Long Odds Limited
Warlord of great plans, but horrible speeches.
Deity: Corellon/Ancestor worship
- Speed: 6
- Initiative: +10
- Perception: +9
- Insight: +4
- STR: 18
- CON: 11
- DEX: 17
- INT: 18
- WIS: 10
- CHA: 8
Weapons: Lightning Greatspear +1 w/ Eberron Shard of Lightning
Armor: Battle Harness Hide Armor +1, Cloak of Distortion +1
Meaning: Oath Eternal, the Nobel Line of the Bow
Beseath was born in winter, beside the warm fire of his family’s home. His entrance into the clan was a welcome and blessed event –the third son born to his mother. The city steeped in winter celebrated, as another joined their noble line.
Dluce, a city centered in a deep and sprawling forest several weeks journey south of the wall, had been settled by his clan in ages long past. The forest stretches for miles around one side of a large lake, bringing it into a bow-like shape which gives the forest its name. Both Eladrin and Elves had settled there, raising up stone towers among the tall trees and giving defense to a land untamed and unclaimed. The first defenders of the forest were a group of Rangers, Wizards, and Bards, all who wielded bows in defense of their home. Songs of sorcery and victory still grace the leaves of Dluce, causing the forest itself to shiver with pride. This was Beseath’s heritage, his home, and (according to his family) his future. His father, an aging Wizard, was overjoyed at the prospect of another son and student. His mother, a Bard by trade, was also eager to teach her son the bow. Both, in due time, were disappointed by their third son’s lack of interest in either. Intelligent, Beseath took well to the study of the arcane, but never found it fulfilling enough to hold his interest. The bow was a slight better, but his hands were never fast enough for true mastery. Discouraged by his failings, Beseath looked for something that would prove himself worthy in the eyes of his parents. His brothers were both skilled mages, one taking the path of Wizardry while the other took to the spell and blade, and they kindly counseled him to try and find a middle ground that would suit him.
The answer arrived as a Dragonborn who strode through Dluce with a company of soldiers behind him, wielding a halberd that was two and a half times the height of young Beseath. The Dragonborn was named Heskan, and it didn’t take him long to make a name for himself among the people of Dluce. His brash and arrogant attitude didn’t sit well with the elders, but his business in the mountains a ways to the east intrigued them immensely. For all his faults, Heskan was charming when he needed to be, and managed to ward off any trouble that resulted from his falling outs at that taverns and alehouses. Intrigued by the fire breathing Warlord, Beseath approached him in one of his less temperamental moments and began asking questions about the man’s history. A little annoyed by the young “Elven brat,” but willing to talk with just about anybody besides the elders and tavern-goers, Heskan grudgingly began telling Beseath about his campaigns in the South. The stories he told inspired Beseath, who constantly questioned the Dragonborn about the finer points of his battles. It quickly became clear to Heskan that the boy had a head for strategy –something he lacked but made up for in sheer bravado, so it came naturally that he decided to teach Beseath a bit of tactical history. Though many found it quite strange, the small Eladrin boy and his Dragonborn teacher became fast friends for the time that Heskan stayed in Dluce.
When it came time for Heskan’s company to move on to their destination, goodbyes were said that most assumed would last indefinitely. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, a group of Orcs that had been living in seclusion for some time decided to raid the company’s camp in the night. Though Heskan’s men put up a fierce fight, many of them died or were maimed. When the survivors –beaten, battered and broken as they were- managed to limp back to Dluce, they were naturally cared for. Heskan, having lost his left leg in the fighting, swore that he would see revenge done one way or another before his time was over. Beseath, who had taken up the spear and begun training with Heskan as his inspiration, swore to it as well against the wishes of his family. Only ten at the time, Beseath had not even seen a mock battle yet. It would take years for the boy to grow up and master his chosen weapon, and more for him to gain the trust of battle worthy Elves and Eladrin who would follow him against the Orc tribe.
He matured quickly, growing in strength, skill, and sharpness of mind. Long silver hair surrounded his face, framing the eerie glow of his pale green eyes. His body and mannerisms gave the look of a leader. However, his look of strength and determination seemed to melt away whenever he opened his mouth. He lacked the natural charisma of a leader, even though every plan he made was sound. Once he had a company of his own, after many hard years of constant debates and failures, Beseath moved on the Orcs. Silent Elven scouts scoped out their encampment, archers hid amongst the trees, Swordmages and Spearmen stood at the ready… And with a single Elvish word, all hell broke loose within the encampment. Determination shone in Beseath’s eyes as he strode into battle, his spear taking the lives of six Orcs, while only four of his men were wounded in the melee and only two of those died. By Beseath’s side during the fight was a human Swordmage who had come to live amongst the people of Dluce. Namith Crodale, who had befriended both Heskan and Beseath shortly after his arrival, wielded the spell and the blade well for his first time in major combat. Both fought bravely amongst the Orcs, saving each other more than once in the hellish fighting. Heskan was proud of his disciple and Beseath’s parents, though disturbed by the ferocity of their own son, also spoke with pride as they traveled amongst the town.
Namith, for his part, was given a home in the holdings of Alean-dluce. His time among the fey people gave the young Swordmage much insight into the intricacies of the spell and blade, and his trust in both Heskan and Beseath grew strong. Eventually, he confessed his history, and his burning desire for revenge against those who had robbed him of his love and the stench of Undeath that surrounded them. Beseath, moved by his friend’s passion, swore a blood oath to help him defeat his enemies at any cost. Namith, though touched by his friends outpouring of support, needed to move on. A part of his revenge, of course, was finding the family of his love and staying in Dluce would not accomplish this. The two friends, close as brothers, were forced to part as they held to their callings; Beseath to leadership and Namith to the open road.
Heskan died in his sleep of old age three summers later, having entrusted his journal to the then 37-year-old Beseath. Losing his dear friend pained Beseath, but he carried on, leading the defense of Dluce against a number of raids. When a dragon flew over the city of Dluce, amidst the bright summer sky, Beseath almost immediately recognized it as the very one that Heskan’s company had meant to check on. Though long forgotten by most peoples of the land, the Dragonborn still passed down legend of their vicious war against the dragon, and of how it needed to be kept sealed. It took a call for reinforcements at the Black Wall to get things in motion, but eventually a company of men from Dluce, under Beseath’s lead, marched for the Wall. If the dragon wanted to form a keep in the area, Beseath knew it would strike there eventually if only to rid itself of the threat of its guards. And that was where he would lay in wait, until either his blood brother returned in need of his aid, or until he could challenge the dragon his former master had failed to secure…