Name: High King Galather Whiteguard

Appearance: Galather is tall for his race, with a very slender build. His arms and legs, though thin and fragile in girth, are extensively toned and possess no blemishes. His skin is the color of a pale morning sky, and his long golden hair shines as bright as burnished steel. He has a long, sharp nose, and an angular jaw; his grey eyes are slanted and narrow. No wrinkles or other sign of aging marr his appearance, much like most of his kin. Two pointed ears, approximately six inches in length, stick up vertically either side of his head.

He wears a light suit of mithril chainmail, which gleams fantastically no matter how obscured the sun may be, and gives him an ominous blue glow at night. A blue silken cloak with silver trim envelopes his form, obscuring his armaments and hands from view. A plain circlet, forged from dragon bone, rests carefully on his scalp.

Age: 4000 years, estimated.

Gender: Male

Race: High Elf, Silverspirian Breed.



Side: Light

Weapons(s):

Abilities/Powers:

High Elven - Possesses enhanced senses, such as better sight, hearing, taste and smell than an average human.

White Magic - Can call upon his life force and manifest it into arcane magic, allowing him to shoot magical bolts at his enemy, create force fields around himself and his peers and to summon beings of arcane origin to assist him. However, the greater the spell, the greater the toll taken on his life force; therefore, if he were to cast a powerful offensive or defensive spell, it would severely weaken his physical strength.

The time taken to recover from White Magic depends entirely on the strength of the spells used, and how often he used them. It is perfectly possible for him to accidentally kill himself if he gets carried away, although obviously he is more than aware of the risks, and often "calls it a day" once he senses his strength fading.

If he was to go "all out", it would take him days to recover, during which time he would be extremely vulnerable.

To give an idea of his magical strength, he could smash a formation of a hundred men and still have enough left in him to fight off moderate combatants. He could smash a formation of two hundred men, and collapse shortly after. So he's big and tough, but not unstoppable.

A Long Life - The High King is ancient, and with such a long and colorful life, comes experience in all things. Like many of his kind, he is an expert combatant with heightened reflexes. This wealth of experience allows him to outperform mortals in most things, but he is still restrained by the limitations of his body. In short, if a 1000 year old Galather went to battle with a 2000 year old Galather, the older one would likely win through experience and practice alone.

Talent(s): Legendary Fighter - Even among Elfkind, Galather is a fighter without equal. It would take gifted and equally skilled combatants to take him head on in a duel.

Personality: Galather is a kind Elf, full of compassion but he is marred by sorrow. The memories of his people's fall, the length of his life, the struggle he has constantly been going through to safeguard Silverspire's rise have all taken their toll. He could be described as "tired" at best, and "depressed" at worst.

Biography: When Elvendom was torn apart by the legions of Darkness, over a milienia ago, Galather was the first Elf Lord to disobey the High King and lead his people in retreat. Though this was a matter of treason and the utmost dishonesty on his part, his actions caused a rift between the Crown and its servants which possibly saved the entire High Elven race.

Other Elf Lords soon followed Galather's example, and Elvendom was abandoned to its fate. By this time, the armies of the Elderborn were all but shattered, and continued resistance was a futile effort. Galather realized more than anyone that the High Elves needed to retreat and recompose themselves into a renewed fighting force; however, this part of his plan was thwarted by infighting between himself and the other Elf Lords.

Instead, the High Elves became fractured, and split into minor factions. They fled to all corners of the globe, where they settled down into their various enclaves.

Galather led his peoples to Silverspire, and quickly established a foothold in the forested area. There, he and his kin stayed low, keeping themselves hidden from the roaming armies of darkness, and left the mortals to handle a war that the High Elves had already lost.

For a thousand years, Galather carefully nurtured the resurgence of his people. Mortals were often turned away from Silverspire, and sometimes, they were outright killed if it was believed they posed a risk. However, despite a few minor skirmishes with the neighbouring human kingdom throughout the centuries, Elf and Man have existed in relative peace.

The humans respected the Elves' wish to be left alone, and the Elves respected the humans' rights to the world at large.

However, Silverspire has now become an emerging power. A population of a few hundred has transformed into a population of tens of thousands; the High Elves are set for a cautious return to the world.

A few years ago, the High King sent delegations to Oakoarth to open diplomatic ties with the human kingdom. Trade has flourished between the city and Silverspire ever since, however Galather has so far declined any further interactions. He is cautious, and does not want to get too deeply involved with the mortals, for he sees them as unpredictable at best, and dangerous at worst. Still, Silverspire cannot continue to progress without outside interactions, and so for now he tolerates the existing trade agreements.

This however, is all about to change...

Extras:

Appearance: Oglaff is seven feet tall, and a walking mountain of muscle. Scars and enlarged veins sprawl across his entire body to form the kind of grizzly masterpiece one can only craft with a long life spent in hardship and war. His skin is tanned, but weather beaten and almost scaly in appearance - telling onlookers that this man is no stranger to bearing the elements.

Rustled grey hair runs in thick strands from his scalp, and stretches across his shoulders. A beard, patchy in places where scar tissue has formed, blotches out the southern half of his face, and is longest around his chin. Cracked lips, and crooked white teeth (not all of which are there!) protrude from this hairy, scarred mass. Two menacing eyes of pale blue display constant scorn.

Age: 62

Gender: Male

Race: Human, Barbarian.

Race Description: Oglaff's people are a hardy race of barbarians, from across the great seas. They are physically imposing specimens, but hold no genetic advantage over other menfolk beyond a hardiness against the elements.

He wears little clothing, besides a leather groin covering (to hide his modesty from the womenfolk), and some robust marching boots. A thick but worn woolen green cloak is chained around his neck, and covers his back entirely.

Side: Neutral, Glory Seeker.

Weapons(s): Oglaff carries a giant bastard sword, named Widow Maker, and has a couple of throwing axes hooked around his belt. None of his weapons boast any particular unique qualities, but should an onlooker treat the man to a bucket of ale, then he'd be glad to give them an in depth account of Widow Maker's proud history.

Abilities/Powers: Berserker Strength - Oglaff comes from a warrior race of terrifying barbarians from across the great sea. Even in his advanced age, he is still capable of giving himself to bloodlust, which enhances his strength to fearsome proportions. He could literally rip a man in half with his bare hands, if he becomes "passionate" about any threatening situation.

Talent(s): Hardy - Rain, wind and snow mean little to this man. He has traveled the world in nothing but a loin cloth and a cloak for most of his life, and he isn't about to stop now. Only extreme temperatures (fire, for example) will effect him.

Personality: Oglaff is a macho, loud mouthed boaster - but he can at least back up his boasts with actions. He is fiercely competitive, and gleefully accepts any test that can be considered "manly". Whether this involves throwing big rocks further than the man next to him, or downing a whole barrel of ale in one hit, nothing is beyond Oglaff's lust for accomplishment.

Biography: Oglaff the Has Been, Oglaff the Grey Warrior.

That's what they started to call him, and such insults struck the aging barbarian's pride deep. Indeed, life for Oglaff was fast becoming unbearable. His friends had died years ago, in righteous combat. His children were dead too, having gave themselves willfully unto the blades of their enemies. But Oglaff? He was still there, still alive. Sixtytwo years of age! For a barbarian male, this was unheard of, it was shameful. The newer blood of his clan looked at him with disgust, rather than in awe.

It wasn't his fault though, that he was still alive. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried to die valiantly. He was just unlucky; it was always a comrade getting that lucky stray arrow in the face, and it was always his enemy that fell before him, no matter what their advantage was. He'd seen a hundred battles, killed more men then he could remember, and ploughed more wenches than he... well no, he remembered most of those quite fondly.

He had done it all, not once, but several times. He had become a legend amongst his people; Oglaff the Mighty, they had called him once upon a time.

But now he was old. His knees were starting to ache, his breath was starting to get heavy after a few hours march, and don't mention how hard pissing had become! Like pushing a stone through the head of a needle!

To be taken by the Great Reaper in sleep is perhaps the biggest shame of all in the culture of Oglaff's people, and this is a sin he was not ready to commit. He hopped the first ship off the continent, to get away from those who mocked him, and to find his demise in some foreign land where no beast nor man would know of his shame.

So as the ship, a merchant vessel from across the great sea, pulled into Frennstone, Oglaff dutifully glugged a skin of spirit and set off into the streets - a wolf among sheep - to find his end.

Extras: Not sure where he will start yet, as Frennstone is miles away from anything of interest. His story may well start as much as a month after his arrival in the Kingdom, and place outside some haunted ruin or something. Anyone seeking a D&D style mini-side story is welcome to tag along.