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REDORIAN

Level 1 Human Druid

Redorian is a puzzling character if there ever was one. He was born into a realtively wealthy family, old money that could be traced back to the time of the Great Resolution of 460 years past. His family's story is told from generation to genration of Rostov, the glorious leader of the charge up The Namless Ridge in the West of the Capital. His family enjoys great prestige becasue of this, despite their lack of weath compared to other families (The price of the Kilgaul mercenaries). Although not rich by common standards, Redorian's parents were far from poor, his father carries the name Rostov, which family tradition forbids from being carried by more than one son. His mother Anne came from a more weathy, but less prestigious background. Both have settled into the family's ancestral home. The impressive, and ancient building is made of wood and stone, and has housed the countless generations of Rostov's line. Despite the passing time, the house always remained on the outer rim of one of the seemingly infinite number of tiny villiages that dotted the Kalvaria countryside. It had even served as a field base during the Defence Against Kilgaul, the brutal war that has made barren and lifeless so many once life-giving fields in the Kingdom of Kalvaria, and made bitter so many.

Redorian draws more parallels with his home though than any of his family though. His father is a man of...short stature, and his mother was about the same, although it isn't quite as noticable. It is hard to belive that Redorian came from such a family, as not even the tallest of his 6 other siblings stands much over his shoulder, although none of them had the benefit of being the eldest either. Redorian is some 4 years older than any of his kin, and thus drew the undivided attention of his parents in many matters. Rostov was wealthy enough to be able to hire workers on his farm, and so he and his family live a life of ease.

With the lack of a formal school, Redorian had many advantages over his peers. Where his parents were wealthy enough to hire workers, they had the time to teach their children how to read, and write, unlike so many others. Being so much older, Redorian was able to have complete devotion especially from his father in his education. He enjoyed the type of childhood that so very few could. He had time to play, to roam aimlessly though the woods that bordered his family's farm, to indulge in all those tiny wonders and pleasures. As he grew older, he had a certain spot set out for himself where he'd hide away from the world outside. He had discovered the place when he was a child. Nestled on a grassy outcrop of rock, halfway up the face of a steep riverbank, was a tiny oasis. Bordered on three sides by young trees and brush, and open to the air on the other, the craggy rock and earth above and below it, this place became Redorian's second home. Although he spent hours there at a time, in the back of his mind he had the feeling that he was never alone there, despite the fact that there was nothing but air and rock about him.

But time passed, and soon the schoolboy became a man, an icon of pride for his father. His child had developed into a strong, kind hearted person, having faced the challenges before him and having failed numerous times, only to try over and over with more vigour than before, even if he never did manage to succeed. He still frequented his little place of isolation, just to sit back and bask in the sun's warmth if thought was too demanding.

One day though, one glorious day, with the gleaming sphere high in its daily arc, and not a cloud to be seen, he plodded through the woods, part of the great forest that encircles the Capital, with a battered old backpack over one shoulder. The sun's light was broken into a thousand rays that descended through the trees, sheilding the weary from the blazing heat, yet proiding nothing but wonderment for the eye to behold. Slowly Redorian made his way down a now beaten path, over fallen trees and around vince-covered boulders, towards the riverbank. The trees ceased to exist beyond that point, as if part of the world had been cut away, leaving behind only the faint glimmer of light from the water far below. Skidding down teh back as he always did, Redorian eventually maneuvered to his little place. He lay there for a moment, resting and brushing the dust from his clothes. But something was off...out of place. From inside the brush that formed the back end of the terrace, came a whimpering, of something too tiny to make a yelp. He listened to it for a moment, and then slowly pinpointed the source. With a thrust of his hands, he latched onto the tiny creature. He retreated his hands from the bushes, and in his hands was a tiny pup, with a white, fuzzy mantle and miniscule tounge drooping from its mouth.

Redorian looked at the little thing, and began talking to it.
"What are you doing all the way down here?"
He looked at the muddy splotches on its legs and figured it must have slid from the top. Redorian took dropped his pack, and pulled out a tattered blanket, and began rubbing the mud from the pup, which was too tired to resist. When he was done he lay the blanket in the shaded safety of teh rocks and pulled his snack from his bag. He took a bite, then glanced over at the pup, which remained on the blanket, lacking the energy to take up even a remotely tensed posture. Redorian pulled a slice of ham from between the bread and tossed it over onto the blanket. The pup stirred, dragged its front end over a few inches and slowly ate. Then almost immediately went to sleep. After some time, when the evening came, Redorian looked up from his book, and saw that the pup had finally moved. It was on the back of the terrace, trying in vain to scramble up the slope. Redorian simply slid his things into his pack, and made his way to the back, but forgetting the old blanket. He grabbed the pup a single hand and tucked it up agaisnt his chest so the thiny thing wouldn't slide out. Once he had ascended the bank, he put his arm down and let the pup go. It scrambled away, and disappeared into the brush, where Redorian hoped it would find its mother.

The next day was still bright, calm, windless...and taking the same path Redorian skidded down the back onto the terrace. He sat for a minute, and slid his same book out from his backpack, jsut as he always did. But again something wasn't right, he glanced back into the brush and searched it. Nothing was there. But when he turned round, he noticed the same white fuzzball curled up on the tattered blanket, sleeping undisturbed. Day after dayfor a week, Redorian found the wolf pup sleeping there. Each night he carefully took it up the bank and let it go. But soon, it became evident that the pup was following him home every night, and exploring the farm's outbuildings. And it only became evident when Redorian discovered it nestled away inside a loose pile of hay on the barn floor, and as usual oblivious to his presence.

Over time, the pup grew larger, and stayed increasingly closer to Redorian's side, becoming a companion moreso than a pet. By now Redorian had given her a name, Lyla. But the wolf was not suited for domestic life, and was not so tame as to allow anyone else's hand to come within proximity, at least not without bearing teeth. The morning of his 18th birthday, a man in a shrouded cloak meandered up the path to his home. The weathered face of his father, with its etched wrinkles and everlasting smile greeted him. The stranger also had a weather beaten face, showing signs of age, but the tussle of blak hair upon his head, not with the least mark of grey dominated his head. The stranger began small talk, introducing himself as Leah Shoum. He was a familair figure, who was not an uncommon sight in the village square. But then the talk turned towards other thing, and Leah gave the reason for his visit.

"It has been a pleasure talking with you old friend, but I have come to see Redorian. I have much to discuss with him, and you as well."

He was heartily welcomed, and removed his cloak, revealing nothing but a plain cotton short, and a pair of drab pants. He sat at the table, relaxed, chatting until Redorian calmly plodded through teh doorway. He looked inquisitively at the stranger, whose face brightened upon seeing him.

"Ah, Redorian! I've been wanting to talk to you for quite some time."

The stranger leaned over and began talking to Redorian, as he pulled up a chair and sat, placing his elbows on the table, while Lyla came in behind him, and curnled up in the corner of the room, being eerily calm about a stranger.

"For years now I've watched you grow. From adventuring boy to man. I've watched you read and explore amongst teh great forests beyond. You do seem at home there...truely at home there, and unlike many of the others..." he glaced about to make sure nobody else was listening, "You care deeply about life, that's evident in your friend there..." He said, looking back at Lyla in the corner. "I am here to offer you a rare opportunity. I am willing to teach you more than you could hope to acheive by reading those books you do. You needn't go far from here, but you will be absent from your work here. Your father tells me that he has a hard time keeping you busy as it is, and I know that you're own inherent curiosity is driving you mad. That's why you spend all those hours in that place by the river, trying to get something out of these books. Come with me for one day. I will show you what you can learn. I will also introduce you to others...friends. I would ask you to think about this, but I know you won't."

Leah looked up, greeted by an almost stunned experssion on the part of Redorian. "You're one of...them...", he said, recalling the old tales of the savages living in the forests. "How is it possible?" He asked, although he knew the answer. In Kalvaria, Druids were shunned as savages and barbarians. They lived in solitude in the great forests, and rarely wished to face the unwelcoming eyes of the citizens. Redoiran knew his father wished for him a great military career, to do justice to Rostov's legacy. But Redorian knew he would never be able to follow the strict disciplines, to master the art of war, of destruction.

"I will go with you...but you must keep this secretive. I would be a disgrace to my family if they learned of this...and of you..."
Redorian looked over his shoulder, and moves his lips to speak again, but he was interrupted by Leah.

"Your father knows me well Redorian. He knows I roam about and spend a great deal of time wandering. He does not know of the true extent. But he does know me to be a capable warrior. That is what he belives I will teach you. And that I will...among other things..."

Redorian didn't return home for a week afterwards, and so started his instruction. Months he spent learning the intricacies of nature, the delicate balances, and the not so delicate ones. Slowly he was brought into the secretive world of the Druid, although he never strayed far from home. He learned their coverted language, and gained knowledge, as Leah had said, that would never have appeared in his books. Although he could never publicly reveal his activities...it would cause his family too much pain.

Redorian then began adventuring, seeking out the knowledge that it seems all those like him have sought for ages. He tried to return home when he can, but wears proudly the heavy leather his mother gave him. "To keep you warm" she had said, while his father had presented him with a wooden sheild, his family's crest carved out of the iron-like surface. Leah, his longtime mentor, gave him the clurved blade, the only sword he would ever be permitted to use.

Redorian had a happy beginning, unlike so many unfortunate others. This brings us to the present, the year 500 A.L. To aid him in what he may encounter while wandering the realm, he has spent considerable time and effort into learning the Dwarven tounge, and curiously the Draconic language, which is rarely heard of in these parts. With the spreading rumors of attacks on the great Dwarven Fortress deep underground, he is pushing his limits so he can attempt to aid, despite the Dwarves' almost contempt for Humans. Redorian is a calm person at heart, always kind and grinning. He enjoys the talk about the fire during lazy evenings, and undoubtedly loves any good times to be had. He is fond of jokes, stories and all sorts of light-hearted things. It seems that very little upsets him, and he can take almost anything with a laugh, but not everything. He avoid the dark and sinister topics that float about when times are bad, about war, violence, evil...

But never the less, this generous fellow befriends many, and very few would actually know of his profession. He is the opposite of any Druidic stereotype there is, and must to avoid being an outcast. He is friendly, outgoing and definately not one who would live in solitude. This is the kind of person who loves life, and will try to protect it where he can. But this is also a person who is dumbfounded by the evil of the world, for he doesn't know why living beings would harm each other in so cruel a way. Nobody really know what drives him onward to continue his wandering either. Some suspect he simply wishes to explore, but those who intimately know him propose other things. He never strayed far from home to fulfill his thrist for knowledge, since it was never required. He is not greedy by nature, nor does he really care what others think of him, although he always recieves any compliment well. So that leaves one question, what then drives this man onward? It is strange indeed. But it is a fact that he is intrigued by the powers that have been revealed to him. He wishes to see how far he can go, what his limits are. But he also cannot deny to help those who need his aid, if they should ask. Nor can he deny the opportunity to have a memorable experience, in good company, and also seeks to one day enter the realm of Kurvhosau...but he is weary of the Dwarves. But at any rate, this lofty goal has instilled yet more pride in his father, who still belives he is to be a warrior.