Born under the auspice of Grugni’s Baldric and raised within the shaded boughs of Athel Loren, Mortelis was the 3rd of 5 children with whom Ariel had blessed his parents.
From an early age Mortelis exhibited a grace and rhythm that sang brightly of his destiny.
Now full grown he stands 6’4" in his bare feet but his dancers build barely tips the scales at 165lbs.
2 of Mortellis’ brothers still live, but his father and other brothers have passed through violence. His mother still lives but is withdrawn in sorrow at her husbands passing.
Missing tooth, Black hair, silver eyes.
Mortelis Bloodbough, as he now calls himsself, was once Mortelis Brightknife. A promising and dedicated young devotee of the Wardancers way, Mortelis spent his youth in the sort of intensive adherence to his cause that came with total commitment.
But his young heart yearned for something outside of the way, something that he could not find within its glades, but he held to the training and passed from the band of novices into a Kin band, the same as a number of his siblings and his father, and flourished.
In the bountiful wonder of Athel Loren’s trees Mortelis served his people and honoured his kith, the Kin band won skirmishes against the enemies of the Asrai and their deeds grew in word and song. It was during one of the victory feasts that destiny delivered what he had been missing. She was a true wonder to behold as she swept gracefully between the groups of celebrating dancers and revelers. Her silver white hair cascaded about her like a pale moonlit rose and her voice was as the trill of morning skylarks.
Her name was Caemalleath Starbrow.
Their eyes met and each was lost in the soul of the other.
Love such as this, sang his heart and soul, is the true reason for breathing, Caemalleth felt the same and their love flourished.
His brethren understood and a leave of absence was granted him so that he could pursue this blessing from Ariel to its full, and pursue it they did.
Their time together was wondrous and their families spoke of betrothal after the first weeks. Tragedy was to strike all too soon and cut short the blossoming of their union.
Two seasons after his kin band had returned to the wilds and the fringes of Athel Loren they were ambushed, at least that is how the tale is told, for only one member of the band survived to speak of the conflict and his words were few.
news of an attack reached Mortelis’ ears and he bid his love farewell and journeyed post haste to the site of the battle. The carnage was terrible, the elves had been mercilessly slaughtered, their bodies torn, desecrated and unrecognisable, the very trees festooned with the bloody evidence of their demise. Mortelis found but one survivor, barely clinging to life, a scout who had crawled into the hollow bole of an ancient elm. As Mortelis gently turned the mortally wounded elf towards him, he revealed the pain wracked face of his brother. He was terribly wounded, a great axe blade had cut the muscle from his right leg; hip to knee and almost a dozen dark shafted arrows sprung like reeds from his breast.
As Mortelis held his dying brother the only words that came softly from those blood flecked lips were…
“a four horned beast….” and with a rattling final breath he lay still.
On that exact moment, in that gore soaked clearing, the dead body of his brother in his arms, Mortelis vowed to find the beast which had perpetrated this act and spill its blood, and the blood of all who followed it, upon the ground to feed the boughs of the forest.
He returned to his beloved Caemalleath’s side only briefly, long enough to tell her of his vow and to break her heart with his departure.
He now stalks the trail of the four horned beast, torn by rage and deepening sorrow.