Corlain Duskwalker

A human warrior who has a unique skill with an elven blade and ancient arcane magic.



 A glimpse into Duskwalker's background

Coravelsar Duskwalker opened his eyes slowly as the morning sun cascaded through the tree top cover of Elven Court into his home. A smile passed his lips for a moment, “Even in these dark times I can still enjoy a rising sun it seems.” He whispered to his wife who slumbered quietly next to him. Coravelsar was old, even by elven standards. Centuries he had lived, having witnessed the rising of the Standing Stone and the passing of the Dale Reckoning. His end was coming, and he would enjoy a few more decades before he drifted off to meet whatever end would please him. Rising from his bed he glided over to the balcony that overlooked the main clearing of Elven Court. 

Moving through the city was formations of elven soldiers, marching their way to Myth Drannor to contain the evil there that threatened every day to spill out and consume the land. Moving opposite of the soldiers was groups of elven families, making their ready to leave Cormanthor for good. They were calling it ‘The Retreat’ and Coravelsar wept as he looked up into the tree line, as he could already see the future for his beautiful home of Cormanthyr. He longed to join the soldiers, perhaps meet his end in some fruitless attempt to save his home. His fighting days were long over though, and he was resigned to teaching the future generation.

Coravelsar turned to slip back into his home, to enjoy that fresh loaf of elven bread that he saw his wife slip into the fire the night before. As his feet gracefully carried him out of the sunlight his ears twitched, and the Weave tugged at his conscious. His training was still sharp despite his advancing age and his eyes widen as a magical message flooded over him. Screams of terror and agony washed over him. He attempted to cover his ears with his hands, but the screams continued unaffected. Dropping to his knees as the screams split his head with an increasing pain it suddenly stopped as his wife’s gentle voice spoke up. “Darling..?” she asked gently as she tilted her head. Coravelsar simply panted heavily, a sweat coating his body, an oppressive heat surrounding his form. He knew where the heat and those screams came from. His eyes shifted to the balcony he just stood on, staring to the far west, to the sands of Anauroch.

His wife’s gentle hands rested on the aging elf’s shoulders, her words fell upon deaf ears as Coravelsar struggled to his feet and reached out towards the courtblade that rested on its mantle. The weapon shuddered and flew to the elf’s hand; gracefully he took the blade and rose, a look of terror and confusion coming over his wife’s features. “I will only be a moment my dear.” Coravelsar whispered as his blade shimmered. Ancient words spilled from his lips, his hand twisted in well practiced gestures. In a flash Coravelsar disappeared from his home, from Elven Court, even from Cormanthyr itself.

The harsh desert winds whipped around Coravelsar as his eyes scanned the endless desert dunes. His teleportation spell did not place him exactly where he wanted but his keen elven eyes could already see the speckles of blood that started to seep into the sand. With the massive courtblade in his hands the elf gracefully bounded up the dune, following the trail of blood. As he crested the top of the dune, he was greeted with a scene of carnage. A small caravan laid overturned in the sands, its flank on fire. Surrounding it were half a dozen humans, their life blood spilling onto the desert carpet. Three dark forms surrounded a cowering woman, her screams just now reaching Coravelsar’s ears.

“I can smell the Netherese blood in your veins whore. Give us the child, and we shall give you a swift death.” said the center figure. Cloaked in a constant shifting miasma of shadow the form leaned forward, a snake like tongue drifting out to lick at the woman’s face. 

“A swift death… after we enjoy you though.” The other two said in unison as they reach out for the child.

The woman sobbed uncontrollably, clutching a young child who must have only been born a few weeks ago. Covered in the blood of her friends and family she shrieked as the dark forms closed in on her. 

Coravelsar’s centuries of training had already taken over as he slid down the side of the dune he had crested. His courtblade rested over his shoulder as he outstretched his offhand. From the tip of his finger sprang a green beam as ancient elvish flowed from his lips. It coiled in the air as it slowly made its way towards the dark trio. Each of them twitched and hissed, turning towards the elf. As they raised their hands twisting them in dark contortions the beam hurled itself forward, slamming into the far left form. The desert winds picked up, and the dark form wavered and slowly dissolved into a dust that was quickly carried away. A dozen dark red beads sprouted from the central dark figure’s hands, flying forward and imbedding themselves in the sand as Coravelsar charged forward. The form on the far right raised his hands into air, a dark language spewing forth from his lips as his chanting continued and grew louder.

As the elf’s light feet passed over the sand an eruption of fire and sand washed over him. The central form tilted his head up, a smirk spreading across his lips as he turned back to regard his prize. As he turned he watched as the needle sharp tip of the courtblade gracefully passed through the back of his remaining companion, a flow of blood seep down his chest as the elf twisted the sword in an impossible manner and eviscerated the wizard. The dark form’s hands crackled with a barely unleashed energy, sparks of lightning striking at the sand before he slumped to the ground in a growing pool of his own blood.

“What is a duskblade doing here…” the form hissed as it stumbled back towards the woman, watching the elf twirl his weapon, flicking off the blood that had collected on it.

“Tell me what an agent of Shar is doing staining these sands with innocent blood.” The elf asked, his body slowly shifting into a battle stance as he stalked forward.

The dark form sneered, its hands flexing in a rapid contortion as magical words spilled forth. Coravelsar growled, dashing forward raising his courtblade in a final strike. Raising one hand to his attacker the dark form let out a cry of pain as the courtblade swept downwards. His hand tumbled to the ground, blood pumping from the stump as his other hand flicked in the direction of the woman and her child. A green beam, similar to the one Coravelsar used before, shot forward striking the weeping woman on the forehead. Slowly she turned to dust and was quickly blown away by the desert winds leaving only a bawling newborn.

Coravelsar let out a cry as he watched the life snuffed out by the man’s magic. He twirled his blade listlessly, slashing it across the man’s throat and sending his head flying off into the sands.

Dropping to his knees at the pile of dust and the newborn Coravelsar wept freely. “Can I do nothing right these days.” He called out to the endless dunes. The newborn reached with small hands, towards the stranger that hovered over it. “I can do right…” Coravelsar growled out in defiance of his own words. “I will give you a family and a home. I will give you a new life.” He vowed to the newborn as he gathered the child into his arms, whispering words of magic and winking out of existence in the sands of Anauroch.

Coravelsar fulfilled his vow. He took the orphaned human child into his home, adopting the boy into his family. With his last years approaching, the old elf would spend them raising a human boy. His wife happily accepted the boy, as her own children had died during the Weeping Wars and she longed for the touch of a child in her home again. During this time a prophecy was heard from the Mad Prophets, survivors of the Weeping Wars who were considered insane after their experiences unhinged their minds. A human male would rise up, treated and reared as an elf; he would help them reclaim their forest and their lost city of Myth Drannor. When his task was done though, the elves would turn on him, afraid of his power. Coravelsar ignored the prophets. He had vowed to give the child a full life, one that he would live to a long old age and not lose to try and reclaim a land Coravelsar believed was lost for good.

Coravelsar raised the boy as an elf, giving him an elven name and teaching him elven traditions and customs. He never hid the fact though that he was different, and that he was actually a human. He instructed the boy in both elven and human history, specifically of the Anauroch desert and the lands that surrounded it. In defiance of his elven patrons and fellow knights, he also trained the boy in the art of the Duskblade, an ancient fighting style of arcane casting through the sword. Being a human he knew the boy would never be able to fully master the demands of the training but he wanted to know that if he ever had to defend himself, he would be more then capable.

The boy’s warrior training only happened at the hours of dusk and dawn, until Coravelsar felt he could extend the training. He was surprised when he realized the boy was advancing faster then he predicted, and he attributed this to some ancient bloodline that flowed through the boy’s veins. It was neither divine nor draconic, but Coravelsar could tell at one time this boy’s people had great power. On the eve of the boy’s 18th birthday, a day most humans reach full maturity, the last caravan of elves was departing from Elven Court to the fortress of Evereska. The head of the Duskblade enclave, once a student of Coravelsar himself came to the old elf’s home.

“Master, we wish to take the human child to see the Hill Elders. To see if the prophecy is true. To see if there is any hope to us reclaiming Myth Drannor.” The young elf asked, practically begging old Coravelsar. Behind his words though was a veiled threat.

“You already know my answer. I will not send this boy into that mouth of hell, just for him to be tossed aside when he is done being useful.” Coravelsar countered. 

Indeed the elven people had become darker as of late, losing some of their beauty and humor in the wake of the great Retreat and the hopelessness that had washed over the world. Willing to do things they wouldn’t have dreamed of doing before, Coravelsar started to wonder who the real fiends were. 

“Master…” the elven knight said with a sigh, “He could be the future of our people, we need him.”

“No. This conversation is done. I wish you safe travels on your way to Evereska.” Coravelsar said with a slight bow as he turned back into his house. The knight was furious at the sudden dismissal, seeming about to follow the old elf into his home. He shook his head, turning away and whispering to one of his soldiers as they departed. Coravelsar’s ears twitched slightly as he glanced over his shoulder, watching his former student stalk off.

The old elf acted quickly, with a haste that he hasn’t had in years. Gathering his courtblade he wrapped it in a traveler’s cloak. He gathered one of his old sets of adventuring armor and dropped it on Corlain’s bed, watching the boy rise from a slumber.

“Father?” Corlain asked quietly as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. 

“I am sorry Corlain; it is time for you to depart. It is not safe for you here any longer.” The elf said, speaking in full elvish, making sure the boy had been keeping up on his studies. Corlain frowned, shifting out of the bed and looking to what his father had placed in front of him.

“Why? What did I do?” he asked, looking to the elf, confusion spreading over his features.

“It is not what you did… it is… it is what my people might do. They…” Coravelsar started. He did not want to reveal the prophecy that has been told about the human raised as an elf, in fear of what his human son might say. “There are some who are angry with what I have taught you about our people, they no longer want you hear. Corlain you must leave… you must leave and you must never return.” The elf said, a deep frown creasing his lips. A sorrow washed over him, as he know what he had just told his son crushed the boy just as much as it crushed him.

“Father… I… No. I can’t. I want to stay. I will prove them wrong! I will prove all of them wrong!” Corlain shouted, his words coming fast and with a fury.

“I know you could my son, but they will still not accept you. It is time for you to return to your own people.” Coravelsar whispered as he reached out to embrace the human man. “You are ready, I have taught you much, and you have surprised even me with how much you have managed to learn. Go forth into the world, your life is too short not to fully live it. Make a name for yourself. Make every elf feel shame for forsaking you when they hear of your great deeds.” The elf whispered into his ear, giving the boy encouragement for his coming trials. 

Corlain shook with a rage, but he quickly suppressed it with a deep breath. “I will do so father. I will make you proud.”

“I will send you to your homeland Anauroch. It is a harsh land… it will test your skills. Be wary though, as many dark beings lurk there.” Coravelsar said as he started to speak a long line of magic.

“I will show these dark beasts a great light father.” Corlain said with a slight smile, a little cocky, but that was his nature. He reached out towards the armor and cloak his father laid out for him. That is when he felt the hilt and the thin blade of the courtblade. “Father… I cannot take thi—“Corlain started to say, looking up to the elf. The elf’s magic words finished, his hands twisting towards Corlain. He smiled as the boy and his belongings flashed away. 

Coravelsar sighed deeply, looking to his now empty home. He knew he would never see his human son again, as his final years were very close.

Corlain Duskwalker

Scions of Legacy ARollingStone