Eldrin Hawksong

Eldrin

+Eldrin owns a shop where he's made leather armor and wooden weapons (bows, staves, staffs, etc...) for over 100 years. He's a master Weaponsmith

+Tiatha (Eldrin's sister) was a Beast Master publicly, training the eagles for the Eagle Riders, but a powerful Sorceress privately.

+Aust Siannodel, also a High Elf (and a warlock), charms Eldrin and convinces him to secure a lock of Tiatha's hair for a reclamation draught

+Aust is working at the direction of his patron, Tharizdun

+Eldrin unwittingly secures the lock of hair and provides Aust with the final ingredient he needs for the reclamation draught

+Aust abducts Tiatha to serve at the will of Tharizdun

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Eldrin and Tiatha were born twins, identical in every way. Even the birthmark on their wrist was the same, though few could agree on its meaning.
Some saw an Owlbear, portending a life of pain and loss, while others saw a Redhawk, heralding a life of adventure and great fortune. With each new day, it seemed, there came another prognostication, another attempt to ascribe meaning to the blue “stain” upon their skin.
And then of course there were the whispers. Always the whispers. Elves are snobbish like that.
But Eldrin paid them no mind. While seen as a blight amongst the purest of the High Elves of Leuthilspar, the mark had been a part of him for over 150 years now. He wasn’t ashamed of it. Quite the opposite—he bore it with pride. It was the one thing that unequivocally bound him to his sister. Proof of their kinship. And for that reason he never hid it. Ever.
…
Eldrin looked to the mark now and smiled as he meticulously sanded the upper limb of a longbow. Two full weeks he’d spent grinding away the imperfections, centering the balance, and wrapping the custom leather grip. Once strung and stained, the weapon would finally be ready for sale.
“Greetings,” called a stranger.
Eldrin sat up with a start, his focus broken. “Yes, erm, hello,” he stammered.
“Eldrin Hawksong?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful” said the stranger. “I was hoping we might have a word in private.”
“Private?” Eldrin didn’t see the need but supposed the stranger was looking for some of his rarer, more valuable wares. “I can arrange for some time at a later--”
“No, no, no,” the stranger insisted, “now would be preferable. May I?” he asked, pulling a chair from an adjacent workbench.”
“Of cou--.”
“Dreadful climb to get here,” continued the stranger, speaking over Eldrin. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you all built this place to keep travelers out. Stairs for days! Though I suppose you’ve grown accustomed to them by now.”
“Yes, quite.” Eldrin had made the trek from his humble home on the banks of the River Ardulith to the bustling marketplace atop the city of Leuthilspar, every day, for over 100 years. He knew the climb well. “What can I do for you, Mr…?
“Ah, yes. Apologies. Aust Siannodel of Elion.”
“Elion?” said Eldrin. “You’ve come quite a ways. I’m honored.”
“Yes, well,” said Aust, dabbing at his brow with a crimson cloth, “your weaponry is quite renowned.”
Eldrin beamed.
“Sadly, that is not the purpose of my visit today.” Aust dragged a line through the leftover dust on Eldrin’s workbench, as if to belabor the point. “My business is rather more pressing.”
“Oh?”
Aust gestured toward the mark on Eldrin’s wrist. “You have a twin, yes? A sister?”
“Respectfully, Mr. Siannodel, I don’t speak of my family with strangers. This is my place of business, and while here I only discuss business.”
“Yes, of course, but (inaudible)…”
Eldrin couldn’t make out what came next. A series of words in another language? A barely audible mumble? He couldn’t tell. His mind grew hazy, like a dream. …

“My friend…your sister? We were just speaking of her work with the Eagle Riders.”
“Yes,” said Eldrin. “The Eagle Riders.” He felt drunk. When did he close the doors to his shop? And why were the windows obscured by—what was that exactly? It was all so fuzzy. “Why were we speaking of my sister?” he asked.
With a bit of dramatic flair Aust jumped up from his seat and began to pace about the shop. “Your sister,” he said, “is a magnificent woman. Her work as a Beast Master, her contributions to The Council of Matrons—” he paused for emphasis, “—the way her alabaster hair shines in the mid day sun. She’s remarkable. Intoxicating. A specimen above all other.” Aust turned back to Eldrin, a wry smile upon his face, “And we must have her.”
“Have her!?” Eldrin protested. His mind was still clouded. He struggled to comprehend what the stranger meant. Surely he wasn’t suggesting some kind of perverted barter. This was his sister. And regardless, she wasn’t his to give. “What do you mean have her?”
“I think you know what I mean,” said Aust, dismissively. Eldrin’s blood boiled. This was no misunderstanding. Aust was not here for bows or staves. He was here for something far more valuable. He must know what she is. “You need to leave. Now.” Eldrin moved toward a dagger he’d hidden beneath a pile of rags.
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Hawksong.”
“My sister is not some trinket to be bargained for!”
“No?” said Aust, provoking Eldrin further.
Again, more words Eldrin had to strain to hear. Whispers. Foreign but familiar. Where had he heard these before? An incantation? Yes! An incantation! “Sorcerer!”
Aust grinned. “Warlock, actually.”

…

Eldrin woke to the sound of a whistling teapot. Tea? He didn’t recall putting on any tea. How had he even gotten home? The last he could remember he’d been at his shop working on his—
He spotted it.
Beside the teapot, wrapped in a fine red ribbon, lay a scroll. Someone had been here. Maybe even the person who put on the tea. But who? Eldrin couldn’t remember inviting any guests. He moved the teapot to a cool burner, grabbed the scroll, and opened it.

Mr. Hawksong,
It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance yesterday, though I do wish it had been under better circumstances. I imagine you have many questions. The answers will be few.
Your sister is ours now, a servant to Tharizdun and all of his disciples. A sorceress of her talent should never have been relegated to the training of beasts. She’s destined for so much more. But you knew that.
Shame on you for holding her back from her full potential. Under my tutelage, and at the pleasure of Tharizdun, she will accomplish great things in this world.
Do not seek her out. You will not find her, on this plane or the next. I realize this loss will be heavy, but Tharizdun is not without pity. In exchange for you sister he will bestow upon you a single preternatural talent with an item of your choosing. You need only touch the item and speak his name.
Touch a chisel and you’ll be a mason of unparalleled talent. Touch an anvil and you’ll be a peerless blacksmith. Touch any item, speak his name, and the power is yours.
Choose wisely, Mr. Hawksong, for Tharizdun’s benevolence is a gift not to be wasted. I wish you luck and good fortune.

Sincerely,
Aust Siannodel


It all came rushing back. Aust. His sister. The haze. What had he done?

…

Over the coming days Eldrin would question nearly everyone in Leuthilspar, desperately searching for any information regarding his sister. No one had seen her. Or Aust, for that matter. It wasn’t until Eldrin spoke with Aromir, a fellow Beast Master who worked alongside Tiatha, that he started to get any answers.
“What do you mean a lock of her hair? Why would I ask for that?” said Eldrin.
“I don’t know,” said Aromir, “but you were adamant. Like you needed it. Maybe impassioned is a better word. It seemed like it really meant something to you.”
“And what did Tiatha say?”
“She was hesitant. Said it was an odd request. But then you mentioned the locket and that seemed to do the trick.”
“Locket?”
“Yeah, you said you wanted to keep a bit of her close to your heart. Always. I thought it was kind of sweet.” Aromir seemed to realize he’d overheard quite a bit of what was apparently a very private conversation and continued, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I promise. I was in the next stall, tending to Favardin. He’d had his wing clipped by an arrow. I really wasn’t--”
“It’s fine,” said Eldrin. “Thank you. I’m actually glad you were there.”
“I really do hope you find her,” said Aromir. “She’s one of our best.”
“I do, too,” said Eldrin, placing a hand on Aromir’s shoulder. “I do, too.”
Hair? A locket? Eldrin had no idea why he would have made such requests, but he knew who would. He thanked Aromir for his help and rushed off to find Filvendor, the wizened old wizard who knew just about all there was to know about magic. Surely the hair must have been used in some spell or charm. That was the only logical answer.

…

Eldrin found Filvendor in his study, hovering over an ancient tome that looked to be at least as old as the wizard himself.
“Filvendor,” said Eldrin, hastily, “may I have a moment of your time?”
The wizard looked up over his half moon spectacles and waved Eldrin in. “Come in, come in.”
“My sister,” Eldrin started, “she’s been taken. A warlock. He—he charmed me. Or maybe a spell. I can’t be sure. But he took her! I I’ve questioned everyone. I thought maybe there would be some clue, something someone had seen, a way to track them, I don’t know—something. You have to help,” he sobbed. “Please.”
“Calm down, my friend, calm down.” Filvendor rose from his desk and walked over to console Eldrin. “A warlock, you say? How do you know?”
“He told me. Right after he said he ‘needed’ her. Like she was some kind of tool, or pawn.”
“And you say you were charmed?”
“I had to be! There were moments—moments where I felt like my mind was swimming against a deep current. I couldn’t control it. And then it was over. This morning I woke up in my own home and found this,” Eldrin said, producing the scroll.
Filvendor studied the document, pausing with brief “Mmhhmms” and “Umphs,” before asking, “Did your sister possess any magical talent? Something she hid from the rest of us?”
Eldrin looked to the floor, “Yes.”
“And did you take from her a piece of herself, willingly given? A lock of hair perhaps, or--”
“Yes,” Eldrin broke in. “But I wasn’t myself! I don’t even remember doing it.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Filvendor shuffled back to his desk, placing the scroll atop the tome he’d left open, and dropped to his chair with a soft, “Oof.” He sat there, silently regarding the scroll before continuing, somberly, “Your sister is gone, Eldrin.”
“I know! I have to find her.”
“You won’t. Tharizdun used you to get the final ingredient in a reclamation draught. It had to be willingly given, so he exploited your relationship with your sister. By now, I’m afraid, she’s on another plane, far from our reach.”
“No!” Eldrin protested. “Surely you must know how to access other planes. What have you been locked away in here for all these years if not for this?! There must be a way!
“It’s not that simple, Eldrin. I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But she’s gone.”
“I--”
“Tharizdun’s power is beyond us. Even if we could find him, we could never hope to defeat him. This is a fight you cannot win.”
Eldrin stood, dejected, in silence. Filvendor would be no help. He was on his own now.
“Take heart in knowing there was nothing you could have done. Though it may seem otherwise, you are faultless. Even I, with centuries of study and training, would have struggled to resist one of Tharizdun’s disciples. Go home and mourn. That is all any of us can do now.”

…

Eldrin didn’t go home. He couldn’t. The pain of Tiatha’s loss coupled with the knowledge that he himself had failed to save her would have tormented his every waking hour. Work would have to be his solace. If he could lose himself in the work, perhaps he could find some small measure of peace.
And so he set about his task for three straight days, forsaking food, water, and rest. Where once he might have stopped at a simple pattern, he now inlaid each groove with gold. Leather, though serviceable, was replaced by Dragon skin. Synthetic fibers, while adequate, were swapped for Giant Spider silk. In the end, this weapon would be Eldrin’s magnum opus. A monument to his pain.
He looked to it now, laid before him, marveling at what he’d achieved. It was stunning. In materials alone its value was ten times greater than any weapon he’d ever sold. He’d used the rarest and finest components, some of which he’d been preserving for years in the hope that he might one day be commissioned by the Queen herself.
A knock came at the door.
Odd timing, Eldrin thought. He’d literally just finished. For three days he’d locked himself in his shop and for the entirety of that time he hadn’t heard from or seen a single customer. He assumed the townsfolk had been steering clear, allowing him the necessary time to grieve. Apparently, that window had closed.
“Coming,” he said, “coming.” Eldrin swung the door wide.
An Elf laden with all manner of gear and weaponry strode boldly forward, hand outstretched in salutation, “Eldrin, my friend, long time no see!”
“Elomir,” said Eldrin, surprised to see a familiar face, “it’s been far too long!” Eldrin hadn’t seen the adventurer in five years, maybe more, but the two had been close since they were children. Seeing Elomir lifted Eldrin’s spirits. “Please, come in.”
The two sat for the next few hours exchanging stories, with Elomir expounding in great detail the manner in which he’d slain countless Goblins and Orcs, and Eldrin sharing the comings and goings of Leuthilspar.
“And your sister?” asked Elomir. “I can’t believe I haven’t asked about her yet. Still training those pesky eagles?” he said, jokingly. “How’s she been?”
Eldrin’s heart sank. He’d hoped to avoid the topic of his sister as long as he could. “Gone,” he said. “Taken, actually.”
Elomir looked to Eldrin with a smirk. “If only.”
“No, Elomir, she’s gone. Spirited away by a warlock named Aust Siannodel. I couldn’t stop him.”
“Spirited away? To where? You can’t be seri--?”
“He charmed me,” Eldrin broke in. “The how and the why of it don’t matter. She’s gone. I’ve already consulted with Filvendor. I wish I could get her back. More than anything. I’d give my life to ge--”
“Damn Filvendor and his dusty old books! What does that old fool know anyway. Look at me, Eldrin! We will get her back. I promise you. We will hunt this damned warlock to the ends of this world and into the next.”
“What can I do, Elomir? I make the weapons, I don’t wield them.” Eldrin paced over to his workbench and grabbed the bow he’d just completed. “Look at this. This is what I do. This is the extent of my talent in this world. What could I possibly do to get her back?”
“You have me. Orcs, Goblins, Dragons, Warlocks—it’s all the same. Anything can be killed. We’ll find a way.”
Just then Eldrin remembered Tharizdun’s gift. “You need only speak his name.”
“What?” said Elomir.
“You need only speaking his name,” Eldrin repeated. His mind raced. A chisel. An anvil. A bow! “You say you can kill a warlock?”
“I’ve never done it, but there’s a first time for everything. As I said, anything can be killed. Anything.”
“Can you travel planes?”
“No, but I know someone who can.”
“Maybe…” Eldrin trailed off, daring himself to hope. Could this really work? With Elomir’s help could he actually track Aust and rescue his sister? Just hours ago he’d been resigned to his fate, so sure that nothing could be done. But now…“Grab your things, Elomir, we leave tonight.”
Elomir smiled and placed his hand on Eldrin’s shoulder. “We will find her, friend. I promise you.”
“We just may,” said Eldrin, holding his bow before him. Once more he marveled at the beauty of his creation before saying, “Tharizdun.”

Personality Characteristics

Motivation

Vowed to find the Warlock who absconded with his sister. To his everlasting shame, he failed and forsook his family name to never return home again.

Year of Birth

1201

Eyes

blue

Hair

white

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

white, with blue tinge

Height

6'3"

Weight

180 lbs