Big Dread

Modular Pathfinder

Haksir patted XLA-001 on the back as it stepped up beside him, "Good job ol'boy. You did great!" he congratulated the soulless abomination of science, or, as he liked to think of it, progress. He looked over at the group and saw two of them moving off to watch the next match before glancing over and up at the elven swordmage, "Hanani, my good man, why don't we go see what there is to see in this massive camp, eh? I think there probably is something we could find that might be of interest." he gestured outward to the sprawling camp at large, "I would love to see what these primitives have managed to build with their rudimentary understanding of the arcane force." he chuckled and then tapped his right shoulder three times and nodded, prompting his armor to pick him up and place him on it's massive shoulder. The diminutive mental giant shifted and leaned his elbow on the head of his creation before pointing, "Onward, eh? Let's find something to do while the other watch some concussion exchanges."

Modular Pathfinder

Dr. Haksir Azleoth, Director of Salhadrik Sanitarium

The truth is a funny thing, you always seem to have to lure it out in new and stranger ways.

Modular Pathfinder

The ground rumbled as Haksir dashed through the sprawling camp that surrounded the great arena. He left deep footprints in the ground making his passage impossible to miss. Well, the clattering of steel, hissing steam, and drifting cloud of greenish-black smoke probably didn't make him any harder to follow if someone really wanted to. In his experience though, few people wanted to chase after something nearly seven feet tall, made of metal, and looking like a nightmare given form. He was fine with that. The clatter also made people very quick to get out of his way as he made his inexorable charge to the arena. He was very, very late and his team would suffer if he was not there. Not only that, but, if he missed his chance to show just how far the experiments and progress at Salhadrik had come he would be cursing himself for the rest of his very poor life.

Bounding through hallways, around people, and through rooms, with a quick stop by the entrance to give his official signature to the monks, took Haksir to where he needed to go. He was impressed by that actually. He had only gotten lost once and had to ask a terrified young man where he was. Normally he was constantly lost. Even when he was at home in the halls of Salhadrik Sanitarium he sometimes got turned around in the labyrinthine architecture. Everything was going well aside from him being this late. He heard the announcement of 'one minute' just as he dashed into the room and engaged his armor's cleats. The metal spikes deployed and all nearly eight hundred pounds of man, metal, and gear came screeching to a halt in the room with the other five team members. The armor creaked and hiss, belching steam and foul smell smoke from both the stack on it's back and from the joints.

"Salutations!" The hulking golem shouted to the gathered fellows in a metallic rasp filled with honest mirth, "I do gravely apologize for my tardiness, allow me to remedy that." a small snort of laughter echoed from the golem as it unslung the large bag from it's back and reached in retrieving a number of glass bottles and tossing one of them to each person. "Something to keep the constitution clattering away at full tilt, eh?" the golem then straightened and left the bag sitting on the ground. Haksir wasn't sure if he would need any of the other gear or potions he had prepared for this moment, but, best not to bring in something that might get damaged easily. "I'd give more but I fear I'm not appraised of your particular specialties and thus I fear some might be wasted." the golem raised a large metal finger, "Never fear though, I shall have grand tonics prepared for all of us once we have a proper composition established,"

> All Party Members gain one Potion of Cure Lesser Wounds at CL 5

He slid the bag to the side with his foot and an excited chuckled cackled rattled forth from the golem's motionless face plate, "Let's give them all a good bit of hands on instruction in the delicate art of applied violence, eh?" The golem raised it's massive hands together and "cracked" the metallic knuckles, the only sound issuing was the scraping of metal on metal. Soon the world would get the first taste of this marvelous machine. Soon he would be rolling in funding from all over the world and every noble from hither to thither would want a suit of Living Combat Armor for their honor guard. In back of his mind he could hear the rumble and scratch of other begging him to protect these people. She keened for their safety and gnashed her teeth. She'd just met them and already she was trying to make them her pups. Blasted woman, too quick to form attachments and throw their body into the path of as many slings and arrows as she could.

The REAL Fullmetal Alchemist

Dr. Haksir Azleoth / X-LA 001
HP: 98/98 HP: 86/86
AC: 18 AC: 23 touch 13, flat-footed 19
Ini: +2 Ini: +4

Bombs: 18/18
(6D6 Fire Dmg - Splash 5ft radius, 11 Fire Dmg)
Mutate: 2/2 +1 Mutagen
Mutagen: NOT ACTIVE
Armor: In X-LA 001

Extracts: (All Infused Unless otherwise Noted)
LV1:
Enlarge Person X2
True Strike X2
Cure Lesser Wounds X1
Jump X1

LV2:
Vomit Swarm X1
Cure Mod Wounds X2
Invisibility X1
Levitate X1

LV3:
Haste X3
Protection from Energy X1 (Not Infused)
Cure Serious Wounds X1

LV 4:
Universal Formulae X2
Detonate X1 (Not Infused)

Kenja no Isan

Well, it looked like someone properly important was here. Amahle eyed their headmaster with curiosity as she introduced herself and was asked some very silly questions. She did need to remind herself that the company she found around her certainly wasn't as informed as she was. The question the Forester asked was particularly silly, born entirely of ignorance. That was acceptable though. He was expected to be ignorant and ignorance was only a small flaw, easily remedied. It seemed that a teacher was needed already and if The Heiress was correct, this Aether woman was not the kind to actually do much explaining. The way she answered Thessir's question was flippant. While did understand not giving stupid questions real answers it still would have been less breath to just tell the large hat clad fellow in straight terms.

"If you would not mind, Headmistress," Amahle offered, taking a calculated step forward and inclining her head slightly to the horned woman, "I can answer our Elven companion's question easily." she turned her silver gaze to Lydrim, "Sages are spiritual and magical focai in every land. In Lucerna they weild supreme dogmatic control over the spirit of the land, similar in my Empire as well. You would have social power unrivaled, and, magical power beyond comprehension if you devote yourself." She raised her brow at him, "So, you ask, what good is being a Sage, well, look at the state of your birth and that of your people. You could effect that. You could change things.As for why the people around you? Well, just look at us. Here we might be called equal but that isn't true elsewhere. You could use friends in higher places, couldn't you? Couldn't we all?" she certainly hoped he was smart enough to understand that. Ignorance was a problem that could be fixed, idiocy was a prognosis beyond panacea.

The other implication, that there was some kind of reason that they were all being called was more troubling. Throughout history the Sages had merely risen and fallen. There was never any serious threat that needed to be dealt aside from the first Sages' defeat of Old Darkness. The fact they had been ascended, or could be, was merely a quirk, a draw. This was only a benefit with little cost. At least, that was how it had been for so long. Still, the Nyxian's words troubled her slightly. What if they had been called for some greater reason. That would complicate things greatly. It would be a substantial distraction.

Aldin shook his head slightly as he felt an odd thought brush across his mind. It felt alien, not of his own mind. He normally thought in his voice but the voice he heard was a woman's, familiar as well. He dismissed the stray thought and stepped forth, listeningto to the questions and the answer given by Amahle. He stood next to the giant wolf that now was Summer and rested right hand casually on the pommel of his saber. He narrowed his eye at their host and tried to place her. Zephyr had raised a good question. What exactly was she. He had fought with and against some Bastiui auxiliary during his time and while they didn't have much in common with each other she looked decidedly different. Not only that but Summer's response to him was abnormal as well.

Standing on the right side of Summer she saw the hackles on her massive back rise and reacted instantly. He let out a soft shush and rested his gloved left hand on her neck, rubbing it slightly. He had spent enough time with the kennels of his house to know how to deal with hounds and he knew there really wasn't much difference between a wolf and hound. The only actual divergeance between them at all was wildness. He had known men who had taken in wolves and tamed them. Bred out some fine wolf hounds too. Of course, none of that mattered because Summer wasn't a dog or wolf, she was a person. He noticed what he was doing a few seconds after he had began and pulled his hand back, hoping no one else would notice that little mistake.

"I think we all have an interest in exactly why we've been called here. If this is merely another cycle, so be it, however," his eye darted to the small Nyxian who had implied that something greater was at play. He wondered if there was any truth to what he was implying, "If there is something greater then we deserve to know."

Kenja no Isan

Well, it seemed that this rabble wasn't a welcoming party at all. Too bad. The troop she had with her were going to have to wait for refreshments and rest. Hopefully there would be something aside from a dry reliquary in the middle of nowhere for them to speak in. The air here wasn't poisonous or particularly dry but it was still air. Amahle sighed and rolled her silver eyes, stepping forward, closer to the mad Nyxian and irrelevant warlord, warlady? What exactly would she be called? Amahle supposed she would be the Daimyo of The Singing Arrow given that her father had died only a few years ago. Daimyo would be good. It normally was given to the eldest man in the family for the backward lava drinkers but if the Heir was informed correctly Zephyr had taken control of the clan. Amahle smiled to herself. At least this little trip wouldn't be totally fruitless. There was at least someone here of moderate importance. Well, someone aside from Aldin Salvar. She hadn't been sure at first because of his slightly rough appearance, but, with the missing eye, soldier's bearing, and silver hawk on a green field, it became rather obvious.

She beckoned for Valter with a curl of one of her long fingers as she moved into the courtyard more and heard his dutiful footsteps obeying her orders. He was a good boy. Her mercurial eyes narrowed slightly as they swept from one person to the next. It looked like a Nyxian playing up on the stereotypes of them being strange and mad; a Forester with a pension for animals, he looked like he hadn't seen civilization in his whole life; the Salvar heir; the new Daimyo; a Zephyr half-breed who was probably a slave since she had sat by the Salvar boy like a obedient little pup. Interesting little group. It seemed half of them were nobility, or what passed for it in other places, and, half were common folk. Amahle couldn't help but wonder if that was intentional. Whomever had organized had a good sense of balance at least.

Amahle looked down at the slight Nyxian and smirked at him before whispering in his native tongue, "You don't have to pretend. I know what real madness looks like. I'll introduce you to my older brother someday and you can take notes," she gave him a quick wink before looking to the others and took a breath, spreading her arm and nodding her head in greeting, a small respect for small folk, before introducing herself, "It seems like we are all Sages, eh? Well, you all have the pleasure of being in the presence of Amahle Inkunziushaka Carcharhinus Albimarginatus The Seventh, Fourth Child of the Empress of All Amanzi." she closed her eyes briefly and bobbed her knees and head slightly as if buoyed by an ocean wave. The move was graceful and practiced. It looked almost like the introduction step to a dance. Amahle lowered her arms to her hips and raised her thin brow waiting for the others. She didn't actually expect much of a reaction. She was pretty sure that probably all but the Lucernan Duke's son probably wouldn't even know just how close they were standing to real power. Common folk weren't expected to know anything about politics and the demon probably hadn't had any education farther than 'stab things and make them die. Honor, honor, honor.'

She made sure to make a mental note that not a single one of them addressed her properly when she arrived. Sure they weren't her welcoming party and she could forgive that, but, they saw she arrived with a group of guards and carried herself with authority. The fact they hadn't spared her even the logical reaction of fear didn't reflect well. She supposed the little Nyxian had greeted her and her enterage in his own strange little way. She supposed that put him a step above the rest of these scroungers. Ironic that the actual scrounger had the sense to properly greet an armed group of bodyguards and warmages while the rest just either were too stupid to recognize real danger or so consumed with their meaninglessness that they couldn't pay attention to anything but snapping wolves and shifting. Amahle had never liked seeing the Zephyr do their little trick, much less graceful than the transition her own people did, but, she supposed it would be rather shocking to anyone who had never been exposed to it before.

Aldin's eye was locked on someone who everyone else in the courtyard had completely overlooked. His eye was fixed on the traitor himself. His right arm suddenly ached and his hand twitched toward the grip of his pistol tucked into his belt. The Nightcursed Silver Prince was here. He was right here. Aldin could draw on the scum and put him on the ground with a hole the size of revenge in the bastard's head. No healing from that. No coming back from having your head split by a Shimmer Shot. His missing eye throbbed with impossible pain as he remembered all the friends he'd lost in the war against that son of a bitch. That bastard born whore's son. His right hand stiffly wrapped around the grip of his pistol, finger slid into the guard. That- Aldin's eye blinked rapidly as a large shadow fell over him.

He looked over, ready to draw and deliver round, but, he relaxed when he saw the towering winged demon woman bowing to Summer. His nerves misfired suddenly and he grinned letting out a hiss of laughter. His frayed nerves and the sheer silliness of what appeared to be a noble warrior from The Land of Fire bowing to a slave. He knew Summer wouldn't be a slave for long officially and wasn't really a slave right now either, in theory, but, she had been for her whole life until now. He turned his gaze up to the towering woman and let out an impressed whistle. He released his grip on the pistol and raised his hand to the brimmed hat on his head, tipping the brim back so he could get a better look at Zephyr of The Singing Arrow. He thought maybe he had heard of her clan before but was rather unfamiliar with Bastilluli politics. They had always seemed a little strange to him. They had something similar to what Lucerna did but their fixation with certain concepts and glory in war made them rather alien. All he knew for sure was she was enormous. The largest person he had ever seen really.

"Her name is Summer, Attendant to Clan Salvar," Aldin said with a smile and the extension of his hand to the bowing giantess, "I am Captain Aldin Salvar, heir to Clan Salvar, rulers of the Duchy of Korin in Lucerna." he inclined his head to her slightly, making sure to use terms she would be familiar with. He was pretty sure that his noble classes didn't exist in Bastillus so best to make it understandable, "It is a pleasure to meet you." he looked around to the rest of the gathering, "A pleasure to meet all of you." that last bit wasn't exactly true as he narrowed his remaining eye when he looked on Valter again. The fact that his mistress had been willing to harbor a know rebel didn't speak well for her either, but, sometimes politics could be a funny thing.

Kenja no Isan

"You are not thinking of going are you?" The older exiled prince asked, one sandy eye brow rising toward his thinning hair. He put his meaty hands on his hips and cocked his head looking at his young mistress. Valter might have led a doomed rebellion trying to free slaves, but, he wasn't a fool. Going to this cursed dead continent and specifically to a place that no one had been able to enter in generations just screamed stupid. The worst part of all was he knew Amahle was not stupid. He was actually pretty sure she was smarter than he was most of the time. Sure she had some bad habits and might act a little recklessly from time to time but she was at the very least smart enough not to walking head first into a damned trap.

Her continued silence as she reclined in her plush high backed arm chair, long legs almost entirely exposed from beneath her nearly transparent robe,crossed casually before her. She swirled the dark purple wine she liked to drink and just continued to smirk at him. He shook his head, growling under his breath, "No, no, no, your excellency, you can not be thinking about going to a damned abandoned courtyard in the middle of Night Cursed Tenebra." he flung his arms forward, pleading with that self assured gaze and smirking lips. His eyes widened slightly. He finally saw it. She was enjoying this. She liked seeing him all worked up and trying to talk sense into her. He took a step back and crossed his arms, frowning and settling a glare on his mistress. "No. Don't just sit there and stare at me like that. You know how much I hate it." her only response was to bounce both of her thin an well maintained brows suggestively and then drain the rest of her wine.

Valter ground his teeth together for a moment. Sharing the silence in the large study of the suit of rooms that Amahle occupied. He looked from her silver eyes to the glass in her hand. She was holding it out to him, expecting him to refill it. His gaze fell back on her. He felt his heart pump a little faster. Sages be damned that he wasn't two decades younger. She liked to tease him and flirt a bit but she was never serious. She knew he liked to look at her and was utterly smitten with her force of personality and intelligence. Night take her, she was still smirking at him. She knew he was going to not only refill that damned glass but he was going to agree with her about this suicidal idea she had gotten into her head. She thought that it was so obviously a trap that it couldn't be a trap, and, even if it was so obvious a trap that there was no way it could be a trap that would mean it must be a very well concealed trap. Of course, if it was such a well concealed triple bluff of a trap, then, well, it couldn't be a trap because that mean it was too obviously a trap. Her mind worked about as straightforwardly as a length of silken rope tossed onto the floor in the middle of a ballroom dance.

Valter's sour face finally broke into a gap toothed grin and he started to shake his head slowly, "We're gon'fuckin' die y'know?" he said, the stress making his more rural Lucernan accent poke through his normally practiced noble speech. Her smirk cracked wider into an excited gleam showing all of those slightly too sharp teeth she had in her head. Her glittering silver eyes caught the candle light just so and for a moment he though he was looking into the eyes of someone possessed. He supposed it was actually true. The soon to be heir, at least that was what she liked to call herself, was possessed. There was no evil spirit in her though. No. She was possessed by power and too much damned smarts. She was single minded when it came to getting more power and this whole Sage business was like the perfect bait. She couldn't ignore it. If she did and one of her siblings didn't? She'd be a dead woman for sure and Valter would be following her shortly. He took the cup from her quickly and refilled it. "I hope you know what you are doing," he said with a chuckle.

"Valter," her voice was like cool water, his name rolling along in her stream like a happy little boat, "You worry too much." her head her stand and take the few steps over to him. She laid one of her long fingered hands on his shoulder and looked into his eyes as he turned toward her. "If something goes wrong I'll have you right there beside me." her amused face took on a devious caste, "Well, and about a company and a half of personal guards and war mages." she slid her fingertips down the center of his chest and suddenly plucked the glass from his suddenly limp fingers. She took a sip, never breaking eye contact. She pulled the glass away from her lips and snickered, "What? You thought I was going to go unprepared?"

He grinned back at her, "Y'know, sometimes I wonder if yer half'a crazy er'so sane y'just seem crazy." he laughed shaking his head. She laughed right along with him. He had a deep sinking feeling that maybe Amahle was laughing because she wasn't sure of that herself. Either way, they needed to get prepared and move out soon. No need making a scene with her leaving, well, more of one than she intended to make. If those threats to come and collect her were serious it would be a situation out of their careful control. A situation like that would not do for the future Empress of Amanzi.

Their trip went smooth as it could be. There were few problems with brigands or wildlife on the Great Slipstreams. They soared along on chariots made for underwater travel pulled by massive sails that collected the stream of the ocean and turning it into movement. Honestly, this kind of travel never made Valter feel safe. Not only did he need to have to have a spell on him at all times so he wouldn't die, but, it was way too damned fast. He felt like his eyes were going to be smashed through his head. The blasted Siren and Sirener of the troop were having a good ole time while he hung on for dear life. He was glad as he could be when they finally made it to the shore of the place that would surly kill them all. Much to his surprise, the air was perfectly breathable. He was happy to see that he wasn't the only one astonished by that, but, of course, Amahle never had a doubt. She strode right out of the water and took a deep breath of the supposedly poisonous air much to her guards displeasure.

"Well?" their leader, still dripping with water from her thin robes and long hair asked, "Are we going to go make me a Sage or what?" she cocked her head inland and everyone joined right in. They were there in no time and not alone. Looks like it was a trap after all. Good thing he brought his trusty montante to sweep these pesky flies aside. He only hoped he'd get some play before the team of war mages and guards tore these interlopers to shreds.

As they were readying for an aggressive move though, Amahle raised her hand, staying all of their blades. Instead, she sauntered forward gracefully. Her robes now dry swirled and danced slightly on the light wind as she stepped forward, splaying her hands out to the sides in a gesture of peace. He couldn't see her face but he knew the look she was wearing. She would have that damned self assured little crooked smile with her eyes half closed as if none of this was even important. Her long strides took her forward and she stopped, casually popping one of her hips out to the side and raising one of her hands above her head, smoothly turning her wrist in a circle in something like a wave performed in perhaps the most artistic way possible. "Why hello there!" she called out putting a little music in her voice, "Would you happen to be my welcoming party? We have traveled far and find ourselves in need of refreshments and quarters for rest." she snapped the fingers of her raised hand, implying that it would best if it was done quickly. He couldn't help but grin. Even if they were here to kill her she'd probably at least get them served drinks and a good nights rest before they even realized they weren't supposed to be waiting on her hand and foot.

Redacted (2/5)

Oh yeah, all the good stuff! I think what I will do take the names you have and make them more German, much like how Saints and deities followed by people speaking different languages do.

Redacted (2/5)

@Dogematix

Ooooo! Another knight! Though, using a shield for some reason. :P Lennart and Florian are gonna have some good interplay there. Oh, since they are both from the Northern reaches, though, not the same Kingdom, I think it would be interesting to have them follow similar religions, if not just the same exact one only with perhaps slightly different names for the Saints. Would you be cool with that? It could make for some interesting interactions as Lennart is a secular knight who has religion but doesn't put great weight in it aside from just its cultural importance.

Redacted (2/5)

Lennart Derrot

Lennart Derrot, Vizegraf of Decrut

Race: Human
Archetype: Fighter
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Dark Shadow:
Possession
The Thrill

The minds of men are so easy to enter in times of great stress and pain. The Thrill saw such a great opportunity in Lennart when he was a young knight. The Thrill is the name this formless presence was given by Lennart himself and always seeks to reinforce that it is just a feeling and not a thing all its own. The Thrill is insidious, striking when Lennart needs it most and when he is most likely to reach out for it. It offers him power, focus, aggression. It whispers that all can be solved by the right application of steel. It rages in his mind when he fights, driving him to greater heights of violence and bloodlust, feasting on those the knight slays. It is the creeping desire for death, the reddening vision, narrowing focus, the call for advancement through blood. The Thrill is a part of Lennart as much as his father's teaching. It is happy to have him as a companion and bide its time. Soon enough the knight will let The Thrill all the way and then it will wash the world in crimson.

Appearance:

Lennart

Not in Full Harness:

In Full Harness:

Lennart stand tall and regal in bearing. He is not actually overly tall but his broad square shoulders and upright posture seem to make him like a wall tower when brought up in the minds of those he meets. He wears a long arming jack that bears the insignia of House Derrot, a blue field of the sky set to a hunting hank wrought in green is the seal of House Derrot, and their colors. A long cloak topped with black bear fur speaks to his house's history as foresters and hunters. An arming sword with a swept crossguard hangs at his waist at all times aside form when he sleeps.

In his armor he is an imposing wall of steel draped with his bear cloak. The shining armor well maintained and wrought by the hands of a master armorer. Either astride his warhorse or on foot with estoc in hand he is a terrifying figure to the common soldier and trained professional as well. He seems to be a creature of battle itself when fully clad, eyes shadowed by the helm that bears the twin flaring wings of the hawk. Even his fair hair and eyes are hidden away behind that case of steel, seething and begging for blood, Lennart becomes someone else when in full armor. He surrenders enough of himself to The Thrill that he seems a new man. A worse man.

Personality:

Many in the world talk of nobility as something more than just a title, and, unfortunately, it is often just talk. Lennart never saw this to be the case though. He took to his lessons well and learned from his father to be a good man as much as he could while still being great. He is loyal, sometimes to a fault, and kind to all those who he can be. The pressures of being a leader sometimes force him to make hard calls that might end in the suffering of a few for the betterment of all. He does his best to make the decisions that have the greatest good but he feels the weight of such decisions greatly. Lennart does his best to extol the virtues of his rank and is generally thought of as a good man, if not somewhat harsh to those who have done wrong. He sees that all laws are executed properly and often has little room for interpretation, preferring a well written law to one that must have many exceptions because of its narrow scope. He also has an odd fascination with punishments, most of which are death or torture, carried out personally by him. He claims that it is to make the one who gave the sentence also the one to carry it out, but, the influence of The Thrill is strong even if he can not see it.

Nobility seems to be discarded when he takes to the field. Having participated in three wars since his adulthood, Lennart has always shown no mercy and often cruelty to those who stand against him. When the blade is draw and the banners called Lennart has always preferred to make the fight as unthinkable and brutal as possible. He sees that war is terrible and thus to make it so horrible the other side must relent has been his strategy in all conflicts. This has shown through even in his tournament performances, pairing great skill with arguably unnecessary aggression in order to quickly defeat his foes. Many neglect to invite Lennart to tournaments as he has a reputation for injuring his opponents.

Backstory:

Born as the first son of Graf Valter Derrot, Graf of the greater Decrut county. Lennart spent his early years in what might be expected of a noble child. He had many lessons, many servants, many teachers, chief among them, his father. Valter took great interest in his son growing up to be a man worthy of the titles he was given. Valter had been granted his lands for his service in the civil war that had raged in their kingdom and had proven himself a stalwart and impressive commander for the now king. The lands granted to him were vast and rich, being one of the northernmost trading ports in the kingdom. Lennart took this attention gratefully and loved his father immensely.

As he grew he began to train as a squire. He squired under the man who had taught him whole life and beamed with glory when he father took his training to the next level. Lennart learned all he could from his father about leadership, war, and nobility, excelling in all aspects. He squired for his father through a small rebellion led by a group of outlaws in the county, putting them to the sword with no mercy. It was a lesson. A lesson to all the people. The laws were made to be followed and to ignore them would bring down the wrath of their master. This lesson seemed to sink in well with the people, as the blood of the rebels soaked the ground crimson in the woodlands outside of Decrut City. Lennart learned it well as well, perhaps even hearing the first whispers of The Thrill even at such a young age.

Squire turned to knight and Lennart became a man. He was given the title of Vizegraf by his father and lands to oversee in the county. He did so with zeal. That lasted only a short time before he would be called alongside his father to the call of arms again. Their kingdom had been invaded by death worshiping madmen from the West, and, they answered their aggression with something worse. The armies of Decrut marched with the King's other bannermen and led the vanguard of many battles. The famed horsemanship and zeal of Decrut carried the armies to victory after victory against the insane masters and their slaves. They gave them their suicidal wish at the point of lance and estoc, sending them to their dead god with glee. The war did not end when the armies were repelled though. The King listened and Valter Derrot spoke reason. There would only be one way to stop these crazed cultists from striking again, they needed to be destroyed. Their war of defense turned to one of conquest and within two years the Kingdom had new lands, depopulated lands ripe for colonists.

Lennart played a great role, earning the respect of many men he fought beside on the vanguard. He gained great prestige in this conflict, having been the subject of a bard's song even that said he killed a hundred mad cultists alone, standing on the piling corpses of the enemy as they fell on his blade. In truth, Lennart does not remember that. In fact, he barely remembers the battle at all for The Thrill had seized him. No one speaks of the men he slew, not to him. They do not want to let him know a good third of the men who he had slain were his own.

Two more wars came and went. A rebellion of one of the Princes, a succession crisis when the king died unexpectedly from illness. Lennart had gained a reputation and he was given leadership roles in bth conflicts, seeing them through to the end and victory. In both cases he gained more stories, more songs. These were not all songs of glory for those escaped the town of Grest were few and now that ground his nothing but charred buildings and haunted ground. It had been blessed with the blood of innocents and no one sane would dare return. Glory, fame, and fear were Lennart's. He took them in hand and grew his own reputation and power as his father retreated from the public eye.

Little is known about why Valter disappeared. He had spent two years locked away in his keep, barely even speaking to his wife. Some say he screamed in the night, tormented by what he had done so long ago, some say he feared Lennart. The truth is unknown to anyone but Valter himself. What is known is that the Graf abandoned his county and left no instruction for those he left behind. Most of the responsibilies fell to Lennart as one might expect and he did not shrink from this new duty. He administered the lands for a year, grooming his son to lead as best he could as well. His family had grown well and took root in that bloodsoaked land, yet, Lennart was unsettled. His father had gone. His role model, his champion, dare he say, his god, had left them. He could not shake the feeling something was wrong, he needed answers. Lennart placed capable people in charge of his estates, most of the work being in the hands of his wife Katrin. He knew she had the heart of a good woman and a great leader, she would do well in his absence. He hoped he would not leave his lands long on this personal quest to find his father. Lennart has always been foolhardy.

Trackers, tavern keepers, and farseers were consulted as the knight rode on, searching for his lost father. His search brought him here, to this barren and foul land. His company was the thrum of The Thrill, always happy to keep his mind focused, always happy to remind him of how his father abandoned him and must pay. The Thrill had yet to taste of betrayal and patricide.

Strengths/Weaknesses:

Strengths:

Resolve: Lennart does not succumb to fear or adversity easily. His mind is like the steel he wields and he was taught his whole life that the foundation of a great man starts with the mind. He faces challenges willingly and never falters when he or his allies are in need. He will push himself to the limit and beyond his abilities if his mind is set, and, good long convincing him otherwise.

Knightly Training: There are warriors and soldiers, then, there are knights. Clad from head to foot in a work of art that makes a man nearly invincible to conventional arms and paired with decades of training and experience, Lennart is a force made manifest. Few aside form the knightly aristocracy can boast to have as much training or as expert instruction as Lennart. Tutored by master armsmen and experienced on the battlefield, few can match him a contest of arms who have not been similarly trained and groomed.

Nobility: An often overlooked advantage for many adventurers. The truth is, Lennart is nobility. He is afforded greater respect and privileges than the average traveler. Even if that is not the case because where he travels may not recognize his class, he still has access to vast amounts of money and credit that can be used for many things. While Lennart may not be an exceptionally high ranking noble he is still afforded many rights that would seem a dream to the common folk. This also makes him good around the aristocracy of many places, being well versed in 'grace' as well as procedure.

Weaknesses:

Overconfidence: All that training, grooming, money, and experience makes a man think himself close to the gods. Oh how foolish men can be.

Nobility: It is difficult to hide who you are when you wear the heraldry of your house proudly and act as though you are someone of import, even if you actually are. This can easily make someone a target and can often be disconcerting to those who have never interacted with someone of the noble class. This is made worse by the general disposition of those below your station being seen as tools or servants. One would think Lennart would have learned that titles mean nothing in the heat of battle.

Overt: Lennart has always spent his life in fair contests of arms, wits, and words. He is not well versed in proper skulduggery. He has no ability to sneak about, he is a poor liar, and often seeks a direct solution to problems that could be easily solved with a little more finesse.

Aspirational Powers/Abilities:

-Master at Arms: Lennart has trained with numerous weapons in many ways with teachers from all over the world. He puts this information and experience to work by quickly assessing the form and techniques of his opponents finding their mistakes and exploiting them.

-Death Before Defeat: The mind can weather strikes the body can not. Lennart fights on when his body screams for him to stop, supported by his mind and will rather than his body entirely. He fights when he should be struck down, until his will fails him or he is slain outright.

-The Hard Lesson: Letting The Thrill have its desire and giving in to the desire to make a foe into a lesson. Lennart slays a foe in such a gruesome display it gives pause even to creatures that perhaps might not normally feel fear, The Thrill leaking out into the world around him and touching the minds of his foes and allies alike, sowing terror.

-Vizegraf of Annihilation: The Thrill empowers Lennart's weapons to greater effect. The blades seem to tear at the flesh they strike, his fists crush bones, his lance tears down even those protected. A blow from Lennart empowered by The Trill is tore more than they should be, wounds bleed excessively, and armor seems to bend before even the sword blade.

-Seeing Red: The heart of battle, The Thrill given freedom. This is a hyper focused and yet indiscriminate battle trance that emphasizes the brutality and efficiency of each kill or wound. Best that allies keep their distance.

-Succor From Destruction: The Thrill grows powerful and dangerous when fed, pushing the power forward into the body of its host. With each kill The Thrill impart some of that power to Lennart making him faster, stronger, healing wounds.

(I can probably think of more but that gives you a good place to start and get the idea for where I wanna go here. :D)

Redacted (2/5)

@Tybalt Capulet Exactly! Who knows what exactly he has stuffed in his head and what might it want?! OoooOOOOhhhhh Nooooooo!

I also am excited to get a good banter and dynamic of our characters. The illiterate bard who can't fight and the well educated knight who fights probably more than he ever should. Gonna be awesome.