Teveriel (prime)

Teveriel with his betrothed, Uniana, illustrated by Ashley Lange.

Teveriel Anduin Vaalor is a warrior of some renown and retains full citizenship in Ta'Vaalor.

A veteran of the War of the Griffon Sword, Teveriel briefly led the Golden Hawks special forces unit alongside Lady Evelith and the sorcerer Kardgar. The war was marked with tragedy for Teveriel in particular, who lost both his father and brother to the Dark Alliance's forces. Some time after the end of the War, the Hawks were officially disbanded and Teveriel was relieved of his command.

Bereft of purpose, Teveriel devoted himself to Voln's cause, even going so far as to make pilgrimage to the House of the Paladin in Elstreth to train as a full-fledged Paladin of the lesser deity. For a time, he made his way as a wanderer of sorts, hunting undead across elven and imperial lands. His newfound zeal consumed him, driven by a desire for revenge against the monstrosities that took the lives of his loved ones. It took years for him to wake from this living nightmare--and it was Uniana, whom he had come to know during the War and had recently returned, who roused him.

With renewed purpose, he is now engaged to marry Uniana and has his sights set on a possible seat on the Council of Regents. Although he no longer officially serves in any military capacity, he is determined to see to it that his homeland is safe and secure from any threat.

Appearance

You see Lord Teveriel Anduin Vaalor the Protector.

He appears to be an Elf.

He is tall in stature and has a broad-shouldered slender frame. He appears to be of full age. He has brooding steel grey eyes and fair skin. He has mid-back length, straight pale blonde hair with several strands pulled forward to rest against his chest. He has a chiseled, angular face, a straight nose and well-muscled shoulders and arms. His steeply arched, dark eyebrows and symmetrical features lend him a dour countenance.

He is in good shape.

He is wearing a chain-fastened dark wool cloak lined with onyx-swept scarlet marbrinus, a mirror-finish crimson eahnor greatshield slung over his shoulder, some eahnor and vaalorn plate-and-mail, a tripartite band of black onyx and translucent crystal, a pair of eahnor-buckled dark buckskin belts, an antiquated black lacquered scabbard, some fitted grey wool pants, and a pair of black boots buckled with eahnor over the ankle.

Vignettes

• A Private Letter to King Qalinor 09/24/5121
• A Paladin's Dawn

A Paladin's Zenith

The curved blade flashed as it swept through the air, taking the wight's head with it. Teveriel's cloak billowed outward as he whirled with the momentum, splitting open the ribcage of another. There was a terrible scream and he rushed toward its source, heavy boots beating noisily on the mud-choked road.

They had the old human surrounded, shambling and hissing as they advanced. His leg was badly wounded, the flesh nearly hanging off the shinbone in bloody ribbons. The elf's pace never slowed, leading with his shield as he collided with the nearest wight, sending it thudding to the ground before it met its end at the end of his blade. The rest were upon him now, screeching with rage. He had only an instant to react as he sheathed his blade and gestured, murmuring a short phrase in Old Kannalan. A white haze shrouded his vision and his movements became not entirely his own. A longsword black as night materialized in his hand and it burst into white flame, lashing out in a heated frenzy at the mob of shambling corpses. One by one they fell, writhing and screaming as their corporeal forms were consumed by the divine fire, and only when the last of them disintegrated into ash did Teveriel's vision return to normal.

Losing himself to the Divine Incarnation of Voln left him feeling disconcerted and drained, as it always did. He had long resolved to use the ability sparingly, but he had increasingly grown to rely on it in recent days. Regaining his bearings now, he took a quick survey of the village. All was silent now, save for the groaning of the old man. He went to kneel beside him, inspecting the wound carefully. It would take quick action, but he would live. "Let us get you to an empath," he said, curtly but not unkindly.

The frail human was in too much pain to even thank his rescuer as he was lifted easily into his mailed arms. Teveriel's gaze lingered on the torn bodies of the undead he had slain as he picked his way among them. He hated them, he had come to realize. This was no divine quest he had embarked upon; it was vengeance. In the hollow eyes of every undead abomination he slew, he saw the grotesque and transformed faces of his father and brother screaming at the end of his blade. He saw Caliel, the traitor, and Morvule the Serpent. Setting his jaw firmly, his eyes narrowed. What if it is vengeance, then? What difference does it make whether they are destroyed by his blade or one whose purpose is true? It all comes to the same ending--oblivion, where they belong.

The old man was unconscious now, and Teveriel took care to ensure he was held securely in the saddle before swinging himself onto the stallion's back and urging him to an easy, ambling gait that would accommodate the wounded man. He was almost grateful for him; focusing on the life he held in his hands allowed him to dismiss all thoughts of pain and death, at least for a time.

A Paladin's Twilight, A Warrior Renewed

30 Jastatos, 5121

Still lost in thoughts of his past, Teveriel's reverie was broken when a familiar presence entered his thoughts. "Would you like to join me in the Garden of Ancients? The trees seem to mitigate the rainfall." The rainfall, he thought bleakly as he peered at the window nearest to his table. It had continued unabated for the past month, heralding a number of portents that ultimately led to Caligos and that accursed eel. But after tomorrow, assuming all went well...

He dismissed that thought from his mind. It was pointless to consider any other possibility. Instead, he picked himself up from his chair and offered Malwith a word of thanks before making his way out of the inn.

Drawing the leather hood of his coat over his head, he didn't bother sending a thought in reply as he made his way down the rain-shrouded var; it was not a long walk to the Hall of Arkati. The lamps that lit the way offered scant illumination; he mostly relied on the intermittent flashes of lightning to guide him to the vine-covered arch leading to the walled gardens.

Uniana stood off to the side of a carefully assembled altar, centered by a burning ebon candle and incense burner. Off to one side was a dragonstalk blossom, and the other was flanked by a silver griffin's feather. Closest to where she stood was an obsidian locket on a silver chain. She turned at his approach, reaching her hands out towards him. He gave her a look of wonder as he moved to meet her, taking her hands in his. "What is all of this?"

Uniana spoke carefully, her head tilting upward to meet his steel-grey eyes. "I will never be able to atone for my part in all the pain that was caused to you and your family," she explained with sorrow in her eyes. "But I would like to permit you the chance to grieve." Her voice softened as her violet-shadowed eyes lowered. "I would like to keep a silent vigil with you in honor of the family which was lost."

Teveriel felt the sting of her words as keenly as if they were crossbow quarrels. He shook his head in protest. "Lady Le'Gondren, I have never blamed you for what befell my brother and our lord father." Turning an encompassing gaze around the small shrine she'd made for them, he added with a note of wonder, "But you honor me with this."

She kept her gaze averted, her tone taking on a sullen quality. "That will be one of my aims for the remainder of my days, Lord Anduin. I am sorry it came so late."

Teveriel squeezed her hands in his, lifting them together to press a tender kiss to her knuckles. Still avoiding his gaze, he thought he heard her sniffle through the crash of thunder that filled the air. "Then let us keep vigil together," he offered gently. There was another flash of lightning and a metallic glint caught his eye--the locket he noted upon entering. "But what does this represent?"

Uniana looked abashed, pursing her lips for a moment. "Something I will wear from time to time to remind me of the cost of selfishness." He gazed at her in wonder, uncertain of her meaning but chose not to press her. Instead, she turned away and knelt in front of the assembled items, keeping her head lowered. He watched her in wistful silence for a long moment, then lowered himself to his knees to join her. She kept her head down as she moved her right hand outward towards him in an almost unnoticeable gesture, and they joined hands. They closed their eyes in silence for what must have been several minutes. "Would you like to say some words?" she prompted at last.

Several lightning strikes nearly blinded Teveriel as he opened his eyes, settling on the dragonstalk, a token that repreosented the signifier on his father's crest. "Father," he began quietly. "My most fervent hope is that you are proud of me as I am of you, and all of the sacrifices you made to provide for Tayin and myself." His voice was steady and calm, though all he could see in his mind's eye was the twisted and grotesque mockery of his undead father's face screaming at the end of his blade. "I know you are at peace--I saw to it myself--and reunited with Mother at long last."

He felt Uniana's fingers squeeze around his hand, and he glanced in her direction to see a stream of tears begin to fall from her pale cheeks. His expression softening, he turned his gaze to the silver feather that represented his family flourish. "Tayin, there is much and more that I would say to you were you here." He paused for a long moment. He knew his brother would likely -not- be proud of him. Shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought, he continued. "I hope that you will forgive me. I was never meant to inherit the lordship of our noble family, and the estate that was yours by right of birth is lost to us now. But I promise that our legacy will live on. And an Anduin will sit on the Council of Regents ere long. Let that be my restitution, brother."

Catching movement beside him, Teveriel glimpsed Uniana giving a firm, resolute nod. I am so fortunate to have your support, he thought as he gave her a sidelong glance. Then he lowered his head again, closing his eyes in silent repose. Uniana was stroking the interior of his wrist with her thumb. He took comfort in her quiet touch; between that and his own resolve, he felt the weight of his words lifted from his brow, no longer drawn with anger or pain but replaced with a serene confidence. "Lady Le'Gondren, I think perhaps I am finished."

Her voice was soothing, assuring him. "We can leave whenever you would like, Lord Anduin." But he shook his head, prompting a questioning look.

"That is not what I mean." He half-turned in her direction, clarifying, "I swore my blade solely to Voln, seeking to become the instrument of his wrath." An incredulous note creeped into his tone. "I forsook my home to pursue that path. But what has it brought me? What has become of that home now, in my prolonged absence?" Uniana's brow knit slightly as she listened to his words with intense focus. Bitterly, he answered his own question. "A ruined estate, and a notable lack of leadership on the Council that is supposed to advise our Sovereign on matters of security."

Uniana brought Teveriel's hand to her cheek, giving him a tender gaze that he knew was meant to mitigate the bitterness she sensed in him. Relenting somewhat, he gave her a resolute nod. "My purpose is clear to me, now more than ever. It is not to wander the continent, slaying undead in ever-increasing numbers. It is the purpose I held long ago: to protect -this- land, to assist in leading -our- people."

At those words, her gaze turned to one of pride. "I will aid you every step of the way, however I may."

"I will be counting on that," he replied truthfully. In many ways, though she denied it most vehemently, it was she who had renewed his confidence and helped him see how far he had led himself astray. "But have you concluded your own vigil, my lady?" His eyes strayed briefly to the locket. "I am in no hurry to depart if you have anything left unsaid, silently or otherwise."

Lowering his hand, Uniana fixed her eyes on the locket. "If the pain we endure makes us stronger, then perhaps the pain we inflict can make us wiser," she reasoned. "I will never be ignorant to the consequences of the pain I inflict again." Teveriel squeezed her hand, but lowered his head and remained silent to give her the same respect she afforded him. Her gaze drifted to the dragonstalk and feather as her voice sank to a whisper. "There are no words that I know of in our language to communicate the depth of my remorse." She paused a moment before adding, "But I will watch over him in your stead." She closed her eyes, then, lowering her head as if in prayer. Teveriel clenched his eyes shut, moved by her vow, and gave her hand another squeeze.

They kept a silent vigil together through most of the night before returning to the chalet. The next morning, Teveriel rode to Fearling Pass to visit his Order's monastery. There, at an altar not unlike the one where he pledged his blade, he found the spiritual connection he had with his Patron had already been severed. All of the powers bestowed upon him as a Paladin, gone. Even his own spellcasting, as he discovered upon attempting to cast the once familiar spell of Spirit Defense, was greatly diminished. Yet somehow, he felt renewed and in his unshakable confidence he knew that he could work to overcome these shortcomings and become the warrior he once was. The one he was meant to be.

Enemies in High Places

Teveriel stood dockside behind the rustic yet immaculate cottage, leaning casually on the dulled and weighted blade he used for his morning exercises. He was stripped to a simple tunic of sepia linen, grey trousers and sturdy leather boots, and in his other hand he held a glass of whiskey. He lifted it to his lips, his gaze lifted skyward, lost in thought. Golden owl, grey hawk, black raven. Not much to go on; owls were a common sight in the vicinity of Yander's Farm; hawks were commonly grey, and nearly all ravens wore black feathers. Uniana had provided the descriptions, having spied them during last night's attack. She said they were behaving oddly, disappearing skyward all at once as if working in concert.

Eyes in the skies, he mused darkly.

Swishing another sip of whiskey in his mouth, his thoughts turned to the battle itself. It had felt good to be fighting alongside the Fortress City's stout defenders once more. He'd felt completely at home, in his element, as if he had never retired from the Golden Hawks or the Legion before them. It was a bracing victory for all of the defenders, but also one that carried personal meaning for Teveriel. It was the first true test he'd faced since leaving the guiding hand of his patron, Voln. Far from self congratulation, he had taken critical measure of his own prowess on the field against the best and boldest of the night's defenders, and was confident that he and his blade more than measured up to any one of them. But the nature of their foe troubled him: it was hard to say whether or not the earth elementals that emerged from the very rock and soil were somehow called forth by the crones and shamans, or if the pitched battle had disturbed the confluence in some manner, enraging them. Regardless of the circumstances, however, they were the greatest threat of the night. Uniana, Orssus, himself and their other allies were hard pressed to destroy all of them.

He considered penning a missive as he strode past the firepit to place the practice sword among the others in the rack, but thought better of it. Leave the reporting to the Legionnaires, he reminded himself. But recalling the matter of the strange birds, another thought came to mind.

Some Ravens wore crimson.

With new purpose, he made his way inside. There was at least one letter he still had yet to write; one long in the coming. Setting his glass down on his writing task, he retrieved his quill from the inkwell and ebon-edged parchment. His pen flowed easily over the sheet, writing "Letheras, my friend, it has been too long.."

A New Venture

Teveriel nodded patiently as Barlon went over their meeting in summary, occasionally tapping the parchment on the table between them to point out some passage or another of particular note.

"To put it into layman's terms," Teveriel reasoned, "We would not be in violation of any extant customs laws so long as we disclose our profits and expenses to Wyvern Keep." The scrivener's advice had proven invaluable thus far; Teveriel was more than accustomed to overseeing matters of his estate, but a private trading company dealing in foreign import and export was another matter entirely.

"Indeed," the other elf nodded. "And as noted in the aforementioned article seventeen, the transport of certain materials deemed by the Crown to be 'sensitive' carry certain restrictions. To wit, your intention to market certain metals, fabrics, and woods abroad will require three separate licenses." He gave a slight shrug, the silver chain he wore about his neck jingling with the motion. "An expensive undertaking, in truth."

"But one in which we stand to gain exponentially, with the right buyers," Teveriel countered. He recalled the time he and Uniana had spent on Caligos Isle, and the awe with which even imperial and Faendryl eyes regarded the aqilorn they had brought for Oirisu to work with. There was demand for elven commodities, and with the opening of a new harbor, now was the time for enterprising individuals to capitalize on it.

"Just so," Barlon nodded reasonably. "I am no businessman, Lord Anduin," he added with a rueful smile. "Buying, selling--my expertise is in canon law."

"Expertise that has already served me well in my investments westward." Teveriel allowed a faint smile, albeit short-lived. "Allow me to be blunt, Barlon. We could use a man of your talents. I already know the paltry salary afforded you by the Keep, and once we commence operations I am prepared to double it." Folding his hands on the haon tabletop, he fixed the scrivener with a shrewd gaze. "Does that prospect interest you?"

Barlon's mouth hung open for a moment, then he let out a nervous laugh. "As your legal advisor, I assume?" He hesitated, "Lord Anduin, I--" But Teveriel lifted a single hand to forestall his protest.

"This is no small undertaking," he assured him confidently. "But a large scale operation already nearing fruition. We have partners. Our fleet is built, with the shipwrights constructing two more as we speak. You know me to be a man of honor, true to my word, and most relevantly one of means. Is that not so?" Barlon could only nod in response to the stern glance that punctuated his question. Teveriel gazed at him a moment longer before rising from his seat. "I will allow you time to think it over, of course. I shall have the relevant documents prepared for your perusal and sent to your office on the morrow to await your signature."

Teveriel studied him carefully as he stood to formally exchange farewells. He could tell by the way Barlon's smile lit his eyes and the new confidence in his body language that he would accept the position all too gladly, and it was all he could do to hide his own. Everything was coming together quickly, and he knew that they would be prepared.