"My flesh is scared with their past. My blood will continue to flow for their futures."
Aristide Chevalier
Age: 70
Weapon of choice: Homeland.
Armor of choice: Aristide wears thick plate on his shoulders and wrist to serve as an impromptu shield while wielding his twin-sided glaive to its full potential, allowing the sturdy metal to absorb stronger blows. His legs are lighter metal and only a single piece angled to protect his front. the back is merely tight leather to help keep his footing. Upon his chest is a heavy cloth tabard overtop thick leather woven over ringmail, keeping his upper body in motion but still offering protection from a blade.
Personality: Fiercely loyal to the surviving members of his original masters family, Aristide serves any and every purpose needed at the time without hesitation or embarassment. His duties have ranged from scrubbing dirty floors to leading skirmishes for the kingdom, guarding deliveries of 'goods' personally and returning with payment. Through whatever means necessary.
Not a very talkative person he rarely speaks of his long history, never truly speaking at all unless asked a question.
History: Aristide was not truly born. His body was that of a man once, perhaps, but days such as that are better left to fall under the sands of his homeland. Far to the west of Sankt Gallen is the great desert. Thousands upon thousands of miles worth of desolate sands littered with the sunbleached bones of the dead long thought unlivable by all but the most foolhardy and stubborn of peoples. It is here on the fine red sands that he came unto life.
Brought in by slavers, dragged from the shoreline, a man with no name was marched like cattle to the obsidian table with hundreds like him. Chained to the table one by one their bodies were turn into with the hooked blade of the priests of Undeath as sacrifices to their dark entities, consuming the spirits of the slaves to appease their hellish whim. As the last to be sacrificed, the one hundredth soul to bleed upon the alter, the dark whims changed.
To the ninety nine this was their end.
To the one hundredth was his life.
Pieces and fragments of every soul chewed up and spat out upon the sacrificial alter were returned to a single vessel to hear their tortured spirits and suffer, till the lifespan granted him was consumed. Dozens of years of life were added to his own before being thrown out into the sands to be haunted. None believed this man would find his way from the dunes.
The Dark Entity would consume him when its whims stirred again.
Dragging himself for untold miles deposited his tortured form in the greenlands, a supply road of sorts rarely used, to die alone and forgotten. Voices screamed in his head and soul for release from their fragmented memories. Betrayals, loves, hatred, passion, fear, loneliness, bliss, emotions barely understood assailed him every step from those dark halls.
A man came upon him, finding the man in a ditch covered in blood that had withered away to not but flesh and bone it seemed yet still breathing. Kindness from a stranger on the road put him on the path to Rothenburg with the progenitor of the De Lacroy line when first they settled. His time among the founders was the hardest, scraping by with nothing. With nothing to his own name it fell to the unnamed to return the kindness he had been shown.
All that was to be given was loyalty. Given fairly and earnestly.
Ever in the shadows of De Lacroy. Their fights became his, fought savagely with every ounce of his tormented existence focused on survival. Enemies to his master were slain in the night with none to witness it.
Protect the Master.
Beasts that threatened them were dealt with, beaten, scared off, or killed.
Protect the Master.
Thugs who roamed the streets looking to extort the poor often went missing.
Protect the Master.
Many a time has Aristide, given his full name by his rescuer and Patron, struck from the darkness for the good of his house. His masters. His keepers. They who fed and clothed the flesh and soothed the distorted voices with honor and duty.
Protect the Masters.
In recent years Aristide has organized the peasantry into its own fighting force, given cheap arms and armor, and trained by himself arduously as the unbreakables. Men and Women who suffered from the strangling hold of criminals, lawbreakers, people who killed for fun and destroyed for no other purpose than their own pleasures.
The militia has stood defiant of underground influence for over a decade with stern leadership and careful consideration.
They are the ones who protect the De Lacroy fortune and the business ventures. Criminals steer clear of these places now.
Protect the Masters.
Strengths/Abilities:
- Inhuman strength - Some say he has the strength of a hundred..
- Ageless (Stolen life has kept him in the body of a young man, despite being old by human standards)
- Fearless Combatant
- Unshakable Loyalty
Weaknesses/Hindrances:
- Protective - In the presence of his Masters, any who come close to them are seen as threats. Threats are dealt with.
- The voices - many years of life has done nothing to quell the dozens of fragmented thoughts of his stolen souls, making him unpredictable when caught in unpleasant memories.
- Violent - Threats are dealt with. Associates who have robbed, cheated, threatened, or even attacked the members of the De Lacroy family do not suffer from long lifespans. Unless told not to retaliate, he will kill the offenders.
- Unlife - Cursed with a long life, Aristide is told to conceal his face at all times. None must know the secret or they would destroy him as an abomination.