The Human Elf
A quarter-elf from the Tyeyn, Aeryn prides himself on being a excellent shot. His bow, the traditional weapon of his former tribe, was passed down from slaughtered father to son.
Aeryn places everyone into five classes: Enemy (such as one kills on the battlefield), Stranger (such as one discusses the weather with), Friend (such as one is friendly with), and Family (such as one is much more at home with). While Aeryn is reserved with strangers, he is cheerful & witty with friends. He is skeptical of crappy ideas & untrustworthy creatures, and prides himself on being a crack shot (both with a bow and with words, when needed). While he doesn’t mind breaking rules, Aeryn prefers to merely… bend them. Hard-hearted towards enemies, kind towards friends.
Aeryn views life as a chance to learn, get rich, have adventures and advance skills. Indeed, he is very much like an elf in this respect. Infact, many call him Aeryn ’Cuhb’bhurd’ as he closely resembles the famed elf*.
Cuhb’bhurd doesn’t come into this story, but apparently he was a mighty warrior (well, an archer) who travelled far across the land with a group of eight others, sending the souls of hordes of evil creatures to their graves.
After getting severely mauled in the Bartozch complex, Aeryn decided to retire and lived [is to live] his last days peacefully as a Philosopher. He was [is to be] replaced by Fladnag Wormcrots, who really has no connection with Aeryn whatsoever.*
Aeryn looked out across the site of the village, all his people slayed or burnt alive, all around him the victorious cries of the looting barbarians, the moans of dead and dieing and the stench of blood, burnt flesh and wood.
At that moment young Aeryn saw a dwarf barbarian running towards him, waving his great axe, his red hair and beard trailing behind him. Without thinking, Aeryn drew his bow and aimed an arrow at the dwarve’s head. As he waited for the dwarf to come just a little closer, he felt a strange emotion – fear – and almost succombed to his animal instincts to run to the cover of the woods. But Aeryn then he remembered his father’s last words. While they were not in the least helpful in this situation, or indeed any situation, Aeryn found himself laughing, and the dwarf on the ground, blood spilling out of the centre of his forehead.
A few dwarves looked up and a roar eminated from their angry mouths as they pursued Aeryn, but to no avail. Dodging through the dense wood, Aeryn quickly shook the dwarves off his tail, and circled round to snipe at the dwarves as they walked back to the village. Taken off guard, the dwarves nevertheless attempted to charge him – leading to just better target practise for the young sharpshooter.
After slitting the dead dwarves’ pockets, he decided he had enough gold to fund a journey to Port Cormaa, the only other place he knew of. In need of a horse, Aeryn decided to steal a few from the dwarven barbarians – just how he didn’t quite know.
After planning long and hard, Aeryn waited until the dead of night for the raid. Only two sentries were on patrol while he stealthily circled around them, and came up from the rear. Aeryn’s sharp hunter’s blade took care of their throats, and soon he was picking the crude lock on the main hall’s door, one of the only structures left standing. Aeryn crawled inside and stealthily slit all the dwarves’ throats, which he found suprisingly enjoyable. Then for the last part – finding a horse.
They say knowledge is power – and it certainly comes in handy for Aeryn. Walking over to the unstable stable, Aeryn led all the horses outside, and mounted a large, brown horse who he recognised as his father’s, Beaym.
With the speed of a jockey, Aeryn spurred Beaym on into gallop, and notices to his suprise that the other horses – around a dozen, of which half were his old tribe’s and half the dwarves’ – were following. Riding westwards, Aeryn rode for four days, upon which he spotted the vast expanse of Port Cormaa. Nearing the city, Aeryn jumped off his horse and approached by foot, weapons at the ready, into the vile town. Rotten, smelly locals looked out at the herd of horses and made the mistake of trying to nick them. While Aeryn welcomed the chance for more refinement of his archery, he realised that the local militia could give him trouble when they were informed.
Stripping the fresh bodies of possessions, he gathered just enough money to fund a journey to Crag. After a long time living in the shadows, ruthlessly slitting dwarven throats (Aeryn is still trying to gather enough money to talk to a psychiatrist), Aeryn soon discovered a network of organised criminals in Crag, for whom he then spent a few fruitful years working for.
He was now ready – for what, he didn’t quite know, but he knew it would be fun. Then, a full five years after coming to Crag, in a dark alley, Aeryn was approached by an group of shady looking dwarves and a large human. The human , as big as they come, stepped forward and not so much offered as demanded that Aeryn join them. While he found the fellow human’s attitude very irritating, the immensely dissatisfied Aeryn decided to join the group. The rest is, how Aeryn’s father once said, is another story entirely.