Darfin, a male wood elf of 5’6”, exudes determination with light blue eyes and a stoic demeanor. His tan skin, adorned with earthy residue, keeps him concealed to the natural surroundings

The Story of Darfin Dapplefoot

I was born 67 years ago in a region known as The High Forest, surrounded by towering trees that concealed the mysteries of the ancient woodland. My family lived in a tree fortress, a remnant from the time when elves ruled in Faerȗn. The narrow stairwells, tunnels, and bridges that were carved into these trees tell the stories of our ancestors who have resided here for many generations. My fondest memories were spent gazing at the magical energies that came alive in The High Forest at sunset.
 
My immediate family consisted of myself and my parents, Narf and Arva Dapplefoot. Despite having no siblings, I had many memories of playing with cousins and friends under the forest canopy. From a young age, I had a keen sense for adventure, often reenacting epic battles with wooden swords and rescuing friends from great imaginary perils. A few of my ambitious friends and I would venture into the Star Mounts and scale the highest peaks. I became skilled with climbing rope and tools. In hindsight, some of our ‘adventurous endeavors’ may have been a bit risky for mere youngsters. At that time though, it seemed like we were living such wondrous and carefree lives.
 
My innocent view of the world changed when the corrupt Redbrand ruffians invaded The High Forest, taking my father captive. On that dreadful day, the Redbrands ambushed the peaceful marketplace, catching everyone off guard, including myself. Absorbed in practicing with my wooden sling, I heard the first blood-curdling scream, and panic surged through the elven community. The cloaked figures, donned in makeshift guerrilla suits, swiftly attacked, stabbing and bludgeoning our merchants from behind. The once-secure marketplace became a chaotic scene as elven goods were seized, and ancient relics were plundered. In the midst of the turmoil, I learned that my father, Narf, a skilled craftsman, shop owner, and a respected leader, was among the victims targeted by the Redbrands. His unique skill set made him a prime target for their nefarious plan—enslaving him to further their quest for wealth and power. The memory of their ulterior motives makes me sick to this day.
 
 
Everything unfolded rapidly. I sprinted through the woods toward the marketplace upon hearing the commotion. As I reached the scene, I witnessed the bandits binding my father and throwing him into a horse-drawn wagon. Desperation and shock gripped me as I screamed across the distance. My father, to my surprise, lifted his head from the wagon and urged me to take care of my mother and make things right. A hooded man silenced him with a club, rendering him unconscious. Helpless, I watched the wagon disappear into the distance, villagers' attempts to chase it down proving futile. Filled with rage, confusion, and disbelief, I hurled a stone at the bandits with my sling, the stone narrowly missing its target. In that moment of silence, a primal flame sparked within me. The years that followed were a blur, marked by deep sadness and despair. My childhood shattered, replaced by a newfound sense of purpose. My father's words resonated, hinting at a destiny intertwined with my elven heritage.
 
The journey ahead was tumultuous, with friends expressing concern as I withdrew from our daily epics. My mother worried, but I needed to be strong for her. Learning about my father's whereabouts from traveling human merchants brought a glimmer of hope. They spoke of a captive elf matching his description in a bandit camp near the Sword Coast. However, the question lingered—who would rescue him? Young and inexperienced, I grappled with conflicting emotions, but life moved forward, and I felt an undeniable gravitational pull toward a destiny I was only beginning to comprehend.
 
One summer afternoon, as I sharpened my dagger near the riverside, an old wood elf named Silvanus approached me. His garments spoke of fine elven silk, and his weathered skin hinted at centuries spent under the sun and wind. Silvanus claimed he had been seeking me, and though I remained silent, his wise demeanor intrigued me. I thought, "He must have the wrong elf," as I had never experienced such attention from someone of his stature. He declared, "I know you don't know who I am, but I have much to share with you." As I gazed into his intense eyes, a sense of commitment to an unknown path enveloped me.
 
Silvanus, one of the last elves from ancient days, shared that he spent the last century in seclusion, watching the fading world. He sought to pass on his wisdom before transitioning into the eternal realm. We spent days in his mountainous abode, bonding over conversations. Silvanus recognized my natural aptitude with hand tools and the wooden sling, and one day, he introduced me to elven archery. Despite my lack of archery experience, he handed me a longbow, and something clicked as I aligned my sights. My pupils dilated and I could notice the faintest rustle of a distant leaf; I saw the dew droplet rolling from a blade of grass in the meadow; I could see the field mouse nimbly traversing the edge along the riverbank; I focused even harder as I could make out a line of ants, marching up a tall tree in perfect unison. The bow felt like an extension of myself, and in that moment, I understood the word "alignment."
 
Under Silvanus's guidance, I embraced discipline and focus, learning sacred techniques passed down for generations. He emphasized melding with the environment, teaching me to become one with foliage and use shadows as allies. Silvanus enhanced my senses, making me attuned to the subtlest sounds of nature. My steps became silent, and my presence seamlessly blended with the world around me. Silvanus eventually gifted me the elven longbow we practiced with, and as he showed me the art of drawing the bowstring, he claimed I was an elven archer in the making. While skepticism lingered, I began to understand what Silvanus saw in me. The hero of my childhood imagination wasn't a distant figure; it was a part of me all along.
 
For decades, I immersed myself in training with Silvanus, absorbing his centuries worth of elven knowledge and wisdom. My sage-like mentor dedicated countless hours to teaching me the intricate arts and techniques of fencing, recounting experiences that could fill volumes. We ventured beyond the High Forest, engaging in real-world scenarios to apply my skills for the greater good. In my thirties, I saved a captive human girl from goblins, marking my first kills with a sense of neutrality toward those committing monstrous acts. Silvanus, while concerned about my seemingly cold approach, imparted a balanced view of killing, emphasizing taking only what needs to be taken. Despite my mother's worry about my extended absences, I shared little detail, expressing excitement for the experiences gained under Silvanus's guidance. As my skills flourished, my mother saw a reflection of my father, Narf, in me, unaware of my hidden quest to rescue him.
 
On a snowy winter day, inside Silvanus's cozy abode, I broached the subject of my father. Silvanus, seemingly anticipating the question, responded with a simple, "What do you think you should do?" Frustrated yet determined, I decided to rescue my father, grappling with uncertainties and fears. Silvanus's firm directive to "just go" surprised me, prompting immediate action. However, he halted my departure, stating that my training was incomplete.
 
In the ensuing days, Silvanus revealed his expertise in lockpicking and thievery. He shared tales of elven rogues, emphasizing the delicate balance between necessity and mischief. Under his enigmatic instruction, I practiced with various locks, honing the precision of a skilled thief. My mother observed in silence, her unspoken confidence hinting at Narf and Arva's legacy. As I prepared to embark on my mission, Silvanus imparted the essence of responsibility, making me vow to use my skills for the greater good. Our final lesson concluded with a nod and a slap on the back, signifying my readiness to face the challenges ahead.
 
I spent the rest of that week preparing for the mission to rescue my father, who was held in an encampment near the outskirts of Neverwinter. While I didn't fear the mission itself, my concern was for my father's condition, as I hadn't seen him in decades. I decided to conceal the truth from my mother and informed her that I was setting off on a training mission with Silvanus, and that I would be leaving tomorrow.
 
Under the midday sun of the following day, a sense of proximity to my destination grew within me. The trail, now wider and more frequented, hinted at the presence of a settlement nearby. Having encountered human travelers and merchants along the way, a peculiar excitement mixed with anticipation took hold of me. The decision to inquire about the bandit camp's location weighed on my mind, mindful of potential suspicion.
 
As I deliberated, the sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears. Glancing down the sunlit trail, I beheld a half-elf adorned in vibrant attire, skillfully playing a lute. His flowing blonde locks caught beams of light, creating an enchanting sight. A whimsical melody filled the air, sparking a sense of wonder. Could this be a magical bard from the stories I've heard? Interrupting the bard's performance, I asked about the bandit camp. Without missing a beat, the bard wove a lyrical response, painting a vivid picture of the camp's location—
 
 
 

“In shadows deep where branches twine,
 
A bandit camp in moonlight shine,
 
The silver stream where starlight seems,
 
To share the secrets of this dream”

 
Filled with bardic inspiration, I burst into laughter, causing the bard named Finkelstein to cease his enhancing melody. Gratefully acknowledging his assistance, we exchanged pleasantries before parting ways. Continuing on my journey, a lightness filled my being. Looking back at Finkelstein, who now sang a nonsensical tune in the distance, I couldn't help but smile. Little did I know, our paths would cross again, forging a lasting friendship. With a renewed focus, I set my gaze forward, grateful for the unexpected inspiration provided by the magical bard.
 
The mission to rescue my father became palpable as I neared the encampment. Using the cover of the forest, I observed the chaotic outpost with its tattered tents and unsettling atmosphere. My focus shifted to finding a holding cell, and there, my eyes locked onto a wooden cell. The surge of emotions overwhelmed me as I recognized my father's skilled hands. Despite his dire circumstances, he stood tall, and joy replaced my initial fear and anger. I composed myself, adhering to the meticulous plan I had devised. Under the moonless night, I navigated the camp, avoiding detection and studying the guards' routines. With elven agility, I approached the cell, successfully picking the lock. My father recognized me, and a mix of relief and anticipation enveloped us.
 
Guided by my mentor's teachings, I shut the prison door silently, ensuring no trace of our presence. We maneuvered through the camp, and in the night's embrace, my father and I embraced silently. A rustle from a nearby tent heightened our tension, but we managed to slip away undetected. Maintaining silence, we reached the outskirts of the camp. Only then did we exchange words, my father expressing gratitude and relief. Tears streamed down my face as I apologized, and he reassured me. As we heard shouts from the camp, we dashed into the deep forest, knowing our lives would change, escaping the clutches of the Redbrand bandits.
 
 
I was overwhelmed with joy at having my father back. Having studied routes to Neverwinter, I knew a passage that could give us an advantage over the common trail. If those men were heading towards our home, we needed to move quickly. Despite my desire to confront them, I understood the odds and opted for a swift, silent jog through the forest. There was much left to be said between my father and me, but our shared focus was on reaching home urgently. I handed my father my dagger, a possession from his past, just in case.
 
Several miles from the encampment, we caught up with each other. We jogged steadily through the night, and my father shared his experiences as a prisoner of the cruel Redbrands. He spoke of crafting weapons for them, the uncomfortable prison cell, and instances of defiance resulting in punishment. I, in turn, recounted my life and training under Silvanus. It surprised me that my father knew of Silvanus, who had supposedly disappeared around my birth.
 
As we returned to the High Forest at dawn, dread enveloped us. Our tree dwelling, usually a haven of warmth, felt ominous. Upon entering, I called out to Mom, but an unsettling silence prevailed. Horror struck when we found Arva unconscious in the main chamber, a pool of red staining the floor. Panic set in as I rushed to her side, while Narf, anguished, knelt beside her. Instinctively, I sprinted to my mentor Silvanus for help.
 
Arriving with urgency, Silvanus swiftly assessed the situation. Gathering herbs and magical vials, he administered a potion to revive my mother. The color returned to her lips, but Silvanus cautioned that she needed time. As he spoke with my father, I investigated, discovering puncture wounds in her abdomen. Fear gripped me; this was a vengeance strike. No ordinary assault, but a calculated act. The Redbrands, aware of our location, couldn't have infiltrated with such precision. A hired mercenary or assassin seemed more plausible, a pawn in their deadly game. Rage consumed me as the realization hit—The Redbrands were responsible. Without hesitation, I left, knowing what needed to be done.
 
Along the banks of the Dessarin River, I applied the dark clay-like mud to my cheeks and arms, reminiscent of childhood play. However, this time, it served as warpaint. Sprinting through the woods with gazelle-like agility, I retraced recent steps with my father, now propelled by unparalleled speed. Approaching the enemy camp, I scaled a tree with confidence, creating a makeshift invisibility with dark green attire and brown mud. From my hidden perch, I surveyed the Redbrands, oblivious to their impending doom. Time seemed to stand still as lethal precision marked the release of my first arrow, initiating a rain of death. Panic gripped the bandits, swords drawn, scanning the treeline in vain. Consumed by revenge, I showed no mercy, leaving a gruesome scene of red-stained terror. The once boisterous camp fell silent as the last bandit crumpled. Unsatisfied, my heart aflame, I descended, scanning for survivors. My crusade, still ablaze, propelled me toward the town of Neverwinter.
 
Neverwinter, a vibrant settlement with a strategic trade location along the Sword Coast, greeted me with a dazzling display of multi-colored glass streetlamps and rooftops adorned in reddish hues. The city's skilled gardeners meticulously tended to the roadways, creating an atmosphere heavy with salt water and the cries of gulls.
 
Despite my initial underestimation, I found myself in a bustling marketplace filled with diverse goods from around the world. As I stormed in, my attention was drawn to a tent with a gathering around a stall selling fine elven goods. My twisted mindset fueled by anger and injustice, I impulsively disrupted the marketplace, kicking over elven weapons and sculptures. Snatching rare elven jewelry, the rush of power felt like a drug, and the once-stunned onlookers began to react with gasps and angry shouts from affected merchants.
 
Fueled by adrenaline, I made a swift escape through the startled crowd, narrowly avoiding the rallying merchants. A hand grabbed onto me, but I quickly broke free, dagger in hand and elven necklaces in the other. Bolting for a nearby alleyway, I stealthed through the maze until finding a dark corner to catch my breath. Despite realizing the foolishness of my actions, the safety of the shadows and my handful of riches brought a reluctant sigh of relief.
 
Unfortunately, my reckless escape led me into the hands of city authorities. Guards, clad in top-tier military armor, cornered me with spears and halberds. Filled with shame and regret, I willingly submitted, dropping the stolen items and offering my wrists for restraint. Paraded through the city, I ended up in a cold jail cell, facing the consequences of my impulsive actions.
Days turned into weeks as I sank into the full realization of my mistakes. Silvanus's teachings about the responsible use of skills for the common good echoed in my mind. The consequences I faced were a result of years driven by fear—fear for my father in prison, fear for my dying mother, and fear of the perceived injustice in the marketplace.

Locked within this stone purgatory, we prisoners lived in perpetual uncertainty about the punishments awaiting our crimes—no trials, just a grim existence. Physical mutilations, like severed hands or tongues, awaited some, while others endured the dungeon for months, years, or life. I lost count after the first year, relying on the square of light outside my cell to gauge time. A feeble connection to the outside world, it offered a glimpse of lush landscapes during the rare moments when the sun touched my corner.
 
One tragic day, my dreams of freedom ended as the small square of light drifted out of reach, marking the beginning of a long, cold winter. Isolation consumed me, and though I tried to stay strong, the silence eroded my sanity. Communication among prisoners was forbidden, leaving me ignorant of those who shared this confinement. Nights were haunted by distant screams and the guards' immediate silencing of the tormented. The guards, silent figures who fed us beans twice a day, never spoke. I never resisted the meager meals, enough to sustain weight but never to ease the pit of hunger within. As seasons passed, the flickering hope within me gradually dimmed, lost to the relentless march of time in this grim prison.
 
One moonless night, as I thrashed on the stone floor of my cell, unable to sleep, the severity of my thievery punishment gnawed at me. The cruel and senseless judicial system in this town seemed unbearable, leading me to contemplate the possibility of death as an escape from my cell. In the midst of delirium, a ghastly shadow appeared, silent and wraith-like. Frozen in fear, I watched as the metal bars shifted open, revealing Silvanus, the supreme master of darkness.
 
Overwhelmed with tears, the release from my chains felt almost too surreal. Silvanus silenced me with a finger over my lips and uttered, "The code!" through divine telepathy. Following him out of the cell, mimicking his ghostly float through the halls, I marveled at the audacity of my unexpected savior. Together, we passed through the supposedly impenetrable prison, guards asleep by some unseen force.
 
As we ventured into the night, I felt a newfound freedom, my legs shaky from years of confinement but still tethered to the shadows. Silvanus handed me a black cloak, concealing my identity as we weaved through alleyways and dirt paths, eventually reaching the edge of the forest. A sense of life filled me as I embraced the freedom that came with adhering to elven code.
 
Reflecting on the unexpected rescue, I broke the silence, questioning Silvanus about the apparent contradiction of committing a crime to break me free. Silvanus explained the delicate balance of the code, emphasizing the importance of discernment and the pursuit of the common good. He justified his actions as a response to corrupt politics, defending my right to a fair trial. Eager to know about my parents, I interrupted Silvanus, learning they had relocated to his mountain retreat for safety. Relief washed over me as he shared the news of my mother's recovery and their newfound home with Silvanus. Grateful, I hugged my friend, and as we entered The High Forest, I breathed a deep sigh of relief, feeling the horrors of the past lift. The dancing hues of the green forest signaled that I was finally home.
 
Reunited with my family, we embraced in joy for the first time in many decades. Life seemed to find its rhythm again. My parents thrived in Silvanus's home, with my father fascinated by ancient relics and enchanted artifacts, finding solace in the shop's atmosphere. The scent of exotic woods and green vines entranced him as he honed his masterful skills. Meanwhile, my mother delved into herblore under the guidance of Sylvanus, connecting deeply with the healing essence of the natural world.
 
Grateful to witness my closest kin embracing our ancient lineage, we enjoyed peaceful years together. However, the lure of a new adventure beckoned when I overheard news of a charter ship departing to the mysterious Stormwreck Isle. Intrigued by tales of noble conquests and ancient riches, I learned the ship would depart from a harbor off the Sword Coast the next day. In telling my parents and Silvanus of my decision, their approving nods confirmed the grandiosity of my idea. As I waited in the bustling harbor, hood pulled low over my features, the familiar notes of a magical bard's melody danced through the air, setting the stage for my next grand adventure…

Age

67

Eyes

Icy Blue

Hair

Blonde/White

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Tan

Height

5'7"

Weight

160 Ib