Legends of Belariath

Quilain Dreamstrike

”I swear upon your name mother of the earth,That I shall uphold your will,And protect that which you created,Upon my very life I shall obey.”

Such were the first words the eighty-year-old sylvan elf spoke as he kneeled before the spirit of his dead ranger father, Silvanious Dreamstrike, killed not more than twenty minutes ago by a goblin's crossbow bolt through the heart. In the blink of an eye his life had changed, and he had a choice, to return to his village and live out his days in relative peace beside his brethren, only going to action when their home was threatened. Or he could choose to take the oath that would bind him to the goddess Gaea, doing her will wherever she leads him.

He chose to take the vow. The goddess would give him the time to prepare, 20 years he would have to complete his training, not very long to the lifespan of an elf. In those 20 years he had not only completed his ranger training, but had also learned a great deal of herbalism from a local druid. He had also taken great lengths to master several spells that would help him. One would hide him from a glancing eye, one would distract a few, two would give him protection from both blade and spell, and one that would give him limited control over arcane fire. In the last few allowed years, he learned the art of music, memorizing many of the songs of sylvan heritage.

On the day he was to leave, he was presented with a beautiful ornate silver flute, a pack of herbs, a beautifully forged mythril longsword covered in ancient elvish runes, blessed by the druids of the village to keep the wielder safe from an untimely death, and a longbow with an enchanted quiver so that the arrows within would never run out.

With a farewell to his gathered family and friends the 100 year old elf set off into the wilderness, away from the town of Arrowstorm. For years he wandered the forest, doing as the goddess willed him to do. The number of goblins and orcs living in the forest dropped quite severely in those times.

After about 5 years had passed the goddess decided he needed some relaxation, and so he arrived in the port city of Shorehaven. Taking several weeks in the city he learned various things during his stay. For one, he needed money, and his dexterous fingers and his strength landed him a job as a masseuse in the local baths. He learned the job rather quickly. He also took a side business at a local tavern as an instrument player, playing alongside the other bards he learned a great deal. One of the bards that he called a friend was a young dark elf renegade male that taught him a great deal of the dark elf tongue. In return for this he taught the dark elf his own language, and began to trade songs of each others culture.

Unfortunately a passing band of dark elves caught the bard alone in the tavern one night and slaughtered him in full view of the inn, for the simple fact that he was a renegade. It just so happened that they were on their way back to the Neathergloom, and were from the renegades own forsaken house. Sadly enough the ranger had no time to mourn, as the Goddess called him back to his mission.

So once again the elf wandered the forest, and in those recorded years the goblinoid population once again started to drop drastically, far more than before, a testament to the ranger's incredible skill and tactical knowledge. Though one time, he was taken by surprise.

A small band of goblins, orcs, and a few trolls were lying in wait for the traveling ranger. He passed by their concealed position before he heard the warning in his mind and cursed his lack of attention to detail as a thrown rock slammed into his shoulder, spinning him over several times in the air before thudding to the ground, halfway paralyzed, unable to feel his sword arm. He drew the longsword with his offhand and began to fight back somewhat awkwardly, slaying most of the goblins and orcs and even one of the trolls, firebolting its severed head and neck so it couldn't regenerate. Suddenly the second troll's fist slammed into the back of his head, launching him forward into a tree, where he fell unconscious.

By all accounts he should have died; his wounds were far too great for his body to survive, were it not for the powerful magic his sword contained. His body was sustained at the lowest level of life, in a state of coma, and so his enemies left, partly because he was (supposedly) dead, and partly because a group of people were approaching. They didn't even take the time to loot him of his valuables because of their proximity.

Not more than a few moments after the troll and a few orcs left the scene a small band of Cat People arrived, finding the elf, his body literally glowed at the magic that surrounded him and kept him alive now that hostile enemies were gone. They were shocked to see the pile of dead goblins and orcs, as well as the torched troll and gathered up the wounded elf to return to their village of Catsden.

It took 7 days, but he finally awoke. He found his body stripped and covered in bandages where they were needed. His light blue eyes glanced over to his side, spotting his equipment with a sigh of relief and attempted to sit up. He suddenly cried out in pain as it shot along his spine and back before thudding back to the bedspread, drawing movement from the corner of the room beside a window.

Her form was silhouetted by the sunlight coming in through the window, so he did not see her, her voice was soft and angelic as she spoke in her calming tones. “It is good to see that you have awakened ranger, but you must not move for you still have many wounds that need healing.” Despite the fact that he had just awoken, the elf suddenly fell back to sleep, this time natural and no longer magically induced. Through that night, and the many that followed, the woman kept careful watch over the sleeping elf, dozing lightly when she was able to.

For days at a time he would sleep, awakening only when he was forced to eat or relieve himself, movement came easier as his body healed. Always he saw nothing more than the kind woman's silhouette. The moment came when he finally saw the woman that had been taking care of him.

Though he couldn't tell at the moment, because she was sitting down and asleep, he guessed her to be around 5'9 or so in height, the pink fur of her body covered with a modest skirt and blouse, and in his opinion, absolutely beautiful, almost angelic as her voice. Though he did nothing just yet, he felt himself inexplicably drawn to the undeniably beautiful cat girl that dozed against the window, content with herself and quite asleep, though he seemed to notice a soft shiver. Rising from his bed and limping over to her, he quietly covered her sleeping form with a soft blanket before hobbling back over to his bed and climbing back in to go back to sleep.

Weeks continued to pass, and more and more the elf recovered, the was well enough to leave the village, but he stayed within the village of Catsden while learning more and more about the art of herbalism from the Cat Girl that healed him, the one that was the head healer of the village named Andrea. As time continued to pass they began to find themselves growing closer together.

It finally occurred one night a few weeks later when Quilain had finished his training with Andrea. The night was filled with a release of passion and sexual tension between the two that had built during all the time that he had stayed.

Unfortunately, a few days later, he was called once more to leave where he had settled, always on the move at the beck and call of the goddess he served, never knowing that single night had produced more than a release from the tension between them. Whenever he returned to visit, he had noticed that Andrea seemed to hide something from him. He was never told that she had given birth to a half-elf, or that that child was his own daughter, Angelica Catpaws.

So he traveled one again, being directed toward the elvish capital to join the elvish imperial army as a forward scout. It was here that he met Lasuir Stormarrow, a fellow ranger produced from the folds of the village of Arrowstorm shortly after he left. The pair became fast friends and partners as they did most of their missions together, and saved each others asses many times. Unfortunately, not all good times last forever...

Quilain and Lasuir, accompanied by the elvish knight Gabriel Silverwing and the mage Valauralynv (or Val for short, also an elf) Having seen smoke rising in the distance toward an area incredibly familiar to the two rangers, and upon having persuaded Gabriel and Val to investigate, made their way to the column of rising smoke that morning, only to find what they feared the most.

The village of Arrowstorm lay in ruins, blood covered the ground and the scent of death, copper, and scorched flesh hung thick in the air. The mutilated corpses of the bodies that littered the grass were definitely elvish. There were no signs of life... All that still stood was a building magically protected against destruction and as such was to be used in case of an attack or fire, but was used mostly as storage for various items of equipment. Within that building was only one sylvan elf child that managed to escape. The child was named Cedric Quickshot, son of Dular Quickshot, one of the best archers in Belariath and their own archery trainer.

Sadly enough, Cedric's story is for another time, and they parted ways as Val took Cedric to the War Orphan's home within the capital of the empire while the two rangers and the knight continued to search for the group called the Vanteric who had been in the area and charged with the destruction of various elvish and half elvish communities in the area and were most likely responsible for the attack.

Their paths did not cross until a few weeks later, in the village of Seles, a Human/Elf settlement in the forests attacked by the Vanteric and utterly destroyed like Arrowstorm. The group was led by a single human assassin who was rumored to be ageless as well as immortal/incredibly lucky from an alchemic accident at the age of 14 some several hundred years ago. It took a final confrontation between an enraged Cedric, who was tricked into coming there by one of the assassin's lackeys, and the assassin himself led to the assassin's death, an ice coated blade buried into his skull. Though whether the assassin survived or not is another story entirely.

The rest of the Vanteric soon fell, and Quilain and Lasuir were called by the Goddess to leave the elvish imperial army and follow her whims once again. Walking from the battle site of Seles were Quilain, Lasuir, and a new member of their small band, the young sylvan elf Cedric Quickshot who was to learn to be a ranger under the tutelage of the other two. During the years that followed, none of them had ever deviated from the path that the Goddess had set for them, yet that is...

The three had arrived in the village of Crowthron, a small remote village nestled within the boundaries of the forest. Upon arrival, they caught wind of a strange ceremony occurring, one that would choose a maiden of the village to be sacrificed to a nearby dragon to keep the village from being destroyed. The Goddess warned them to leave; they had no business interfering, as that village had earned her wrath for wanton destruction of the surrounding forestland. Unfortunately, the last part was left out in her explanation. Both Cedric and Lasuir left the village. However, Quilain had opted to stay because of a particular elf maiden that had captured his heart. The problem that lay with this was that maiden was the one chosen to be sacrificed to the dragon, and he felt it was his duty to interfere. Upon the day of the sacrifice, he stole the woman away from the village even as the Goddess told him to stop.

The dragon descended, and the village was destroyed. During Quilain's escape, the elf maiden's chest was pierced by Lasuir's own arrow upon the Goddess' command, dropping Quilain's lover into the realm of death. Once again, upon the Goddess' command, they remained behind to rebuild the village, never knowing that the ranger was the one to cause it all. During this time, Quilain learned that the one they had chosen to kill was the village whore and seductress, who had been causing many problems among the various homes and families there. They had been more than happy to remove her from their lives one way or the other. He had also learned that that particular woman was to be the last before the dragon were to leave them for good. He spent those days in repentance for what he had done, but he could never truly know if the Goddess had ever completely forgiven him for his transgression.

It was known that he was not when they reached a small village by the name of Targoth some weeks later. It was under constant daily attacks by a nearby band of goblins, orcs, a few trolls, and ruled by a pair of ogres. During the ensuing battle early the next morning, the band of three along with a group of fighters from the village attacked the invading force. The battle went well for the most part, until a goblin archer took Lasuir through the heart with a lucky shot. As Quilain moved to retrieve his fallen comrade, the one remaining ogre still alive bashed in the back of his skull with a club, moments before Cedric's blade took the foul creature through the heart.

To Cedric, the only one who survived that gruesome battle, thought his friends and teachers dead; and so he gathered his things and headed south on a one week journey toward the town of Nanthaleon to try and compose himself to see what he would do next, but that, once again, is for another story.

For Quilain however, once again the magic of his blade saved him, allowing him to survive once again in a state of coma. It was during this time that the true displeasure of Gaea was made known to him. For his transgressions against her, he was to die, but the magic of his blade would not let him do so unless he made the choice to release his life. If under the influence of the blade, it would take him a period of 10 years to recover to the point where he would be able to awaken and return to the service of the Goddess. The goddess had given him a choice. He could either release his life, stay in a coma under the blade's magic for 10 years, or the Goddess could help him recover in the span of only 1 year. The catch with the last choice however, was that she would take something from him in return.

For his decision, it would take 1 year to recover to the point of awakening, and during this time his body was encased in magic to prevent outside tampering, as well as keeping him nourished until his body could heal. Along with this, it slowly changed and altered his body, removing his sex drive as well as his genitalia, the price for the Goddess' help.

It was one year later, on the exact date that he fell to the ogre's club that he awoke, the blue case of energy around his body faded as his eyes opened. He felt drained, weak, and slow. He had realized that during the year he had slept, the magic surrounding him not only removed his sex drive and genitalia, but had also sapped him of the physical and magical prowess he had known before the incident. These losses did not bother him, as he was simply happy to be alive and mobile once again. He realized that thieves stole his magical equipment during the time he slept. Perhaps in time he would recover them, but he needed to find Cedric. He still had the suit of leather armor that he had started out with on his journey sometime well over a century ago, and so the villagers gave him a dagger and sent him on his way.

His mind was filled with instructions. He would travel to Nanthaleon, find the dryad Gwenhwyfar Onyxfyre, and help her train the ranger students she had taken on. He had also set a goal for himself as well, to locate Cedric and find what he had been doing for the past year. Something in the back of his mind from the Goddess told him that if he found the dryad, he would also find Cedric's location, and so he traveled. He wondered if he would ever regain what he had lost, but that is yet to be seen.

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