-- And here's Matt's awesome Elven Avenger. --

Cal’edor stood at the cliffs edge staring over and down at the village, a few small fires had already started and he could hear the bestial cries of the bandits mingling with the anguish of the villagers, the wind whipped violently through his long blond hair and for a moment he paused reflecting on his life…

Raised in Arenal by his parents Cal’edor had enjoyed a happy but uneventful childhood, his elven heritage would perhaps have brought him more grief had he not discovered his first love so young. He had been fascinated by the study of the blade, the art and dance of combat.  From the time he was old enough to hold a practice blade he had studied anything he could learn from anyone who would teach him.  This obsession came at the expense of his other studies, he had no time for language, mathematics or anything else, all that mattered was the sword.

Eventually his parents learned the futility of trying to draw his attention to anything else and gave their blessings for him to abandon his other studies entirely.  Luckily for Cal’edor many of his practices were mingled with philosophy, religion and culture of those who developed the style.  These things he did study, with the intent of better understanding the world that had birthed each style.

By the time he was 20, still a child in the eyes of his people, he was already seen as a troublemaker though only by those who took no time to learn his intentions.  His youth mixed with study had bred an attitude into him that when he saw someone abusing their strength, position or just numbers he felt compelled to intervene.  Anything from a noble trying to argue an unfair price to muggers and bullies, be they 1 or 50 in number.  As a result Cal’edor’s sword and fist saw much use in those early years, he did not always win, but he survived, and now began to temper his learning in the crucible of real combat. Cal’edor began to travel, wandering Eberron widening the net of his learning, seeking new injustices and people.

By the time he was 45 years old Cal’edor found himself in his new home, a shrine to the Sovereign Host after saving a priest from bandits.  He had found himself intrigued by the Priest who favoured the Goddess of Self Sacrifice and Honorable Combat, Dol Arrah.   He would speak of the Goddess as if he spoke with her nightly, speaking of how she would certainly favour the actions of Cal’edor.  30 years passed in the blink of an eye as he learned at the feet of the priest, helping out in the shrine where he could keeping his blade keen on those who would seek to cause disturbance there.  It was then that the Priest was finally laid to rest, old age finally catching up with him and with that the shrine was closed and Cal’edor found himself on the road again, his wanderlust overtaking him again.

It was there that he met her, Alyssa, a human Bard from Fairhaven who enchanted him from the first moment he met her, with red hair like fire and whose voice rang out clear as any angel. They revelled in the company as their travel intensified their feelings for each other and eventually the two fell in love.

The pair were inseparable and spent several decades together never leaving one another’s side travelling the land from the halls of the Undying Court to the wilds of Xen’Drik.  As the pair always knew would happen however Alyssa began to age while Cal’edors long life simply stretched out before him and eventually she passed away quietly in his arms.  Cal’edor buried his love in a location he has never revealed, spending what little money he had on charms to prevent the disturbing of her rest and set out into the world once more.  He had no gift for dance or song to be vowed to try and brighten the world much as Alyssa had the only way he knew how, wherever there was injustice, he would be there, whenever the boot of tyranny fell upon the helpless he would be their champion.  He would do all this in the hope that one day, when his time came to an end, gods willing,  he could stand tall in the presence of his love knowing he made the world that bit brighter…

A guttural scream broke him from his reverie and Cal’edor, blade in hand began his headlong rush into the heart of the village…