Vrallux

Vrallux Myththanyl
Status	Active
Race	Elf
Gender	Male
Guild	Ranger
Instance	Prime

• 

  Without Mask
• 

  With Mask

Description

You see Vrallux Miththanyl, Dark Druid of Elanthia, an Elf.
Massive ivory goat horns tipped in gold curl backwards from the crown of Vrallux's head, their slightly furry bases blending in with the untamed mass of whiskey brown curls tumbling loosely around his shoulders. Horizontally slitted eyes of smoky lilac sit below thick bushy eyebrows, their impish gaze taking in everything around them.

You catch a glimpse of his face under his mask...
He has a set of mischievously twitching whiskers accenting an angular face, pointed ears, sullenly glowing yellow eyes and a straight nose. His silver hair is very long and straight, and is worn in a tousled arrangement of upswept locks held in place by a pair of wooden antlers. He has pale skin dripping with viscous swamp ooze and a rotund build.
He is very tall for an Elf.
A gleaming tree-shaped jade rests on his forehead, just above his eyes.
He is young.
He has a long goatee forming a single braid lashed with an undyed leather cord dangling a striped owl feather.
His forehead has a tattoo of a stylized symbol of a slashed double hex enclosed within a circle.
He is in good shape.

He is wearing a camouflage oilskin rain poncho tinted the hues of a wooded forest, a sunny yellow zenganne cloak, an elegant gold cloak pin inset with a sickly rainbow-hued aevanstone shaped into a leaf, a furry hermit's shirt woven from goat hair, an engraved belt knife bearing the crest of the Ranger Guild, a silver key with a spider-web design on the grip, a brown mesh sack covered in green moss and some tawny gold fur breeches ending in a pair of cloven-toed goat hooves.

Background

The signs were there. A mild winter led to an abundance of pray, which made for fattened predators. As the unusually damp and warm spring gave way to still heavy rains, beetle larvae appeared on the corn, in the storehouses. The wolves did not even have to prowl at night for brave rodents – they ignored anything other than foals too fat to flee. The corpses of portions of large litters were left to rot, as the predators had eaten their fill. And as the buzzards grew content themselves, so too did the flies, and by then, I realized I had been a fool for not intervening. Or fleeing. The balance twisted, and I thought I could help.

The first diseased boar was seen on our town’s perimeter during the height of summer. A blazing sun beat down on still soaked roads, and the mud caked beast dripped pus and blood from sores and boils and blisters that covered half its body. One eye was completely caked with writhing maggots, and the skin of that side of its face hung in ragged scraps, likely as the animal clawed and scratched itself in desperation. It staggered as if drunk, rooting in the mud and periodically freezing, its ears twitching away the cloud of buzzing insects as if it sought to hear something just outside its perception. From the watch tower, I notched two arrows and sunk them both in the beasts neck, watching as it squealed its last. We wrapped oil of elderberry and goldenseal soaked kerchiefs around our faces and approached carefully. In the minutes it had taken us to prepare and reach the fallen creature, it had become swollen with… something, appearing like writhing snakes under its skin. Our Elementalist kept a steady stream of flame on the carcass, but nevertheless, we avoided the foul fumes and skittering creatures that attempted to flee. When the mud had baked dry, naught but sizzling tallow and bones remained, I reached deep into the land and brought forth cleansing waters, renewed life, and tried to cleanse the land. It was not enough, the bones and dirt too poisoned. What little order I could bring forth was a whisper against the roar of chaos, the lingering fumes, the skittering creatures even now burrowing deeper.

We began to see more diseased animals. A buzzard fell in our townsquare, a collection of feathers and ticks. Rabid wolves ran themselves to exhaustion. When a horse was found submerged upriver, bloated nearly twice normal size, we knew we needed help, but it was too late. I beseeched the waters to cleanse themselves, nurtured the glyceria along the river to grow, called to the bottom feeders in hopes that they would clean the bulk of the effluent, but the first of our town began to fall ill, and it was all we could do to quarantine them as blackness crept along their veins and they vomited blood. And our work began. We roamed, and culled the sick animals with arrow and fire. We similarly burned the ill land and tended it with sapling and water. But the forest is vast, and our efforts felt miniscule, so I prayed. To Kuniyo, that he may rectify the wilds that had grown so unbalanced. To Hodierna, that she may cure our sick. And to Eylhaar, that those who were beyond our saving may be given the quiet peace they deserve. The heavens twinkled, laughed and sang, lent us their comfort and strength.

The balance must be preserved. I nurtured along those who just needed some strength, and I calmed to a peaceful sleep those who would not make it. But the very forest seemed to shudder as blight burrowed deeper into the oak, and the willow rendered brittle as it was sucked dry by cicadas woken years too early. Weeks past, more died, and our work never ceased. In my heart of hearts, I knew how this would play out. I would watch them all die, and have to find employment elsewhere, another township to tend. Ushnish is a cruel master. I had steeled myself for this inevitability, began distancing myself from my friends. This town wasn’t the only, and the lands were, after all, endless. I resolved to contribute as long as I could, and move on when I had to. Imagine my horror when I woke one night barely able to breathe, coughing myself ragged, and managed to conjure a clot of thick, black, phlegm from the depths of my lungs. I set to boiling herbs and dragging forth the strength of the land, but the disease wouldn’t break. I’m not sure I was even surprised when I woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of my cabin door being hammered shut, a box of supplies on my table. Furious, but not surprised.

After all I’d done for them, locked away to die like one of the herd. All the lambs I’d tracked in the winter, the wolves I’d kept at bay, the horses tamed, and lifesaving medicines gathered. None of it mattered to them. This betrayal was unacceptable. They had taken from the land, and despite my best efforts, the land could not sustain them. I would take back from them, and abide the wilds no more. I spent a day pulling sustenance from the bare floor, but it was not enough. The family of mice that lived near the firewood bin was the first to suffer from my desperate harnessing, their whisper of life force granting me a few minutes of clear breath. It was all I needed. The door and the boards securing it withered under my touch, the wood crumbling away, and I could feel the strength of elm burning in my arms. I gazed around my clearing with new eyes, seeing all that could be used, all that could be made mine. The briar shuddered and strained to me. I called, and the forest answered. Fire and ash, screams and cries. The town broke.

I came to in the dark, on my knees, bramble and thorn woven through my hands, piercing my flesh, ivy wrapped corpses and withered husks littered around crumbling brick and smoldering timber. A purple miasma pulsed from the town well, and I could hear… whispers and secrets and promises. Skittering at the edge of my vision, hooded figures pointed north with endless hands made of hook and claw and wing and talon. Too many digits. I turned my face to the stars, seeing the Wolverine, the Unicorn, the Scorpion, hearing nothing but silence. A black wind began to howl, stirring the trees, and they cursed my name with each rustling leaf.

They had left me to die. They had all left me to die.

I stood, breaking free of the dying vines and watching in horror as my flesh knit itself shut. Before me lay a simple knife, impossibly sharp, instructing, demanding I follow. What else could I do but walk?

-written by Jhien

Treasure Loot

• a small metal monkey holding half of a Trothfang fire pepper to its mouth

Crafted of brilliant ruby, the remaining half of the pepper almost obscures a small flint tucked into the monkey's mouth. From the Sleeping Dragon Corn Maze, 422 AV.

• a shimmering outfit

A soft shimmer resonates through the shimmering outfit, making it appear to be every color and yet no color at all. It appears very malleable. From the Sleeping Dragon Corn Maze, 422 AV.

• a sturdy staff of vedda capped with a cracked glass orb

From Duskruin, 423 AV.

Unique Items

• an onyx balance scale amulet silhouetted against a cloudy emerald tree-of-life

An amulet worn as a symbol of allegiance to a group of mostly known (and some unknown) Druids that live in Elanthia.

• a brown mesh sack covered in green moss (boar's sack)

A wooden bead hangs from a leather cord around the opening, carved with a crude image of the the Zaulfung stones. Altered pet pig home from Bacon Man's Birthday Bash, 419 AV.

• a Zaulfungian wild boar

Coarse, short brown fur covers the beast's body while a forest green mohawk runs from its head down the center of its back and ends in a tuft on its short tail. Just below its sunken eyes, two large tusks curl out of the boar's mouth, each carved with tiny geometric symbols. It isn't wearing anything special. A groomed pet pig from Bacon Man's Birthday Bash, 419 AV.

• a leaf-strewn neck pouch strung on braided vines

Scattered with leaves that follow no discernible pattern, the soft suede of the pouch is nearly obscured by the foliage.

• a pair of wooden antlers

Nearly hidden at the base of the antlers, are a pair of hair combs, upon which the appendages are jauntily perched. Marking the antlers are various esoteric symbols that seemingly form an accentuating knotwork across their surface.

• the Black Plague

First Mate on the galleon ship, the Black Plague.