Ithilien Silvershield

Self-exiled Holy Knight of Arnulad

Level 5 Class Paladin
Ithilien Silvershield

Armor Class
Base Attack Bonus
1d10 +5
Atk: +8
+1 Bastard Sword
1d6 +3
Atk: +8
+1 Spiked Shield
1d8 +4
Atk: +8
Silver Hvy Mace
1d8 +0
Atk: +7

+2 to one ability
Bonus Feat
Skilled (+1 skill rank/level)

Page of Valoir
Armor Expert
Aura of Good
Detect Evil
Smite Evil: 2/day
Divine Grace (+2 all saves)
Lay on Hands: 7/day, heal 3d6 dmg
Aura of Courage: allies within 10’ +4 vs fear
Divine Health: immune to all diseases
Mercy: cure shaken when lay on hands
Channel Positive Energy: costs 2 LoH, heal 3d6 burst
Divine Weapon Bond: 1/day, 5 mins, +1 weapon enhancement
Two Weapon Fighting
Improved Shield Bash
Oversized Two Weapon Fighting
Exotic Weapon Proficiency (Bastard Sword)
Weapon Focus (Bastard Sword)
+2 Belt of Giant Strength
+1 Bastard Sword
+1 Amulet of Natural Armor
+1 Breastplate
+2 Headband of Charisma
+1 Hvy Spiked Shield
Silver Hvy Mace


Sense Motive
Knowledge (religion)
Knowledge (nobility)
Escape Artist
I small
thilien Silvershield is a paladin of Arnulad. His powerful frame is well over six feet tall and holds 230 pounds of lean muscle. Surprisingly graceful for such a large man, he is quintessentially a warrior, with every fiber of his physical being strengthened, toned, and exercised to accentuate the capabilities of the fighting arts.

He dons an exquisite suit of breastplate which fits his large physique perfectly. A large red cloak floats freely upon his back, once bright but now darkened from years of travel upon the open road, it is a small emulation on his part for his liege, the Ilad of justice. Two broadswords are worn at his sides, one on each hip, a shiny steel spiked shield adorns his left arm, or is strapped upon his back during times of long travel.

Under his steel helm is a shock of wavy brown hair, with unkept tresses reaching down to almost his shoulders. His light brown eyes show a warmth and kindness which is a direct antithesis to the overall visage of the paladin, that of a battle-tested warrior.

Above and beyond all else, Ithilien reveres and follows the tenets of his lord, Arnulad. Every action he takes, every decision he makes is ultimately in service to and following the ideals of Andunai, and his most trusted servant Arnulad, Ilad of justice. Beyond the direct teachings of his Ilad, Ithilien’s actions follow his own sense of honor and morality. Besides reverence to Arnulad and his personal honor, he holds loyalty next above all else.

The following is excerpted from the journals of Ithilien Silvershield…


The orc warrior fell onto his back watching his newly severed arm twist and tumble through the air, only to land on the stony ground five feet away from where he fell. His right arm had been severed just below the shoulder, and although most of the wound was already cauterized from the bluish-white flames licking the blade of the sword which had dealt him this mortal wound, red ichorous blood spewed forth from his severed brachial artery. The orc was not yet dead, but he no longer wanted to fight.

The paladin’s eyes burned as sweat trickled off his forehead. Was it sweat, or was it blood? He did not know, it did not matter. The acrid smell of burnt flesh rose up from the dead and dying bodies at his feet. It permeated the air, reached under his steel helm, and into his nostrils. The paladin breathed in the malodorous stench, and a perverse grin crept onto his face. He glanced down at his sword, Arnulad’s Grace, as the black blood stained upon its keen edge bubbled and boiled away under the heat of the blue-white flames of his patron lord’s vengeance, leaving the metal innocently untarnished.

The dim-witted orcs had actually conceived a well organized trap for he and his ranger companion, the paladin mused to himself. Well-organized, but poorly executed. They had been surrounded and attacked from all sides whilst orc archers peppered them from range. It took most of the divine healing energies at the paladin’s disposal for he and his companion to survive to this point.

With no enemy within reach of his sword, the paladin quickly looked around the battlefield for his companion. The elven ranger was surrounded by three orcs, one of which was the size of a bugbear and easily twice as heavy as any other orc the paladin had ever seen. It was the leader of the orc company, the cowardly beast had finally shown himself.

Within the span of a brief second, the circumstances of the last two weeks flashed through the paladin’s mind. He and the ranger had learned of a remote temple of Lumacien nestled in the foothills of Mount Glorimar along the Thandolier Plains, which had been savagely attacked by orc raiders. The orcs had killed all the adult inhabitants of the temple, but had taken all the temple’s children as slaves. They easily tracked the raiders to their hideout and learned there were at least two score of the foul creatures in the cave encampment. They waited until scouting parties left the cave, and one by one, attacked and killed the orcs within the scouting parties. Three separate parties had left the encampment, none had returned. When the heroes believed the numbers of orcs had dwindled enough, they decided to enter the possibly deserted cave encampment in hopes of finding the children. They were, in turn, ambushed themselves deep inside the seemingly abandoned cave complex.

Now most of the ambushing orcs laid dead at his feet. All that was seemingly left of the raiders were surrounding and killing his elven companion. The paladin immediately began to run across the span of fifty to sixty feet which separated him from the combatants. He knew that he had enough divine power left in himself for one more curing, but he had to reach his companion before the elf fell. The ranger was bleeding profusely from several grievous wounds, and with each passing second, his sword arm seemed to slow. As the ranger cut down one of the three remaining orcs, the paladin marveled at the elf’s skill with a sword. He knew how deadly he was with a bow, but never did he imagine that he would likewise be so skilled with a sword. The nimble ranger’s longsword plunged deeply into the chest of yet another orc. The elation the paladin felt was quickly drowned in horror… in the same instant that the orc was run through, the last orc, the lead orc, raised his great axe above his head and brought it down upon the ranger. The great two-headed axe cleaved the elf from his left shoulder blade down to the center of his torso. The elf’s lifeless body unceremoniously slumped down to the cold stone. The paladin stopped in his tracks as he watched his faithful companion fall. He solemnly whispered a quick prayer. “Farewell Dryden, noble ranger of the Tindor Forest… Never have I fought beside a more braver soul, nor a more deadlier bow…”

The orc chieftain turned and looked squarely at the paladin. The paladin could see clearly now that the gargantuan orc had not a single wound upon his body. The calm coldness of resolution swept quickly across the paladin’s mind… so this was how his life would end. Fear clenched his heart in its icy grip. It was not death that the paladin feared, he could not envision a better death for himself than to die here, surrounded by the fallen bodies of his enemies. Nay, it was the fear of failure which pulled incessantly at his resolve… the children… what would happen to the children now that he had failed in his quest. He called forth the last remaining remnants of divine energy within himself to heal his own battered body, the ranger no longer had any use for his healing. Even with the magical healing, the paladin knew he was still near death.

As the raging orc barbarian chieftain charged wildly at the paladin, he set his feet and readied himself. The paladin knew he could survive one, perhaps two hits from the monstrous humanoid bearing down upon him. He marked the orc chieftain as an enemy of Arnulad and called upon his patron lord for divine aid. He instantly felt holy magical energy surge throughout his body. His legs were less weary, his arms seemed faster and stronger, his flaming sword seemed less heavy. Still, the holy knight knew it was not enough to halt the inevitable… this was the last battle he would fight, the last enemy he would face in his liege’s name. And yet, he was filled with an unbelievable sense of peace and tranquility. Here at the end of his days, he was not alone… the divine power of his patron Ilad coursed through his veins. Alas, here in this cold dark cavern buried deep within the bowels of Mount Glorimar, Arnulad would be by his side when he fell.

The speed and rage of the charging barbarian snapped the paladin out of his reverie. The great two-bladed axe came down in an overhead downward swing, arcing directly at the paladin’s left shoulder, the exact same swing which had felled the brave elven ranger. The paladin raised his shield to block the axe, but even with the power of his god fueling divine strength into his arms, he was not fast enough to deflect the killing blow. The paladin waited for the shock of impact, the crackling sound of broken bone, the flashing pain of tearing flesh, and ultimately the coldness of unconscious oblivion. But it never came…. The blow somehow deflected off his shoulder plate as if pushed aside by an invisible unseen force to end it’s downward swing harmlessly to the left of the paladin. The orc’s eyes widened in confusion and disbelief, not understanding what mysterious force had deflected his perfectly-aimed killing blow. The paladin’s mouth widened into an incredulous grin… perhaps today was not the day, perhaps not…..

I small
thilien Silvershield was born Ithilien Thaspardian, heir apparent and eldest child of Obarthon Thaspardian, Duke of Valoir, of the Kingdom of Dwinovar. The Duchy of Valoir comprised much of the plains west of the great city of Ilowan, capital of the Dwinovarian kingdom, and home of the royal court of Dwinovar.

Throughout history, the Duke of Valoir had always assumed a strong presence within the royal court due to his duchy’s close proximity to the throne. Duke Obarthon was no exception. His opinion and personal counsel held much sway in the decisions made by the High King of Dwinovar. Much of his time throughout the year was spent within the city of Ilowan, politicking amongst the other nobles of the kingdom. As soon as the Duke’s two sons were of age, they traveled with their father to the great capital city.

From a very early age, Ithilien was trained and groomed in the arts of nobility, etiquette, and chivalry. His father was thought to be one of the greatest knights of the realm, loyal to the crown, and always a favorite among the jousting lists. It was the knightly tournaments that Ithilien looked forward to most whenever his father took he and his younger brother Deneron to Ilowan. At the tender age of eleven, he had already replaced his father’s usual squire during the tournaments. He studied all the knights assembled throughout the lists, studying their mannerisms, as well as their techniques. Swordsmanship and combat maneuvers came almost as second nature to him.

His younger brother Deneron however, did not share in his enthusiasm for the knightly arts of combat. Not gifted with the strength, coordination, and stamina that the Duke passed on to Ithilien, Deneron received in abundance, that which made Duke Obarthon such a powerful political figure among the royal court of Dwinovar… ambition. Deneron craved power above all else, power to control and have sway over others. When they were children, gregariously chattering to each other as young boys often do, Ithilien would speak about how he would command his father’s vast army as a powerful general, whilst Deneron would speak only about being the Duke of Valoir, a title which he would never be entitled to, being the second son.

When Ithilien reached his eighteenth birthday, he started to experience wildly vivid dreams, which would recur night after night. The main continuing theme of all these dreams centered around a figure, a large well-muscled man dressed in shining silver plate armor. His skin color was that of bronze or light copper, like the color of the sun as it first splashed against the morning sky. The long flowing cloak upon his back was the color of the sun itself, glowing red-hot and fiery in its magnificence, and upon his head was a wreath which resembled a halo of glowing sunlight. In his hands was a giant broadsword, almost as long as the figure himself, the hilt and pommel were made of gold and the blade itself looked like flowing liquid silver. Prominently set into the pommel of the great weapon was a giant fire opal, glowing fiery red, different from the glow upon his head which was warm, the glow from the opal was intense and powerful.

Ithilien knew the figure in his dreams was Arnulad, the Ilad of justice. Even if he had not recognized the figure from various images and statues, Ithilien knew in his heart who he beheld. What he did not understand is what the dreams meant. He asked his father for leave so that he may spend time within the temples of Arnulad throughout their kingdom and learn what portent his dreams held for him. His father told him no, stating that now he was grown, he needed to always be by his side, if not for the image this conveyed to his people, then simply to learn all that he could about rulership. Also, the Duke told his son that something was amiss within his circle of trusted allies. Twice now while traveling to the capital city, the Duke’s caravan had been ambushed. The second time, the Duke, at the recommendation of his general had changed their travel route, yet still they were ambushed. The Duke told his son that none of their immediate family would ever be out of his sight or outside his power to protect.

By this time, Ithilien had already become a highly accomplished swordsman. His confidence in his martial abilities, coupled with his natural wanderlust caused Ithilien to argue frequently with his father and repeatedly ask to leave. He was always denied. One day, Ithilien’s mother, the Duchess Eventine Thaspardian of Valoir, spoke privately with Ithilien, pleading with him to let go of his desire to leave the castle. She told him that his father was no longer the warrior he had once been, she now feared for his safety and knew that there was no other in the kingdom more suited to protecting the Duke than he. With this request from his mother, Ithilien capitulated and vowed to his mother that he would protect his father with his life and no harm would ever come to him.

After several months of continually having similar dreams of Arnulad, the image of the Ilad spoke to Ithilien for the very first time. He stated that Ithilien was one of his “chosen”, that he would not serve Valoir, but serve him directly. He bade him to go once to a monastery nestled in the mountains near Eludwinan. There, the clerics of his faith would start his education towards becoming a paladin of Arnulad. Ithilien knew that his father would never let him go, and he had made a vow to his mother to always be by his father’s side to protect him. But Ithilien’s heart longed for adventure, he yearned to be free of the yoke of rulership and responsibility. His strong, yearning heart decided to forego what his wisdom demanded and he decide to leave. In the cover of darkness, Ithilien left his castle, his home for the past eighteen years. He told no one of his plans except for his younger brother, to whom he gave the Dukedom. He told his brother that his calling was elsewhere and that if he left, they would both get that which they longed for most. His brother gave him a peculiar smile, then gladly accepted his offer.

Ithilien traveled in disguise, never using his real name, until he finally reached the monastery of Arnulad near Eludwinan. He was greeted warmly by the priests, who had been expecting him. For the next two years, Ithilien lived in solitude, learning the teachings of Arnulad and honing his paladin skills. During his training, Ithilien knew nothing of the outside world, nor did he care. When he was ready, the high cleric of the monastery bade him to leave and go out upon the world so that he may be the hand and sword of Arnulad.

Ithilien humbly thanked the priests for the time and commitment they had placed upon his education, then proudly strode forth onto the world. He first set out for the village of Eludwinan itself, still disguised, he wanted to gather travel items for his journey back home. He did not know how his father would react to his actions, but he did not care, for he yearned for home and he firmly believed that with time his father would eventually forgive him. What Ithilien learned in Eludwinan would change his life forever. Ithilien’s father, Duke Obarthon Thaspardian had been viciously murdered by brigands on the road to Ilomar almost two years ago, shortly after Ithilien left. His younger brother, Deneron had been named Duke Regent until the whereabouts of the true heir could be learned. Worse still, there were rumors circulating among the citizenry of the kingdom that Deneron had some sort of involvement in his father’s death and further rumors that Deneron had likewise killed his older brother and rightful Duke of Valoir, Ithilien.

Never had Ithilien felt more helpless or more lost. Of course the rumors were not true, Deneron had absolutely nothing to do with his own disappearance, so he likewise could not have had any involvement in their father’s death. He did not know where to go, surely he should return to his dukedom at once, set right the horrible rumors, and pay his respects to his dead father. But Ithilien then thought of facing his mother, and at once he was a little child again, scared to death of what she would say, so ashamed of his ultimate betrayal to her and the vow which he had broken.

Alas, Ithilien’s mind and heart were lost, and so his life wandered, aimlessly and without direction for a great long time. Slowly, but surely his dedication and service to Arnulad brought back the proud man he had once been. In his humility to serve his patron lord, Ithilien found pride and inner strength in himself once more through his deeds and subservience to the mighty Ilad of justice.

As the years passed, Ithilien learned more and more through rumors and happenstance about his faraway home. The more he learned, the more he started to question the motives of his brother. Could he actually have killed their own father? No, his mind always convinced him otherwise, yet Ithilien knew that what his mind realized, his heart continually questioned. But that was another life, no longer his own, the farther Ithilien traveled north, the less he heard any news about the Kingdom of Dwinovar, the more he could dedicate his will to his chosen life, and not the one he was born to, the one he left behind…


Ithilien Silvershield

Tales of Darkmoon Vale detectiveobvious