Elric the White Wolf

"Men will have cause to tremble and flee when the hear the names of Elric and Stormbringer, his sword. We are two of a kind--produced by an age that has deserted us. Let us give this age cause to hate us!"

Background
"The ancient kingdom of Marn is a rotting beast propped up by the machinations of the Dwarves and other lesser beings." That is what my father told me every days for years. My elder brother, a powerful Tiefling ritualist was the head of House Melniboné and had undergone the Ritual of Nine Hells thus establishing himself as the secondmost powerful man in Marnsmede after Emporer Algethi himself. I was always a disappointment though I consistantly practiced my sigil-carving. My physical deficiency held me back from mastering the art of the sword in honor of the nether gods.

I came into posession of the runeblade Stormbringer, though its brother, Mournblade, was delivered to my brother. There are those who claim that I stole the black blade, but I know now that it chose and stole me. No longer do rely on my potions and herbs to maintain my vitality and strength. My blade shares with me its spoils of war, and I have grown strong.

I spent many years of my life preparing for the Ritual of Nine Hells. I was to metamorphose into the aspect of our infernal lords, but that life was taken from me. My brother had taken my wife and placed her under a sorcerous sleep from which only he could wake her. The black blades clashed and Stormbringer ate what was left of his soul and his power rushed into me. Dearest Cymoril awoke and came towards me, but the runeblade was not finished with its work. It wielded my body with ease and Cymoril lay dead alongside. My greatest asset was my greatest disadvantage. Stormbringer has worked its way into my very being, and without it I am nothing. Now I have left the noble house of Melniboné and the Empire behind. Allies and enemies alike refer to me as the White Wolf, an image that has its uses to me as I quest to find meaning in my life. Is free will an illusion? How much of our lives are decieded before birth? I seem driven by sorrowful destiny towards a conclusion, though I know not what The Answer will be.

The Wierd of the White Wolf
I have traveled long and far in search of answers to my questions, but my journeys have always ended in tragedy. Many of those who I helped are now dead. Many of my erstwhile companions are now dead or worse. The people of Crestas see me through the lense of my fatal destiny and have named me the White Wolf, a harbinger of ill fortune. I care little what they think of me. Though my objectives will benefit them at large, my intentions are purely selfish. My soul is forever sundered, but I will do what I can to bring balance to my existance yet. A soothsayer spoke to me recently and said "See the good in that which is evil; see the evil in that which is good. Pledge yourself to neither side, but vow instead to preserve the balance that exists between the two."

During my travels a curiousity has grown within me of the mysteries of Old Rodaera. Whatever fragments of ancient knowledge I found I stored within my mind, hoping someday that knowledge will prove the key to equity in the world. However the disjointed studies of modern scholars is not enough. I plan to travel alone into the Talneth and know not when or where I will return, but when I do I will hopefully have gained the wisdom of the ancients.