difficulty connecting with my kin because of my life and who I am related to. Though I was an Evocress by blood, I was raised by human Pherak Roatan, and a Necromancer no less. I won't lie.. I kind of picked Pherak rather than him picking me, I mean I did follow him around New Malinor a lot until the day he asked if I wanted a place to stay heh... It changed my life forever, mostly for the better, and kept me shunned from my own kind. I never knew what that meant until I first set foot in the Silver City in the Fringe, I was impure, I wasn't right with my kinds society; it hurt me to know this. Though I wasn't harmed in the city, merely told to leave, I carried this thought with me for many years as I made sure to avoid any of my Aheral kin for fear I would either offend them or be hurt. I never knew who I was, or where I belonged.

 

In the Fringe I was married to my lifelong companion and best friend Eren Carteret, until then I had never had a name to call my own until we were wed. I had no claim to a surname as I had renounced any desire to hold the Evocress name and I was uncertain about my claim to my adoptive father Pherak's name, Roatan. After I took on Eren's name, I told him my given name in Elvish, Loté Aeth'ahern. Loté, meaning flower to my Haelun in Elvish, and Aeth'ahern, which was my mothers maiden name that means Aether Blessing. Only she ever called me that, but then Eren did afterwards and although I was confused on who I was before... It all started to make sense now. I wasn't someone defined by who I was related to or where my place was in a society that was never mine, I was just Poppy.

 

I never really accepted much about my life until we entered the mysterious realm of Athera and we finally found a home to settle in. It took me many years to learn where I belonged, and that was my broken and homemade family. Though I am afraid of where my life will lead me... I'm not afraid of the darkness as long as those I hold dear are close to me.

 

I am Poppy, I am the delicate flower in a sea of darkness, my light shines fiercely, and this is my Lord of The Craft.

[Samoblivion 532]

My name is Kaelin Mahariel, a dark elf with his heart tied to the wilds. I was born in Aegis nearly four hundred years ago though the circumstances of my birth are a mystery to me. Abandoned as an infant, I was taken in by a clan of wood elves and raised in their ways and culture - taught to uphold the values of our father Malin. I am a hunter, living the life of any predator in the forests - taking life when it is needed to sustain me, but always returning what I have taken from nature in some form or another. In my time I have known wonder and adventure but also sorrow and fear. It is the blessing and curse of elvenkind to live long after those we knew in our brother races have died of old age - sometimes the world seems to change too fast before our eyes, and often we find the memories of others are not as long as our own, even within our own race. And so I make my place in the unchanging wilderness, but there come times when one must rejoin the world to face down evil and do what is right. Sometimes one must stop running and turn to face the coming storm.

 

I am Kaelin Mahariel, and this is my Lord of the Craft.

[Silent™ 552]

I am Sylen Drayzont the Second, and this is MY Lord of the Craft.

 

Born unto a loving family in Anthos, I was the youngest of three with my brother and sister. Our father was a master of blacksmithing, and taught my brother and I the trade, as well as how to fight with many different weapons. My brother, Xerin, found his preference in using a great claymore, while I found mine in dual swords. My sister on the other hand spent most of her time with mother reading hundreds upon hundreds of books. She eventually found her calling in using fire evocation, and almost burnt down the house practicing in the study. Our lives were peaceful, but as everyone knows, peace can never last.

 

Our mother succumbed to a plague when I was only eight, and my father began to fall ill when I was thirteen. He lost the strength to work the anvil, leaving the task to my brother and I. Soon after he could no longer walk, and became bed-ridden. My sister tended to him day in and day out, trying to find something that would help him, but to no avail. In only a few short months, our father had fallen to his death bed. None of us even got to say goodbye, as he passed in the night while we all slept. When we awoke the next morning, we buried our father next to mother under the tree in the back yard, sealed the house, and left. Our parents wanted us to find our own way, and so we did.

 

After a year of living on the road, staying in inns and camping in the wilderness, we heard a rumor. A rumor of a man with the Drayzont family's yellow eyes, and we matched this to the only Drayzont that could still be alive. Our grandfather, Sylen Drayzont the First. We searched high and low, but looking for him was like looking for a shadow on a moonless night. After two years we had not come any closer to finding him, and so my brother Xerin told us to stop while he went on his own to find him. My sister Alstacia and I eventually came across a man searching for people to join House Winter as bannermen. We decided to follow, and soon found ourselves at a half built castle against the Northern wall. We spent a couple of years there, until my sister went missing. I searched all over Anthos for her, but never found a trace. So I went looking for my brother, but he had disappeared too. I was now alone, and when I returned to the Northern wall, I joined the Order of the Sons of the Creator. I fought the Black scourge for many years on the front lines, surviving many battles. But our losses were too many, and eventually the order fell.

 

After that I joined the Winter Guard, a group which sought to fill the place of the Sons of the Creator. Again I fought the Black scourge, and again the order that was holding them at bay fell. I had gotten used to the cold of the North, and since I could no longer stay there, I moved south to another cold place. This place was a frozen forest belonging to the Snow Elves, whom I soon joined up with, and again, fought the Black Scourge. We even went into the lair of the Black Scourge and fought Setherin himself, with every member of the group that entered dying at his hands, except for me. Soon after all of that, there was the Great Flood, and we moved to the Fringe, and eventually, to Athera.

 

I have now been here for several years, and all seemed rather normal living with the Snow Elves in a small castle. Then, they returned. Those whom my Grandfather fought and told my father of, who told me. The Undead. And so my training had begun, to be able to fight the Undead as my Grandfather did so long ago... but this time, we will destroy Iblees.

[Supremacy 3361]

Some might call me the most racist elf to ever live. Others may call me the uniter of elves, the one who ended the splintering of elven kind. I am Kalenz Uradir.

 

Long ago I was born in the forests of Laurelin, amongst the trees and elves of the Old Princedom known as Malinor. My blood was silver, but sullied by the presence of the other, lesser, elves. With the coming of the Undead I made my way to Asulon where I, for a time, resided as a Sentinel of Malinor— A post far below my worth. In time I found the Silver City of Haelun'or where I began to dabble in the eldritch arts of arcane magic, becoming an illusionist of some renowned.

 

Over the years I made strong bonds with those from far away lands and dark and evil roots: The Archmage and Lich Cataris, The Order of the White Rose and Polgrath's Arcane Delvers all were amongst my allies, at least each for a time.

 

Yet it was not long before my true calling came to me. With the tumultuous political environment amongst the elves of Malinor and Haelun'or, I rose as the Sohaer of the Silver Enclave of Haelun'or, guiding the small city-state as it entered its golden age, as the valah would say. In time all elves would fall under the dominion of Haelun'or as the high elves came to rule as overlords over the lesser dirt and wood elves. For years the elves had lived as splinters by my dedication to the maher'sae hiylun'ehya and the new principal of Lomian'onn, the defragmentation of the elves, ended the chaos that had long been heralded by the state of Malinor.

 

The elves were one, for a time as strong as they had been since the forest of old in Laurelin. But this was not to linger for with time my mind would slip from the political world and back into the world of the arcane. Without my guidance the elven state slowly shattered, the High Elves were cast from their gleaming capital of Annil'sul and retreated as the wood elves revolted with the aid of the other races— Establishing their own state.

 

Once more the elves are fragmented, weaker than ever before some might say though Haelun'or still lives and amongst the high elves of pure thought and mind, so do I. For now, though, I slumber, my mind fixed upon the world of magic. Perhaps in time I shall return to guide my kin once more.