Drake Istalii

[Drake]

I apologize if this is too horrendously long. I couldn't bring myself to be any less thorough without being told to do so.

Player Name: Jeremy
Name: Drake Istalii
Age: 30 (as of 122 PW)
Race: Half-Elf/Human
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 138 lbs.


Physical Description:
When most people come across Drake Istalii they do not immediately recognize him for what he is. Handsomely sharp bone structure, the piercing green almond shaped eyes, and the slight frame all belie the fact that he is, in truth, a half breed. The only thing that ever gives him away is the fact that his nose is just a hair’s breadth to wide for most to accept as Elven. Whether thanks should go to fate or fortune he has never sure, but he is ever thankful for having gained the larger part of his appearance from his mother’s blood and not that of his rapist pig father.

When the question of Drake’s appearance is brought around there are only three other, unnatural, alterations that people point out. First on that short, yet definite, list is the shade of his hair. His once blond chest length hair had, at some mysterious point in his life, been turned as white as the purest snow by a rather unpleasant meeting with some indescribable entity within the Astral Plane. Next is almost always, the fact that he wears a thick metal hoop through each ear lobe in a style that was once popular amongst many civilizations Pal Tahrenor. The last to be noted, as so few people know of it, would be the scars that he carries from being pushed into a fire when he was a child. The scarring covers the back side of his left hand arm and shoulder, runs up the left half of the back of his neck, and ends just before the hairline behind his left ear.


Possessions:
Drake wears what was originally a tight, tanned leather jacket with a deep cowl attached (he altered it so that it only covers the upper section of his chest and no longer has a right sleeve) over a form fitting black shirt. His left hand is near always encased in a thin black leather glove. He also wears a pair of loose fitting (for easier concealment of their hidden compartments) black trousers, belted at the waist and ankles, and a pair of dark brown archer’s boots.

Drake carries a double-edged rapier, given to him by the only Elf that attended his mother’s funeral, in a modestly decorated scabbard on his left hip and two throwing knives, tipped with silver, concealed in sheaths he made into the back shoulder pieces of his jacket. He wears his mother’s silver necklace around his neck with a ring bearing her family’s crest dangling from it and the aforementioned thick metal hoops.

Master Istalli’s only other possessions include 310 Bishani he earned working odd jobs here and there and a very small (about the diameter of the spine of a crow’s feather) diamond.


Powers or Strengths:
As a result of fleeing bullies in his younger years, Drake has become very good at getting out of tough situations and avoiding detection. He can wriggle free of all but the tightest grip, is more fleet footed and agile than your average Elf, and there isn’t a wall in all of Pal Tehrenor he couldn’t crest, given time.

Through the years he has also discovered some magical methods for aiding his get aways. He is able to exert some control over the light and shadows within his immediate area, in that he can deepen the shadows and weaken lights piercing effects on them. Anyone that comes upon one of his hiding places with a torch or in daylight would easily spot him, but to the naked eye with naught but moonlight to guide it along, he does not exist. He has also become relatively well skilled at reducing the effects of gravity on himself.

With a sword Drake is by no means a master, but many people have suffered serious wounds at his hands due to the blinding speed at which he can flourish his rapier about. For his ability with his throwing knives all that can be said is that very few living things that he has set his sights on have lived to tell the tale.


Weaknesses:
Being of slight build and relying on his wit to get him through for his entire life has limited Drake’s unarmed close-quarters combat skills.

With the most severe of the burns he received as a child being focused on his upper arm, that area of his body is very sensitive to pressure.

As his magic is unguided and undisciplined it is prone to the occasional failure, especially in the presence of a stalwartly non-magic dwarf.
With his abilities as a swordsman lying mainly in a speedy offense, he has to work extra hard when someone manages to put him on the defensive.


History:
Late in the year 152 PW a city guard known simply as Brunor to most of the citizens of Marn, or the ones that mattered anyway, stumbled drunkenly through the doors of the Ale Star Brothel. He had walked in with every intention of having his fun with one of the ladies and then paying them half of what they charged for their services, as that was all he had left from his night of gallivanting. He had not, however, expected to have the woman he set his aim on to be one of the one’s smart enough to ask for the money up front; so he meandered back out onto Main Street with a handprint glowing brightly on his stubble covered cheek.

With no more than two steps into the street, the world began to spin far too fast for Brunor’s already unhappy stomach. Without a single thought of pride or honor, he bent over double and proceeded to wretch right were he stood. He knew there were eyes watching him from inside the Drunken Rat, but he didn’t care. He was a city guard by God! If anyone had the right to vomit in the city’s streets it was him.His stomach completely emptied, he remained where he was, clutching his knees, waiting for the world to return to it’s normal rotation.

It seemed an eternity before a sound on the other side of the street tugged his mind back into the land of the living. He slowly lifted his now aching head in order to locate the source of the noise. It was the pretty Elf girl that worked in the tavern emptying pales of something in the alley. The lust that the prostitute’s hand had abated began to well back up in his loins. The spinning stopped, the pain subsided. With a wolfish smile he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and started for the shadowed entrance to the alley across the street.

The next morning Norlana Istalii made a formal complaint against and demanded the punishment of Marnian Guard, Brunor Delind. No one, especially the Minister or the Judges, wanted a contradiction of the populous’ faith in their government. Her claims were quickly contradicted and her demands denied.

Day and night for the next two weeks Norlana was hounded for making such ludicrous accusations. On the last day of those weeks she was stabbed in the hand by Brunor’s nephew. “Don’t lie, you wanted it more than he did!” the boy had shouted as she fled from the room crying and cradling her hand.

She left the city of Thar Shaddin not much later. She wandered from place to place looking for work, and was forced to finally settle in a small village along the Northern Trade Route near Tian Xia. She was carrying a child within her womb and the added stress of the almost endless travel had nearly resulted in her death.

She later gave birth to a son whom she named Drake Istalii.


Drake grew up being far different from the other children of the village. He didn’t like the rough and tumble horseplay of the other boys, and girls were a strange, intimidating breed of creature he had no desire to confront. He much preferred to sit in the boughs of the towering oak beside the small cottage he and his mother occupied and read. His face was constantly hidden behind whatever weighty tome or play manuscript he had managed to obtain. This fact, coupled with his mixed heritage, made him prime prey for the stronger boys in the village.

He was constantly tormented by one band in particular. Carlin Gregors, Mathaus Bind, William Morits, and a full blooded Elf named Hasin Sateela whose family was from southern Tian Xia. The foursome thoroughly enjoyed tormenting the small wiry-framed boy. He had been force-fed fist-fulls of grass and had his undergarments tightly wedged into his backside far too many times for his liking at their hands, but the worst of their punishments was still to come.

It was 141 PW, and Drake was attending his eleventh harvest festival in the little village. There were booths with games for the children set up all over the place, there was an area cleared for the adults and older kids to dance while music was played, and a huge bonfire had been lit in the center of the now empty fields. Drake was sitting peacefully on a log reading a book on King Farahu. His mother had given it to him for his birthday, and he had only just now gotten around to reading it.

“Wa’cha readin’ Drakie Poo?” an all too familiar voice had said right next to his ear. A hand shot forward over his shoulder and snatched the book from his grasp. “Blah, it’s some history book,” Mathaus shouted looking back at his three friends.

“Give it back,” Drake demanded vehemently.

“You want it? Go get it,” Mathaus flung the book into the center of the fire. Drake walked defeated over by the fire to watch the gift his mother had had to work for five months to get him go up in flames. A tear started to work it’s way into his eye, but it’s trajectory was interrupted by a foot being firmly planted against Drakes rear. “Don’t fall in.”

The warning, though made as a joke, didn’t prevent it from happening. Drake fell into a pile of still glowing coals, using his arm to shield his face. The only person that came to his aid was his mother. Everyone else acted as if they hadn’t seen anything. After his mother screamed herself hoarse at the foursome’s parents and tearfully threatening the boys themselves, he and his mother were asked to leave the village.

Drake’s nineteenth birthday found them working in fields owned by a rather ill thought of Judge. In just the year they had been working there alone the man had had three attempts made on his life and innumerable threats. Drake and Norlana didn’t mind him or the threats though. They were making good money for field hands. The only misgiving either of them had been from Drake.

It appeared to him that the adult men in larger towns were just as ignorant and mean spirited as the children of the village they had left. He had taken to wearing long sleeves and gloves because of them teasing him about his scars. Some of them even resorted to physical humiliation, if they could catch him that is. By now he had started to discover his own physical abilities and the magical talents that his Elven heritage lent him. He was even starting to have a little fun of his own at his antagonist’s expense.

At the moment in which this biography re-enters his life, Drake was, in fact, plowing a field and plotting his next attack. He was seriously considering scaling the wall of one of their houses, cutting a hole in the thatched roof, and pouring something vile in on the inhabitants. He began calculating exactly what time would offer the best cover when he heard a shrill scream cut the air.

He stood up on top of the plow and looked to the east field where the scream came from. All he could see was the retreating forms of Shifters. He ran full speed to where he had first spotted them. There on the ground were six blood-covered field hands, dead, and at the center of the group lay Norlana Istalii. His mother had been killed by a group of Shifters that were angry with her employer.

Her funeral was modest and cheap. If Drake could have afforded it she would have received a burial fit for a queen, but stretched thin as he was. A well thought out goodbye had to suffice. After the last load of earth was dropped down into the grave Drake was greeted by a handsome Elf with waist length brown hair and regal looking clothes. The man didn’t say a word, he simply placed a well-made sword in Drake’s hand and left.

Drake spent the remaining years of his life wondering the globe. He refuses to tell very much of his goings on from that time to anyone, some of the things that happened during that time he refuses to admit to himself. His mind was wracked with pain, sorrow, rage, and loneliness during those years. God only knows what heinous acts he committed during them. Whatever did happen, he now finds himself where it all began, Thar Shaddin.