Character Bios

In an alley of the town Valonbray, there was a kid. He barely wore ragged cloth with no shoe. He was skinny, not because he was born that way. He had no name nor did he remember who were his parents or where did he come from. Lurking in the dark of the alley everyday, looking for caravans or farmers from nearby villages just so that he could steal just a few breads or some dried fish to eat. The kid was despite by the whole town for stealing handful of goods every time a merchant caravan passed by. Then one day, the town guard was finally able to catch him. He was not killed, but exiled from Valonbray. Without a home, he was forced to live in the wilderness, until when he met his "father", after 1 year living in the wilderness. His "father" saved him from the patrolling Vanskerries, single-handedly kill 13 Vanskerries without a scratch using only a leaf sword. That was the first time the kid felt the thirst for power.
-With power like this person, I can become a mercenary, and don't have to live like an animal in the wilderness. With power, I can go back to Valonbray, meet with Migrund again.
With that in mind, he asked the mysterious man to follow him, to learn his swordmanship and was gladly accepted.

Living with his new father, the kid was named Evedas, after his father's long gone son. Evedas did not care, for he has no name to begin with. They traveled up north to the swamp of Mistmire, then down south to the Savador Woods. They met numerous people, all with fascinating tale to tell. They watched numerous battle between the knights, the outlaws. Evedas was trained by his father in the art of using dagger, not sword. He was not contempt with it and questioned his father many times to get only one answer.
-You are not allowed to wield a sword that will be the end of you. Don't become someone who is living without a goal, for all his goals were destroyed by that sword he once wield.
Not understand what his father mean, Evedas was a kid who knows nothing. Then, they decided to travel back to Valonbray Peninsula, and live quietly as farmers in the village Elkburg. One day, the Knight of the Dawn patrols rides through the village Elkburg. The captain of the patrols then stopped, took out a silvered sigil that was glowing. He then pointed his sword at the villager and said:
-Purge this village, for it bears the mark of the sinister Herectics!
20 Knights of the Dawn with their Dawn Wyverns started purging the village, killing everyone. Evedas and his father tried to escape but was not able to. When Evedas was about to pull his dagger out to fight, his father stopped him. He sheathed his sword, equipped his shield, a black colored shield with very strange symbols on it. The Knights almost immediately recognized the symbol and yell:
-Eventider, pay for the sin of corrupting this village and the lives of its villager!
The father then told Evedas:
-Run Evedas, I will hold them here. You will obey me, as this is father's last wish. Live on and forget this day. I have done nothing but committing crimes in the past and deserved this punishment. I have one goal in life to fulfill and that is to make my son lives the life of his own, in peace. You are the one that will fulfill my goal, so live on!
Evedas couldn't even say a word. His instinct told him to run and not looking back but his heart told him to fight with his father. But before he could even make up his mind, his father pushed him away with a smile on his face. The smile of relief, belief and encouragement. Tears fall down from the eyes of the 16 years old kid. He ran away. Behind him was the sound of a battle cry. His father fought valiantly, holding off so that Evedas can escape.

In a tower at the castle of Valonbray, a young maiden stared at the sky. Her long silvered hair were more beautiful than the cloud she's looking at. Her face was elegant yet fiery. Her deep blue eyes made whoever look into them dumb founded. She is Migrund, daughter to a noble of Valonbray, in her 16. Let out a long sign, she picked up the scissors hesitantly. Thoughts about a certain young kid kept appearing.
-He was exiled. We were never on the same height, and I doubt we will ever be. I will become a Lady Valkyrie. I will uphold the rights of everyone so that no such horrible thing will happen again.
Determination sparked from her eyes as she cut that beautiful stream of silvered hair with the scissors on hand.

After escaping from the Dawn, Evedas was forced to join the red brotherhood or become their slave. He was never recognized by anyone, and he wasn't good at socializing either. When he was not on the job, which is ranging from assassination. caravan raiding, robbery, he usually sharpened his dagger, looted from a noble of the D'shar. He learnt the art of poison, wall climbing, and how to sense everything around. Time passed, he is now a 20 years old Red Brotherhood grunt, of the lowest rank. He wouldn't want to create commotion, not socializing with any of the higher ranks and was not very cooperative with the brotherhood itself. He only sharpened his skills, dagger, senses. But by the time passed, his left hand's old scar starts growing red. He couldn't even remember when he was scarred. His left hand became his main hand, for its supernatural quickness. Then, the name Crimson thief was given to him by his fellow outlaws, and the caravan masters from the desert.
One day, he spotted another caravan near Singal as a juicy target. It was protected, however by a Lady Valkyrie and some Einhejars instead of normal mercenaries.
-Whatever, this caravan must be very expensive, to even hire the Valkyrie to protect them, they are not very friendly. Even better as a target.
Evedas had confident in his abilities in stealthy acts.
-I would just wait for them the arrive at the next town, and take out the Lady first. Oh wait, all the guards are ladies, then I'll go for the commander first.
He waited for them to reach Singal. He followed the Lady Valkyrie that was in charge of the caravan to her room in the Tavern.
-Just 1 stab and it's done, he told himself.
Just when he pull out his dagger and perform the assassination, the Valkyrie turned back, just to make Evedas dumb founded. Her beauty was unmatched, even with the thick armor on her and the helmet that covers her hair. But he was not just dumb founded by her beauty alone, but by her voice, as she pull her dragonspine axe and shout to him.
-What are you doing, wretched outlaw!
He was slashed on the shoulder of his left arm by the axe, fell down unconsciously while staring at the lady, muttering
-Migrund! How could it be!
The lady was indeed Migrund, after 4 years serving the Valkyrie, she was promoted to become a Lady Valkyrie of high rank. She was also surprised by that reaction of the outlaw. Immediately she remember who this person was. He was the only man who can recognize her, besides from her father. She was raised by the maid, learnt with the Valkyrie. But she told her name to a kid in an alley of Valonbray. She was his only friend. He would share everything he had with her, even though he did not have much. He took her out to visit the market of Valonbray, taught her how to make noises to bring attention while he stole the goods. That was probably the best time of her life, as a 10 years old kid.
-This unconscious man must be HIM. How could he have fallen this low, being an outlaw. Yes he was stealing in the past, but not murdering other.
Despite the fact that she is disappointed, she still put him on the bed, then starts healing him with her best knowledge. The wound was deep, almost split off his left arm. After she mended his arm and left, something out of this world happened. The left arm of his, was fatally wounded started to heal on its own and the left hand glowed red. Still, it is only slightly faster than that of a normal person.
Evedas woke up the next afternoon, felt the rustiness and pain of his left arm while still try to remember what happened.
-It was Migrund. It was definitely her. That face, that voice, even if she grows up, I will still remember. She was my only friend. She was the other closest person to me, other than father.
Evedas then decided to quit the Red Brotherhood, even though the punishment of traitor is death, he still quit.

Being pursued by the brotherhood, he traveled to far northern land, hid himself in town Ravenstern. From there, he started collecting information about all the knighthood orders around. His father's knighthood order was named Eventide as the Dawn Knights called him Eventider. Without a home, being pursued everywhere he went, his thirst for power strive again for the second time. He heard about the Eventide's ambition, their power and decided to join them. He brought along his father last memento, a black and cold sigil to the Order's chapter in Singal, to be taken in as son of a fallen Eventider. Now he is on his new quests, to find power, to seek the truth about his father, himself and the crimson mark on his right hand, and to perhaps, meet Migrund again.

Class: Outlaw
Order: Eventide, Skillful (2WP, 1SK)
Traits:
1-Quick hands (Demonic curse)
2-Finesse
3-Steath
4-Keen senses
5-Good dagger user
Wounds:
Demonic curse (on his left hand)
Scar 1 ( hit by a dragonspine axe which almost split his left arm )
Amnesia (know nothing about the childhood's past)
Stats (Equipped)
WP : 4
SK : 1 (3 with dagger)
SP : 2

Equipment
Keen dagger (Character creation) +1 SP +2 SK
Light armor - thick (10 renown) +2 WP 1 SP
Throwing Knives x10 (10 renown)
Courser
Mule (10 renown)

Renown left: 20

Troops
Bounty Hunters x5
(Adventurer.
Crossbow
Keen Short Sword
Thick Light Armor
Cost: 100/120 Renown (Unless my math was bad)

Note:This Biography contains some suggestive / mature themes, but should be very minor / subtle.

Sarleon, Tavern

Spoiler:

History

Spoiler:

Name: Sir Javier Kristoph Doyle
Age: 23
Order: Knights of the Eventide
Background: Knight (Adventurer)

WP: 2 // 4 (+2 with Thick Light Armor)
SPD: 0 // 2 (+1 Agile Trait, +1 Thick Light Armor)
SKL: 1 (3 with Swords, 2 with Spears)

Traits (Adventurer)
- Wealthy
- Agile
- Exceptional Swordsman
- Good Spearman

Weakness:
- Cursed (Note: He hides this fact, see biography.)
-- Specifics: As time passes, Javier may slowly become more corrupted in terms of mind and body. Should the curse manage to fully take control (or Javier simply decides to stop resisting), he will become possessed and go on a bloody rampage. At this point, the player character is essentially dead, leaving behind only his shell that acts as a killing machine.

Equipment:
- Balanced Keen Rapier (Generic Sword, +1 WP Damage, reroll to-hit ties)
- Balanced Spear (Spear Polearm, x2 Skill vs calvary [x3 if being charged] // Wins first initiative roll // reroll to-hit ties)
- Thick Light Armor (+1 WP, +1 SPD, +1 WP[Thick Bonus])
- Courser

Troops:
- 10 Eventide Ghilmen
- 5 Eventide Knights

Named Troops:

Spoiler:

Renown Costs:

Equipment - 50
Troops - 120
Total - 170

- Upgraded Rapier (Default + 5 + 15)
- New Upgraded Spear (10 +5)
- Upgraded Light Armor (Default + 10)
- Courser (Default)

- 10 Eventide Ghilmen (Sergeant - 7 each, 70 total)
- 5 Eventide Knights (Knight - 10 each, 50 total)

5 Renown Remains

There is an ancient and widely held belief throughout the world that when a boy grows up without a positive male influence in his life that he will become restless and unruly, descending down a path that would see him branded as a troublemaker, a renegade, a thug and an outlaw. However there is also a popular saying that "A man that treats a woman like a princess was raised by a queen", and if so, then perhaps all a noble heart needs is the soft, gentle guidance of a good woman. Kharad Moriendor, however, was not such a man, greatly furthering the aforesaid stereotype in a rather dapper fashion.

A descendant of the great warrior priest Sir Celdiur Moriendor and Layla Meshkat, the eldest daughter of the infamous slave trader Ramun of old, and through them Sir Andrick Moriendor and Selena Blackwood, a prominent figure amongst Singal's merchant nobility, Kharad has done little throughout his life to prove himself worthy of such a prestigious and honoured family.

Growing up in the rich Palacial District of Singal amongst the cities elite, Kharad could never truly appreciate just how priveledged he truly was, not however due to selfishness or an over pampered nature, but simply due to a restless soul. From an early age Kharad had longed for a life beyond the walls of his lavish home, ever dreaming of adventure, glory and riches. He would spend many a day with his father within the halls of the Eventide High Chapterhouse flicking eagerly through vast tomes of knowledge and heroic tales, and pacing in awe up and down its hallways looking upon the ornate statues of great knights that came before. Azlanek of Tantal, Ser Varys the Spider, Sir Thash Kor, Sir Rocarad I, Sir Sibrand Arbeck, his own grandfather Sir Celdiur Moriendor the Black Paladin. He knew them all by name, and one day, as it appeared in his eager and infantile mind, he would stand here amongst them in their silent vigil, for others to gaze upon with the same admiration that he had.

Kharad's life however was to be one far removed from ways of his ancestors. His father, though a greatly celebrated hero during the war in Amala, was reputedly never the same again after he returned to Pendor's shores. Kharad had not yet been born, but this he knew from his mother, by the sad and tired expression that hung upon her once beautiful features every time that his father turned away from her or shunned her attentions for his own solitude. His father loved him he knew this, but as he grew older he would become increasingly frustrated and angry with his father's attitude. This was not the man that he had glorified in his thoughts and dreams, this was not what a knight was meant to be! And these feelings would only grow stronger within young Kharad as he grew into adolecsence, until that fateful day that shattered his belief in everything that he had come to know and believe.

The vision of that young squire ascending the steps of his home, his father's blade and bloodied, broken helm in his arms, burns within his mind even to this day, as does the warped vision of the Vanskerry Jarl of whom's hands his father's blood was upon. His mother, so overcome with her grief and sorrow, succumbed to a broken heart but a year later and joined his father in the afterlife, leaving Kharad alone in the world for the first time in his life. And if he ever expected any support from the so called "friends" of his family, how brutally wrong he was to be proven. No sooner had his mother been laid to rest then the merchant princes began to squabble like vultures over a carcass to claim his families assets, seizing businesses, his fortune and his home in one fell swoop that saw Kharad tumble from the ivory tower of his life and into the gutter that was the rest of Singal.

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A noble born boy of but thirteen years of age stuck out like a sore thumb within Singal's decaying slums, and for long months Kharad struggled by, living off of whatever scraps and refuse that he could find. But what he lacked in streetsmarts he made up for with initiative. He watched and he waited within the shadows as he obsereved how the underworld worked. Pickpockets, petty thieves, thugs and extortionists. Man, woman, boy and girl. It made no matter to Kharad. All had a lesson to teach him, and he learned oh so very quickly. Starting off small, a coin purse here, a few trinkets from a street vendor's stall there, he began to catch the eyes of others like him. He was approached, recruited and put to work time and again and his skills grew with each theft accomplished. Years past and Kharad ran with many a different gang and guild, performing heists, brawling with rivals, even murder when it could not be avoided. His swordarm became quicker, stronger, more flexible and durable, as did his body. His mind experienced a far greater change. No longer did he think of himself as a noble, nor the son of a knight, nor did he even associate himself with the place that had been his home. After all that had happened to his family, having seen first hand from his "friends" exactly what it meant to be noble, Kharad had gained a bitter taste for all things high born. He wanted nothing to do with his past, he wanted all of it to fall and burn around him whilst he bellowed with laughter over the rubble of their once proud lives. For now though he was content to live as he was, living for the thrill of the chase as the city guard pursued him through streets, alleyways, over walls and across rooftops. For this was what he had wanted all along, the freedom and adventure that he had always craved. This was his life now, and he loved every second of it. And soon, very soon, his time would come. Kharad may have had no honour, but his family name did, and all who had tarnished it would pay the blood price.

His opportunity came when, one quiet evening at a back alley brothel, Kharad and his guild brothers were entrusted with a most dangerous but profitable opportunity, one that if pulled off succesfully would forge them as living legends amongst Singal's clandestine underworld. A grand banquet and ball was to be held within the Rich District. All of the cities' nobility would be present, all of those that had taken everything from him. And to add insult to injury, the main event was to be held within the very home that his mother had birthed him. The guard would be doubled, yes, but such an opportunity could not be allowed to pass unapproached. His fellow thieves for wealth beyond measure. Kharad for different reasons all together. With the night sky as their ally, the small band scaled the walls of the district, slipping past watchmen with professional ability, diving for cover whenever exposure was risked, climbing walls and jumping from rooftop to rooftop until the grand spectacle that was this party (or to quote Kharad's exact wording, "shower of withered camel shite") was within view.

One by one they split off when the chance arose, slipping away into shadow to claim their bounty. But not Kharad. Still and vigilant as an eagle he waited, perched as he was upon his vantage point, until his time to strike came. Having observed the crowd, he had selected his target. Malik Hussabi, the man that had claimed his home and his wealth, and now his target made his way into the former home of the Moriendors. As swift as the wind Kharad made his way to the rooftop and through an open window and found his quarry. His prey made his way calmly toward the main bedchamber, laughing and making jests with guests. He reached the door, bade the guard on duty a good evening, and locked himself away from the world. The guard was to be an unfortunate example of collateral damage, as Kharad rounded the nearest corner, smashed an ornate vase, waited until the guard approached, and with a swift drive of his dagger to the thoat ended the guardsman's duties forever. The door to the chamber was locked, as he had expected, but that made no difference now. Kharad had no intention of turning back. With a deep intake of breath, he threw his weight against the door, crashing through into the room beyond, stumbling surprisingly little. Malik, both shocked and terrified by this sudden intrusion, had only time to call for aid once before his end was upon him. Drawing the scimitar that had been his companion for years now, and with a broad grin of satisfaction, Kharad brought his blade across the man's belly, spilling forth his entrails upon the marble floor. The one desperate cry for help was all the merchant needed it seemed though, as the sound of heavy boots upon the solid floor and distant shouts of alarum heralded the coming of the guards. They came rushing through the doorway, stopped upon seeing the body of their master, before dashing for Kharad. Swiftly he turned upon his heels, and without thinking through his next move, launched himself through the nearest window and went tumbling onto an adjacent rooftop in a shower of broken glass and blood specks. The fall had caused some pain, and a few shards of glass protruded from his body, but he could not afford to stop. What choice did he now have? He ran, over rooftops, over walls, through tightly packed streets and marketplaces, and never once looked back upon his pursuit. Reaching the outer market at the cities' main gate, Kharad clumsily bundled himself into an open crate, pulled the lid over...and only then realised the extent of his injuries. The adrenaline subsided, the pain became intense as broken bones began to reveal themselves. Before long he had slipped from consciousness, waking only to slip under again, believing in these moments that the crate was in motion...

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How long he had remained in such a state, Kharad could not say. Only that when he awoke for good, the pain, though still present, had dulled considerably. And besides, it seemed he had far greater problems on his hands. He was lethargic, stiff, thristy, but most importantly...he had awoken to the sound of steel upon steel and the bellowing of men in open combat. Pushing open the crate he peered around into darkness, his eyes taking sometime to adjust. He was in a room made entirely of wood, filled with crates and barrels and all manner of miscellaneous goods, and he could feel a steady rocking motion beneath his feet. The sound of battle above him was dying down but still he heard the frantic pounding of boots upon wood as men ran back and forth across the deck, or at least what he presumed was a deck, of the ship. A noise behind him. He moved quickly despite his injuries and grabbed his scimitar from within the crate. Five rough and ragged looking men with tanned skin and and jet black hair jumped down through the now open hatch to come face to face with the unwilling stowaway. Confusion first dotted their faces, quickly followed by angry shouts and the raising of weaponry. The closest slashed for him with a longsword, but Kharad side stepped skillfully and inflicted a deep gash across the mans chest with a swift upper slash. He parried the next man before quickly drawing his dagger and plunging it into his belly. His fatigue was too great to continue this fight however, and he failed to see the next bring a heavy club down upon his shoulder, sending him crashing to the ground and his weapons spinning from his hands. Expecting the killing blow, Kharad was surprised to feel his legs dragging along the floor, and as he opened his eyes he was blinded by glorious sunlight as he was dragged up onto deck. He could see now that they were many, these pirates, and the original crew lay dead and dying about the topside. He was placed before a man that could only have been their captain as his trio of captors explained what happened. The captain let out a loud bellow of laughter.

"A half dead sea rat bested two of you? Phah! It seems that this new generation of pirates are about as dangerous as milkmaids! Kill him"

That was not a command that Kharad could allow to be carried out. With his last burst of strength he drove his body upwards, smashing the top of his skull into his would-be-killers chin and immediately rushed another standing by the rail. Taken by surprise, the pirate was helpless as he was gored over the edge and into the sea, but not before Kharad could draw the scimitar from the man's sword belt. He stood with the blade outstretched and listened to the sound of a score more blades being drawn from their scabbards. He prepared to meet death with as much dignity as he could, but yet not one man attempted to take his life. He saw the captain approach him then with a wide, toothy grin upon his face. Calmly he placed his hand upon the blade and lowered it slowly before speaking.

"Perhaps a half dead sea rat was a rather harsh statement. Hell, I dont believe I have ever been impressed by a sea rat before! And I can see in your eyes, boy, that you have no wish to die here. A lad with your abilities is far more use to me alive than dead. Of course, the choice is yours"

Kharad seemed almost confused by the captain's words, but he mustered up the only reply that could come to him.

"This sea rat is yours then", before he stumbled forward and hit the deck and succumbed to fatigue and pain yet again.

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If the life of a common thief had once held any thrills, they were now long since forgotten by a now fully grown Kharad. At the age of ninteen, he had spent the past two and a half years under the command of Jhared Bey aboard his galley, "Storm Trident", and had grown to love everything about life upon the high sea. Waking up every morning to the purified air, the feel of salt spray upon his face, the strong camaradarie amongst the crew, the thrill of battle on a regular basis and the bountiful plunder that came with victory. Vanskerry longships, Barclayan galleys, trade cogs, naval patrols, it made no difference to the men of the Storm Trident. A ship was a ship, and a ship meant only two things; battle and riches, both of which Kharad had come to crave. Life was carefree and jovial, full of adventure and freedom to do as you wished. And it did not lack for opportunity, for as fate would have it, Jhared Bey was to fall in their next engagement against the Vanskerry. The crew quarreled over who would replace him. Quarells turned into threats. Threats turned into violence, as soon weapons were being drawn and two distinct sides being drawn, Samesh Rashid on one and Snorri Greybeard on the other. Kharad took no side however. None but his own. Challenging each to single combat, Kharad proved his right to lead this crew with deadly force and exceptional skill with his twin scimitars, a love of two weapon fighting having taken over not long after he was captured.

Under Kharad's harsh but fair leadership, the crew increased in size and strength, and expanded their operations from simple raiding and boarding to smuggling both illegal cargo and legal cargo in order to avoid tariffs. Kharad's personal wealth expanded greatly, as to did his love for the finer things in life. Lavish clothing, expensive liquer, jewellery, women. They seemed to come easily with his new position and power. And he was more than happy to help himself.

Above everything else though, all material possession, glory and renown, Kharad had come to value freedom. He believed strongly that it was the right of every man, woman and child to chose their own path in life and that no one should have the right to dictate that for you. It was only natural that he would become a strong opponent of slavery, and gained a formidable reputation as an ardent abolitionist. It was his stance on slavery that led to an almost miraculous event that has yet to occur in Kharad's life again. He truly, deeply, fell in love. A raid upon a slaver camp on the coast near Ishkoman sent into his care a Noldor woman of unearthly beauty. Malnourished, badly beaten and unkempt, he took her on board his ship and saw to it that she was nursed back to health. Though suspicious of him at first, in time he learned that her name was Lëanëa, and that she had been a slave for as long as she could remember, having been somehow taken when she was very young. Over time they would converse about their lives, becoming closer and closer with each passing day, even sharing a few tender moments that could have blossomed into something more. To this day he still regrets that he never told her how he felt about her, but still holds dear the belief that there was...something, between them. On the day that they parted on the coast near Cez, Kharad had never felt so lonely and distraught since the day his father's death had been revealed to him.

The journey back from his heartbreaking parting was to be worse still, and also the last that Kharad would ever make upon the Storm Trident. Still overcome by grief and self pity, his command became ineffective. In any other circumstance a mutiny would have occured amongst his men, but it was to be the gods that saw fit to punish Kharad for his ways and not his crew. Sailing fast and hard into an unexpected and raging sea storm, Kharad was all but helpless as he watched his ship and crew collapse around him. Sails tore away, masts snapped against the wind and waves smashed away at either side, until, inevetably, one spilled over the rails and claimed Kharad for its prize, tossing him into the churning sea beyond to face yet another surge of unexpected fate.

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Whether his life had been saved by shear luck alone, or if this was the god's idea of a sick joke, Kharad has never been able to decide even till this day. All that he knows is that he, some how, survived his ordeal at sea, awaking upon hot sands with the sea gently licking at his head. Sodden to the bone, but with his clothing and armour in tacked and his scimitars still sheated at his waist, he rose slowly, and upon seeing little upon the horizon but mountains to the north he began a trek inland that would last for less than a day before he came upon a sight that brought so many memories and conflicting emotions crashing back together within his mind; Singal. Concluding that he was far changed in appearance to what he had been all those years before, Kharad made his way into the city, assuring himself that the guard would never recognise him after all this time. His gamble paid off, and he found himself free to wonder these cramped and squalid streets. Some familar, others new. But all the while he wondered aimlessly, for where else could he now go? His ship lay cracked and broken upon the seabed, his crew scattered to the winds, his wealth, whilst still vast, was usless to him here as it was hidden in places far beyond these deserts. All that remained to him here was his past, his memories, and his name. Kharad Moriendor. Moriendor...Moriendor...of course! The revelation may have come to him whilst bedding a tavern wench, but he did not care about his current situation. He quickly rolled out of bed, donned his banded leather armour, strapped on his sword belt and tossed the girl a small purse of coins before making a hurried exit from the building, leaving a rather perplexed but satisfied tavern maid behind.

He ran through the darkened streets of Singal, the dark of night already engulfing the city, until he reached the all too familiar doors of the Eventide Guildhall. He hammered on the doors for what seemed an hour before a rather disgruntled Ghilman answered his summons.

"What business can you possibly have with the Eventide at this late hour. Speak quickly citizen for this is not a house of charity!"

"Inform your masters that the last surviving Moriendor has returned to claim his legacy!"

At the mention of that name, the Ghilman was unsure of how to proceed. Informing Kharad to wait whilst he consulted his superiors, he returned a short while later with a small assorment of knights, both young and old, that wished to see the man that claimed to be a Moriendor. They yet remained unconvinced, and questioned Kharad about his past and his family, questions that only a Moriendor would know. And upon hearing his answers, the doubt wilted away from their features. They quickly ussured him inside and took him before a council of veterans, who decreed that Kharad was to be put to the test to prove that he was worthy of bearing the name of his ancestors. And thus his initiation into the Eventide began.

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In the space of but a year, Kharad honed his already deadly skills in the art of two weapon fighting, forgoing heavy or even medium armour in order to maintain his mobility and speed. His speed of movement and intesity of his attacks eventually led to fellow initiates bestowing the nickname "Windblade" upon him. It rang well in his ears, and thus did nothing to discourage them. His ability, more than likely combined with his family name, led to him being accepted as a knight of the Order far more quickly than his peers, though his title did nothing to please him, and he bore it only to certify his membership of the Eventide and no more. He would never admit to being a knight to any that did not ask.

Using his new position as a solid base to rebuild his ambitions, he quickly took to the coast and took passage upon whatever vessel he could to far off lands in order to recover his hidden wealth. With this recovered, he returned to Pendor and began combing the taverns and brothels of Pendor's seaports looking for men eager and willing to answer the call of the high seas and to sail under Kharad's flag. With a willing crew at his back, Kharad put his fortune to use and purchased for himself a mighty barque, "Maelstrom", and once again took to the high seas to continue where he had left off. Though this time he found he had a cover to hide behind, as he performed his work under the pretense of furthering the Eventide's colonial ambitions.

Young, strong, wealthy and ambitious, Kharad Moriendor has only just begun his rise to power over the waves. Whatever he cannot take with his wealth he would take upon the edge of a sword. And all that would oppose him...they would soon learn to fear the coming storm, and the blades upon the wind that it would bring...

 Cadell never knew his parents. All he knows about his birth is the ashen remnants of his home village, Aryon. It was destroyed by heretics and most of the populace sacrificed before a contingent of Knights of the Dawn had come through to purge them. With lance and sword they devastated the heretics, and began to try and cleanse the village through blessing and house-to-house searches, to erase any trace of evil.

It was as Knight Lieutenant Andras was searching through Cadell’s home that he heard the cries of a child. He raced towards the noise, and stumbled upon a baby in one of the rooms. Struck with compassion, he grabbed the baby and left the house, to show his squad his finding.

Although some in the group believed him cursed, and remarked that he be burned with the bodies, Andras took Cadell with them back to Valonbray, to drop him off at an orphanage as a ward of the church.
The church provided him an education, one that he very eagerly accepted. He was fanatical, and poured over the writings of Astraeans about theology, learning every prayer, and applying the code of Astraeans to his own life. He outperformed his fellows in the orphanage, and was taken on for consideration into a church career. Some even whispered he may become a bishop, or maybe even the Venerable Judicator some day!

However, Cadell one day came across a biography on the Paladin-turned-Saint Roland. He drew parallels from his life to his own. He idolized Roland and his ideals, and began to desire not to preach from a pulpit, but to defend with a sword.

He left the monastic school, and found a New Dawn representative in Valonbray to take him to Amala, where the order was. Upon arrival, and after the testing of his skills, Cadell was accepted as a squire to Sir Brendan. He served with distinction, and upon his 21^st birthday, was knighted as a full knight of the New Dawn.

Not even 6 months later to his promotion, both the knights of the New Dawn, and their enemies the Knights of the Red Dawn, returned to Pendor, and were forcibly integrated into a new order by the Venerable Judicator.

Cadell hated the fact that the Red Dawn fought alongside him as “brothers”. They were no brothers of his, and had killed some of his friends back in Amala. Cadell may have to live with them, but he doesn’t have to like it. Tensions have run high in the order, and Cadell hates to find himself in what appears to be the minority.

In the years after his return, Cadell has fought with honor and has gathered from the ranks of his New Dawn friends, a band of knight-brothers, a fellowship that will uphold justice, and all that Roland stood for and will smite all heretics, whether they wear black, green, or red..
 

Background:
Alchemist, may heal and create poisons for renown

Traits:
Good two handed mace wielder +1 skill
Agile +1 speed
Unflappable

Armour:
Medium armour +2 WP, Barclesian steel upgrade +1 speed

Weapons:
2 handed mace, -2 speed,

Stats:
WP 4 (2 base, 2 medium armour)
SK 2 (0 base, 1 skillful order bonus, 1 good weapon master bonus)
SP 2 (0 base, 1 agile, 1 barclesian steel bonus) note, SP is 0 with mace

Dr De'Veer sat at the prow, gazing at Prince Valdemar, everything was perfect on the young prince, the rich black hair, the well toned muscles, the deep black eyes, the staggering intelligence, a wet nose and a thick tail. Sighing he picked him up as the inquisitive rat peered over the edge, De'Veer had spent far to long perfecting such a male to see him tipped into the sea. Feeding the rat a grain, he placed him back into the transport box. Four dead silent knights sat impassively around the ship, wax slabs hanging around their necks, bells tingling in the wind. De'Veer smiled faintly, and opened his journal:

"It is the thirty fourth year of my life, and for the first time since i have left this backward cesspit of a nation, I find myself forced back to it. I cannot say that Barclay was much greater with any sense of honesty, its learned men are just as rigidly set in tradition as my forebears, yet they explore, record, strive, in there own primitive way, I suppose there is only so much to expect from such people, but for that sergeant to mistake me for a Barclesian peasant? To be drafted up for cannon fodder? Perhaps fate was kind, for I through them I was shown the radiant cross..."

De'Veer looked up from his work, the captain had walked up to him, Windholm was a dot on the horizon. "I must thank you captain for so gallantly aiding the radiant cross, and me personally, in this small matter." De'Veer said. "My pleasure doctor, now, the question of my wife..." replied the captain nervously. De'Veer closed his book and placed it next to the cage. Prince Valdemar twitched his nose and gnawed at the bars. "Of course captain, I will be with her shortly." De'Veer intoned. Opening his travel bag, he donned the Barclesian steel gauntlets and mail for his sleeves, the patients worse tendencies had been purged, but precautions were always necessary. Pushing his spectacles back to his eyes, he strode after the captain to his private chambers. De'Veers stopped at the door, and reached up to pull down his red plague mask, its glass eyepieces and ibis beak, protecting him from the dangerous humors of the room. "Ready captain" he rasped through the powerful herbs that he made sure to keep stuffed down the end of his mask. The captain opened the door, and ushered him in, closing it quickly after De'Veer entered. De'Veer looked down at the figure restrained on the bed. The captains wife was in poor shape, but an acceptable one. The initial stages of the treatment were harsh. De'Veer was always cautious then, pulling out the cultists incisors was a difficult affair, made all the worse by it being impossible to convince her to let him tend to the wounds. Drugging was an option, but slowed the overall treatment to an unacceptable pace. De'Veer pulled away the fur coat over her, the burn marks where he had removed the vile cultist symbols had healed better than he expected, he quickly checked that the patients restraints where still taught, then recovered her, both for modesty, and the cool climate they had entered. He went to the desk and pulled out a small pair of cheap calipers, everything in this room would have to be dumped into the ocean afterwards, he was grateful the captain had his own equipment, De'Veer would have been distraught if he had to through away his own treasured instruments. Turning back to the woman, he loosened the boards from her head, and turned off the tap to the barrel of water he had left dripping onto her. Pensively, he waited to seen any reaction, none. Good news, the deprivation had worked, she had forgotten him.

With a masterful hand he measured quickly the distance between her eyes, the width of her head in several different places that very few could even hope to understand the reasoning behind. He turned her head left and right gently, and moved the calipers slowly back and forth across her vision, she followed them passively. Hmm, blankly perhaps would be a better term. De'Veer frowned under his mask, not what he was looking for. He noted to administer less of the green flower in the future. He turned back to the desk and studied the note book, her eyes had not moved, but the repulsive tinge was gone from them. Her mid and back skull had moved the proper fractions, whilst the brow was still in its proper condition. De'Veer felt a sense of accomplishment, and turned the womans face back to him, and gently opened her mouth, she did not resist, or more importantly, try to bite him anymore. The glands behind her teeth had shrunken down to indistinguishable bumps and the blood had finally congealed and begin to heal. Pleased, he let her settle back down and released the bonds on her hands. Nothing. His heart in his throat, he released her feet. She merely curled up to sleep. Success.

De'Veer gathered up his equipment he had used, and any extra pieces he could see lying around, and placed them in a leather bag he had instructed to be left in the room. He knocked twice at the door, and exited when the captain opened it for him. De'Veer removed his mask, and gratefully breathed in untainted air. "Is she ... cured?" fearfully asked the captain. De'Veer stood silently for a moment. "Yes" he said eventually. "She will not remember the cult, or what she did. But ... there are side effects. Everyone responds differently to the flower." The captain wringed his hands miserably waiting for De'Veer to continue. "She has lost more of her memory than i wished, it is not an exact matter. How much we can gage by whether or not she recognizes you. Are you ready to meet her?" The captain nodded. De'Veer re-donned is mask, and led the woman out to meet her husband. She gazed blankly at him De'Veer noticed, the captain had met her when they were 14 De'Veer remembered being told, but the captain refused to notice and pulled the woman close. He had not seen her for the six weeks the trip took since De'Veer had begun. She returned the hug, startled, and clung limply to the man. That was to be expected. She looked through De'Veer as he stood there, she like all other recently cured patients, could not see him when he wore his plague mask. He had made sure she had never seen his face. The captain being the first human for her to encounter was important, it bonded her to him stronger. De'Veer closed the door to the room she had left and locked it. He looked back to the captain, tears were running from his tightly shut eyes. "Do not allow anyone back into that room, especially not her, untill you have removed every item, from it, and replaced every plank and nail. Throw everything you take into the deep sea." The captain nodded and looked to him. "Thank you doctor, I will praise your order forever, I will tell everyone what you have done-"

"No, tell no one, not of her past, of me, or what I have done." De'Veer violently uttered. "The orders approach to cultists has shifted. I am an unorthodox man Captain, most in the order would have beheaded your wife and burned your ship. Make sure she has a constant diet of meat. She will talk in time, you will have to teach her many things again. How much of your wifes old personality you can bring back will depend on your knowledge of how she got it." De'Veer paused from his outburst and continued back in his calm tone. "Stay away from Amala, and if anyone asks about her condition, tell them she was hit in the head by the bowmast and lost her teeth to eating to much sugar. You may see the face you have known for 20 years, but she has lost her recollections, of you, or of what she did to your son. Do not hold her accountable for that anymore, she is no longer that person, she is a new one, an infant, and it is your duty to look after her." De'Veer turned away and left the captain with his wife and returned to his seat. He removed his mask and gauntlets, and set about cleaning both of them, he changed out of his robes and threw them into the sea donning new ones along with all the items he had collected. His purification finished, De'Veer returned to his journal:

"The radiant cross was looking for healers, and for intelligent ones. That much certainly is true. How much we are still used is still a question that must be pondered though. Less knights seem to have knowledge of medicine past the dulling effects of alcohol, and those that do are just as rigidly set in tradition as the rest of the world. They no longer have faith in me. I am well aware why the Hallstaffen experiment failed, they did not follow my instructions, and those fools suffered for it. They seek to get me out of the picture, by sending me back to Pendor, out of the orders hair. They even dared to order my loyal four to watch me, and to obey that enforcer they intended to shackle me with. He learned who controls my followers and what it means to cross a De'Veer.

De'Veer looked back up to the horizon, the retainers he had brought from Hallstaffen were predictable at least, some had been ordered to spy on him, he had no doubt of it. But he could easily pass off his actions as regular medicine for some infectious disease. He knew his methods worked, whatever happened at Hallstaffen was an anomaly. Cultists could be untainted, he had the proof, not that he could ever dare show it ... He glanced back up at his silent guardians before returning to his journal:

"They did not even bother to send me here with instructions. The most infuriating of many slights. I expect to be placed at the whim of any commander they can find, I only hope I am not stuck spending the rest of these days before the next crusade fixing peasants broken fingers or drafting up remedies for pigs. It was not my intention to land at Windholm, I am sure I could have found far more subjects in the old empire lands, I suppose I should thank lady luck I had anything to work on when they shipped me off on the first boat they could find.

Sighing, he read everything he had written, it was more an exercise to vocalize his anger and frustration, but he could never let such things be found, he tore the page away and threw it into the sea, where it dissolved away. Closing his eyes, he lifted his great mace. His old tutor had always found it so delightfully ironic that his most delicate and precise student chose to fight with what boiled down to a rock on a stick. To him De'Veer felt he owed the most, his armour for one, a gift from the tired man, his knowledge and his passion.  "Oh Doctor" De'Veer mumbled to himself. "The snake knights may wear as much steel as they want. I will break each one of them." De'Veer opened his eyes again, and readied himself for the shore.

Methodius was the son of Theoric Marci a Laria knight who served the Town lord, his mother had passed away and was taken care of by his father; they were not very rich but made enough to enjoy a decent life. On a grim day, his father was sent out on patrol duty around Laria with his men, on their way back they encountered a Noldor scouting warband, before he could say anything, the Noldor with their monster reflexes had already opened fire and taken out half his men. By the time he saw his men on the ground and looked back in front of him, a second volley had already been fired, he fell.

3 days later a second patrol found Theoric and his men riddled with Noldor arrows. Methodius was devastated by the news, during the first week all he could do was cry in sadness, but little by little the sadness was overtaken by fury. He refused every invitation to become a squire that the local knighthood orders were offering him, “No, he thought to himself, if I am to join a knighthood order, I will join one that will allow me to avenge father”. Methodius sought those that had the most fighting experience against the Noldor, he sought the Ebony Gauntlet. After a long and arduous search, he finally found them, the Ebony Gantlet were in need of new blood as they only had recently come back from their exile and Methodius’s Noble bloodline certainly helped.

Methodius rose through the ranks and fought many battles, his personal hatred dimmed, but his place in the Ebony Gauntlet forced him to use whatever anger he had left. Before long it was more about upholding his orders anti-noldor tenets than satisfying his personal anger. In his youth he had specifically trained his shield technique to be able to go toe to toe with noldor archery. Methodius now knew that he made many rash decisions in his younger years due to his father’s death, but at least he was ready for the noldor if they were ever to appear in front of him…at least no one would be turned a bastard on his watch…

Methodius Marci (alias: the bastard shield)
Background: Noble
Order: Knight of the Ebony Gauntlet
WP: 8
SK: 0
SP: -2
Traits:
one handed +3(good , exceptional, Master) 1 free, 2 traits
crossbow +1 (good) free
basher, 1 trait (or hardy...) will be chosen before joining


equipment:
crossbow (free)
Balanced, keen, One handed sword (25 renown)
Large shield (10 renown)
Ebony Thick Heavy armor (free) (10 renown)
courser (free) (I’m guessing I can’t ride it… so erm, itl carry my stuff)

Troops:
9 Ebony Gauntlet Knight (90 renown)
5 Ebony Gauntlet Hammers (35 renown)

Background: Slave
Traits: Tough, Hardy, Survivalist (Branded: Slave marked)
Stats:
W: 5 (hardy Order, Slave, Tough)
SK: 0
SP: 0

Misc info:
Slave-marked on right cheekbone, resembling the upper half of a Valsgarde helmet.
Scarred -II- on back, lashed a fair amount of times as galley slave.

Equipment:
Balanced Axe (Character Creation + 5 renown)
Heavy Armor (Dragon, Free
Dragon Destrier (40 renown)
shield (5 renown)

Party:
spending renown: 120
minus, 65 for 5 adventurers with additional ranged weapon (longbow)
minus, 25 for medium instead of heavy armor. (for the adventurers)

Renown left: 30

Fully armored and armed stats:
WP: 9
SK: 0
SP: -3

Sigwald is no philosopher, nor particularly religious due to his misfortune. He knows how to hunt and take hits, but besides that he is a man just trying to survive and pay his debts along the way. If anything, he hopes one day to be reunited with his wife and son (the restart option for a life in Santara).  

Slave:
- Hardy.
- Tough.
- Survivalist.
- (Branded: Slave marked)

Misc info:
Slave-marked on right cheekbone, resembling the upper half of a Valsgarde helmet.
Scarred -II- on back, lashed a fair amount of times as galley slave.

Equipment
Balanced Axe
Heavy Armor (Dragon)
Dragon Destrier
shield

Party
5 adventurers (medium armor and additional longbow)
Basically, Ravenstern rangers with a shield from the Dragon Order.
"Vanndal, Rori, Brandon, Rodrik and Melder."

Stats IG at this very moment:
WP 9, SK 0, SP -3

Noble: Start with good in sword and crossbow. Get a free horse (Agniès's horse). Noble knowledge (heraldry, customs, geography)
Adventurer : Pick one extraordinary item, weapon, or horse at character creation (balanced ebony knight longsword)
Finesse : His high agility allows him to use small weapons better.

WP: +8 (order, Noble, heavy armour)
SK: 0
SP: -2

Balanced ebony knight sword (one hand weapon, Character Creation + 5 renown)
Ravenstern plate armor kilt (Heavy armour, 30 renow)
knight shield (5 renown)
Destrier (dragon, free, +3 Charge)

10 Order of the Dragon knight
1 Adventurer (Snake Tradition)

Spoiler:

Trystan is from one of the oldest families in the kingdom Ravenstern and one of the most respected. His family owned the past castles in the region passes granite north of the city of Poinsburk and one of his ancestors is one of the first knight of the Order of the Dragon. But the years have reduced the wealth Artelion . Arriving at the top of his glory when the kingdom was founded Ravenstern, home declined from generation to generation . Trystan was born in the tiny area that was all that remained to be Artelion. He was soon sent to Poinsburk to use it as page , then it became a squire Robert Karlson, a noble knight in the service of the Lord of Rane . He fought for the first time in 17 years against the barbarians of the north and was knighted shortly later. On this occasion, his father gave him the sword ebony their ancestor Konrad Artelion of said Ebony Heart.
Trystan returned to the field and married a girl named Cyrielle gentry. He sank a quiet and boring year in the family estate to be the lord of Poinsbruk call to arms to defend the border against the Yatus arriving from the east.
The battle against the horsemen of the plains was a great victory, but Trystan learned when a group of robbers attacked the area while he and his men had left and had massacred everyone. Trystan gathered around him as many men as he could and began to pursue looters to find and kill.
Then , he continued to pursue other groups of looters. He discovered one day in a carriage captive a young woman with green eyes , a priestess of the Snake Cult. It was first held as a prisoner but gradually Trystan clung to her and she became his lovers.
Noting his feats of arms in the defense of the border, the order of the Dragon sought to recruit and Trystan decided to join its ranks.

Most of the time, you come across Trystan equipped to take its role and knighted . Full armor , a helmet with a nose guard and protect cheeks. He particularly likes the equipment it takes great care . And besides, it was rather interest. The armor and equipment generally cost a small fortune . So no question of any task rust appear above . When in service, but that it is allowed, it avoids wear his helmet that is quite unpleasant for some reason . If trained to handle any possible and imaginable weapon ( it must be ready at all ) , his weapon of choice is still the long sword with which he excels .
Daily workouts have shaped his body. Not too muscular , not too slender . Trystan is a good product for what peuy expect a Knight of the Order of the Dragon . It will not be carried away by the momentum giving a blow that would end in a vacuum, but will not soon disarmed the first skirmish .
He often kept as a mask. An expression of complete neutrality when in use and does not let any emotion . Head carriage noble and worthy in summary .
Own on it, it is discreet and when not bearing his armor, he has this tendency to become invisible , neither more nor less. We do not pay attention to it and do not notice . Only his gray eyes a strange metallic luster can be remembered . But it only sets some people 's eyes . For the rest, he shaves regularly and straight black hair down slightly on his face. He wants to keep a certain length, even though they are not nearly as long as the numbers of men from the castle.

Trystan has all qualities of defects. Unfortunately , it is sometimes the same things. The young man is loyal and determined. But others will say it's a damn stubborn and can be a bit sticky , or worse a Saint Bernard (without the small barrel of booze of course) . Still, it would be easier to stop a load of heavy cavalry of the notice to change if he has one goal in mind .
Direct and honest, he always says what he thinks if asked his opinion, albeit with some differences , however, if for example , the dress of the queen was not to his liking and she asked his opinion . Fortunately for him , he was asked what he thinks often of particular weapon rather than the wardrobe of the sovereign . Needless to say , very unfortunately , diplomacy is not really one of his strengths. Unless your idea of diplomacy requires a hatchet course .
This has played many tours in the past. It is often advisable to make it clear to your weapon master he does not know his job and he is completely useless to teach you how to handle a long sword .
Despite the warrior aspect, it is also a grown young man who reads regularly and sometimes more for fun than actual need . It addresses both the military treaties great generals of the Old Pendor as books of poetry . Needless to some, it is amusing that.
Yet discreet young man, he does not like to talk about his past . In fact, he does not like talking without saying anything. An injury he has not yet closed. He keeps it in his day. And discuss this issue with him is probably the safest way to make him angry . This or that of the strange young woman who accentuates the many "S" which always accompanies .

Bio.
Harvey was born without a father, during a tournament several months before his birth his father a minor knight was killed in a joust and although to honor him his wife was allowed to keep the minor estate he had previously been awarded for honor in battle his wife knew little of how to run it and so it quickly declined.
As Harvey grew he heard stories of Knights everywhere he went and of Ravensterns famed Rangers, these stories set of Harveys imagination in a way nothing else ever had or ever would and he quickly acquired a bow for himself and then trading on his fathers name was able to convince an old friend of his fathers who was himself a ranger to train him when he had the time.
As a result of this by the time Harvey turned 15 he was already able to defeat most Wardens and even some Rangers in duels of marksmanship, not long after his 15th birthday Harvey got himself both into trouble and into high esteem with a local lord.
Having spotted him and his small band of bodyguard heading into a forest he followed and came across them in battle with a company of bandits and rouge knights, from his countless hours spent training and hearing the old war stories of his trainer Harvey quickly recignised that the lord was losing the battle and so hiding behind a tree he aimed his bow and more by luck then anything else was able to hit a knight through the throat a split second before he would have killed the lord.
After the death of the Knight the battle quickly turned in the Lords favor with Harvey downing several bandits and unfortunately one of the lords men from his position.
Shortly after it ended Harvey was caught trying to escape by one of the Lords Knights and dragged before him, during the impending tirade of threats and amazement Harvey was told for the crime of killing a soldier he should be executed himself but for saving the Lords life and his exceptional marksmanship he was offered a choice, execution or joining the Lords retinue. Needless to say he chose life.
In the following years Harvey continued to devote his time to improving his skills vowing never again to kill an ally and in time he surpassed even the greatest of the Lords marksman and after a particularly bloody battle with a band of rouge knights and once again saving the life of his Lord Harvey was granted permission to become a Knight, shortly after this he left his Lords service taking 4 other men with him who he had been training himself for several years. In honor of his service and countless military triumphs in his lords service he was gifted a bow of unmatched quality by his Lord as a gift the bow having been passed down in his family for generations.
During his travels after that point he ambushed and slew several parties of bandits relying on his skill and speed with the bow and his apprentices talent.
Shortly after 1 such battle a party of Clarior soldiers came across them burning the bodies and took them for bandits themselves, in the following chaos Harvey knocked the leader of the company from his horse with an Arrow to the chest and several more knights horses where killed.
Shocked by Harveys skills the battle ended without anybody being killed and after a short conversation Harvey agreed to join the order, though he didn't particularly care for it's beliefs it was known to be home to many great archers and he wanted the chance to test himself against them.
Harvey has only been in the order a week as of the start of the Torbah incident.

Harvey unknown to any but his apprentices is a devout believer in Astrea calling on her for guidance at the onset of every battle.

Biography : Rose was the first and only child of a Ravenstern lord born at the cost of her mothers life and raised by her father alone and treated almost as a prisoner because of her fathers determination to protect her.
One of the few hobbies her father allowed her was training with the sword, a hobby she convinced him to allow only by arguing that it would allow her to better protect herself should she ever be in danger, knowing full well it was her fathers worst knightmare she played on it and was eventually given over to his master at arms for training with the sword she chose.
At the same time she finally began to travel beyond his castle visiting nearby towns only on the condition that one of her fathers retainers would always escort her and so over time she began a secret friendship with Harvey Von Waggle that she took great pains to keep hidden lest her father dismiss him or worse in his misguided attempts to protect her.
At the age of 17 during one such trip she met and spoke to a Knight of the Ebony Gaunlet and fell in love with the tales of Knights in black armor fighting great battles and doing great deeds.
So deepy did she fall in love with those tails that several weeks later with the unwilling cooperation of her then lover Sir Harvey she snuck from the castle taking her armor and her fathers greatest gift to her a masterfully crafted broadsword that easily dwarfed her small frame decorated with an intricate pattern of roses arund the hilt and up the blade.
She left to join them accepted largely in the hope that one day she would bring her fathers wealth into the order, in the 6 months that have passed since that day she has earned the respect of those Knights who've fought with her and the devotion of a small following of men seeing instead of a woman a brave and loyal Knight that they could follow to glory.
Though she has not seen him in those 6 months Rose still remains deeply loyal to Harvey having given her heart to him the first time they lay together and her men knowing much of there shared past consider him to be a brother in her service.