3. Imril Teb'rin

Imril Teb'rin


  • Character Name: Imril Teb'rin
    Log in: teflonbilly

    Sun light filtered through the green canopy of leaves. Like light seen shimmering just below the surface of the ocean, the beams stabbed through the thick overgrowth of Coramanthor, the mightiest of Forests. Like candles in a great hall the points of light illuminated two figures walking among tumbled stones on the forest floor, stones that were obviously the remains of a once grand tower.

    One of the figures, looked up at the light filtering in, he swaggered around the ruins of a great flagstone before leaning jauntily up against it. "Is there anything more perfect than a sunny day under the trees in Coramanthor?" he thought to himself. "Nothing, except perhaps to be a Sun Elf, of the House of Teb'rin, and to be part of the Grand Return to the Elven Court, and the Crusade to retake the City of Song." He smiled crookedly and said a small prayer to Corellon to have pity on all those poor souls who could not have this experience. For most of his life Imril had dwelt in the comfort and security of the hidden elven home of Evereska, but when word of the Return came, he could not contain his wanderlust and desire to see what life was like in the rest of the world. Nor could he pass up a chance to assist in the reclaiming of the greatest realm ever to grace the face of Faerun, Myth Drannor. So with the blessing of his father, Fine'del Teb'rin, 1st Comrade in the Swords of Evereska he left with the crusade.

    "Come on Imril, we will be late, and you do not want to keep Dumarcil waiting do you?" said the elf's walking companion.

    "Of course not, Felixzarn!" replied Imril, launching from his leaning stance and scrambling over some more boulders. "When someone as old as Dumarcil requests and audience with you, it is not wise to keep them waiting long, as they do not have much time left on Toril to wait!" Imril ended sarcastically as was is trademark.

    Breaking the line of trees, the two elves blinked in the light of the open ground leading up to the immense ruined city. As they crossed the distance leading up to the first buildings on the outskirts of the city they kept a close eye, as even though Elves once again lived in Myth Drannor, many other evil and old things did as well.

    Finally, the two reached the building they sought, a squat tower with a balcony at the front which showed signs of recent repair. Two guards in chain stood out front. "Well, I suppose this is good bye" said Imril off handily to Felixzarn. "Why is that?" he replied. "Well I have been summoned here by Dumarcil, obviously because I have been chosen to join the Spellblades, it is the only logical reason for this summons. In which case I will be moving into the tower here to begin my training and to assume my new" he paused, savoring the word "Station." "Meanwhile you will have to return to the common soldiers barracks, with the others. It is regrettable, but all things must be in their rightful places, do you not think?"

    Felixzarn's face soured "OF course, my lordship!" he said mockingly. "Now do not take offence, my good Felixzarn! I meant no ill by my statement, it is just a fact of life, a law of nature, that all things must do what they are best suited for, and for me that is a Spellblade. You have been a true friend and I will miss you…greatly." a sincere look crossed Imril's face, and Felixzarn knew he was being truthful, even if it was in his tactless snooty Sun Elven fashion.

    "Wait for me here, once I am done speaking with Dumarcil, we should go celebrate my promotion with some wine!" said Imril as he strode into the tower past the guards. After several minutes of waiting patiently outside, Felixzarn rose as he heard Imril leaving the tower again. "I understand...yes....of course your Lordship.....if that is how it must be then so be it." He could hear Imril speaking as he left the tower, in a terse monotone.

    "Well how about that wine" said Felix hopefully, but he expression on Imril's face told him, there would be no celebration. "I was passed over...they did not select me for service into the Spellblades....how can this be?" Imril seemed stunned like he had been punched in the gut. "I am sorry friend, I guess you will be coming back to the soldiers camp with me after all?" replied Felixzarn in an apologetic tone. For a moment there was silence, then Imril's face hardened "No, I will be trained in the Art, I will become a Spellblade. As we spoke Dumarcil said, that no one had time to train me, he said the only way I would find anyone willing to do so, would be to journey 1,000 miles away and seek out a mage of note called Aramuil...I think he meant it as a joke...but that is just what I will do, if no one can aid me here." Turning quickly and grasping Felixzarn's shoulders Imril pulled him face to face "Let us get that wine, we shall drink a cup of farewell, for tomorrow I leave the City of Song for some place called Peltarch...."

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