F I L A U R E L - L E N ' A L E N
Details
Full Name: Filaurel Len'Alen
Race: Hytori
Sex: Male
Age: 48
Height: 6'2
Weight: 173 lbs
Birthdate: Searing 62, 75 Age of Steel
Birthplace: Silfanore
Profession: Tailor (current) - Soldier (retired)
Housing: Suburbs of Silfanore
Partners: N/A
Titles: None
Factions: None
Fluencies: Mythrasi, Common
Conversationals: None
Ineptitudes: None
Appearance
Filaurel is of almost entirely average build, but often seems taller; because of his inability to walk, he commonly moves by floating a few inches off the ground when he is unable to remain seated. To make this artifice less obvious, he prefers to wear robes which can drape somewhat past his feet. Despite his profession, Filaurel does not like to call attention to himself, and prefers to wear simple and unremarkable (if high-quality) garments.
Personality
Once upon a time, Filaurel was known as a hot-headed and aggressive individual, a child raised upon the tales of the glory of the Boundless Empire and determined that the Hytori should return to that high state. He dreamed of war and glorious battle; for on the field, even the lowest could stand alongside the highest and be exalted.
That aggression was long ago beaten out of Filaurel, but he retains a certain iron core of that original pride. He prefers to be a little formal, even with friends, and accepts pity and charity only with great distaste. Filaurel is distant as a result of his broken dreams, but he remains just a bit proud and defiant for all of that.
History
Filaurel Len'Alen was born to an unimportant branch of an unimportant family in Sol'Valen, but this did not bother him as a child. Like so many Hytori children, he was taken completely by the proud histories of his race, and he spent his childhood yearning for the life of a soldier, dreaming of earning great distinction and becoming a martial steward of the ascent to new and grander empire he was certain was inevitable. This was not to say he was entirely single-minded, of course- as he learned the mythic histories which so enthralled him from his mother, so too did he learn how to sew and embroider.
For the first ten years of his majority, it seemed like Len'Alen's dreams (at least where they concerned himself) might even be possible. He took quickly to pike and bow, and impressed his superiors with a quick and disciplined mind. Knowing that a military career might not deliver him such ultimate glories, for none could say if or when war might come, Filaurel also apprenticed to a tailor, and made and mended uniforms for his cadre. With burgeoning martial destiny before him and this trade firmly in his back pocket, it seemed that the young elf was ready to catch success in some form no matter what fate Vicis might decree.
That, of course, is vanity.
On the 35th year of Filaurel's life, the Len'Alen family's oldest boogeyman came for him. A rare disorder, occurring only once every few generations, the family lore held that Len'Alen's Curse was the penalty for some long-forgotten ancestor's crime, a disease which had nearly faded away alongside whatever sin had caused it. This quirk of the bloodline robbed Filaurel of control over most of his body, leaving him largely paralyzed, and proved quite impervious to the mending arts of the alchemists and necromantic surgeons of the lower city.
For years, the proud Len'Alen was confined to bed, slowly wrestling with his own body to regain a modicum of control over his arms and hands. Though he was eventually successful, he could never find the dexterity and strength which had made him a fine soldier and fair tailor. For half a decade, Filaurel struggled in vain to recapture control over his life, surviving by charity and the pity of his few relatives. Though his friends from the army were appropriately kind and conciliatory, eventually they drifted away, drawn by life to things other than years of bedside visits.
Sol'Valen was a relatively kind society for such a sufferer, but Filaurel considered himself humiliated. As nothing could cure Len'Alen's Curse, he vowed to find some way around the constraints of his body. He resolved to learn magic in the hopes of overcoming his perpetual enervation, and subjected himself to the difficult and dangerous discipline of Kinetics. Though the initiation nearly killed the weakened elf, he muscled through by will alone, and began exercising this new power to slowly return to his former apprenticeship as a clothier.
In the years since then, Filaurel has struggled each day to gain more autonomy, until now he can operate nearly to the same degree of freedom he once had. Though he can no longer sew or use a sword or bow by himself, the core of his dream remains. He hides his condition from customers, less from shame and more to ensure that none of his fellows can claim they treat with him out of sympathy.
More than just one desire drives Filaurel. The Curse he has slowly worked to overcome is inherent to his blood, and it does not easily surrender its victims; the family lore tells him that, with time, it will corrupt even his use of magic to overcome it, though the how is less clear. Thus, he has sought to acquire money and connections in the hope of finding new ways to defy the Curse's silent, insistent pursuit.
That aggression was long ago beaten out of Filaurel, but he retains a certain iron core of that original pride. He prefers to be a little formal, even with friends, and accepts pity and charity only with great distaste. Filaurel is distant as a result of his broken dreams, but he remains just a bit proud and defiant for all of that.
History
Filaurel Len'Alen was born to an unimportant branch of an unimportant family in Sol'Valen, but this did not bother him as a child. Like so many Hytori children, he was taken completely by the proud histories of his race, and he spent his childhood yearning for the life of a soldier, dreaming of earning great distinction and becoming a martial steward of the ascent to new and grander empire he was certain was inevitable. This was not to say he was entirely single-minded, of course- as he learned the mythic histories which so enthralled him from his mother, so too did he learn how to sew and embroider.
For the first ten years of his majority, it seemed like Len'Alen's dreams (at least where they concerned himself) might even be possible. He took quickly to pike and bow, and impressed his superiors with a quick and disciplined mind. Knowing that a military career might not deliver him such ultimate glories, for none could say if or when war might come, Filaurel also apprenticed to a tailor, and made and mended uniforms for his cadre. With burgeoning martial destiny before him and this trade firmly in his back pocket, it seemed that the young elf was ready to catch success in some form no matter what fate Vicis might decree.
That, of course, is vanity.
On the 35th year of Filaurel's life, the Len'Alen family's oldest boogeyman came for him. A rare disorder, occurring only once every few generations, the family lore held that Len'Alen's Curse was the penalty for some long-forgotten ancestor's crime, a disease which had nearly faded away alongside whatever sin had caused it. This quirk of the bloodline robbed Filaurel of control over most of his body, leaving him largely paralyzed, and proved quite impervious to the mending arts of the alchemists and necromantic surgeons of the lower city.
For years, the proud Len'Alen was confined to bed, slowly wrestling with his own body to regain a modicum of control over his arms and hands. Though he was eventually successful, he could never find the dexterity and strength which had made him a fine soldier and fair tailor. For half a decade, Filaurel struggled in vain to recapture control over his life, surviving by charity and the pity of his few relatives. Though his friends from the army were appropriately kind and conciliatory, eventually they drifted away, drawn by life to things other than years of bedside visits.
Sol'Valen was a relatively kind society for such a sufferer, but Filaurel considered himself humiliated. As nothing could cure Len'Alen's Curse, he vowed to find some way around the constraints of his body. He resolved to learn magic in the hopes of overcoming his perpetual enervation, and subjected himself to the difficult and dangerous discipline of Kinetics. Though the initiation nearly killed the weakened elf, he muscled through by will alone, and began exercising this new power to slowly return to his former apprenticeship as a clothier.
In the years since then, Filaurel has struggled each day to gain more autonomy, until now he can operate nearly to the same degree of freedom he once had. Though he can no longer sew or use a sword or bow by himself, the core of his dream remains. He hides his condition from customers, less from shame and more to ensure that none of his fellows can claim they treat with him out of sympathy.
More than just one desire drives Filaurel. The Curse he has slowly worked to overcome is inherent to his blood, and it does not easily surrender its victims; the family lore tells him that, with time, it will corrupt even his use of magic to overcome it, though the how is less clear. Thus, he has sought to acquire money and connections in the hope of finding new ways to defy the Curse's silent, insistent pursuit.