Description
A battle hardened knight stands here, thirteen feet tall of plate armored
strength and resolution. Sapphire blue eyes gaze at you through an open
face helm carved from a mammoth's skull. You can see just the fringes of
green hair, and a holy symol is tattooed on the right side of his face,
crossing his eye in an ancient rune. His platemail is scorched, dented
and burned, with slashes and cuts on various parts of the armplates and
chainmail lining. Yet the tabard that he wears on his chest is displayed
proudly, twin swords crossed on a hill of green, with a suspended
sounding clarion above, denoting his family allegiance and patron. A
glowing sword is held loosely in his left hand, a holy power
coarsing up the length of its runed blade.
Role
A beginning
Added Sat Apr 3 06:54:50 2004 at level 9:
Rouchevien is a cheerful squire, who has an accepting, tolerant
nature. Nevertheless, he takes the code of the paladin's very
seriously, and is guided by a strong desire to destroy evil. His
perception of himself is as a soldier in the war against the dark
forces of the land, and is especially fervent against the Empire.
The Principles
Added Sat Apr 17 03:57:59 2004 at level 23:
Shimmering rays of moonlight shone through the open window of the chapel. There, the
young knight knelt in quiet contemplation, clad in full, siege dusted and battle stained
plate armor save for his gauntlets and helm. Knuckled white from constant prayer,
his large hands clasped together and head bowed, Rochevien cleared his mind, focusing on the battle
earlier in the day, seeking to purge his heart of thoughts of lingering exultation at the
victory, and despair at the hordes of shadow that seemed to have no end. Silent rows of
pews lay behind him, but to his spirit seemed full of the righteous saints, invisible but
evident, their support, love, and hope encouraging his heart. He focused once more on the
Light, and felt the measure of peace and quietness in the endless and silent void. The
cries of battle and spilled blood of the battlefield retreated, as did his defeats and
victories, the emotions lost in a still pool of deep quiet.
Prayer candles flicked as a cool night breeze blew itself into the room. Lost in
contemplation, it was the warm heat and sudden sound of burning that brought him back
to his surroundings. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the two ancient runes that had been
strangely burned into the pew floor before him. Shifting, he examined them. Inscribe as if by
an artist's burning brush, two runes had appeared in the teakwood floor.
Light. Honor.
Hovering a palm over the runes, the warmth of the inscription flooded his palm. A
sudden heaviness overtook him, his shoulders sagging under a vision. Eyes closed and
swaying, images came to him uncalled. A captain loyal to his king, refusing bribes of
betrayal and enduring false torture. A poor roadside peddler, returning the gold to an
absent minded merchant purchaser. A young soldier, resists the lusts of his fellow
soldiers against a woman. An old man, standing up to the anger of a mob.
The visions flowed through his mind, his thoughts and the events becoming as one. He
relived them. He saw them. He wept, his felt righteous anger well, and joy at courage. In
an instant, in an eternity, the drop of a moment in a well of time, the visions ended, and
Rouchevien's senses returned to the cold stone slabs of the chapel floor, the soft play of the
moonlight and night's breeze. Bowing his head, seeking once more the void of
contemplation, it came swiftly and effortlessly.
In the coolness of the breeze, deep in once more peaceful meditation, Rouchevien would
only notice later in the morning. Two runes had been inscribed in molten platinum on the
length of the blade of his great-sword, a swirl of spidery, silvery fire.