One Thousand and Forty Eight
Oradin Montariy is a stubborn man, what he does not like is set in, and what he likes has also set in, and it’s very difficult to change the way an old man works. He has made his mind up about much of the world, and in his wisdom he has decided that what he thinks is correct. Oradin deals with all problems brought to him with a harsh justice, and once his punishment or reward has been ordered, he will not take it back.
You may be thinking that as hard-hearted and stubborn as he may seem, Oradin may have a soft spot for certain things, such as people in trouble, or animals or children, and that he may go to extremes to help out anyone in need, or save an animal or even smile at a child. If so, you thought wrong, for he has no such "soft spots" the only reason he does all these things is because he seeks redemption, and no, he doesn't like children thank you very much...or so he claims ._. uh hum >.>
He also has a weird since of humor which can contradict his seemingly "high and mighty" personality, be prepared for some VERY strange things.
Oradin was Forty Eight when the War of the Skies dawned, still considered a child by his fellow Aertherians, no one would think that he would grow to become the ruler of the land. Oradin saw much death and destruction in the War of the Skies, many of his friends perished, his family was completely annihilated by a single beam from the strange weapons the Sky People – or Earthers as they are now called – had. Still, he fought alongside his many comrades many of them centuries older than himself, and he learnt from them - and from the war - what no man could have taught him. The first thing he learnt was the “art” of survival. Yes, Oradin learnt that survival itself was an art, how to see but not be seen, to hear but not be heard, to feel but no be felt, to kill…but not be killed. In that is an art some can learn, but few ever live to master. Not only did he learn how to survive, he was forced to master the use of several weapons, and flung into the more violent side of magic, delving into even the darkest and most forbidden magics. The war lasted a long time, or maybe it didn’t, maybe it lasted a short time but Oradin felt like it had lasted so long, for he changed very much…too much. The man he was before was unrecognizable as the man he had become, one haunted by ghosts of death and destruction, one who had lost everything and gained everything, for he could bring back all he lost if he so wished, but what was the point? Let the dead remain dead, the past be the past, bygones be bygones.
It was then that the gods acted, too late for death to take Oradin, too soon for him to retain a speck of innocence. The war was over almost immediately, the seemingly invincible Sky People were completely crushed by pure, unadulterated magic. Nothing remained. Everything that had once been Aertheria was no more. Oradin did not stay, what was left to stay for? No, he would go out into this new world, and he would come to know it, he would learn more about it, become something in this chaotic land. Things did not turn out as bad as the dark minded young warrior mage anticipated however, for the Sky People had not destroyed as much as Oradin first thought, Aertheria had merely gotten the brunt of the invasion. This however did not change his warped soul, and he travelled on, spreading despair wherever he went, learning the magic of other people, even managing to get an old elf who had lost all hope in the world to teach him some of the magic which elves mastered. For centuries he travelled like this, killing any who dared even raise their voice against him, learning from those who saw in him potential for power, or from those he blackmailed and threatened.
This could not go on however; someone had to put a stop to this marauding chaos bringer, the only one who still hung onto the War of the Skies after so long. So it was that in his third century of existence, Oradin met the love of his life. He was once again on the road, going to wherever it led him, when he stumbled upon the severely injured and unconscious body of a woman. She was strange and very alluring, and Oradin was immediately drawn to her. He carried her in his arms until night fall, which was when he set up camp in a small cave half a mile or so from the road. He cast a few healing spells he’d learnt on his travels, nothing too powerful as he did not want to over-heal her, when a plant is over watered it dies, when a person is over-healed, they will also die. Leaving the recovering lady, he went out to find something to eat, magic was a mighty weapon, but he could not create food. He could plant a tree and make it grow, but there was a stark difference between a tree full of fruits and a full course meal. He returned with a few small animals over his shoulder. When he came to the cave, he found her awake. At first she was frightened of him, asking if he was the one sent to kill her. Oradin assured her that he had no intention of doing such things, and that he could never live with himself should he kill such a beautiful lady. She had been quiet after those words, and they ate in silence.
“You would not be able to live with yourself you say?” she whispered in a strange tone after she had finished eating. Oradin looked up, slightly apprehensive.
“I…I guess not” he said carefully.
“Yet you can live with yourself after killing many innocents and spreading chaos and destruction on this peaceful world?” her tone was not harsh, just sad, and the sadness ate into Oradin like a horde of carnivorous beasts, wanting to spread the feeling into every corner of his being.
“…” he looked at the ground before him, sitting down in a cave in the middle of nowhere. What was he doing here? He went over the past few centuries in his mind. It was all the same, getting on the road, reaching a town or village or city, learning what he wanted, then destroying and killing, then getting back on that road. That long, never ending road. Why? Why did he always go back to the road? Could he not stay in one place without destroying it?
The lady – who had said her name was Eredith - had turned away from him then, and gone to sleep. Oradin however did not sleep, he spent the next few nights without sleep, and when his lady companion spoke to him, he made no reply. As they walked on the road on the fourth day, Oradin suddenly stopped. She turned to him questioningly.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“Do I deserve to live? After everything I have done?” he looked her right in the eyes, his eyes icy. She cocked her head to the right slightly, and said with a simple shake of her head;
“No” and they stood staring at each other for a while. Oradin looked at this beautiful woman who stood before him, she had jumped into his life and destroyed everything he knew and thought, but he felt no hostility towards her, he only felt an aching need to stay by her.
“Then I deserve death” he said as he unsheathed his great sword (pictured) and prepared to impale himself on it. She was upon him immediately, holding his hand in an attempt to restrain him, worry showing clearly in her eyes.
“NO! You don’t deser- I mean…you do deserve death, but as long as you’re alive you have time to repent, you have time to try and do good, make people remember you in a different light” there was desperation in her voice, but he only heard the truth of her words. He nodded slowly as he coaxed his hands out of hers and sheathed his sword.
“Repent…” he looked at her and smiled, “that sounds like a good idea.”
And so they took to the road, but for a different purpose this time. Where once Oradin had travelled alone, he now had a companion, where once he’d spread death and destruction and corruption in the land, he sought to bring life, to build and to bring all villains and criminals to justice. For many years he and Eredith journeyed, going back to places Oradin had visited previously and doing whatever good they could. In the end however, both travelers had to settle down. Finding a beautiful isolated spot, the two built themselves a home, and there they dwelt for many years, in relative peace and happiness, isolated from the rest of the world. Oradin found the time to sit and read the many books and tomes he’d collected over the years, expanding his knowledge on the world and magic in general dramatically. Eredith enjoyed living with a man she had slowly grown to love, and so both prospered.
However, as is the way of the world, nothing is eternal, and death finally separated the two lovers. They had no children, for their love had never been a physical one, rather one of the spiritual type, one which fulfilled and satisfied more than any kind of physical love. This however made the blow even more difficult for Oradin to deal with. For many months afterwards, as he sat before the great gravestone he had created for her, he contemplated ending his life and joining her, but words from the past echoed in his mind, and he knew that he had not yet redeemed himself.
“I may have repented, but the path to redemption is a long one…” and he remembered Erediths words “as long as you’re alive you have time” and with those words echoing in his mind, he made his way to his distant homeland, one he had abandoned centuries ago.
And so, in Oradins fifth century of existence, he returned to his homeland; Aertheria. When he returned, Aertheria had changed much; it had become a prosperous and mighty kingdom, ruled over by a wise and gentle king. Oradin allowed himself to become part of society once more, working as an instructor in a mage academy, having put down his sword and armor long ago, and replacing them with the staff and white robes of a magician. As an instructor, he passed on much of his acquired knowledge, and revisited old ideas. He witnessed and later took part in public debates and meetings on the way magic worked, and conducted further study into the essence of magic, delving into the forbidden arts behind the scenes, not for malicious or evil reasons, but for the sake of expanding his knowledge on the one thing he had ever loved besides Eredith: magic.
It was in his sixth century of existence that a great evil arose in Aertheria, an evil in the form of a witch of great power. The witch managed, through will laid schemes and plans, to destroy the monarchy which ruled over Aertheria. Legend tells of a mighty wizard who destroyed this witch. Oradin was that wizard. The death of the monarch did not only bring chaos to Aertheria, it also brought instability to the new and stable life Oradin had built as an instructor and great scholar of magic, and if there was anything Oradin hated, then it was anyone or anything that got between him and learning more about his beloved magic…he also needed to redeem himself, so getting rid of evil villains who brought destruction was an extra bonus (^^’)
Oradin spent many months seeking out the witches abode, not being able to use magic to track her down as she had created many seals and charms which prevented her from being tracked through magic. However, by following rumors and the shadows of stories, Oradin finally found her hide out, the place she had schemed and planned and destroyed Aertheria’s prosperity from. Getting into her strange hide out was only the first of Oradins problems; once he got in he found that she had summoned many fiendish minions of the darkest kind. Ghouls and hellhounds, demons and devilish creatures which Oradin had only read of in the darkest tomes and books. But Oradin was no weakling or stranger to the dark arts, in fact, he too could summon these strange and terrible creatures, but darkness could only be fought with light, and he would use the powers of the lighter side of magic to defeat this fearsome witch he now faced. However, once he had fought his way past the witch’s minions, Oradin faced one more challenge. A challenge which very nearly destroyed him. He faced his love.
Before him, in a strange wispy, ethereal form, hovered Eredith. Oradin knew this magic, it was a form of necromancy, an art he had leaned towards after the War of the Skies, for he had sought to bring back those whom he had lost, before his quest for knowledge turned to lust for it that is. Standing before Eredith, with the incantation to destroy her on his tongue, Oradin stopped, unable to do it. That was when a huge spiritual explosion took place, and the enraged face of the ghostly Eredith was upon him, tearing into his spirit, his very soul. To this day he hasn’t fully recovered from the spiritual attack, for wounds of the soul take much longer to heal than those of the flesh. In desperation, pain and rage, Oradin had cast a forbidden spell which melted the ghostly spirit and turned it into shadowy figure under Oradins control. Combining his weakened soul with the shadowy figure, the enraged Oradin had stormed into the witch’s library, where she dwelled. For a few moments he was stunned by the treasury of books which lay before him, but he had no time to admire the knowledge within the huge room, for the witch was immediately upon him, sending all types of dark curses at him.
The battle was long and arduous, but the witch was not as old or experienced as Oradin, and he steadily but surely gained the upper ground, battering the witch with one mighty spell after the other, until none of her shields or barriers could protect her from her opponents wrath any longer. She was completely incinerated by a mighty inferno of hellfire which Oradin had fired at her, not even her ashes were spared by the all-consuming flames. The battle left Oradin extremely weak, and with his damaged soul and weakened body, he could not move for many weeks, feeding on the magic within the air and earth to stay alive. During this period where he hung between life and death, he went through many strange and enlightening experiences, delving to the core of magic itself, and even then, he could not understand it, one cannot understand such splendor, and he came to understand that magic, the core of magic that is, is incomprehensible to any living mind, no matter how mighty or powerful one became.
Once he awoke, with this new revelation at heart, he set out to read as much as he could of the witch’s library. He spent months, if not years in there, studying magic arts lost to civilization, learning more about the forbidden arts, things which made even his ancient heart twist in horror. Forty years later he emerged from the witch’s hideout, feeling as if he’d aged centuries from the knowledge he’d gained. Aertheria had become a land ruled by the strong and the cruel, and many mage clans had arisen. Oradin set out to unite the mage clans, trying to convince them to unite for the sake of Aertheria, make the once mighty kingdom great once more. It was no easy job, and many uprising and treasons from the clans had to be dealt with – and Oradin dealt with them most harshly, showing himself to be a just ruler, but one who did not hesitate to inflict terrible punishment upon those whom he found deserving. Eventually, after ten years of hard work, Aertheria was united once more, and a new era of stability began, one which Oradin had brought about, and one which Oradin would make sure continued far into the future.
Oradin is now quite an old man by any standards, having passed into his first millennia of existence, under his rule, Aertheria has become well known for the might of its magic users, it is well known that they can best even the great High Elves when it came to anything magical, although the Elves still held the upper ground when it came to the art of natural magic. Oradin is confident in Aertheria’s ability defend itself, any nation foolish enough to attack Aertheria would not even get to the mainland before having its fleets sunk, or its aircraft completely and utterly crippled. Oradin refuses to see Aertheria’s isolationism as a weakness, viewing their ability to keep any other nations from influencing their culture as strength. However he is no fool, and would be ready to make stronger relations with mainland countries should the need arise, and with the recent events and the ever growing threat of an Earther invasion, gaining allies and improving relations may become a needed step for the Aertherian Islands.
In his Younger Days
In his Old Age
- - - Updated - - -
Character's Full Name:
Horath Evren Al'Montsar
Character's Date of Birth:
The Third day of the Eighth Month
Character's Skin Colour:
Light Black/ Dark Grey
Medium Length/ Neck Length (As Pictured)
Plenty of minor scars on his chest and hands, a few on his arm. The most prominent one though is one long scar from his right shoulder down to beneath his left arm pit, where he was seriously injured by a band of brigands once while out on patrol with one of his comrades. (More detail in history)
Conscript in the Army, at the Rank of Polemarchos
Art of War, Strategy, Tactics, History, Reading, Swordsmanship, Music- especially the flute, Horseback Riding (may add more later)
Before going on his first mission, Horath preferred to wear flowing robe-like clothes (as pictured) or baggy clothes which allow a lot of space for movement, he rarely wore armour, as he saw it as a hindrance. However, after being seriously injured, and having a near death experience, he came to realise the value of armour, now he never goes anywhere without having chain mailunder his robes, he also has a leather breast plate, which he removes only when he is certain that he would not be attacked. His trousers are black and made of cotton, while his boots are mid-calf length dark brown ones, designed to be light and easy to move around in. Beneath his chainmail, Horath has a special gambeson which he bought especially for himself, unlike normal gambesons it has four layers of quilted wool rather than two, and the normal two layers of cotton. Beneath the gambeson,Horath wears a tunic he inherited from his father, which also happens to be the best tunic he has.
Those who are Strong-Willed and have a well developed Sense of Morality. Victory. Strength and Intelligence. Music- Especially the Flute. Sparring with both the Sword and Tongue. Hearing Tales of Past Heroes, and of Valor shown in Battle by those he Leads and those he is Lead by. Discipline. A Worthy Rival. Seeing to it that even the poorest is living in Relative Prosperity. Fairness and Justice in all things, from the tiniest matter, to the largest.
The Grip which Corruption has on the Rulers of his Home Land. Cowardice. Lack of Morality. Defeat. Weakness. Treachery by those he Leads and those he is Lead by, and even those he Battles against. Seeing that even though he would like for the poorest person among his people to be living in Relative Prosperity, this is not the case. Injustice.
The Destruction of his People. That the Old Empire shall never rise once more. Death before he has lifted his people out of the weakness they are in. That he may not be as good or benevolent a leader as he would like to think he is should true responsibility fall upon his shoulders.
He expects too much, he thinks that everyone should stand up for justice no matter what, he expects everyone to have a strong moral code, he expects those who lead him to be the finest of men, and those he leads to be the bravest of souls. Sometimes his fears and doubts can overcome him, and he can become uncertain of how to act and what to do.
As much as he has tried, he has never been good at archery, or any type of ranged form of combat, even though he is better with rocks and javelins, it is not by much.
Horath Evren Al'Montsar is a relic of a lost age - an age which may have only ever existed in legend. He is an extremely idealistic man, and a perfectionist to an extent. He believes that all people - his people in particular - must strive to create, or recreate the Old Empire. However, he also believes they should strive to change the way things worked, that the class systems should not be a cause for anyone - rich or poor - to suffer, and now after meeting a former slave, his strong feelings against slavery have grown greater. He strongly believes that what his nation needs is a good leader, one who knows what must be done, how to do it and why to do it. He also happens to think he's the right man for the job.
Horath has some strongly held beliefs on why his nation is collapsing, and one of those is the lack of love people have for their nation. People do not care for the well being of Vinngealos to the extent that its army is too small to even defend it properly, he believes that not forcing people to join the army would be a step forward for Vinngealos, and that once it was a choice rather than a command which could not be refused, more people would be willing to join, for the glory of the Old Empire, and it's coming rise.
Horaths idealistic perception of how society should be - and how he should be - adds to his ability to draw people to him, and many of his soldiers are usually in awe of the things he does, even if he is blind to their admiration of him, every little thing he does, every act of kindness or angry speech of disapproval for not acting correctly only increases respect for him, for to most of these people, such things have become foreign and unheard of, but they are instinctively drawn to them and cannot help but be enamored by such ideologies.
Horaths ambitions do not stop at rising to lead his people and returning the Old Empire, no, he plans to do much more, to unite his people - ALL his people, and bring them under one banner, to unite all the clans and sects and countries of Kanorth, create one nation, create one people.
Note: the word "brief" is deceiving you
Horath did not grow up in a rich family, he didn't grow up in a poor family either, his was a family rich enough not to be poor and poor enough not to be rich, one of those which hung on the brink of poverty, holding on only because of that one person who knew what to do. In Horaths case it was his father, Evren Trejik Al'Montsar. Evren worked as a weapon-smith in one of the poorer areas of Vinnegeal, one of the great cities of Vinngealos, had he not had six sons and three daughters to care for, the amount he earned would have been more than enough to feed him, his wife and another four children, but fate had not been kind to the youngest son of one of the lower noble families. After his father died, his three older brothers began fighting over who would inherit which piece of land, and in the struggle between the three, Evren found that he had no power or authority to claim the land which he had inherited and was rightfully his. So he left his ruined family and set out to search for his own destiny.
After being apprenticed to a weapon-smith (he refused to use any skills he'd learnt as a noble) and becoming quite proficient in the trade, he had his own smithy built in the poorer area of Vinnegeal, where there were no other smiths who could challenge him. And so he prospered, and even when he met the women he would go on to marry, life continued as normal. It was only after they'd had six children and age was beginning to catch up with him that Evren began to suffer financially. When his two older sons requested he teach them, for the betterment of the family and so they can learn a good trade, he refused, telling them that no son of his would be a smith, that they must - each one of them - find a trade greater than his was, and grow in the land, so that each and every one of his sons may help each other, and not fall prey to quarrels between siblings, and never let each other suffer poverty.
As for Evrens three daughters, they were raised by their mother who had more influence over them than their father, but nevertheless, Evren made each of his sons pledge to always help, care for, and protect their sisters from anyone, whether a thug on the street, or their own husbands when things finally got to that.
Horath was the youngest child, and even though both his father and mother loved him greatly, they never allowed their love for him to affect him too much, Evren had sworn that not a single one of his children would ever grow as a spoilt brat, no matter how much he wanted to dote on them and give them all they wanted. Instead, Evren taught Horath to read and write, and was more strict with him than he was with any of Horaths siblings. He made him read great tomes from a young age on history, politics, philosophy, war, swordsmanship, leadership, anything which could benefit him become high in this world. Even now, all the books and tomes which Evren had - which were the only items he took with him after leaving his family - are with Horath, handed down to him by his Evren in his will.
Under his fathers strict upbringing, Horath developed a good mind, showing he was more than capable of understanding complex ideas, but his father also made sure that Horath also grew up with a strong body, allowing him alone - out of all his children - to help in the smithy. For Horaths sake, Evren even broke the pledge he had made when he left his family: never to use any skill (other than reading and writing) he had learnt with his as a noble, for he taught Horath how to fight with a sword, and how to ride a horse, going that extra bit more to take him to one of the stables in the city, and renting a horse for training.
However, as well as Evren tried to bring his son up, he may have gone a bit too far in instilling in him idealism and perfectionism, for now he always expects from people what they may not be able to do, and can be a bit close-minded when it comes to dealing with people who have done wrong, forgiveness, even though his father tried to show him its importance, never did become one of his strong points.
By the age of eighteen, Horath was a fine young man; strong, intelligent, and with skills that called out for the army. Had he not been conscripted; he would probably have joined anyway. Evren showed neither approval nor disapproval for Horaths choice to stay on in the army and not bribe his way out, even though inside he was proud that his son had chosen this route, for it was indeed a route of power, a route - for those who were brave enough - which could lead to endless possibilities.
Horath was a toughened young man who could endure much - he had to be to keep up with his fathers pace in the smithy, but even so, the training of the army always left him completely exhausted, with no thought more prevalent than to rest. He was however, one of the luckier men, for he broke no bones and received no serious wounds, compared to others who lost their lives or became forever crippled, Horath could not help the sense of pride and accomplishment he felt.
At the age of a year less than two decades, he was sent out on patrol with Gardeel - one of the people he had become quite close friends with.
It was on this first patrol that he received the lethal blow, which cut him from right shoulder to just beneath his left arm pit. Gardeel and he were ambushed by a group of ten brigands, out to steal the armour and weapons of any soldiers passing by. Both Horath and Gardeel fought bravely, striking down three of the ten, Horath killing two and Gardeel killing one. But they were far outnumbered, even if there had been another two of them it would have been a lost battle. Horaths comrade fell dead to a blow from one of the bigger brigands, his throat ripped out by a savagely jagged blade. Horath charged at the huge man, only to be struck the deadly blow by the longer sword.
As Horath had no armour at the time, and his sword was not worthy of stealing, the brigands left him for dead, not even bothering to check if he was still breathing. They stripped Gardeel of his armour and took off with Horath and Gardeeks horses. Had he not been used to pain and enduring no matter what, and having a will to survive like none other, Horath would have died that day, but he managed to crawl and limp his way back to the fort he was stationed at, there he received medical attention and survived. It took a few months for them to allow him to go back to his duties, but when he did, he had a new coldness about him, he was a man who had come back from the dead, he had felt deaths icy fingers around his heart, he was not going to let it happen again, there was too much he needed to do, too much his father expected from him.
Evren Trejik Al'Montsar had died while Horath was recovering, leaving in his will for Horath, all his books and tomes - which had been delivered to Horaths quarters. It was after this saddening blow to his morale that Horath discovered the flute. The first time he heard it, he had been wallowing in misery, standing on the walls of Fort Romgard, contemplating life, death and the reason behind all this misery. That was when the soft sounds reached his ears, and touched his grieving heart. Outside, sitting beneath a tree, a figure - with nothing distinguishable but its long red hair - sat playing the flute.
Without sparing a thought for whether this was a trap or not, Horath ran down, opening the gates a crack and running out, he was afraid that maybe if he didn't run fast enough the apparition might disappear. When he arrived, she was still there - for it was a woman, the most beautiful he had ever seen. He stared at her for a long time, listening to the heart felt melody, and drinking in the beauty of this creature.
When she finally stopped, and opened her eyes, Horath was sat before her, a dreamy look in his eyes.
"That was beautiful"
was the first thing he told her
"just like you"
was the second. This caused the womans fair skin tone to turn a slight pink.
"T-thank you" she stuttered, and her voice sent his heart flying.
"What is your name"
he asked gingerly, at which she frowned slightly, then shook her head.
"I can't tell you" she whispered softly.
"Will you not tell a foolish boy the name of this beauty, this angel?"
he asked, reaching out to hold her hands, at which she got up and scurried away giggling.
"Don't say that! Even if I did tell you my name, I can never be yours, I am promised to another" she walked away slowly, turning around when she reached a tree, to see Horaths expression of uncertainty, which was quickly replaced by one of determination.
"I care not what man you are promised to, you will be mine. THAT is a promise."
he said it with fire in his eyes, and a truthfulness she could almost taste.
"Hmm" she walked towards him, a slight smile on her face "it is a promise then" she looked at the flute in her hand, then held it out to him.
he looked at it for a while
"what is it?"
he asked, realising that he didn't know what it was.
"It's a flute silly" she giggled "an instrument which plays the most beautiful music." Horath looked at it.
"You're giving it to me?"
he questioned, uncertainty back in his eyes.
"No silly, I'm letting you borrow it" she smiled sweetly as he took it "you have to give it back to me when you fulfill your promise, okay?" with that she turned around and ran back to the tree, turning to look at him one last time.
"Yes! I'll give it back to you when I've fulfilled my promise...and that's a promise!"
with that she gave him one last heart stopping smile, and she disappeared. He looked down at the flute, and upon it, carved into the wood in intricate writing, was Relnora Jarod Farosa.
"Relnora Jarod Farosa"
he murmured to himself.
It's been a few months since then, Horath hasn't seen Relnora since then, she stalks his every waking moment and haunts his dreams in every moment of sleep, he sometimes wonders if she was indeed nothing but an apparition, but the flute leaves no doubt that she was as real as the air he breathed.
He has been in many more patrols since then, and one major battle where Horaths Company charged the hideout of the same bandits who had scarred him. The Polemarchos of Horaths Company was killed by that same huge man who had killed Gardeel. Horath rose up to fill the gap left by the Polemarchos without realising, leading the charge which crippled the bandits, and killing the razor-sword wielding man by himself. With their leader down, the rest of the bandits soon surrendered, and both Horath and the company returned victorious to the fort. After hearing of his heroic victory, word came down from above that Horath would now be the new Polemarchos of the Company.
Since then he's had a few more skirmishes with bandits and rebels, and a little battle over a border dispute with a rogue captain from Cavenin.
Events Since the RP started;
Horath has had an additional two missions, in the first he was stationed at a rebellious town, where he not only managed to stop all rebellious activity, but also managed to destroy a bandit group and win the love of the people. He was rewarded with a great black Stallion called Shade for his efforts.
However, Horaths Company could only rest a day before they were sent on a new assignment; they had to go deal with two Companies which had defected from the Vinngealian army. On their way, the Company came across a ransacked town and many others which were starving to death. Horath could do nothing but offer them protection until they got to a safe town.
When they finally found a safe town, Horath made it his base and sent out scouts to look for the defectors. In the meanwhile, many of townspeople joined with him and trained with weapons. When the defector camp was finally found, Horath devised a plan which won them the battle. Even though many died, the victory would offer the townspeople a lot of money and resources which they would need to survive and grow. Horath left this town having won the peoples love, just as he had in his previous mission.
When he returned to Fort Romgard he learnt that Aedan Arianiti had become Strategos, the supreme commander over all of the Vinngealian army.
After having a huge argument with Polemarchos Maxima Verad - the man assigned to govern over Fort Romgard - about how he had sent Horaths Company on a fools errand, and that they would've died had the townspeople not helped him, Horath demanded that Verad increase the side of his Company to five hundred men. Verad could not argue.
Horath then went back to the tree he had first met Relnora at and slept beneath it, while he slept he had a dream of a person fighting for their life on the beach. Horath awoke and knew that he had to go to the beach.
Upon arriving he saw two people fighting, and as he ran towards them, one tumbled over the the edge of the cliff, dragging the other with him.
Saddened that he had failed, Horath was about to leave when he spots a movement and sees a hand coming over the cliffs edge. He leaps forward and mistakes the cloaked Carissa for a man, when he realises it's a woman he is very surprised.
After talking with her and learning of why she was here on t a cliff face, Horath makes a pledge to himself that he would help this lady so long as he lived.
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Work in Progress
Character's Full Name:
Al'Homam bin Nimr Al Wah'Shey
(Meaning: Al'Homam Son of Nimr the Savage/Wild/Brutal/Cruel/Feral/Vicious/Fierce/Bloodthirsty/Diabolic/Diabolical)
(Note that "Al'Wahshey" is his father’s title and DOES mean all those things...)
Character's Date of Birth:
The First Day of the Sixth Month
Three and a Half Decades
Character's Skin Colour:
Light Brown/Dark Red/Auburn
Shoulder Length. Tucked Away in Head Dress
Head Vizier to the Sultan
Swordsmanship, Statesmanship, History, Politics, Art of War, Architecture, Reading and Writing, the Study of Societies/Human Nature, Law
Style of Dress:
Prefers to wear long flowing clothes. He wears the traditional sirwal, preferring one which is black in colour, and a light black shirt made of the same material. Over it he wears the traditional thawb, tied at the waist with a few thick pieces of cloth which also act as the holster to tuck away the scimitar and sheath. Over the thawb and "belt" he wears the heavy reddish brown cloak, it's colour is a sign of his high rank in the Sultans court, and the white head dress also speaks of his importance, as only high ranked officers and elite soldiers in the army ever wear it. This speaks of his military background.
He also has a wooden walking staff which he uses to walk with.
The idea of a nation ruled by a council of wise men rather than a tyrannical monarchy as is the case in Saeron. Those who seek knowledge and wisdom for the improvement of the lives of those oppressed. Military strength. Physical strength. Mental strength. Debating/discussions on controversial matters. Looking after his small garden which was given to him after a long discussion which the Sultan over heard, concerning the importance of preserving nature. To see Saeron rise above petty tribal feuds and fear of the Sultan, and becoming a truly powerful nation, with a mighty, disciplined professional army. Pride in Saeron, the homeland.
The Sultans tyrannical grip on Saeron and his refusal to listen to his advisers. Saerons weak army which depends more on quantity rather than quality. Those who undermine the importance of nature. Military, mental and physical weakness. Oppression. Those who are fools and know not that they are fools. Lack of unity and pride of Saeronians.
That the people will soon have enough of the Sultans oppression and rise up in rebellion, this will surely split Saeron into hundred of factions and it would become easy pickings for other countries. That the Sultan will wake up one day and decide to have him removed from office or whatnot. That he would never get the chance to test his theories and ideas, of making a nation run by a council of wise men.
He is a stubborn man, once he's made his mind up, the chances of him changing it are slim at best. The wounds he's suffered in the army are beginning to plague him more and more, recently the wound he received to his back, from the flat side of an axe has been hindering him greatly.
Al'Homam is a strange man indeed, he is stubborn, yet open minded, traditional, yet with liberal ideas of greatness and glory. One may say that he is in conflict with himself, wondering if he should be what he's been brought up to be, or what he feels he should be. Stubborn he may be, but many see in him a wisdom and benevolence rare in the court of the Sultan - and this is something his critics see as a weakness. He is calm and collected, and all that he does he does with a purpose and efficiency unlike any other, you don't become Vizier for looking good after all (although his looks aren't too shabby ;D)
Brief History: TBA
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