Player: Mike Martinez
Race: Half Elf
Class: Fighter
Known Character History:
On the shores to the great ocean, Northwest of Maeron city, there lies a Church. Its members have lived in peace and serenity for decades. This is mainly due to the fact that they are so far away from civilization. Father Jun spends his days training with his brothers, and his nights worshiping Corellon Larethian. Though the priests were mostly Human, they respected his teachings and what he stood for. There is a small school, dedicated to training the next batch of Holy men that is also attached. It is not a varied lot, mostly orphans and men with nothing else to lose, desperate souls looking to escape from the world.
This is where our tale begins over twenty five years ago. There was a great disturbance in the air that evening, everyone was on-edge but knew not why. A rider arrived in the early hours of the morning, a burly man wearing a mask of skulls. When the Brothers went to greet him he simply gave them a large trunk from the back of his horse, said nothing and left with haste. Puzzled by this offering and thinking it a Tithe to Corellon Larethian they took it inside. But they got more than they bargained for, for inside was a young boy. Half-elven none the less, with midnight hair and green eyes. He wore nothing but rags and clutched a scap of clothing in his hands. It was a blurred family crest spattered with blood written in Elven. "Mor-Dor-lómin" is what it read. Father Jun did not speak fluent elvish, but he had picked up a word or two form some texts. Darkmoore was what he came up with, as close as he could tell. The boy was still very young, about three years old, and could tell them nothing. In fact he did not speak much at all, but never cried. He did not need to, for his sadness emanated from deep within his heart. Master Jun named him Barnabus, after the old master of the Monastery.
The Brothers took it as a good omen for Corellon Larethian is also the patron god of the elves. They were also no strangers to taking in and caring for orphans. They raised the boy the only way they knew, as a Cleric. The only problem was that he seemed to have no aptitude for it. Meditation, it seemed, was not in the boy's make-up. Inner reflection simply made him dwell on things he himself did not really understand. He also had no specific love of Corellon, or any other deity. He did not like the idea of other worldly beings, they seemed to frighten him a bit. The boy never complained, and always did what he was told. The spartan lifestyle seemed to fit him well, and he was happiest doing manual labor. This gained him a reputation for great strength, and by the time he reached his teens he could out arm-wrestle most of the older students. Father Jun could tell that the boy's future did not lay inside those cold walls. He asked a local ship's captain with whom he had many relations to take the boy with him to find his calling. Although it pained him to leave his brothers, Barnabus knew that he could no longer stay. His destiny was calling to him.
Salty Stormreaver was a fierce pirate and cleric of Procan god of salt, seas, and storms. Having a connection to Corellon, his god bade him to stop at the monestary from time to time to help out with finances and supplys. He was a boistrous and fun-loving fellow, quick with a story and a refill on your ale as it was. Barnabus had never met anyone like him. The Monks were all so reserved, and Salty said whatever was on his mind. He took the boy under his wing and showed him the Longspear, his personal weapon of choice. The boy was a prodigy with the weapon, it was almost like an extension of his arm. Seeing this, Salty had an idea. Why not have the boy join the military? They could give him the training that he never could, and he would be legitimate and need not live the pirate lifestyle. After careful consideration, Barnabus made up his mind to do his service to the realm. He bid farewell to old Salty and set off to the recruiters in Maeron city.
The next chapter of his life was fairly ordinary, for a soldier. He did make a name for himself in many battles and skirmishes, but tried to keep from being too noticed for his elven blood seemed to anger his superior officers and most of his fellow soldiers. It was like a constant reminder of why their lives were so bad, so Barnabus became the whipping boy. Still he never complained and did his duty. He slowly built up his strength with all of the physical labor he was given and studied tactics from tomes at night. One night he caught some members of an adjoining legion at camp with an elven girl, clearly there not of her own free will. He stuck out his neck to save the girl, and gave the soldiers a large beating. His superiors did not like his actions and dishonorably discharged him from his service. With no pension and no money, he had no choice but to join with various mercenary groups to make his way. He took quickly to mercenary life for very few asked questions and left him to himself most of the time. But he noticed that he was not getting equal treatment. He was getting less pay for harder jobs. Some even seemed to be suicide missions. But he survived every one of them, much to the disappointment of his superiors. When he had finally had enough of racial discrimination and his current contract with the Evocati Eternus was up, he by chance met with a certain group of adventurers. This new course for his life would finally give his life reason, or so he thinks.