Ellival Moonmeadow
Basic Information
Gender Male
Race Moon elf
Rules Information
Class Fighter


Male human fighter 6 N Medium Human Init ; Senses ; Perception


AC , touch , flat-footed (+10 armor, +2 Dex, +2 natural) hp Fort , Ref , Will Defensive gear Defensive Abilities:


Speed 20 Melee Ranged Special Attacks Offensive gear Spell-Like Abilities


Str , Dex , Con , Int , Wis , Cha Base Atk ; CMB ; CMD Feats Traits Skills Languages Special Qualities Other Gear

Special Abilities


Tall and heavily built for an Elf. He bears the marks of a born slave in tattoos covering the majority of his body, even on his bald head. After the tattoos are the scars from both combat and punishment, whip marks on his back and endless blade marks on his arms.


He no longer feels fear. Death would be a welcome release, yet his mistress forbids it. More then once he has been wrenched back from the beyond, and he knows that the after life is a much better place then his waking nightmare.

He is also more then little socially awkward, being used to little to no social interaction beyond his mistress.


Weapon Finesse, Power attack, Flaw: Shaky, Flaw: Vulnerable


Ellival Moonmeadow was born in Deepingdale. His childhood was uneventful until at 65 years old he was captured and made a slave. He eventually was bought by Ernerla Kossotic. She based him and five other slaves of the same age through an insane training regime. He was the only one able to survive the process. He watched the other slaves slowly succumb to the strain. One committed suicide, Two were beaten to death as they collapsed with fatigue, and the last he personally killed in a training "accident." This pleased Ernerla to no end. Now Ellival trained alone, and thrived. He took the abuse and made it strength, absorbed the lessons and begged for more.

30 years latter, he was a new creature. He bore the scars of abuse, but also had unearthly grace. He was skilled in a massive array of combat techniques, ways to kill silently and without fail. He could move like a shadow, and strike like a adder. Yet he was still a slave. His mistress now used him as a weapon, his skills proving amazingly effective. He was able to slay dozens of her opposition without being caught. His mistress slowly rose to power thanks to his skills.

Yet... he was still a slave. When the mistress finally took power over the house 20 years latter, he became a third wheel. She could now form a proper group of assassins from among her house, ones that were female.. Unknown to him, the death squad was coming for him that very night... when he was saved by a prick on the neck.