Myharl (prime)

Myharl Gryphonwind The Dark Tower Race Giantman Hometown Wehnimer's Landing (adult), Southron Wastes Nomad (childhood) Class Wyrm Slayer Profession Warrior Religion Koar (the Sleeping Drake), Kor'thriss, and Voln Affiliation(s) Master at Arms of the Warrior Guild, Master in the Order of Voln, Member of House of the Rising Phoenix In-a-Word Large Disposition Friendly, though reserved and quick to anger Demeanor Bloodthirsty (particularly towards wyrms and the undead) Primary Trait Exceptionally tall (10' 5"), Kroderine Soul Secondary Trait Gets in the way a lot Flaw Propensity to be a loner Greatest Strength Berserking Greatest Weakness Berserking Habits Whiskey Hobbies Master crafter, master forger (all weapon types), sheath maker, shop owner (Gryphonwind Ventures), and avid wyrm hunter Soft Spots His wives Likes Testing his mettle Dislikes Dishonesty, crowded rooms Fears Dishonor to himself Spouse Ladies Aurla, Psyryn, Yterria, and Yieshia Children None

Editor Note (December 3, 2022): This page is a work in progress that I intend to complete in the coming weeks as I pore over decades of logs for details, names, and dates. 
 — Player of Myharl

Appearance

You see Grand Lord Myharl Gryphonwind the Dark Tower.
He appears to be a Giantman.
He is of an extraordinary height, even for a giant.  He appears to be an adult.  He has darkly rimmed, piercing black eyes and deeply coffee-hued skin.  He has a bald head.  He has a well-defined face, a broad and strong nose and a sloe black silver-touched beard pinioned into a single elaborate braid by a dark wyrm's-eye aetherstone.  His features have a firm, statue-like quality to them.
He has a set of five lustrous onyx rings in his left eyebrow, a fiery crimson tattoo of a dragon's talon on his face descending from beneath his left eye, and a small dark shard-shaped mark on his neck.
He gives off a bloodthirsty demeanor.
He is in good shape.
He is wearing a hooded undansormr scale cloak lined with floccose niveous warg fur, a silver wyrm claw pendant on a dark cord, a radiant phoenix down mantle clasped by a jacinthe-flamed arathiel jewel, a slit-visored black alloy helm, a mesh black alloy aventail, a side-swept crimson sagum cloak bearing the Warrior Guild Master at Arms crest, a securely buckled armor harness crafted of rugged leather over a full suit of black alloy platemail with a thick arming coat fashioned from layers of hinterboar hide underneath, a pair of black alloy vambraces, some undansormr scale gauntlets, a hip-slung palladium-edged weapon-belt with a glowing white sacred warsword hanging from it, a sturdy ko'nag case, a shaggy dark hinterboar hide satchel, a pair of black alloy leg greaves, a pair of ash-framed snowshoes under some cord-bound hinterboar hide boots hitched with rugged ice cleats, an oversized scuffed leather backpack with a rope-secured bedroll, a length of silk climbing rope securely knotted to a three-tined grappling hook, and a krodera-bound black alloy tower shield slung over his shoulder.

Notable Achievements

Wyrm Slaying
• Slain Wyrm Count: 30 azure-scaled cold wyrms, 9 silver-scaled cold wyrms (as of Feastday the 3rd of Eorgaen, 5122)
• Member of the hunting party to fell the first azure-scaled cold wyrm (youngling) seen in the Hinterwilds (Restday the 30th of Jastatos, 5122)
• Member of the hunting party to fell the first silver-scaled cold wyrm (adult wyrm) seen in the Hinterwilds. (Leyan the 9th of Eoantos, 5122) [External link: Combat Log ]
• First to slay a silver-scaled wyrm in one-on-one combat. (Tilamaires the 22nd of Eoantos, 5122) [External link: Combat Log ]

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Origins of the Dark Tower

Myharl is a berserker and noted wyrm slayer who mostly frequents the Hinterwilds in and around Cold River village, which he considers his second home. He is also citizen of Wehnimer's Landing where he is known as a bounty hunter for hire and long-time merchant. He is the proprietor of Gryphonwind Ventures which is located at the entrance to the Wehnimer's Landing shopping district. He is a registered guild master and Master of Arms of the Wehnimer's Landing Warrior Guild, a master in the Order of Voln, and member of the House of the Rising Phoenix.

He was born on Eorgaen 18th in the year 5079 of the modern era, one of three children and the only son giantman nomads Lokran (father) and Maeralea (mother). His name is an amalgamous play on the several giantkin words meaning roughly "gift of the feast" and was bestowed upon him in celebration of the massive white sandworm the tribe hunters (including his father) fell on the morning of his birth.

Myharl’s appearance is noticeably different from most other giantkin whose clans have been long-established in the regions surrounding the Dragonspine Mountains. He is unusually tall (towering well over ten feet) and bears deeply ebon-hued skin. This appearance, while atypical for highmen in Northern Elanthia, is common among members of his tribe.

He migrated to the northern frontiers during the second decade of his life, but hails originally from deep within the desolate barrens of the Southron Wastes. Nomadic like most giantkin clans, his family was one of many comprising a wandering desert tribe of highmen that have traversed the wastelands for countless generations. The clan proper bears no name, but the elders profess that they are all the descendants of survivors from a once magnificent giantkin kingdom far to the north. A nation that fell in ancient times during a war with mysterious evil. Their ancestors, driven far from their rightful homeland, adopted the practice of unending migration in lieu of founding another homestead.

Though unsure whether the story of his tribe's ancestors holds any merit or is nothing more than fanciful folklore, later in life Myharl did find what appears to be the remnants of just such an ancient highman kingdom. Located deep in Stoneharrow Swale between the port city of Solhaven and the frontier surrounding Wehnimer’s Landing, within the ruins even the visage of crowned giantkin king worked into stone. He sometimes wonders if this place could be the forgotten lands mentioned in the myths of his kin.

Acquisition of the Eye & The Journey Begins (5097 Modern Era)

Eye of the Drake

get my ark> 
You remove a gold-bound white veil iron ark from in your phoenix down mantle.
look at my ark> 
The ark consists of a gold-bound box crafted of solid veil iron.  It has been completely emblazoned with ancient runes and boasts a pair of miniature golden dragons that are seated in resplendent stature.  The gold-cast dragons face each other, in seeming unyielding pose, with their wings outstretched behind them and their necks wrapped around an elaborate golden crown-shaped emblem.
open my ark> 
You open the lid on your white veil iron ark, which begins to glow.
look in my ark> 
In the white veil iron ark you see a shadowy crystal ball.
get my ball> 
You grab a shadowy crystal ball containing a mysteriously shifting eye blazing with an unknown power from inside the white veil iron ark.

Myharl's tribe were not the only highmen who made the wasteslands their home. Another, more ancient group of giantkin migrants were those who the tribe elders called, "the cursed." They had arrived in the Southron Wastes likely thousands of years earlier. The tribe's migration routes always steered clear of the mountain stronghold of their clan. A dark place called Kilanirij. For the most part the cursed had likewise avoided the tribe, seeming more interested in maintaining their fortress city than the activities of nomadic peoples eking out a living from the harsh lands. That was until one day, a cafila of three cursed approached the tribe's encampment at sundown. The three strangers spoke in a strange mesh of the Gaintkin language and another tongue foreign but very similar-sounding to Elvish. They referred to themselves as Ishan; travelers on a quest seeking to solve some ancient mystery.
The Ishan called their paths crossing with the tribe's caravan, "a destiny".
The tribe elders were wary of the Ishan, but believing that all giantkin share an ancient lineage, they still cautiously invited them to rest by the evening fires and offered them hospitality of food and water. Of the three, one was an older man with deep scars indicative of many battles, another a younger man who seemed more learned than his company, and the last a young woman with an otherworldly air about her. It was the third who piqued the interest of young Myharl. She was several years his elder, yet still the youngest of the three. He found her form appealing and her forbidden moniker intoxicatingly unique. The interest of youth appealed for him to get closer to her, and so as the three Ishan sat around the warmth of the fires speaking to the elders, he lingered.
The eldest recovered an object securely wrapped in layers of canvas from their belongings as the younger man regaled the elders with a tale about ancient evils from the past reawakening. They were seeking a way to unlock an ancient puzzle. The old man unwrapped the object to reveal a veil iron ark that donned a pair ornamental gold dragons, and the younger of the two pointed to six golden seals around the ark's lid explaining how no method or magic had been able to penetrate the box or remove its locks. They believed that within was a powerful artifact that could be used to fight a coming evil, and their quest was to find a way to free it from its prison.
As the two men continued engaging the elders with stories about ancient wars and forgotten times, the female Ishan took notice of Myharl's presence and seemed to immediately recognize his interest in her. She smiled softly, motioning him closer. He complied, and the two began a friendly conversation. She introduced herself as Gryphonwind, and explained she was a seer and diviner of the future sent to aid her fellow travelers. As Myharl and Gryphonwind shared food and drink, the legends and myths she told him summoned an even greater curiosity from within. Devoid of awkward banter, the demeanor of the conversation seemed as if the two were longtime friends.
As the evening grew late, just as Myharl had worked up enough courage to invite her to spend the night with him, she abruptly interrupted to ask if she could divine his future. Tilted by the offer, he drew closer to sit at her side and agreed. She reached for a small woven basket worn at her hip and pulled out and handful of polished dark stones. Each was carved with a strange rune. She cast stones upon the sand at their feet. As the stones landed, Gryphonwind gasped before her breaths became near silent. Eight of the nine stones had landed with their runes facing downward in the sand, the ninth and solely visible rune bore a symbol that vaguely resembled a landslide.
As she stared at the stone, it began to violently twitch as if taking on a life of its own. Suddenly, it began to draw a line in the sand as it danced its way towards Myharl. Glancing up to notice the look of abject horror marring Gryphonwinds visage, he leapt to his feet. The stone continued towards him across the sand, and he began stepping backwards. As he withdraw the stone gave chase wobbling frantically across the sand. Now frightened as well as startled, Myharl quickened his pace in reverse until accidentally stumbling into the older Ishan. The obstacle sending Myharl sprawling backwards as he fell over the seated man. In a bid to right himself, Myharl grasped for leverage. The stone stopped moving the moment his hand landed squarely on the ark. Quickly removing his hand from the artifact, its seals loudly popped open one after the other.
The stars seemd to vanish from the night sky as an unnatural shadowy black fog sped across the landscape to envelope the encampment. Tendrils of shadow seemed to grope and caress every surface accompanied by the sound of incoherent whispering voices. Then came an ear-ringing bestial roar so loud it seemed to shake the ground itself. Several massive winged draconic figures soared low overhead, their forms discernable only as their metallic scales reflected the carmine firelight below. A contrasting moment of silence followed until overpowered by a growing cacophony of anguished screams. Seized by terror and unable to move Myharl watched as the beasts plowed through the gathered crowd of his tribesmen. Their massive razor talons shredding flesh and stripping bone as they belched caustic fluids that washed away skin and flesh in an instant. Many of the giantkin drew their weapons, fighting back against the beasts, but others seemed statuesquely motionless, as if frozen in time.
Gryphonwind cried out Myharl's name, which seemed to shake him from the unnatural paralysis binding him. She shouted, instructing him to open the ark. As he moved towards the artifact, one of the beasts shifted its stride and charged toward him. Rearing back to raise its fierce talons before striking, Myharl helplessly stared at the wyrm sure that those were to be his final moments. They would have been, but with jarring impact, Gryphonwind's body slammed into his as she threw herself atop him like a shield. Pulling her weight away from him and rising again to her feet, she desperately pointed at the ark. In response, Myharl quickly crawled across the sand until his hands rest on each side of the unsealed vessel.
He strained to pry open the tightly closed lid, and his eyes shifted again to Gryphonwind just as a silvery talon violently burst through her abdomen from behind. The beast roared again, masking the words she screamed as blood erupted from her lips. The lid gave way and the ark was opened. A blinding flash of light from within the artifact pierced through the darkness. The beasts roars suddenly became high-pitched screeches as they withdrew back towards the shadowy fog. As the light spread across the encampment Myharl's last sight of Gryphonwind was life's light fleeting form her eyes as her corpse was wrent into the evaporating darkness.
Instinctively reaching into the ark, Myharl pulled forth the fiery glowing orb from within. An otherworldly flame-filled eye gazed out from within the crystalline sphere. Clutching the ball tightly, Myharl raised it high as he screamed out her name.
The sensation of a thousand infernos wracked across his body as the beasts continued to shriek. Seeing dozens of bodies littering the blood soaked sands around him, Myharl turned his eyes to the orb. His gaze locked involuntarily with the fiery eye within as the world around him faded into absolute darkness and silence. There was only the eye. It seemed to gaze into his very soul as an overwhelming rage welled within. A feeling of anger and righteousness. He was aware of nothing else except the fiery red glow of the eye. However, soon he realized that he was not alone, and as the eye shifted, it illuminated the massive golden figure that bore it. A great gold dragon, much like the beasts from the shadows, but enormous and surrounded by a glow in a hue of gold Myharl had never before seen.
For what simultaneously felt like an instant and like eons, the golden figure observed Myharl. Then it commandingly uttered a single word. A word beyond comprehension. Reality returned in an instant to Myharl's awareness just as an explosion of luminous golden thunder pulsed from the orb, the distortions of light eradicating both the shadows and the vicious wyrms.
Myharl fell unconscious. When he awoke, he found himself still holding the eye, but surrounding by the warm glow of the campfire and the deep indigo of the star-filled night sky. The threat was gone, but the roars and shrieks had been replaced with the sounds of crying and painfilled moans. He placed the eye back in to the ark, and weakly slid its heavy lid securely back on top. Among the dead nearby were the two male Ishan and a dozen of his tribe. Many more were grievously wounded. Gryphonwind's body was nowhere to be seen.
As the sun's light kissed the eastern skies and the last of the wounded had been tended to, those that had seen the events that transpired kept a wide birth from Myharl. He was confused by the look of fear in the eyes of his kin. Fear of him. They formed a circle around him, as if guarding a prisoner. Hushed whispers crawled through the crowd. The last of the slain were being wrapped in shrouds when the tribe elders finally approached. They were grim and hesitant.
Proceeding a long silence, they finally elaborated; after discussing it with the tribe, they had all decided that whatever evil curse was lain upon the people of the Ishan visitors had now been cast upon him. It was no longer safe for him to be among his kin. He was a danger. With hurtful disdain they exiled Myharl and demanded he return the artifact to Kilanirij and never again return to the tribe.
Realizing there was no way to convince them otherwise, Myharl beseeched the elders to be allowed to bid his family farwell. Enclosed by a circle of warriors, he was led to the blood-soaked mass of shroud-wrapped bodies. As his tear-filled gaze wandered across the pile, someone in the crowd angrily quipped, "You no longer have any family here. Take your curse and be gone!"

Visions at Kilanirij & Call to the North

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