Adavalo Korr

Adavalo Korr is an Elf nobleman from Aclia who lived in the Royal Era. He was a member of an insurgent group dedicated to destabilizing the monarchy at the time, believing that the king was abusing his power. When his group's attempts failed, he turned to Alienism to gain the power he needed to carry out his "liberation tactics". He then joined the Cult of Vanavos at the Temple of Jothriksh, where he was promoted to Chronicler.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Adavalo's Journal

Adavalo kept a personal journal throughout his life. It was left hidden in his dormitory at the Temple of Jothriksh. It was later uncovered by the Crew of the Wraith adventuring party, but was found molded and crumbling. Some of the pages survived, and are listed here:

13^th of Aftspring, 2434 RE

Mother Phaedra has placed the great city of Aclia so that she may face into the sunrise of our sacred isles, that her people may look forward toward growth and new times, toward prosperity and harmony in the face of the world’s many forces of darkness and disarray. We tend to the woods and the tides, and protect them from intruders. I find myself, now, however, on our beauteous country’s most western of coasts, eyelocked with a blood red sunset, and can’t help today but to loath the events of our past.
Our monarchs have grown relentless in their intrusions of the affairs of the lesser races, they have dragged our country into wars best left to the savagery of dwarves or orcs, and have catstraighted the dignity of Aclia’s sacred warriors with unnecessary combat. Were we to refrain ourselves, our knightly ranks would never have dwindled so low as to have ended my dear brother’s life so curtly. Were we to refrain ourselves, our trees would not be so young, having been cut for warships, and our hands would not be so greased with the musk of coinage handed out for metals destined for the armorer’s forge, the feathers of our crows plucked by all the country’s fletchers.
Our druids of the great Mother stand idle, cowardly before the unchecked might of the authoritarian king, and I come to think they may fear for their lives, for no such holy person could possibly content themselves with the proclamations of a king with such ill regard for our lands and seas. Warfare has slit our wrists, and we bleed onto ourselves, onto our families, more blood than we spill of an enemy we do not know, have not seen, all at the command of a single king who has reigned nearly 800 years, longer than any king before him. Were it not sacrosanct, I’d call the man a lich, but assuredly when one individual has the wealth of a nation adorning his lockes, one may presume such a lifespan could be inline with the natural order.
So here I rest, restless, a noble man, wandered away from his house and clan, wondering wherein I might find solace in a land whose east is red with blood and whose west is red with a hopeless sunset.

3^rd of Forewinter, 2450 RE

The festivities of the solstice are in full bloom in the capital, yet the rural houses remain far more bare than in the generations prior. The king dare speak one day that we are at war further still, yet dare speak the next day that we ought to praise the angels for our bounties. In the capital, there indeed lie the bounties of our countrymen, but at home we lie impoverished by insipidities of our reckless rulers. I refuse to honor such angels that deliver all their blessings to those who worship only by the tongue and yet shun the multitudes who worship far more in heart and sweat and by the hands that defend their creation. I swear that I even see evergreens go bare this winter, and yet our druids do nothing of the destructive influences of our king. My only hope, all my worldly solace channeled to one source, is that my colleague does not miss his mark, that his arrow may fly true, when the time comes.

29^th of Aftautumn, 2474 RE

For forty years, we have struck out against the capital’s ruling men, dare they bare no more illness and repulsion to that title. They truly have the druids’ spineless faculties in their command, and they assuredly have beguiled the once holy will of the Goddess and her kin into their favor, for there could be no other way they may have survived the onslaught of our assassinations.
No matter, our kind have no such need for divine enhancement, for we have the patriotic gall of all of Aclia within our hearts, and we shall make our country harmonious again. While not divine, I wonder if the angels have forgotten that they were not the first beings to hold sway over the fabric of the cosmos. The Duotheism has failed us in equal proportion to our monarchy whom they put into power.
Therefore I wait now, for overmorrow, where I shall be bonded to a power far older than that of the God or Goddess. Vanavos shall bestow upon me the strength I need. No more shall my house’s bloodline be shackled to the will of the monarch, who is shackled himself to the affairs of the lesser races. Such triflings are like the desires of worms beneath the lot of righteous elves, of true countrymen. Hence, I rest now my shoulder upon the forward mast of a liberated royal skiff, a fine vessel finally loyal now to the true kin of Aclia, and we make our heading for Jothriksh.

8^th of Forewinter, 2474 RE

At first the Alienists forbade my entrance into their temple, a majestic structure of granite unlike anything the architects of Aclia could have conjured. It took much convincing; my noble lineage, my wealth, my political power, and most importantly the willingness to dedicate my entire bloodline to their cause; before they projected even an interview with their higher priests.
Many of the cultists were elves, but in no lesser proportion there were also half elves and other races as well, united not by blood but by faith in something better than what Craedock was able to offer underfoot the holy family. Their founder, Mindartis Galanodel, was in fact a Drow. Never before these extreme circumstances would I have considered such an allegiance, but the man had an aura of composure about him I hadn’t seen in a long time, and such refinement was in fact nostalgic. He ensured a freedom I could never feel at the hand of a monarch, nor of the angels.
He took me in, not just as a monk like I had hoped, but as an apprentice priest of the cult. Their temple extended into the oceanic currents below the coast, and here is where they convened with Vanavos. They use eldritch elixirs to breathe under the black waters, and seek out the glimmer of his tendrils in the sunken catacombs in which they kept both their dead brothers and let rest the bones of his sacrifices. One day, I would have such an honor as well.

5^th of Aftsummer, 2562 RE

For a nearly a century now I have served the Cult of Vanavos. They have honored me with the duties of the resident chronicler and scribe, and so have my inks and quills gone rather to that cause than my personal journalings, which have hitherto been short and curt. Today however, I could not go without logging the news I have received.
The grossest king of Aclia is dead, of illness of the mind, succumb to a mumbling insanity. I must attend that my curses and the power of the Void has sunk his mind like a molded skiff adrift in the mighty storm of our power. We have slain a king today, and Aclia is all the better for it. Woe be to any successor who dare dream that our standards for his loyalty to the Alcian people shall dwindle or flicker with this news.

9^th of Aftsummer, 2630 RE

Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. (This phrase is repeated for the duration of the entire page...)

1^st of Forewinter, 2634 RE

I believe, I have made a great mistake of this life. I am of an unsure age now, of an unsure birth in fact, but I have seen the moons of Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. at least seven hundred years. Some of those years were lost to me, and I realize now that Vanavos has full control of my mind whenever he whims, so that now I know not that my words here are even my own, and this terrifies me.
This is the clearest I have foreseen my own volition in the whereabouts of four years, I believe, my only knowledge of the date coming from Jothriksh’s Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. calendars. For three generations now, my descendents have been forsook by my lack of judgement, ever under the watching eye of the Abolith. I know not what he hath done to them, my family, my son and my granddaughter, now that I Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. know what he hath done to me and my mind.
Therefore, I have sent one final letter, delivered with my most loyal of countrymen at a time and date I shall not record for fear of his safety. This parcel is to be delivered to no living member of my clan and house, but rather to my next born descendant, my only hope being that Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. he might receive it before Vanavos may corrupt his judgement.
In it, I urge him not to follow the path of the Void, of the Alienists. I cannot wholeheartedly wish that my great grandchild would return to the Duotheism, but, Lalos: he is an angel who serves his role to the Goddess, but does so on his own terms, creating legion after legion of demons and devils of commendable power. These are dark times indeed, but I assure my kin that this path, these devils of Lalos, are to be our only, final solace in gaining the power we need to take back Craedock for all free men.
Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. Hail be to Vanavos. (This phrase is repeated for the rest of the journal...)

Species

Elf

Life

1279 PME 560 PME

© Dylan Eugene Wheeler 2018
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