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My contribution.
Name: Aiolos Myrsky
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Race: Half-Elf
Backstory:
62 years ago, the history of the plain elves of Vetra took a downward dip in its course. They had lived on the fringe of human and other sedentary species, preferring the harsh, sparsely populated plateaus, where they hunted games as they had done for millennia. One day, though, the sky they had lived under their whole existence turned dark. The elves were familiar with the violent storms that swept the prairies and plateaus, down into the rolling sweet grasslands. But these storms did not stop. Day after day, they would come back. The game they had relied on fled. The ground the had lived on was washed beneath them. As they sky had changed, so did the land. Come winter, the storm did not relent - after the rain came the snow, after the thunder came the blizzard. Hundreds died in the first winter, from the cold or starvation. All their horses died, along with their herds - the snow was too deep, and the ground to frozen, for them to feed. Miserable and on the brink of death, they came down among other humanoids a destitute people, a mere shadow of their ancient proud race. They were not wanted. Nasty whispers made them from beggars into thieves, and from thieves to murderers. Violent clashes erupted with some of the civilian populations with whom they sought refuge. More died. Finally, the new leader thought it was good to try and reconnect with their distant cousins, the elves of the Mazewood. And so it was that some 500 elves, a quarter of the old population of the high plains of Vetra, journeyed to the all-engulfing wilds. Their cousins there took them in, not without a certain paternal arrogance. They looked down on all elves who would forsake the safety and sanctuary of the woods - and they had a very long and good memory for these kind of things. The general theory seemed to have been, among Mazewood that the further elves wandered from the Mazewood, the more degenerate and like the other humanoids they became.
But the Plain Elves did not fit in this new environment. They felt choked and restrained, and they resented the high handedness of their elven brethren who felt that these lost sheep needed to be educated in proper elvenship. A schism occurred among the elves of Vetra - between those who thought better to try and return to their homeland, and those who thought that homeland was no more. The schism turned out to be severe and some 300 elves departed once more for their homeland under the condescending smiles of the elves of Mazewood. On their return, they were aghast at the discovery that storm clouds still circled the land - was the land itself cursed. It had been two years since they left in exile, and they began to piece what happened in the land. The tale of the conqueror crowned in lightning, wielding the power of the storm itself. They joined and mingled in the many communities that had blossomed and sprout up on the old frontier of the country, filled with those who had fled the political and atmospheric disturbances. Ever determined to return to their land, the elves settled among those communities - hopeful that one day they might see the open sky of their plains once again. It is therefore no surprise to find among the storm runners many of these elves.
And their descendants.
Time is of no issue for elves - but connection to the land is. The connection between the Vetra elves had been disrupted on a fundamental level by their sudden uprooting. Some of the more sensible ones withered and died much before their time, of heartache and longing, or simply from a deep ontological shock. The community also became much more diffuse. It splintered over many countries - they are a people who had never been able to sit still. While many of the first generation of elves had married among themselves, other married into other communities - out of politics or simply out of curiosity. After 62 years, in places such as Castow, you could find third generation half-elves and first generation elves mingling freely with each other and other races
Aiolos, for instance, has an elven grandfather who still looks ''younger'' than his half elf dad, who married an half-elf too. Stories of the homeland are still told in his household as if it was yesterday, a land of plenty and pleasure, unlike the destitute existence they had to live now among the meaner races. Making money - or just working - was something that was quite alien to his grandfather back in the days, as he had been a hunter and warrior as a young man. He became a mercenary and scout - if only because he knew very little else. He married several times, across generations. It is worth mentioning that Aiolos has a very large and very complicated family tree that stretches over several cities in multiple countries around Vetra. His father, fascinated by his elven heritage and, in particular magic, turned toward the study of magic and lore. An intellectual more than warrior, unlike his father - from whom he was unable to learn much. Magic is for woman, he once scoffed at his son. As such, Aiolos father turned toward human magic and it's many branches. Still nevertheless fascinated, he and other scholars and wannabe mages set up an organisation called the Weather Vane, a school of magic and atmospheric sciences. They predicted storms, measured their effects, and helped weather the occasional violent storms that ventured forth from Vetra. By the time Aiolos was a young man, the scholars and followers of the Weather Vane came to be known as the Weathermen, and had organized into an international, multi-purpose organisation including, but not restricted too, a large natural museum, a postal service, a scientific and magic institute with lecture hall and multiple libraries, as well as a printing house. Aiolos grew up in and around the Weather Vane and it's many natural wonders - correspondents from all surrounding countries sent samples, specimens, and treatises on geography, geology, biology, anatomy and all the topics of the cosmos from adventurers or just everyday scientists. The Weathermen also became rather reputed as mages specializing in nature magic - at the bottom, an attempt to replicate with arcane energy the divine magic that once came naturally to the plain elves, but is now faint or lost to many of them.
Aiolos himself scarcely counts as a plain elf anymore, though he does not think of himself as an half-elf or even a human. Nasty tongues may call him an halfbreed, but he will retort that he is an elf. He was born and grown in Castow and, to the despair of his grandfather, he grew up more like a human than a plain elf, learning how to think, how to live like one too - he struggles with his elven, while his common is flawless. He dresses like a human, while his grandfather can still clad himself in plain-clothing from time to time, to Aiolos wonderment and curiosity. For that is what his forefathers are to him at this point - a curiosity. He has also learn how to shoot a bow from his grandfather, who could not tolerate the idea that one of his many offspring might re-enter the land of his ancestor without knowing some of his people's most sacred skills. Nevertheless, he did grow up with the stories of the Plains. There is a side of him that desperately want to see that land of wonders beyond the storms, and this, along with adventure, scientific reckoning, information gathering (and, you know, making money), was one of his motivations in joining the Storm Wardens.
Abilities:
Weatherman: Aiolos is a devoted student of the Weather Vane, a scholar versed in the natural sciences and history, as well as a competent mage specializing in Evocation and Divination.
Archer: The plain elves of Ranica were reputed as flawless hunters who could shoot their bow from atop a moving horse. Aiolos wouldn't be able to do that, but he can take a good shot from time to time.
Edited by Vafhudr, 24 June 2016 - 05:23 AM.
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