Kirlian IV "the Elf Slayer"

## Kirlian IV

Master of the Silver Sword (inherited)

### Date of Birth

March 3, in the Year 563 of the 7th Millennia in the Reckoning of Men; or, in the year 7563 in the Reckoning of the Elves

### Date of Death

August 27, in the Year 606 of the 7th Millennia in the Reckoning of Men; or, the year 7606 in the Reckoning of the Elves

### Affiliations

The Maroozian Royal FamilyThe Council of the Zebber

### Weapon of Choice

Zankarth, the Dwarvish sword wielded by all Kings of Maroozo

## Relations

### Siblings

Marinia (older sister)Hafer III (younger brother)

### Other Relatives of Historical Importance

Tithinus V (nephew)

**Kirlian IV "the Elf Slayer"** was the oldest son of Arnorn II and the King of Maroozo for 20 years from 7586 ROE (Reckoning of the Elves) to 7606 ROE, when he died during the historical Quest for the Golden Sword. Upon his death, his surviving brother, Hafer III, inherited the throne. During his life, Kirlian IV escalated the centuries-old conflict between the Men of Maroozo and the Elves of the Empire of Duracuire, due partly to his personal rivalry and hatred towards its ruler at the time, Asino I. This led to his eventual capture at the hands of Asino's forces and his imprisonment in the dungeons of Dor Amarath in the Year 7604 ROE. However, his brother, Hafer III, who was at that time under the influence of and allied with Asino, freed him. Throughout his life, Kirlian IV was known for his quick temper, sudden outbursts of wrath, and rashly violent actions. Because of this, his own Generals in his Council of the Zebber were wary of him, and Kirlian IV faced rebellion many times by both his advisors and his subjects. Kirlian IV was the last person to wield the legendary Silver Sword, as it was destroyed after he used it to defeat Numeneor's Army of Urkmith.

## Early Life

*"Refuge with the Elvish King, damn him? Never! I will not seek refuge from my enemies with my enemy! If you go, you go alone. You trend a path I will not follow."* - Kirlian IV to his mother, Marinia

From birth, Kirlian IV was trained to be a great warrior, since if the Dragons of the North that once dwelt in the Dragon Mountains were ever to return, it would be he who must ride out with his army to slay them. He was especially taught the use of the sword, an elegant weapon, which only Men and those of royal Elvish linage knew the art of wielding. It was during his training that his father, Arnorn II, faced the last of the Drakes that dared to assail Maroozo, Kazil the Wyrm. In that great battle, which was recounted in the epic Kazil of Olde, Arnorn slaughtered this last monstrous threat to Maroozo, but the wrath of the beast had taken its toll upon the aging king, for during the clash, Kazil’s fire had been unleashed upon Arnorn’s face, scarring it forevermore. From then on, Kirlian IV had great hatred of Dragons and wished to avenge his father. But, alas, he had not the chance in his lifetime.

Though the Drakes had been vanquished from the face of the Earth, yet another menace sought the downfall of the Country of Men. Asino I, son of Akirth I, son of Denkirth II, the Elf King of the Empire had the same scorn that his father and his grandfather before him had for the Men who had betrayed their own kind in the Wars of Tyrius and joined with Numeneor, his treacherous servant. And so Arnorn II was ever battling this proud Elvish King to protect his people and his throne. It was in several of these battles that the young prince fought to prove himself worthy of the kingship of Maroozo.

In one such clash, the Second Battle of Monticule, Kirlian IV, then 15 years of age, found himself face to face with the Elvish King, who was fighting in the thick of battle, hewing down Men hither and thither. Kirlian, both disgusted that this Elf was slaying his subjects with such ease and delighted that the source of this endless war was within range of his blade, rushed at Asino with all of his ire. Suprised that a youth dared to assail him, the Elvish King staggered backwards, and in this moment Kirlian slashed out him, gashing his face hideously. With blood streaming from the fresh wound that stretched from his chin to his right eye, Asino was filled with anguish and wrath. With his sword in hand, for he had been taught its use by his father, who had learned it in turn from his father, and the three of them were the only Elves ever to master the weapon, he turned to this brazen boy who had spilt his blood. He charged at him, and the two dueled amidst a sea of death. But, alas, Kirlian, though skilled he was with the sword, was no match for a learned Blademaster, and soon Kirlian’s armor was stained crimson in a dozen different spots. Death seemed imminent for the brash prince, and it would have befallen him had not his father, the King himself, come to the aid of his son and struck a blow upon the brow of the Elf. Though scarred and marred as he was, the King still led his troops into battle, as was the custom among all Kings of Maroozo, going back to Varyn, the first Dragonslayer. Arnorn drove back the Elf, who in the art of the sword was inferior to the mighty King of Men. As Asino fled into the ranks of his Elvish soldiers, Kirlian cried out, “Craven!” Asino knew the truth of his words, and it was a bitter reminder of his cowardice, so henceforth they were bitter enemies.

When Kirlian IV was in his early twenties, Kirlian’s mother, Arguil, saw that the Court of Arnorn was becoming corrupt, for the Generals and Warlords were plotting to seize the throne once the elderly king was dead. Knowing that they would kill all relations of the king so that none may attempt to reclaim the throne, she fled with her child, Hafer, her daughter, Marinia, her infant grandson, the child of Marinia, who was named Tithinus, and her husband, Trenian, to the stronghold of Asino, Dor Amarath, since she considered the Elves to be a noble race of great virtue. Kirlian, however, refused to find refuge in the abode of his enemy, and so chose to remain in Maroozo. The Elvish King feigned a warm welcome and invited them to stay, but as soon as they had fallen into slumber, Asino had them all killed, save for the children, Hafer and Tithinus. These he would raise in Dor Amarath and use them as pawns to obtain his ultimate goal: the Throne of Maroozo and the death of Men.

Meanwhile, back in Maroozo, King Arnorn II had died of a mysterious illness, and rumors spread throughout the land that the Generals and Warlords had poisoned him. Seeking to eliminate his competition before their threat developed, Kirlian, with the aid of his close friend and ally, Durian, slew them all in their sleep. Thus did Kirlian's reign begin - with murder.

## The Second Battle of Monticule

*"Craven! Craven of the House of Denkirth!"* - Kirlian IV to Asino I

The Following is an Account of the Second Battle of Monticule, specifically the Brief Conflict between Asino I and Kirlian IV:

Death lay before Kirlian’s eyes as he stood there on the field of battle, drenched in sweat and Elvish blood, his sword, smeared with the flesh and gore of his enemies, in his hand. Lifeless corpses, their sightless eyes staring out into eternal blackness, lay strewn about an ocean of blood—the carnage of war. Moans of pain faintly passed the lips of the dying as their eyes grew dim, their last sight being that of horrific slaughter. The wounded, suffering torment and agony by the cold iron of wrought blades, were given mercy and freedom from their ordeal at the hands of their enemy—a ruthless stroke of sharp steel and a spurt of blood to end their life. Those who still survived pitilessly hacked away at friend or foe alike, sparing none in the path or range of their blade.

To the young eyes of Prince Kirlian, for whom this was a first glimpse at the revulsions of war, the races of Men and Elves alike had abandoned all sanity, all sense, and plunged themselves into an abysmal hell of madness. Battle was not the glorious crusade the ancient bards had written melodic verses of, nor was it the arena upon which men proved their valor, and surely if bards had been warriors, they would not have written so. Still, though revolted by the sight of this bloodbath, this taste of the terror of battle had a maturing effect upon the brash Prince. No longer was he a child, innocent and sweet, for he had witnessed things no man should ever have to behold, and thus he had passed into manhood.

Inhaling sharply, Kirlian grasped more tightly his sword hilt, and with a mighty effort plunged himself back into the mortal clash. Again he was thrust into a swirl of blood, in which limbs and steel slashed and hewed amok. Through this massacre, this scene of carnage, he trudged, slaying all those Elves that came before him, and with the dexterity and skill acquired through countless hours and grueling days of training he gave unto them death, and only death. At last, once many an Elf had fallen to his sword, he came to a clearing, around which the conflict raged. There he regained his breath, for he had lost it during his relentless combat, and surveyed the battle.

The Elves, with their sickle blades, their Lamaria, were advancing on the main front, suppressing all resistance with effective brutality. Indeed, men fled in haste from their onslaught, for to defy them was to risk certain death. Prince Kirlian beheld this humiliating scene with disgust. Where was the courage of these men, whom had all sworn oaths to Arnorn, Kirlian’s father, the King, to fight and die for him and Maroozo, their country? How dare they flee before the enemy, before the Elvish ranks of Asino?

Filled with rage and youthful rashness, the Prince attempted to rally about him his troops.

“Art thou all cowards, Warriors of Maroozo?” he cried, brandishing his sword in his wrath. “Hath thou taken leave of thy courage and fled before the enemy? Take up thy arms, brave descendants of Varyn, the First Dragonslayer! Remain loyal to thy oath, even unto death! Let every man who does not heed this call be damned forevermore!”

But, alas, the cries of a boy in the midst of panic are not readily obeyed. Fury overtaking his soul, he lashed out at one of the knights who had taken flight, impaling him through the breastplate. Blood pooled from the wound, dripping onto the dust of the ground, which was already stained crimson, and the man let out a pained groan. Then, he breathed his last. His body went limp, collapsing to the ground, and his darkened eyes rested upon the Prince, a haunting gaze. For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Kirlian stared into the unseeing eyes of this man, whom he had killed, and felt the guilt well up in his heart, for he had acted too impulsively, striking out only in blind anger. Surely, this man did not deserve to die, and even if he had warranted it for his fainthearted retreat, who was Kirlian to deal out death and judgement?

Wrenching his thoughts from the man whom he had slain, the Prince painfully turned his attention back to the battle which even now was still being waged. He observed that the Elvish ranks were still marching forward unchecked, for the few that had remained loyal were easily eliminated, due to the vast nature of Asino’s army. Scowling, Kirlian withdrew his sword from the carcass of his ill-fated victim, in order that he might join his father’s faithful soldiers on the frontlines. But, as he grasped his blade with a firm grip, a glint of sunlight, reflecting off a breastplate, caught his eye and he turned to perceive whose it was. Never had terror and joy, intermingled with each other, flooded the Prince’s soul as in that moment, for there, waging war proudly from the summit of a bloodied knoll, was Asino, son of Akirth, son of Denkirth, the Elf King of the Empire and Sole Blademaster of the Elvish Race.

A sudden thought sprang to the Prince’s eager mind—a thought foolhardy and unwise, but, to Kirlian’s young mind, daring and bold. What if he, Kirlian of Maroozo, Descendant of the House of the Dragonslayers, Future King of Maroozo, and Son of the Victor over Kazil the Wyrm, struck down the Elvish King from his haughty stance and humbled him to the fate he had bestowed upon so many of his kin. Certainly great lays, composed by the highest bards and poets of the land, would be written of it. For millennia, perhaps, the tale would be told of how a mere Prince obtained victory over the greatest King of their Age amid the chaos of his first battle. And even if such boundless glory was not reaped upon him, he would have proven himself worthy of the Crown of Maroozo, which once sat upon the brow of King Varyn, who upon that world had no equal.

Forgetting for the moment that Asino was a learned Blademaster, skilled in the art of wielding the sword, and he himself had yet to achieve such a title, Kirlian clenched his teeth with resolve and charged at the Elvish King, his sword ready to strike. Catching Asino off guard, for he had not anticipated such an offensive confrontation, the Prince lashed out with his blade, striking his opponent across the temple and causing the Elf to stagger back from the force of the blow. Hot blood streamed from the fresh wound, trickling into Asino’s eyes, blinding him. Rage saturated his mind, rage for this brazen boy who had spilt his blood, though outwardly he remained calm and controlled, not giving way to rash impulses.

Regaining his footing quickly and veering his sword in the direction of Kirlian before the Prince could strike again, Asino spoke. “Who art thou? Thou art a fool? Why doth thou strike me, when thou hast no chance against my skilled hand?”

A sneer spread across Kirlian’s lips, as he spoke thus: “I am Prince Kirlian, son of Arnorn, your sworn enemy. Today, I shall rid my father’s kingdom of thy menace, for thou shalt be slain by my hand.”

Asino gave a short laugh of contempt. “Truly, thou art a fool!”

“I hath wounded thee already.”

The flame of ire that burned within the Elvish King lept up at the mention of his bleeding gash. “Thou caught me unawares. ‘Twas luck, mere luck, and Fate will not be so fortunate to thee henceforth.”

“So you think,” was Kirlian’s curt reply, and with that he thrust his sword at Asino’s heart. But thus was the beginning of the end of the Prince’s impudent assault, for with the dexterity of an expert Blademaster, Asino parried the anticipated blow and countered it by slashing at Kirlian’s sword hand. The Prince leapt back to avoid this strike, but to no avail, for the blade sliced thru his flesh, piercing through to the bone, and he fell to the ground, his hand reddened by blood. Blow upon blow Asino rained upon the fallen Prince, and blow upon blow Kirlian attempted to deflect, but failed, so that ere a dozen strokes were felled upon him, his mail was stained crimson and his body was weak. The Prince’s strengthen waned—no longer could be fight on. At last, his sword fell from his feeble grasp, and he was entirely at the mercy of Asino. Raising his blade for the death blow, the Elvish King savored this moment of triumph, this moment which would surely spell the doom of Maroozo.

But, from the ranks of fleeing men, out charged a mighty warrior. His beard, catching the last light of the setting sun, seemed aflame as he sprinted to the aid of the overpowered Prince. In his hand was a gleaming sword, inscribed with runes, which declared it to be Zankarth, the Dwarvish sword wielded by all Kings of Maroozo, for this, truly, was Arnorn, son of Threndom, who slew Kazil the Wyrm in the Days of Old. Indeed, the scars of that bygone battle were still upon his face, for Dragon fire and flame had taken their toll upon him, yet still kingly did he look.

With fury in his step, King Arnorn strode within range of the Elvish King, and with the colossal strength of his imposing figure, he brought a blow upon Asino thrice that of any Kirlian had received. The Elvish King collapsed to the ground in pain, blood pooling from this newly inflicted wound. Realizing the potency of his rival in the art of the sword and his bitter odds of victory, Asino strove to regain his footing, and once he had, he fled into the safety of his ranks, crying: “Defend me, O Elvish Soldiers! Defend I, your King!”

Though weakened from loss of blood and the ruthlessness of the Elvish King’s attacks, Kirlian found the strength to taunt Asino, and so as the latter fled into the haven of his army, he cried, “Craven! Craven of the House of Denkirth!” These words reached the ears of the Elvish King, and Asino, with a heavy heart, realized they spoke the truth. Resentment filled his soul, anger welled up in his bosom, and thenceforth, the two, Kirlian and Asino, were bitter enemies.

## Physical Appearance

*"His face is that of his father, but his eyes - those are his own. I see in them neither his father nor his mother. Only rage, hatred...and deep-set loyalty and honor."* - The Lord of the Safino discussing King Kirlian IV with the Kirlian's Warlord Durian

*His eyes, a darkened shade of azure, were deep set and encircling them was scarlet flesh, reddened with restless nights and terrible hatred. His thin, blond eyebrows were creased with pondering and ire. Beneath both of these, was his protrusive nose that jutted out from his face. His lips a pastel ruddy tint, pressed together with dreadful fury, and below this, his chin extended out like his nose.*

Kirlian IV was a slightly taller than average human, with a height of 6 feet and 4 inches. Long, auburn hair that came down to just above his shoulders and had a ragged, unkempt appearance adorned his head. He had thin, blond eyebrows which could hardly be seen except when very close. His eyes were a very dark shade of blue, and they were often surrounded by irritated, red flesh, due to his frequent insomnia. On his face, he had a nose that was longer and pointier than typically found in the Maroozian Royal Family, and this was matched by his chin, which protruded from his strong jawline like a spike. He sported a rough, pointed beard, which he rarely trimmed. On his right cheek, he had a long, thick scar, which was from his clash with Asino I at the Second Battle of Monticule. His skin is heavily tanned and scarred from his many battles and activity in his country's affairs.