Character concept by Dave Short, all rights reserved.
Date of Birth: Unknown, though believed to be around 1240 or 1250 Avard.
Current Status: Summer, 1331 Avard. Draelien and his allies found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Cephus' powers were the only thing that saved Garet and their ally Garet Fellhaft, after they found themselves backed up against a cliff facing an armed forest. Where they are now is anyone's guess.
Draelien got his height from his father's side and stands a towering 6'4“. However, he lacks the bulk of most desert elves, giving him a lanky build. His hair is black and cut short - being shaved on the back and sides, and short on top (visualize Moe). He has no other facial hair. His eyes are as jet black as his hair, a gift from his mother.
He wears a rough, woolen, military-issue tunic that hits him mid-thigh. This is covered by a short-sleeved mail coat of the same length, belted at the waist. Additional protection is provided by plain leather greaves and armbands. His Cloak of the Wolves Den is fastened about his neck. Leather sandals lace up his calves. All of his clothing and weapons are spit-shined, and look out-of-the-box brand new.
His belongings are all rolled into a blanket roll he carries on his back.
On the eve of the 19th of Trivor, 1329 Avard, the city of Kashin had begun to fall. Great ogran armies were entrenched around along the river to the west of the city, and along the eastern edges only a large pond and heavy resistance kept Kashin from being overrun. The forge-priests of Mount Lavanor were evacuating as many of the women and children and wounded as they could, up into their mountain fastness along the north of the city. What remained was a holding action, keeping the ogran forces at bay long enough for the innocent to escape. Almost to a man, the remaining defenders knew they would die. Their only hope lay in the fact, that the dwarven forge-priests of Galgiran, forge-god of the dwarves, would be able to hold out against even the armies of the ograns – for several days, perhaps. That small spark of hope was all the men of Kashin had, on that eve.
In the ruins of the city, where ogran catapults rained down death and destruction, the main streets were clogged with wailing women and screaming children and litters for the wounded, as they tried desperately to move the crowd faster, to get up the trail to go into the mountain fastness. All around them, the night glowed with fires and torches, the scent of smoke and blood and carnage everywhere, the sound of Death hovering near. Along a small side street, a portion of orc infantry plowed through the defenses in a sudden attack, bolstered by an orc 'doom' on his bulette. The Doom and his bulette made a hole in the line, and through it, the orcs poured like water.
The Battle of Whorestreet had begun.
There were no defenses to shift. All looked lost, and the crowd began to panic as the fighting came closer and closer down Whorestreet. And suddenly the carriers were there. Those brave men who went into battle solely to carry out the wounded, so that they might be healed and returned to the battle, were known as the carriers. Carriers had reputations for walking through a storm of arrows to get to a wounded comrade, and somehow getting the wounded and themselves out. The carriers were also warriors, trained to strike hard and fast, to push the enemy back, so that the wounded might be saved. The battle began in earnest, halting the tide of the orcs down Whorestreet.
The carrier standard went down, and the crowds began to panic, pushing harder and harder to go up an already crowded street, wanting desperately to reach the tentative safety of Mount Lavanor.
And then the standard was back up, higher than it was before, carried by a tall half-desert elf. The standard pointed the way, and served to rally the remaining carriers against the orcish tide. The forge-priests, tracking down the panic in the crowd, arrived in time to aid the carriers in battling the orc tide back to the edge of town, their prayers answered time and again by Galgiran, the Soul Forger of the dwarves.
The carriers, mainly followers of Rahne, the War Goddess, had fought as wolves – the animal totem of the War Goddess. The carriers, and the half-elf whom had raised the standard and directed the warriors and priests with mere waves of direction, became one of a select few that night – veterans of the Battle of Whorestreet. For his part in the battle, the half-elf became known as the Wolf Jack among the carriers.
Those who held high a standard during battle were also known as Blooded Banners, or Blood Banners.
Draelien received an offer from a mage known as Horbe – an offer that paid well to put his militant skills to use in finding something for a rich benefactor. He had only to meet Horbe at the Red Flagon on the 1st day of Summer, at high noon, to hear more. Draelien wound up working with several others on an adventure across the seas, becoming the de facto leader of the group working for Horbe.
Draelien is a patient man willing to think things through when he can – and act very swiftly when there isn't time to think.
1st Level Half-Elf Warlord
HP 25; Bloodied 12
Healing Surge 6; Surges/Day 8
AC 16; Fortitude 11, Reflex 10, Will 11
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Languages: Common, Elven, Dwarven
Trained Skills: Athletics, Diplomacy, Intimidate, Heal, History
Feats: Blade Opportunist
Powers: At Will (Inspiring Word, Raging Strike, Furious Smash), Encounter Powers (Wolf Pack Tactics, Hammer and Anvil), Daily Powers (White Raven Onslaught)
Str 16(+3) Con 13(+1) Dex 10(+0) Int 12(+1) Wis 13(+1) Cha 16(+3)
Equipment: Chain Armor, Glaive, 2 Javelins, Cloak of the Wolves Den, adventurer's pack.