Vol is a PC played by Gary Adkison, a female wilder elf bard.
Vol is an elven female bard player character played by Gary Adkison. Dad, feel free to embellish this page or if it gets too big break it up.
Her actual name is the elven language equivalent to “Voice of the Midnight Sun.” No, she could never get her mother to explain just what she meant by that. All she would say was, “It is your destiny.”
For BITs, please refer to Az PC BITs. Dad, if you can update top-level roleplaying info there, that would be great.
Background Story from Character Creation
Born in a small village—really just a few families in tree houses on the edge of the West Dire Woods. Her life was the strong and practical life of a Wood Elf. At the age of 20 her parents
and the village singer focused her on the power and secrets of song and the 45 years she spent becoming a Song Singer went by like a flash. It was like she was made for this—and she loved it.
All too soon the day came when all agreed that she must leave to improve her skills. At the tender age of 65 she went to the Citadel to study. It didn’t even take a day—it actually happened on the journey there that she realized she was leaving her soul mate. They had never even spoken of such things but over the years of their youth they had been bound together in heart and soul.
She didn’t even question if Lorwyn felt the same—she just knew it. Her first 20 years at the Citadel as a Student were somewhat relaxed and Lorwyn visited often—their relationship deepening
and growing. When she started Bard School, though her time was much more restricted and the study more demanding. They set up a messenger system with doves that would carry their
warm regards to each other. Life became a beautiful song in itself.
Then the war. When the Dire Forest was invaded Vol, as all the others at the Citadel went out to fight for their lands—and then their lives. Lorwyn, with other rangers, reconed and harassed the enemy as best they could but the demons were always just a little too many, too fast, to hard to kill. Vol quickly found her place in the battle line. Day and night she would sing songs of healing, bind wounds and, when need be, cradle a dying Elven warrior in her arms as his eternal light went out. Vol’s first real contact with another race happened here and resulted in a significant emotional event for her that would stead her well in the future. In one of the temporary aid stations the Elves had set up Lorwyn found her. He looked at her weariness, put his hand on her shoulder and said “You are sorely needed at another camp about 5 miles from here. Will your songs help humans?”
“The Enemy!” she was shocked! “No, Vol, I would never ask that, These are allies that came far to face the minions of Set. There were almost 100 of them and they fell on the demons with
courage and bravery that matched anything I have ever seen. They fought to the last man and broke the enemy long enough for us to evacuate Elven families and regroup our lines. There
are only eight of them still alive but I fear that by morning there will be none.”
The trip was fast as both knew the paths well but when they arrived only seven were still alive, one of which was an officer that had been second in command. No words were spoken but Vol fell into song—very quiet song as her voice was almost gone. The injuries were all serious and Vol could see that her little song of healing would not do all that was needed so she invoked her spellsong—worried what effect the Wonderment would have because of the wounds but she was desperate.
Then she felt a strange spiritual power—the power of Faith supporting her song and strengthening the healing power. She turned to see the officer working a spell as his features grew whiter
and his paler turned to death-gray. She could tell, he was giving himself—all of himself—for his men. As he crumpled back on the ground the spiritual power faded and she was alone in her
songs but it had been enough to bring the other six through their crisis. Bleeding had stopped and they rested. She moved close to the officer to see if there was anything she could do and
as she leaned over him he whispered to her in his final breath, “May the gods bless you, I could not help them without your song. I…..”
The two years were over in a flash and the treaty of peace was bitter sweet. At least Elves stopped dying but the taste of loosing was hard to swallow (though Elven stoicism smiled because
of the knowledge that soon all these humans would pass into whatever Set’s reward for them would be).
The war changed everyone. Lorwyn became more introspective and Vol constantly worked to reduce his grief. She had to get a handle on her own first, and though she had always just taken it
for granted as a part of Elven life, by shear force of will she buried her grief to help him with his. Unknowingly this planted a seed that would have far reaching results.
With the war over she could not even think to go back to the Citadel at West Dire—in fact most of the instructors and students just migrated to East Dire. This put her farther from Lorwyn but the changes were so great that she had to do it.
Her return to studies was almost 180 out from the academic nerd she had been. She competed strongly with others to insure she could get all she could out of the scholarly surroundings but from a position of practicality rather than theory. Even to the extent that peers and Dire East instructors were a little reluctant to cross verbal swords with her. Her future was largely in doubt as she just didn’t fit into the mold anymore. Sure being a bard required a good amount of self reliance and creative thinking—she just seemed to be a little out of it. She was having her doubts too as the scholastic atmosphere in East Dire just didn’t seem to “feel right”. This was all coming to a head and the powers that be had decided to ask her to return to regular life—you know, like pack your bags and go back to West Dire…..
Just as the axe was to fall, though, a human showed up in the Headmasters office of the hallowed halls asking for her by name—her Elven name. Yet he wouldn’t give even a hint of why he wanted to see her. She was sent for and came to the office fully expecting to get the axe (as, of course, rumours were rampant). “Vol, this human is here to see you, though I have no idea why”. Vol instinctively looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her. Silence, as the man looked her over, his face expressionless. Piercing blue eyes met hers and seemed to look right into her head. “I believe,” came the hard gravely voice, “that you had something to do with the death of my son” Vol’s Lyre came off her shoulder and she looked behind her again. The silence in the room was broken only by a slight rustle of cloth as the headmaster slid his hand into his robe. “The humans I helped kill were all minions of Set”. Vol’s eyes narrowed just a little. “Beyond that I have never lifted my hand or my song against any—Human, Elf, or Dwarf—or even Orc. If your son was one of those, I make no apology” then with an almost imperceptible softening of her face “though I would, in any case, share your grief at the loss of a son”.
Out the corner of her eye she saw both of the headmasters eyebrows go up and behind her was the tiny gasp of the scribe that sat by his desk. “You did not raise your hand against my son…. you raised your voice to save his men and gave him the chance to die helping them. For that, we both thank you. I am here at the request of the Fellowship of Dorsang bards to offer you a place at our school. Rare it is that we find an Elf that has given himself or herself to aid humans and we spend years and work hard to bring both races to the understanding that you already have.” Turning to the headmaster (who’s eyebrows were even higher than before). “Good Master, I know it will be hard to loose such a treasure but I sincerely beseech you to release this young
hero of the war against darkness to our tutelage. My sources tell me she has already finished her studies here (a slight note of sarcasm could be detected) and with your leave I will ask her to accompany me on my return journey.” Without waiting for an answer, he turns to Vol, “There is a young man you know waiting outside that would like to accompany us to the Isle and insure your safe trip. How long will it take you to get ready?”
Vol fingers her lyre and thinks of the backpack that rests just outside the door. “I am ready now, sir”.
Though they are together in spirit, the years are longer and lonelier as time passes. Her last few years at Dorsang (beyond what was “required”) involve much wavering between her two desires—to stay or to return. When the messenger birds stop bringing her his little messages of love and encouragement it tips the scale and with hasty goodbyes she is on a boat for home. Not even stopping at the Citadel she almost flies back to the village. Despite her reservations nothing could keep her heart from leaping with joy as she jogs down the path. The sun is warm and every tree and bush bring back fond memories of warm talks, touching hands, the smell of his breath and the strength of his arms about her.
Then she begins to notice, not all is the same. It is not anything she can put her finger on but something is wrong. Her pace quickens and she rounds the corner where the path straightens and leads to the heart of the village. The sight hits her like jumping into ice water. She freezes in stride, almost falling from her momentum. What was once a peaceful, secure village nestled on the edge of the woods is nothing but a ravaged, burned out and gutted woodlot. Humans are cutting trees and haling off the wood. It is very fortunate for her that the shock is great enough to stop her, speechless, in her tracks as she attempts to disbelieve her eyes. Her silence and distance have kept her from being noticed by the workers. As her senses start to return and she opens her mouth to scream in agony and denial the hand of someone behind her clasps over her face and strong hands lift her off her feet to silently carry her into the forest…..