Lord Davlamin Dawntracker

Name: Lord Davlamin Dawntracker

Race: Full Elf

Age: 211 standard years

Physical Description: 6’4” 195 lbs, athletic build. Long black hair. Piercing silver-grey, wolf-like eyes.

Primary Magic: Illusion- Master Skill
Secondary Magic: Conjuration - Specialist Skill

Father: ?? Dawntracker of Gyssetlyar Clan
Mother:
Brother: a transmuter

Niece: Aoife (ee + fa) Dawntracker

Friends: Lymus Woodsoul, councilman. Ekkalia’s uncle

History: Davlamin Eorin Dawntracker was born into the poorer side of the Gyssetlyar Clan. As a child he grew to be resentful of the children born of wealthier parents who teased him mercilessly over his worn and patched clothing. Finding that as the smallest member of his class in the clan’s primary acadium he could not fight his tormenters, he turned inward… and vindictive. Stumbling upon his father’s open book of conjurations, Lamin—as he was called—found his revenge. He began learning conjurations well advanced for his early years but effective enough to cause his wealthier classmates untold—and for them, unexplained—misery.

Though handicapped by not having an instructor to teach him the finer points of conjuration, a deficiency that would continue throughout his life due to the irregular way he learned his first spells, Lamin delved ever deeper into the various disciplines of magic until three days after his tenth birthday he happened upon the art of illusion. After that he was never again taunted about the finery of his clothing, his youthful shortness and frail frame, nor his family’s humble home whenever he invited friends over.

Passing through puberty and discovering the pleasures of the opposite sex was difficult for Lamin, for which he would later overcompensate in life. He could never be sure that the friends that he had, or the girls who expressed interest in him, were truly interested in his real self… or the illusion he made them see. There were moments—more than a few—when he didn’t care; he simply used the girls to satisfy his needs then either cast them aside when they didn’t meet his expectations or strung them along for future use. Later rumors said that there were a couple of boys as well, and on at least two occasions the daughter of a prosperous townsman had to visit a distant relative for an extended period of time. Lamin, when he heard of such instances, shrugged it off. If they would do it with him, who was to say they weren’t doing it with someone else as well, he rationalized. He refused to believe that any conception might be his.

Through it all Lamin kept finding ways that his magic could benefit him, surreptitiously at first but growing ever more bold with his usage. By the age of fourteen he no longer needed illusion to appear dressed in the finest clothing, or present the image of a taller, well-developed youth with flowing black hair and piercing purposeful eyes. He had grown taller and filled out, and in the process amassed a considerable sum of gold through various illusory means. This he used to acquire for himself those things that his family could not afford. His power of illusion was by then so great he could keep his ill-gotten riches in plain sight in his small room at home with no one—not his parents, not his brother, but perhaps his dog—the wiser.

Or so he thought. The confrontation that would sear his memory until his dying day occurred less than a year later, a week before his fifteenth birthday. He had grown careless—or overly confident in his skills—and had been found out. His parents’ fury was only part of the fireball which swept away his childhood life and cast him out into the world on his own; the wrath of the clan and community descended on him with a fury he never imagined possible. Reflecting on it later with the maturity of years, he understood their anger better: he had deceived them, every one of them, continually for years. Only then, after that surprising moment of introspection, did he come to realize why: his skill at illusion was beyond anything they had ever believed of him at that age, and he had made fools of them.

Being alone in the world, depending on his wits and skills to survive, was hardly punishment for Lavin. He had always been alone and friendless. Leaving the familiar confines of his village was harder, though, but only for a short time. With his powers of illusion, and a little conjury thrown in, he not only survived but thrived in any new city he ventured into.

Lavin’s life changed yet again when his part of the larger world he was growing to know became engulfed in turmoil. By accident—or chance or luck—he encountered a mage named Permious as he was attempting to persuade the older man that the pitcher of fine ale was his. The skilled mage saw through his illusion but rather than place a punishing counterspell on him—which Lamin soon learned that Permious was more than able to do—he laughed heartily and shared the cold brew. He needed help, Permious said, help from Elves and Lamin was the first—and youngest—to use his magic so brazenly. He explained that he was negotiating with humans who could perform magic and wanted to end the turmoil that was raging across the land, but to do so he needed the assistance of Elven magic to bring the Marked—as he called the magic-using humans—to the bargaining table. Lamin was about to laugh in Permious’ face at the absurd notion that he, Lamin, would involve himself in anything as unrewarding as politics, when the second change occurred: they were joined by another Elf, Lymus Woodsoul.

Though wary of the newcomer at first, Lamin and Lymus were destined to become the best of friends. Lymus in his early years was much like Lamin, both searching for their place in the world and having mischievous fun using their skills to find it. Each quickly found the other to be their counterpart, almost as if they were twin brothers. Before long, the two men could complete the sentence the other started, and knew in an instant which barmaid the other desired, among other things.

It was Lymus who persuaded Lamin to assist Permious in his cause. While there was no immediate reward in political negotiations, it would be fun—yes, fun! Lyman laughed—to use their skills for something completely different. And who knows what might come of it? Had he ever bedded a princess? Or a human woman? he teased. Their skills in bed were considerable, he’d been told, adding a lascivious grin and a knowing wink to capture Lamin’s interest as they later walked together outside the bar.

Having a friend, a genuine friend, changed Lavin. He now had somebody to talk to, to share questions and observations and worries. And through it all, they taught humans the magic they needed to hide in plain sight. Some months later the negotiations concluded successfully, and a short time after that Permious was elected the first King of Umbra. For their help, Permoius made both Lymus and Lavin, despite their young age, Lords of the Realm.