Arakel Silthorn
| Race: Elf Sex: Male Class: Ranger Status: Joined the Retreat
Strength: 18/61 Weapons: Long Sword and Parrying Dagger Armour: Bracers of Defence (AC2)
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Arakel was born in 1245 DR (The Year of Pain) to Aeljoy (mother) and Tinuvar (father) in the forests to the north of Mistledale.
His father was a great alchemist and mage who specialised in making potions. When he was very young Arakel (with the exuberance of youth) sneaked into his fathers laboratory. Being curious as to what the solutions lining the walls would do he began to sample them. After sipping two or three foul tasting concoctions (potions in construction, or components thereof) he downed two which tasted a little more palatable (to get rid of the taste of the previous). There was an agonised scream which brought people running from all parts of the village (such was the anguish). When Arakel awoke (some three days later) it was discovered that something amazing had happened. The two potions he had imbibed fully were of strength and dexterity, a potion his father had been trying to perfect (without ultimate success). Mixed with the sips he had taken previously a reaction had taken place which had conferred a permanent and enhanced effect on his body raising his strength and his manual dexterity to fantastic levels.
Arakel was initially trained in the ways of the forest by his mother. As he gew older and needed to complete his training he was apprenticed to a local Ranger, Alphinor, to be shown the arts of defence and the path of good. He was a difficult student having more faith in his physical abilities than his intellect.
Due to his abilities with sword and bow Arakel proved an able and willing pupil. His temperament was not all that it could be however and he had difficulty deferring to authority. As a result he was kept away from humans by his mentor for fear that his quick temper would lead to trouble.
He saw Randal Morn in the 1353 DR assault on Daggerdale. He and Alphinor watched with sadness the destruction wrought on the Dale by the battle which saw the death of Malyk of Daggerdale.
He also saw the series of battles which saw the defeat of the forces from Scardale and ended their attempts to annex the rest of the Dalelands (1356 DR). He and Alphinor slew many evil doers as they tried to escape through the Elven Court Woods.
In 1358 DR (the Year of Shadows) Alphinor came to the aid of Shadowdale in their defence against the hordes from Zhentil Keep under the command of Bane, God of Strife. Arakel witnessed at first hand the destruction of the Avatar form of Bane by Elminster (aided by Midnight and Adon of Sune) and, seeing a god die, has questioned mindless faith in human gods. He has little time for the petty rivalries and vanities of the clergy but will respect the faith of those he considers allies and whose opinion he values.
He has recently been granted leave to from his training at his request. His intention was to try his hand at adventuring so he has been directed to an adventuring band in Shadowdale called the Company of the Righteous Fist. This group are currently investigating the disappearance of Randal Morn at the request of Lhaeo, Scribe to Elminster. Upon hearing of their recent grievous losses Lhaeo requested from Storm Silverhand the help of someone who knows the area and could provide a 'strong right arm', she contacted Alphinor via the Harper network and he put the matter to Arakel (glad to see him out enjoying himself for a change truth be told). With the chance of adventure and further fame, and upon hearing that there was an elven mage with the party, he accepted.
He is currently lodged at the Old Skull Inn (which is some 32 years younger than our hero) watching the activities (with some amusement) of an extremely youthful, attractive (for a half-elven female) Tymoran Cleric. He is awaiting the leader of the Righteous Fist, Cethorlyn, the aforementioned mage, with a letter of introduction.
After some initial difficulties with the party coming to terms with Elvish culture and attitudes Arakel decided to remain with the Fist for the time being. His Ranger skills and fighting prowess won him much admiration, despite the prejudiced attitude of the humans, and no few friends. He recalls with some amusement the ambush by four assassins sent by the slavers who mistook Arakel for the Mage, Cethorlyn. The looks on their faces as he slew three of them in as many minutes, Raksha finishing off the fourth. Never had he had so much excitement, the joy of living at the edge of the abyss and slaying evil-doers. What more could anyone ask?
The humans, Rufus and Nyota in particular, have a particularly noisome attitude. They are willing to accept the opinion of Arakel and Cethorlyn when it suits them but not when the elves counsel caution. The arrogance of such a youthful species, willing to throw away their own lives and those of others on a whim.
Captured by the Zhents on Dagger Falls was something which did not sit well with Arakels pride. He delighted in avenging himself once free. The destruction of the Zhentish Mage was unexpected but welcome and the refusal of the humans to search the body gained Arakel some powerful magical armour and weapons. The Bard bleated for some considerable time (and still does) about the inequality of it. Still, Arakel did not notice her doing much hand-to-hand fighting and felt he deserved the reward. His companions were considerably more experienced so his risk was the greater. There was talk of doing him harm at some point, let them try now!
We now travel to Surd on a mission granted by Mystras Chosen himself, the Archmage Elminster. An honour indeed to be so entrusted. A stopover in Haggesh has led us to some interesting developments. More later.
Arakel was slain in the basement of Tulbegh Castle by the ineptitude of humans and a cowardly trap.
The N' Tel Quess, on storming the castle occupied themselves by stripping bodies and robbing a few coppers of treasure from the dead guards. This made them easy targets for the evil mages returning to see if the area was safe. A few quick busts of magic later and they were all laid low except for the cleric, Breynard, and myself. We boind their wounds as best we could and I slew one of the mages with rocks (enchanted by the human cleric). The other fled.
We determined to free Rufus, the stupid oaf, incarcerated in the dungeons of this fortress. In our search I found that humans have little stomach for a fight for Breynard was slain by an enchanted statue of a leopard. A grisly sight indeed.
I myself fell a few minutes later when, in a moments inattention, I was caught in a trap left to guard the treasure room.
So it is I leave these short-lived races to their squabbling for gold and fame while my spirit rejoins that of my kinfolk at Evermeet.
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