Cael Irvyn is a Half-Elf cleric of Deneir I’ve been playing in a campaign for over a year now. Cael is a very emotionally confused character, and I think that shows in the kind of incoherent (…structure? Flow? I dunno, man.) of this piece.
He was raised by humans in the goody-two-shoes kingdom of Elturgard and never knew his Elven mother until his human dad decided to leave a note about her existing right before he died. Like pretty much every other half-elf in the history of D&D backstories (I assume), he never really quite fit in with the people who raised him.
The Elemental Plane of Air, Present Day
It was difficult to see anything through the din of the storm. Cael could barely make out the serpentine shape of the Elder Tempest as it weaved its way through the squall. Even on a clear day, he wouldn’t have seen the pure elemental gale screaming toward him in time to raise his shield. The last thing he remembered was an eruption of thunder.
Elturgard, Years Ago
“In any real battle, if the enemy has gotten close enough for you to need your shield, something has already gone terribly wrong!”
A man stood before a line of recruits in the Fort Tamal courtyard. In any other profession, he would’ve been considered young. But the life expectancy of a soldier was short enough to give one in their mid-twenties sufficient cause to be considered a ‘veteran.’
“When it comes to that point, the only thing standing between you and death is a quarter inch of wood. Does that sound like it’ll stop a morningstar swung by an eight-foot-tall mess of hair, teeth, and muscle?!”
“NO, SERGEANT!” The recruits replied in unison.
“Fuck no! You’ll never match a Bugbear or greenskin for strength and savagery! Shit, from what I’ve seen, most of you newbies couldn’t even match ‘em for smarts!” He spit on the ground. “Lucky for you, soldiers smarter and better than you will ever be have already found the correct techniques to keep you alive, so you don’t have to figure shit out for yourselves, thank Torm! I am about to give you very clear and simple instructions. You will do them exactly as told, and exactly when you are told to do them! Is that clear, recruits?!”
“YES, SERGEANT!”
“I doubt it! Shields UP!”
Cael never took well to swinging any sort of weapon. He’d hoped that using a shield would come to him easily. That it would be instinctual. Don’t want to get hit? Hold this between yourself and the thing that wants to hurt you! Unfortunately, it turned out that defense was just as much an art as offense. For years, Cael would be about as worthless on a battlefield with a shield as he would’ve been without one; And Sergeant Heward Fredericks reminded him of that fact every day.
In a fit of frustration, Cael once tossed his practice weapon on the ground and proclaimed: “This is ridiculous! I can speak five languages, but still can’t figure out how to deflect a low-swinging sword? I just don’t have it, Hew. Whatever murderous intent it takes to be a soldier, it’s just not in me!”
It was quiet for a while before Sergeant Fredericks walked over to Cael and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Nobody takes up soldiering ‘cause they like killing.” Hew scrunched one eye for a second before amending his statement. “Well, nobody sane, anyway.”
Years later, in the City of 10,000 Pearls, the Elemental Plane of Water
“You ever… plan on goin’ back?” Gnoss, the Hobgoblin member of Cael’s current adventuring party asked.
Cael stared at the empty space between things, from which all of his many thoughts are borne, for some time before he met Gnoss’ gaze. He responded – as always – with the most correct answer he could muster.
“I don’t know.”
Convulsive Ravings 