SamTanGom

Drahlin does not blub like many of his extremist racist distant relatives might have done, but sighs. "He will be sorely missed. There goes my father's idol."

While passing by, Drahlin skims over the notice with a nod of approval. "It took them that long to notice? Finally, our cousins begin to understand."

The two reasons that I'm not fully satisfied with HE RP: - I can't find any people to be racist with. I mean, we should all get together in a band and walk into the Standing Inn and insult random people. It's a perfectly normal characteristic of the aheral. - No one is at the Haelun'or gates to let me in. D:

Large crossings-out and edits have been noticeably made to Draehlin's wish note. ((Edited my wish page 5))

((MC Name: SamTanGom)) Dearest Glugolas, For Knoxmas I would like the ability to practice decent alchemy, if not arcane magic, again. I have not cast a single spell or brewed a single concoction since the curse of a mage of the Black Scourge on me back in Anthos. A nice little dagger of elven-make, inlaid with precious stones and enchanted with assorted effects. A mali'aheral needs something to defend himself. Or, if all else fails, make me the most prettiest, fabulousest mali'aheral in all of Athera. For reference, see this magical picture my cousin-in-law-thrice-removed made when he was drunk: Signed, Draehlin Faelor

Aegis, Year 1053. The forest was disturbed. Amidst the cracking of twigs and the rustling of bushes, a dark figure rushed through the night fauna. He had not the grace or agility of a mali’ame, or the blundering totter of a dwedmar, but he moved swift and that was enough. He clutched a dusty leather tome in his hands, the golden title faintly glimmering. Finally, the figure ceased. He had reached an empty campsite, with the campfire a distant, flickering reflection of its former glory. “Guys! GUYS! I’ve got it-” “Do not make so much noise or I snap your neck.” A female elf - hard to tell what kind in the darkness - had suddenly approached from behind from the back, and gloved hands wrapped around the figure’s throat and neck. “Wot’s this?” A hooded halfling, no bigger than three feet one, appeared in front of the duo. With quick hands, he quickly snatched the leather-bound tome from the figure’s (who we can presumably identify as a human) hands and flicked it open. His eyes betrayed the slightest hint of satisfaction as he skimmed over the faintly glowing Ancient Elven words in the dark. “The lad is good. Y’may release ‘im now, Eva.” The female elf reluctantly let go of her human companion. “W-w-what - how much is it?” the human stammered. “Ah don’t know-ah fer sure.” The halfling grinned. “Five, six hundred... maybe even close to a thousand minas if we get lucky.” The female elf giggled in delight. “We’ll be rich! Forever! And they won’t find us-” “Surprise.” The party was interrupted by a white-cloaked figure, who seemingly emerged out of nothing if not the faintest of bushes. His hood was on, but by his pale face and eyes of icy ocean it was clear he was a mali’aheral. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.” The party made ready to run for it, but that again was soon stopped by two more mali’aheral, magic staves glowing green and purple in the night. “We mali’aheral value our books.” White cloak moved slowly, his every move calculated to bring fear into his victims’ hearts. “H-here sirrah.” The halfling threw the book down in front of the white high elf, while the other two moved even closer. To the thieves’ shock, white cloak bent down and burnt it with his stave. The blue fiery tongues of the burning tome soon began to spread. “Oh, that was only a spare copy.” White cloak cackled softly, baring sharp teeth as his colleagues ignited green and purple fiery staves behind them. With a mighty gesture, the flames quickly smothered the halfling. The small man rolled around in vain, then after half a minute, stopped. His companions looked on in terror, too terrified to think of an escape plan. The human made a quick move, but purple fire grabbed him and touched his stave to his neck. “Ah... AH! Get it off! Get IT OFF!” The human clawed at his neck in vain as yet another fiery tongue engulfed him. Green fire stamped his stave into the ground, adding to the human’s discomfort as another flame smothered him. Meanwhile, the female elf - mali’ker by the look of it - was forced to the ground by green fire. She looked up at white cloak with big, pleading eyes. “D-don’t kill me...” “Oh, I promise.” The white cloak snapped his fingers, and another young elf appeared. He looked much like his apparent father, except for the milder look in his eyes. His father threw him a sword. “Go on, Drahlin.” The young elf hesitated. His eyes studied the mali’ker’s. They wanted pleading. They wanted life. They wanted forgiveness. And all of a sudden, the warmth in his eyes was replaced by an icy glare. ... “And he kept his promise.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Sup guys! My name's SamTanGom. New to the community. This is a little smidgen of my character Drahlin Faelor's backstory. I'm not good on years, but this is an extract of the story explaining why he is what he is today. Feedback appreciated. :)

More specifically, DRAAAAAAAKES DRAAAKES EVERYWHERE OH SH*T