Name: Thalion (thal-e-on) Thorontur (Thor-on-tore) (Hero with the Power of an Eagle)
Race: Avelle
Age: 93
Height/Weight/Wingspan: 6′10″/109 lbs./10′
Class: Cleric
-Specialization(s): Bow, Quarterstaff, Morning Star
Appearance: Silver hair with streaks of gold, this shines through in his wings. The feathers are silver, with the ends shading into a gold. When the sun shines onto his wings they shine with a brilliance and beauty almost unmatched in nature. His eyes are a piercing sky blue, while his skin is a few shades darker than the rest of his people(which is still very pale, a better description would be to say that his skin is pinker than his race. Similar to a human.), giving his body a stark contrast to his hair and wings.

-Identifying Marks: Wings. Tattoo.

Equipment: He wears a simple, yet elegant white robe over a protective mithral shirt, inlaid with panels of glass-steel. On the robe are runes etched into the sleeves, these runes have protective properties. A small % of magical energies directed at him are sucked into the runes, this does not make him immune to any magics, but rather softens the impact that destructive magic can have on him. There is a large rune on the back of his robe that has been the symbol of his family for generations. This rune translates roughly to “water.” Essentially the purpose of this protection is to keep his wings from burning away if hit with magical fire. Natural fire however can still have a devestating effect.

Mithral is one of the strongest materials in the known world, but even stronger than this is Glass-Steel, a precious metal that only the Avelle have mastered. They guard their secret with great care, it is one more thing that sets them apart from the lesser races. While hardly flexible, glass-steel affords solid nearly unbreakable protection.

Morning Star with a Glass-Steel head. Avelle crafted Quarter-Bow. Essentially it is a Quarterstaff that in one quick motion can be stringed and turned into a bow of excellent craftsmanship. A set of twenty blunt arrows, as well as a quiver that magically replaces one arrow every 2 hours until it is once again full.

He also carries a bag that contains parchment, ink, was, a quill, food, and map-making tools.

On his left hand is a signet ring, showing the symbol of his heritage.

A pouch that has the prized gold coin of the Avelle, the pouch holds 50 coins which is enough to fetch one a decent living for a few years at least, among the lessers.

Holy Water created by himself.

Personality: Like many of his kind he looks down upon the races who cannot take to the skies. To him they are the lessers, not very skilled in any aspect of life, unaware of the larger picture many a time. However he is more accepting of them and their company than many of his kin.

Among his own kind he is a gentle soul, who will go out of his way to help those in need. Because of his clerical training he aids lessers that need his help as well. However when dealing with a lesser, due to the way he was brought up and the centuries of prejudice he comes off as arrogant, and rude. To some his sour demeanor diminishes his beauty, but at his core he only wishes to help people, and those that look for it can see his true self.

Note- He is more apt to get along with humans, because he sees them as one of the greatest of the lesser races despite their short life span. He takes a special interest in human history. Humans however dislike those that seem as if they know everything, but because of his longer lifespan and many many years dedicated to studying them he cannot help but come off as a “know it all.”

His temperment is as cool as cold steel. It takes much to get him angry, or even excited about anything. Even in a fight it shows through, with him showing patience and never giving in to an enemy taunt, never letting the opponent get a rise out of him.

-Likes: Enjoying the freedom of flying around with nothing to do, and not a care in the world. Martial training, playing the pipes, listening to the sound of a beautiful voice and studying the many aspects of the world, focusing on it’s history.
-Dislikes: Getting dirty or wet, dealing with the lessers, ignorance.

Biography:

93 years ago…

“Bring him to the lower levels; he won’t do any good to anyone, including himself if he stays here.”

A woman with tears in her eyes nodded in agreement with her mate even though he told her to get rid of the newborn babe in her arms. The child had no structure for wings along his back, and had the pigment of a human and to the Avelle he was no better than one. Still the mother kept the child during it’s initial months hoping that one day it would begin to sprout wings. The day however did not come and it was time to bring him to the colony of Avelle that shared his fate.

“I’m sorry to see this happen to us as well my love, but do not worry, we shall have another child.” The woman was once again in tears as this was the day that her baby would be taken away. She was in sad shape, the shine in her wings was beginning to dull, and the ends of them frayed because of her lack of care for them. Her hair had become wiry and dull, her eyes empty and sullen. This was the fate of every Avelle who birthed a child without wings.

He was taken to Holma Eden, the home of the cursed Avelle. There he would be raised by them, to grow up to mine the precious Glass-Steel for the true Avelle. They had an arrangement where the cursed ones were unaware of the truth of the matter. To them the Avelle were angels who brought their children to them. A cursed Avelle is born sterile, they cannot breed.

Since they had made the trip to deliver the child they asked for a return gift of Glass-Steel productions, which the cursed ones gave gladly. Still the Avelle did not wish to make slaves of them, for the Glass-Steel they would leave coin in the holy temple erected for them in this town. Holma Eden is located at the base of the Avelle Mountains.

The cursed ones brought the child to the next family in line to receive one, their community was not large, the children came to them at a slow pace. His adopted parents named him Thalion Thorontur, and after 2 years they tattooed him with the symbol of the cursed ones. To them it was simply a tradition to be performed on the child’s 2nd birthday, the meaning of the runic tattoo(fallen one) was lost to them long ago.

The child continued to grow and lead a normal life among those he perceived as his people, then on his 10th birthday his body began to change.

He emerged from the mines after a long days work to see his wife approaching quickly, tears were streaming down her cheeks. “What it is Talia, what happened?” The old miner asked his wife. “It’s Thalion, something is happening to him, some sort of growth on his back. He’s been crying out in pain all day now, nothing I do can bring him comfort. I..I think he’s dying Talis!” The old man rushed to his home with his wife, there a priest was watching over the boy who’s body was convulsing violently. The screams of pain were deafening.

For hours on end they tended to the boy as fevers came and went, as the pain lulled for a few minutes and raged on for the next. This went on for days, during this time Thalion refused food and drink. Eventually they forced the water into him, they had to keep him alive. After the seventh day the growth began to take shape and to all those in the village what came next was astonishing. The boy grew wings, just like those of the angels who had delivered him to their village.

“Mother, father, how did this happen? … I’m.. I’m a freak…” The adopted mother of the child rushed to him and cradled his head in her arms. “No son, never say things such as that, the priest, he says it’s a gift from the angels. He thinks maybe they want you to climb into the heavens and speak with them.” The woman held him closed and prayed that the priest was correct.

It took the boy years to learn how to fly, and even when he could, his maneuverability was poor at best. Still he had come to love his wings and enjoyed breaking away from the mining to take wing and feel the rush of wind beat against his body. He was 18 now, but still very much a child as is the nature of the Avelle who’s lifespan covers centuries in cases even millennia. His body however had reached it’s full height, and his wings seemed to have stopped growing.

Shortly after his 18th birthday the angels returned to get their payload of Glass-Steel for the next decade, when they saw what had become of him they were astonished. They quickly flew off and left him feeling uneasy and scared. “How did that happen? In all the time I have lived I have never seen a fallen one sprout wings. That’s… that’s my child, my son!” Shouting for joy as he realized which one of the fallen ones had grown wings. “But look at those wings, they are tiny and he is fully grown.” The other Avelle suspected trickery and foul play, perhaps magic at work here. Had the fallen caught on to their ploy? Was this boy a spy? Would they stop mining the precious metal that built their cities, weapons, armour, and tools if they found out the truth?

“Maybe he’ll grow into them, we never know. It’s impossible to tell, he really shouldn’t have those at all.” They went back to the village trying to keep their surprise hidden as well as they could. They spoke with Thalion’s adopted parents and told them that the boy was to come back with them, so he could best learn how to use his wings, a poor excuse but all they could come up with in their shocked state. Their minds were too busy trying to figure out how something like this even happened.

They flew up into the heavens and Thalion was amazed at the sight before him once they cleared the fog. A huge city that seemed to float on the clouds was sprawled out before his eyes. Spires made of glass-steel rose up towards the sun, at the highest point lay an enormous castle. The center spire was the likeness of the Avelle saint Triell, the two large wings of the castle were made to look like a set of wings. From a distance it was as if one was looking upon a gigantic Avelle. The detail was so great that one could make out the individual feathers, the interior of the Glass-Steel castle was designed so that it gave color to the saint, one could see the many hues of her feathers, her angelic skin, radiating eyes, and even her hair was fashioned in great detail.

20 years later…

His wings had not grown any larger and it was a struggle to gain altitude, even after years of practice. He had been told of his fate and the reason for the existence of Holma Eden by his true parents. It was hard for him to accept it all, and it had changed his entire outlook on the world. It was even harder to learn that he could not return to see his family now that he had been to Trillenium. It was months before he would even talk to his biological parents and years before he would trust them.

Having shorter wings than even the smallest of Avelle Thalion was talked down upon often. He quickly learned that he shouldn’t be here and the other Avelle were not afraid to remind him of their opinion. Still he pushed it all out of his mind and devoted his life to seeking knowledge, to learn all that he could. He also devoted himself to the art of divine magic, living among the Avelle Priesthood for nearly 40 years. There he had much martial training, but more importantly his connection to the divine had dramatically increased. For one so young Thalion was more adept and more in tune with the saint than any Avelle before him. This brought him some level of respect but he was still shunned by his own kind.

50 years later.

His flying was now nearly perfect, due to his small wings however he did not have the endurance to fly as long as his kin. He would have to break twice as often as the others. Again he was laughed at and ridiculed, but the young Avelle pulled those insults inside him and expelled them in fruitful endeavors. He studied more often than any of his peers, he prayed more often than his peers, and he devoted more time to martial training than any of the others. This left him with no luxury time but he didn’t mind, it kept him busy and helped him forget the troubles of his past. He still rarely contacted his parents, not wanting much to do with them at all.

He began to develop a habit of studying humans and their habits. These creatures fascinated him because of how much they could accomplish in their short life span, how fluidly their culture moved and how fast their history developed. His sheer determination and rapid advancement in all areas impressed the elder members of Avelle society, and so they began grooming him for a task they imagined would make every member of Avelle society happy. They would have the risen, cursed one be their liaison with the academy of magic. The lessers were becoming more and more adept with magic and they would need to be watching. Thalion would be their spy, they imagined he would complain little with his non-stop studying of the human race, and those Avelle that disliked or mistrusted him would be content with him outside of Trilleniem. Those that had interest in him could watch him as he developed into a fully matured Avelle whilst among the lesser races. It was almost an experiment to them.

15 years later…

Thalion had fast become friends with Alea Silverell the headmistress of the academy for she was quick at the chance to befriend one of his race. It seemed to him as if she had several dealings with his kind. He was quickly able to discern this because when most saw him they looked in stunned amazement, while she certainly recognized his beauty, she did not react as many other of the lesser had. He rapidly learned she had a quick and sharp mind for an apparent human, and enjoyed her company.

After making contact with her he began to fly around the world exploring and learning all he could from it and it’s inhabitants. He even traveled across the seas on a ship to Illenia and explored there, looking into their technology and studying their history. Then the demons began to emerge, while he tried to lend his help he realized one Avelle would do little against a plague such as this so he made haste for his homeland, and requested help for their neighbors. He was nearly laughed out of the city, and it was obvious that they would not help the lesser races, or trust the word of a cursed Avelle about impending doom.

He tried to make the arguement, “what if they conquer them and then turn to us!?” “Are you implying that demons could take control of Trilleniem, the holiest of Avelle cities? They would flee in the presence of Triel our patron saint. It is our belief that you have fallen in love with the lesser races Thalion, you must remember that they are hardly worth our time. Perhaps sending you into their world was a mist…”

Furious Thalion stormed out of the capital and made way for the Academy, if his own could not aid Illenia then perhaps the other lessers could. When he arrived and spoke with the headmaster he learned that Illenia had completely disappeared, only the gods knew where it was now.

5 years ago…

He wasn’t a common sight at the academy as he spent most of his time exploring the world especially after the cataclysm of Illenia. The world needed re-mapping and that was something he was glad to spend his time doing. Time to time he would stop in regularly to have a chat with Lady Silverell, he mostly flew in at night to avoid the throng of people that longed simply to touch his wings. It was on one such night he was on his way to the academy after reporting in with Trillenium. An arrow sliced through the night sky and lodged into his wing, another hit it’s opposite and soon he was loosing control of his flight, snapping his wings straight out he rolled and caught an updraft sending him out of arrow range momentarily. Once out of the updraft he glided forward rapidly, soon however his vision began to fade and he fell unconscious just before he was about to land.

His head was swimming when he awoke, next to a fire, on the other side of it was a short gruff looking character, roasting something on a stick. His life would never be the same. He owed the dwarf his life after he learned that some bounty hunters had shot him out of the sky, hoping to imprison the young Avelle. Slate had dispatched them and tended to Thalion’s wounds. They forged an unlikely bond that often left Thalion wondering what he was doing attaching himself to Slate Mithanrail.