Ryldor Gadriel

Name: Ryldor Gadriel

Gender: Male

Race: Elf

Tribe: Quaelhoirhim

Title: Miscreant Mage

Age: 170

History: On a quiet night in Voldar, a figure silently appeared atop a manor wall. Hidden by the shadow of the Temple of the Injera, Ryldor’s eyes scanned the estate as he savored the cool breeze on his skin. “Wind and wile be with me tonight,” he offered in silent prayer. He thought back on his preparations for tonight’s job. Weeks of research had gone into his planning, starting with the selection of the victim. Despite Tams reputation as a respectable upstanding citizen Ryldor knew he was probably one of the most crooked merchants in city. For a second, he couldn’t imagine anyone showing the world a persona that was so blatantly not true. A frown appeared on his face as he remembered his youth.

Ryldor was always a rambunctious child. Born to Rundil and his wife Giniel, Ryldor spent his formative years sneaking around the village and playing pranks on everyone. On more than one occasion, another elf was shocked to find the adolescent behind what was thought to be a locked door or to find their furniture rearranged. While some within the village laughed at the youth's spirited highjinks many felt that the boy should be reigned in harshly. However, respect for Rundil kept those who objected to Ryldor's ways from forcing the point.

Ryldor’s father Rundil was a highly respected member of the community. A former instructor at Ximax, Rundil had selflessly used magic to help the village on several occasions. Quick to help everyone, a devoted husband and loving father, many thought the mage to be the type of elf all elves should strive to be. Ryldor had a different opinion. Behind closed doors, Rundil was an extremely vain man who scolded Ryldor about the embarrassment the pranks were bringing to their home. Unfortunately, the greater the reprimand, the more Ryldor rebelled. Though the two were very similar physically (Rundil was a little taller with grey eyes), the two were worlds apart in demeanor. Nor did Rundil hestitate to take his displeasure and disappointment out on Ryldor.

This all changed with the birth of Ryldor’s sister, Alatariel, and the death of their mother during the delivery. Rydlor barely remembers his mother, but those who knew Giniel, say they see her in Alatariel. With braided gold hair adorned with flowers and an angelic face, Alatariel, was one of the loveliest girls in the village. Ryldor, though saddened by the loss of his mother, embraced his sister. Rundil's reaction was the opposite, as he blamed his daugther for the death of his wife. The anger that had been directed at Ryldor was soon being aimed at Alatariel. Ryldor felt helpless as the young girl suffered, not understanding why her father hated her so. Ryldor knew he had to do something, but even his most radical actions couldn’t distract his father. Finally Ryldor thought of a different tact.

From early on, Rundil made it quite clear that his children would be attending Ximax. Despite showing some obvious talent, Ryldor spent years trying to talk his father out of it, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Now he tried to please his father by convincing his sister that they should pretend to be looking forward to Ximax. They told everyone who would listen about their futures as great mages and praised their father for inspiring them. This did the trick. Soon the buzz about his children started to feed Rundil’s vanity and his mood lightened.

Ryldor restrained himself as much as possible, but could never get fully get rid of his chaotic ways. Only his desire to protect his sister kept him in check. Soon, however it was time for him to depart for Ximax.

Movement to his left caught his eye and brought him out of his reverie. He resisted the urge to spin around quickly; knowing that it would draw attention. Slowly, he turned his head and saw a tall figure approaching slowly. Graham was right on time. Ryldor focused deeply and summoned his carall. ‘Órin'fíer gurán,’ he whispered. The estate’s guard stumbled as he suddenly found himself unable to focus. Taking a deep breath, Ryldor took a moment to clear his thoughts. Memories of the first time he cast this particular spell came to mind as he stood, pulled his hood up to help hide his face and started walking.

“Ryldor!” Sillia, the instructor exclaimed as she heard the young elf whispering the formula. Too late to stop it, Sillia saw another student’s eyes glaze over as the confusion spell took hold. A big grin emerged on Ryldor’s face, as he knew he had successfully cast something beyond his level. Sillia’s enlightenment spell abated the confusion and she turned towards Ryldor. “I know you’re aware that casting spells against other students unsupervised is forbidden. I also know that you’re familiar with the way to the headmaster’s office by now. Maybe this time they’ll finally boot you out of here for good,” the instructor bellowed.

As Sillia intimated, a trip to the headmaster's office was not at all unusual for Ryldor. Several times he was almost thrown out. Sometimes it was for inappropriate spell use. Sometimes it was because he was discovered in places forbidden to students. Once it was an inappropriate incident with an instructor’s daughter. Each time Ryldor was unapologetic and each time his father’s influence got things smoothed over. Each time, however, the headmaster's patience wore thinner and thinner.

Finally, after a long day of studying, Ryldor arrived back at his room to find Rundil waiting for him. The academy had had enough. Expulsion papers had been all but signed, but Rundil had convinced them to give Ryldor a chance to personally repent for his past offenses. Only a sincere apology from Ryldor and a solemn oath that his behavior would improve would sway them.

“No way. I won’t do it Father. I’ve had enough of their rules and telling me what to do.”

“You will. You’re mother and I gave up a lot to provide you with this opportunity and I won’t see it wasted. You’ll apologize and start acting properly. I won’t let you continue to be an embarrassment to me.”

“Is that what this is about? Your good name? I thought this was about my life. I guess I was wrong. Now that I see that this is all about you, I’ll run right down and swear never to embarrass you again.”

“Do not get smart with me Ryldor. I’m still your father.”

Ryldor closed his eyes, lowered his head and for one of the few times in his life, contemplated the future. Could he leave Alatariel behind? Could he live if he never saw his friends or village again? The drone in his ears told him his father was still lecturing him, but he tuned it out. Where would he live? What would he eat? What would happen to Alatariel? Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a minute, his eyes opened and his head snapped up so quickly that Rundil stopped mid-sentence. Ryldor looked at his father and with a tear in his eye, spoke to him for the last time. “I’m done. I’m done with you and this school. I quit.”

With that, Ryldor packed his few belongings, all the while ignoring his father's sputtered protests, and left the Academy.

Life was tough in the beginning and Ryldor had to sell most of his possessions just to survive the first months. Odd jobs provided a paltry income but the mundane lifestyle led to great discontentment. An unscrupulous merchant would spark a career change. Ryldor was asleep in the small room he’d rented for the month. A loud knock on the door roused him from his slumber. Robert, the owner, demanded Ryldor leave, as someone was willing to pay more. Ryldor could either leave of his own volition or with the incentive of some broken bones. Ryldor demanded to either stay or his money back, but Robert refused saying that Ryldor was lucky to leave with his skin intact. Knowing he’d be no match in a fight, Ryldor stormed out.

Sitting in an alley around the corner, Ryldor fumed at the injustice of the situation, but didn’t know what to do. Finally he thought back to a prank he had once played in the instructors dining room at the academy (luckily the headmaster could never prove his involvement in that one) Ryldor knew what he would do to get back at the unscrupulous landlord. He looked around and quickly found what he would need to add a reputation destroying extra ingredient to tonight's stew. Carefully he approached the back window of the boarding house and peeked in. Robert was just leaving the kitchen to greet new guests. It only took a bit of magic to move the latch and Rydlor was in, dead rat in hand. A quick toss was all it took to add an unforgettable ingredient to the stew. As Ryldor moved quickly back to the window, he noticed a ledger and box sitting on a table. "Well he does owe me money. I'll just take it with a little bit of interest,” he thought. Seconds later he was walking away, strong box in hand. Many fumbled attempts to open the lock later, Ryldor counted up his newfound wealth, finding several times what he was owed. “Hmmm…”

Ryldor strode purposefully forward and spoke confidently, “Hello Graham. I’m glad I found you. There’s trouble inside the house. We must go inside and check.” Graham started to speak, but Ryldor cut him off. “There’s little time to talk. We’re very good guards and mustn’t fail in our duty.” Graham appeared to be comforted by these words, just as Ryldor’s research suggested he would be. “Information is key,” Ryldor reminded himself. With a hand high on the back, Ryldor pointed the confused guard towards the house. When Graham hesitated, Ryldor patted him on the chest a few times and again gestured to the front door. Ryldor made a display of fishing something out of his pocket and showed the recently lifted key to Graham adding, “I’ll open the door for us.” Picking pockets was always fun.

“Pardon me.” The merchant Ryldor had bumped into, knowing pickpockets frequented the area, quickly felt for his purse. Reassured that it was still there, he muttered “Watch where you’re going.” Ryldor bowed slightly, offering a silent apology as the merchant stormed off. Ryldor smiled as he glanced down at the merchant’s quill. Once again, he congratulated himself. “Soon,” he thought as he walked to an inn, “I’ll almost ready.”

Minutes later, he entered the large room, took a seat and ordered a small meal. Reaching down for his own coins he knew instantly, something was wrong. Expecting to find several sans, he instead found 3 sus. Quickly pulling the coins out of his pocket, he realized two things. The first was that he actually had more money now than when he started. The second was that accompanying the new currency was a small piece of paper with the words ‘Meet me at the Dizzy Dwarf.’ Excited at the prospect of meeting someone skilled enough to pull this off, Ryldor jumped up and ran out the door.

The Dizzy Dwarf was in a better part of town than Ryldor was used to frequenting, and his attire drew several looks from the foppish patrons as he approached the tavern. A voice from the alley besides the building beckoned, “Elf. Come here.” Ryldor walked into the alley searching for the source of the words. He didn’t get far as a blade suddenly appeared at his neck and the same voice said, “Bah. You careless fool. You’ll have to be more careful if you’re going to survive.” Ryldor felt the dagger being removed from his neck and he turned to see an elderly man standing there. Aron, a name Ryldor would find out later said, “Come with me. I have an offer that might interest you.”

Aron led him to a small building. It was sparsely furnished and Ryldor got to sit on the floor as the old man took the one chair and made his pitch. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while now. I’ve been looking for a worthy successor and I think I’ve found him in you. I have a job in mind. The pay off is great enough that it will allow me to retire for good and you to live the remainder of your elven life in style. Unfortunately, I am too old to attempt it alone. Time is running short. I’ll need an answer immediately. What say you?” Ryldor didn’t hesitate before saying, “I’m in. When’s the job?” “A little over a year from now,” Aron said, eliciting a confused look for the elf, “It is you’re training that must begin immediately. You are very talented, but sloppy. That will work among the commoners. For this job, you’ll need to be much more precise.”

And so the training began. The two became inseparable for the next year as Ryldor’s abilities were honed. Skills he already possessed like, scaling walls, picking pockets and opening locks were augmented under Aron’s tutelage. Weapon use was also a subject of study, but while Ryldor did learn how to find the weak spot in an opponent’s back, the rest of the training was wasted. The older thief also taught the novice the most important lesson - how to gather information. Using bribes, intoxicants and magic, the young thief excelled in this area.

Aron was a decent teacher, but even he could not eradicate Ryldor’s whimsical ways. While he did convince the elf to take thieving more seriously, his student missed several sessions because of nights on the town, and pranks were common. More than once, the two almost parted ways. Aron thought the elf would be too careless to pull the job off and Ryldor thought the elder too stringent. Even so, they did eventually find a way to work together and Ryldor felt the two of them form a genuine bond. In many ways, Aron was the father Ryldor wished Rundil had been. More than once, Ryldor pondered leaving town with the old thief after the job was complete.

Preparations were made and contingencies were planned. The job was rehearsed many times with Aron throwing mishaps in to try to flummox Ryldor. Finally, the day came when the job was at hand. Aron pulled Ryldor aside and said, “I’m not going to give you a long speech. You know how proud I am in you. Good luck son.” Ryldor turned and strode out the door, his eyes again full of tears, this time for a different reason.

Ryldor opened the door and stepped inside, as the confused guard walked slowly behind. Ryldor walked quickly to where he was told the safe would be. Sliding the false panel away, he saw that his research had paid off. Swiftly he pulled a set of lockpicks from his wrists, knowing he’d have few seconds. He was rewarded with a sharp click, just before Graham caught up. Ryldor stood and adding the sound of recent exertion to his voice said, “The door is too heavy. Could you give it a try?”

Graham crossed the room, not noticing that the distance between the safe and the hooded figure grew with each step. Graham grasped the handle, twisted and pulled. Ryldor saw the flash of the Static Trap go off and slowly approached. He checked to make sure the paralyzed Graham was still breathing, not wanting to kill the guard needlessly.

Ryldor slowly regained consciousness. A small club lay beside his head. “I bet it’ll match the lump on my head,” he thought as he started to stir. Slowly he stood and looked around the room but knew he’d find no sign of Aron. He was wrong. A pouch sat on the table holding down a note written in a now familiar handwriting.

“My young apprentice. I hope your head doesn’t hurt too much. Your performance was everything I hoped for when I selected you last year. Unfortunately for you, the style in which I hope to retire doesn’t allow me to give you the share you certainly deserve. I’ve had my departure planned for months now and I don’t think you’ll be able to find me. I do hope, however, that you won’t try. I’ve left you a few baubles that should be enough to provide you with some fun. Also remember that you’re alive to read this note, when I could have easily dispatched you. I have no doubt that if you take heed of the things I taught you, last night will be merely the start of your fabulous career. Good luck.

Aron”

“For the second time, I’ve lost a father,” Ryldor thought as a deep sigh escaped his lips. He reached down and hefted the purse. “Time to start over. Again. Maybe in a new town. Hmmm. I’ll need a horse.”

Ryldor appeared atop the wall again, this time with a small gem in his pocket. Once again the lessons he’d learned had served him well. “Thanks again, Aron”

Possessions: Ryldor routinely carries various thieves’ tools and reagents for the spells he knows. His clothing is specially made to provide hidden storage, including false heels on his boots. His bright jackets/vests have black on the underside and flipping them over can dramatically alter his appearance. Bands worn on his forearms, under his jacket, hold an extra pair of lock picks and a small blade.

Appearance: To most, Ryldor seems quite the extravagant figure. Seldom does he enter a room without everyone knowing it. “I’m here. Let the fun begin,” is a common opening statement whenever arriving somewhere. Typically clad in a brightly colored jacket or vest and full of exaggerated motions, the eye is naturally drawn to him. At 5.9 fore, Ryldor is a little below average for his tribe, but still taller than the average human. Weighing only 1.4 pygge, his slight frame is typical Quaelhoirhim elf. Unlike others from his tribe, his long black hair is almost always tied in a ponytail, usually with a cloth that matches his attire. His big blue eyes stand out against his golden skin and have melted many females. A short sword hangs on his belt in an ornate scabbard. Ryldor often talks about his skill as a swordsman, but anyone who’s ever seen him draw it or the poor condition of the blade doubts his claim. Boasts of skill as a merchant are also common from Ryldor.

The Ryldor one would see on a job is quite different from his usual image. Blacks and dark grays or browns replace the bright colors. A layer of padded armor is worn under his dark clothing providing some protection, but also helps disguise him, making him appear heavier. A sturdy knife for cutting and prying replaces the short sword, while a dagger is added to the other side. Pouches containing various reagents are also added to the belt.

Occupation: Ryldor generally holds himself out as a merchant, but his reputation as one is not very good. Often times, he will engage in a business endeavors to lend credibility to his cover, but those he deals with, usually find him to be ineffectual. He points to “interests abroad” to explain his livelihood.

Magic: As a former student of Ximax, Ryldor has attained a level 5 casting ability in Wind magic (not sure if I phrased this correctly)

Strengths: Ryldor is an accomplished thief and gatherer of information. As a former student of the Ximax Academy, Ryldor has some aptitude with Wind magic, which he uses mostly to help him in his thievery. Ryldor is very dexterous and has decent stamina, mostly from having to wait for opportunities in odd places.

Weaknesses: Ryldor has no aptitude with weapons, save for his dagger and even then barely. His non-rigorous lifestyle has led to a certain amount of atrophy and Ryldor is physically weaker than most. Ryldor doesn’t put a lot of forethought into most matters, which gets him into trouble, as does the overzealous way he tries to please women.

Personality: Ryldor is a mischievous, capricious scoundrel. He takes little seriously, except for his thieving, and rarely thinks about the consequences of his actions. Wine, women and song would fill his days if he had his way (and could afford it). Practical jokes are common. A true extrovert, Ryldor is friendly virtually everyone until they give him reason not to be. Women have a special place in his heart and he goes to great lengths to try and please them. It’s not always reciprocated, as women tend to find him either charming or condescending.

Getting into places he doesn’t belong gives Ryldor great joy and he has, on occasion, broken in somewhere and not stolen anything. He tries to limit his thieving to those he feels deserve it, either for wrongs committed against him personally or against society in general.

Animals: Probably Ryldor’s most important purchase was a well-trained Rusik named Shadow. One of the darker of his breed, Shadow is Ryldor’s constant companion and mode of transportation. A matte black leather riding saddle and black blanket, along with some soot to darken the lighter hooves help hide the horse and rider at night. Matching saddlebags provide storage.

Edited by: Rayne Avalotus at: 11/8/03 23:42