Rohiron Noramaeth Gallard
Appearance
Tall and broad of shoulder and chest, Rohiron bears a ruggedness apart from the grace often seen in elves. Where those of the wood or the high cities may be likened to noble hawks, Rohiron is unmistakably the tiger and the wolf. His sinew is supple with steely beneath fair skin, his face a mask carved of stony planes and angles beneath a modestly groomed beard. Golden eyes of a feline suggestion smolder like coals beneath a sharp and sullen brow. As one might expect, Rohiron's ears bear a gradual taper to a point. Too small to be an elf at a glance, but also unable to pass as man-folk. His right ear bears a notable notch near the point. Sculpted by strife and crucible, Rohiron bears his share of scars, but also a pale silver brand beneath his neck.
Rohiron carries himself as neither elf nor man, being too wild for one and too ethereal for the other. His time attending his patron has instilled in Rohiron a posture of predatory poise and propriety. He was taught to honorably represent his mistress, even in his stride.
In and out of battle-dress, Rohiron garbs himself in the colors of winter, bearing an uncommon coat-of-arms upon his breast and shield. A stag's head with horns wreathing the eight-pointed north star. His armor is a polished breastplate of blackened steel with silvered thorn (or antler) accents, a theme carried through matching pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves.
Rohiron carries himself as neither elf nor man, being too wild for one and too ethereal for the other. His time attending his patron has instilled in Rohiron a posture of predatory poise and propriety. He was taught to honorably represent his mistress, even in his stride.
In and out of battle-dress, Rohiron garbs himself in the colors of winter, bearing an uncommon coat-of-arms upon his breast and shield. A stag's head with horns wreathing the eight-pointed north star. His armor is a polished breastplate of blackened steel with silvered thorn (or antler) accents, a theme carried through matching pauldrons, gauntlets, and greaves.
Skills and Abilities
Trained extensively to perform as a champion for his patron, Rohiron possessed a firm and fearsome familiarity with martial skills. A capable slayer with most weapons - though he never could master the bow - Rohiron is an artist with lance and sword. Since he was taken in by his mistress as a boy, he'd been groomed as a Winter Knight, physically bolstered by the eldritch favor of his Lady, becoming a living conduit of her will.
Through Pact and Oath sworn to his Lady Winter, she has opened his mind to Fae-magicks, if only just. He has to earn every scrap of power and knowledge through service to his Lady and her Court
Sidhe-Sight: Rohiron's eyes are not those he was born with, but those given by Lady Winter. His eyes are as hers in appearance and in sight. Keener than his natural eyes, they not only see further, but are able to tangibly see the arcane aura of another with an effort of will.
While this can permit him to 'see' through certain illusions, dense concentrations of magical aura can be disorienting, even blinding. His eyes are also inherently unnatural, marking him as surely as the brand on his neck.
Might of the Mantle: The strange brand upon his neck has stimulated Rohiron's physical self through nearly two decades, bolstering him with enhanced speed and strength. This Mantle, however, is also his tie to Fae-Magicks.
If the brand is broken or removed through potent enough arcane means, Rohiron loses all his Gifts.
Gifts of Air and Darkness: The Gifts of his Lady Winter are few, but generous, with the promise of more. But the magicks of the Fae are not for the constitution of the otherwise mundane. The more Rohiron uses his Gifts in strenuous succession, the more the brand will blacken and burn, as if frostbitten. If not careful, the damage will become permanent.
-Storm-Lance: Channeling Air through his brand, Rohiron manifests a crackling arc of lightning that can be thrust at a foe. This Gift can prove difficult to control, the lightning acting naturally in the direction it is cast.
-Helfrost: A Gift of Darkness, Rohiron bathes his weapon in arcane helfrost, capable of brittling metal and freezing flesh. Unless used with a magically forged blade, Helfrost runs a significant risk of damaging or destroying the weapon it is cast on.
-Northwind: An invocation of Air and Darkness in tandem, Rohiron brings to bear the bitter, pitiless cold of a blizzard concentrated in a small area. Ice, sleet, and savage winds all condensed into a cone to freeze the ground and strip flesh from bone.
Calling upon the powers of Air and Darkness, and being the most potent of his Gifts, it literally freezes Rohiron in place while making his invocation. If channeled overlong, he can freeze himself solid.
Through Pact and Oath sworn to his Lady Winter, she has opened his mind to Fae-magicks, if only just. He has to earn every scrap of power and knowledge through service to his Lady and her Court
Sidhe-Sight: Rohiron's eyes are not those he was born with, but those given by Lady Winter. His eyes are as hers in appearance and in sight. Keener than his natural eyes, they not only see further, but are able to tangibly see the arcane aura of another with an effort of will.
While this can permit him to 'see' through certain illusions, dense concentrations of magical aura can be disorienting, even blinding. His eyes are also inherently unnatural, marking him as surely as the brand on his neck.
Might of the Mantle: The strange brand upon his neck has stimulated Rohiron's physical self through nearly two decades, bolstering him with enhanced speed and strength. This Mantle, however, is also his tie to Fae-Magicks.
If the brand is broken or removed through potent enough arcane means, Rohiron loses all his Gifts.
Gifts of Air and Darkness: The Gifts of his Lady Winter are few, but generous, with the promise of more. But the magicks of the Fae are not for the constitution of the otherwise mundane. The more Rohiron uses his Gifts in strenuous succession, the more the brand will blacken and burn, as if frostbitten. If not careful, the damage will become permanent.
-Storm-Lance: Channeling Air through his brand, Rohiron manifests a crackling arc of lightning that can be thrust at a foe. This Gift can prove difficult to control, the lightning acting naturally in the direction it is cast.
-Helfrost: A Gift of Darkness, Rohiron bathes his weapon in arcane helfrost, capable of brittling metal and freezing flesh. Unless used with a magically forged blade, Helfrost runs a significant risk of damaging or destroying the weapon it is cast on.
-Northwind: An invocation of Air and Darkness in tandem, Rohiron brings to bear the bitter, pitiless cold of a blizzard concentrated in a small area. Ice, sleet, and savage winds all condensed into a cone to freeze the ground and strip flesh from bone.
Calling upon the powers of Air and Darkness, and being the most potent of his Gifts, it literally freezes Rohiron in place while making his invocation. If channeled overlong, he can freeze himself solid.
Personality
At a moment of acquaintance, the onlooker will surmise that Rohiron is nothing like his elven kin. He carries a severity both unbecoming and unexpected, and has since he was a boy. There always appears to be a sort of pensive vexation in the angle of his brows, his poise like that of a panther ready to pounce at all times. While not improper or impolite, Rohiron seems perpetually impatient with those who wax eloquent or speak in circles. This initial impression of cold, aloof abrasiveness is entirely intentional. When one keeps court with the Unseelie, they cannot let their posture or expression betray them.
Rohiron is well-spoken, yet has a tendency for eloquently foul language that is Lady found charming enough to leave intact. His wit is wry, sardonic, wolfish, and roguishly charming on his best days. Capable of speaking in the veiled threats and half-truths of the Fae and politicking like he was born to courtier life.
His vice, however, is wrath. Rohiron is an outsider thrice over, and bitterly resents those whom have scorned him as such. For years, he's carried the intent of patricide in his brain, fed by an innate killer-instinct and the dissonant whispers of the patron. Rohiron human side brings forth great passion that he is constantly suppressing, but can bubble over into an wholly inhuman hatred.
Rohiron is well-spoken, yet has a tendency for eloquently foul language that is Lady found charming enough to leave intact. His wit is wry, sardonic, wolfish, and roguishly charming on his best days. Capable of speaking in the veiled threats and half-truths of the Fae and politicking like he was born to courtier life.
His vice, however, is wrath. Rohiron is an outsider thrice over, and bitterly resents those whom have scorned him as such. For years, he's carried the intent of patricide in his brain, fed by an innate killer-instinct and the dissonant whispers of the patron. Rohiron human side brings forth great passion that he is constantly suppressing, but can bubble over into an wholly inhuman hatred.
Biography & Lore
A tale as old as time.
A young noblewoman from an affluent House is smitten by the ethereal beauty of an elf lord, romanced in secret with harpers songs and gifts of gold. Yet when her belly swelled, the elf lord returned to his forest domain. Credit to Leanna Gallard, who still bore her child and raised him, who still loved the elf lord from afar.
"One day your father will take you to his oaken castle and swathe you in the finest silks, Little Prince," she would coo to her child in a voice like silk, even when her House forsook her. Even when the elf lord never came for her Little Prince. So Rohiron grew with those sugar-sweet tales of promise, that he belonged to something grand and beautiful. Even as they lived in the dregs, his mother re-married to a drunkard, Leanna would come to Rohiron's room and weave dreams from the stars, even as the joy drained from her face with each year. Her hair falling to cover bruises.
"Chin up, Little Prince. One day, you'll be crowned in silver stars," Leanna would say, increasingly weary as belt and buckle welted the young boy's back. Despite her best efforts, Rohiron's step-father did not raise him so much as temper him.
"A child is like iron," he would say. "You need to beat them into shape." Rohiron would go be bed battered, bloody, and hungry, only a cold and whispering wind to lull him to sleep. Rohhiron cannot recall when he stopped dreaming as a child, hearing only the wandering wind.
"You mustn't despair, Little Prince. This too shall pass," Leanna croaked when Rohiron tried to dock his ears with a knife. Numbness gave way to a bubbling disdain. The elf lord would not come, and his step-father would not change. The drinking got worse, the abuse more severe. Leanna's weeping reached Rohiron one night as if carried by the solemn winds that whispered in his ear.
"Run and find your place, Little Prince," Leanna pleaded to a bloody-handed Rohiron fled his home, clutching the knife that opened his step-father's neck. Merely a boy, not yet old enough to grow a beard, he followed caravan trains to Fal'Addas. He would find his mother's elf lord, his sire, and take his rightful place, like she said.
The folly of a child.
When he was at his lowest, cast out of Fal'Addas by the elf lord as a vile embarrassment, a raven-haired woman in grey silk came to him. Her voice was familiar to him, but never had he seen her like before. Cool hands caressed his weary head, cupped his tear-stained cheeks.
"A mother who loved you, but could not keep you. A father who will never claim you. When you were bloodied and hungry, I brought you peace. I can do so again, and so much more. Every wish and prayer the gods ignored, I can answer," said she in a voice of autumn breeze through the trees. Taking her alabaster hand, Rohiron followed the Lady Winter through fen and field to her domain. There she promised fulfillment, belonging, purpose. Rohiron was only too eager to accept.
Cleaned and fed, Rohiron was dressed in finest silks and crowned in silver stars, fostered to the finest he'd ever been when the Lady Winter promised more... more than Rohiron could ever dream, if only he swore himself to her. She'd shown him only kindness and mercy, left wanting for nothing for the first time in his life. So did he swear, and so was Rohiron branded with the North Star.
Only then did his training begin in earnest; tutored in the languages of Fae, Elf, and Man. Schooled in the martial ways and the arts of court. He was promised greatness, power like he'd never dreamed, and he saw it come true. Lady Winter did not lie. She had no reason to. She had herself a Knight who would not burn at iron's touch nor silver's bite.
When Rohiron asked what he was being trained to fight, the Lady Winter peeled back the veil. There exist in the world forces unnatural and infernal. Spawns of ancient evils; mad gods and their servitors, the abominations they wrought which spread as anathema to the natural order. The seasons turn, beholden to the Courts, and such is the vigil entrusted to Rohiron and other like him: Witch-Knights sworn to their Courts' agendas, but most importantly their preservation, and the destruction of the despoiling forces.
"You serve the Unseelie, Little Prince, but never forget that you belong to me."
A young noblewoman from an affluent House is smitten by the ethereal beauty of an elf lord, romanced in secret with harpers songs and gifts of gold. Yet when her belly swelled, the elf lord returned to his forest domain. Credit to Leanna Gallard, who still bore her child and raised him, who still loved the elf lord from afar.
"One day your father will take you to his oaken castle and swathe you in the finest silks, Little Prince," she would coo to her child in a voice like silk, even when her House forsook her. Even when the elf lord never came for her Little Prince. So Rohiron grew with those sugar-sweet tales of promise, that he belonged to something grand and beautiful. Even as they lived in the dregs, his mother re-married to a drunkard, Leanna would come to Rohiron's room and weave dreams from the stars, even as the joy drained from her face with each year. Her hair falling to cover bruises.
"Chin up, Little Prince. One day, you'll be crowned in silver stars," Leanna would say, increasingly weary as belt and buckle welted the young boy's back. Despite her best efforts, Rohiron's step-father did not raise him so much as temper him.
"A child is like iron," he would say. "You need to beat them into shape." Rohiron would go be bed battered, bloody, and hungry, only a cold and whispering wind to lull him to sleep. Rohhiron cannot recall when he stopped dreaming as a child, hearing only the wandering wind.
"You mustn't despair, Little Prince. This too shall pass," Leanna croaked when Rohiron tried to dock his ears with a knife. Numbness gave way to a bubbling disdain. The elf lord would not come, and his step-father would not change. The drinking got worse, the abuse more severe. Leanna's weeping reached Rohiron one night as if carried by the solemn winds that whispered in his ear.
"Run and find your place, Little Prince," Leanna pleaded to a bloody-handed Rohiron fled his home, clutching the knife that opened his step-father's neck. Merely a boy, not yet old enough to grow a beard, he followed caravan trains to Fal'Addas. He would find his mother's elf lord, his sire, and take his rightful place, like she said.
The folly of a child.
When he was at his lowest, cast out of Fal'Addas by the elf lord as a vile embarrassment, a raven-haired woman in grey silk came to him. Her voice was familiar to him, but never had he seen her like before. Cool hands caressed his weary head, cupped his tear-stained cheeks.
"A mother who loved you, but could not keep you. A father who will never claim you. When you were bloodied and hungry, I brought you peace. I can do so again, and so much more. Every wish and prayer the gods ignored, I can answer," said she in a voice of autumn breeze through the trees. Taking her alabaster hand, Rohiron followed the Lady Winter through fen and field to her domain. There she promised fulfillment, belonging, purpose. Rohiron was only too eager to accept.
Cleaned and fed, Rohiron was dressed in finest silks and crowned in silver stars, fostered to the finest he'd ever been when the Lady Winter promised more... more than Rohiron could ever dream, if only he swore himself to her. She'd shown him only kindness and mercy, left wanting for nothing for the first time in his life. So did he swear, and so was Rohiron branded with the North Star.
Only then did his training begin in earnest; tutored in the languages of Fae, Elf, and Man. Schooled in the martial ways and the arts of court. He was promised greatness, power like he'd never dreamed, and he saw it come true. Lady Winter did not lie. She had no reason to. She had herself a Knight who would not burn at iron's touch nor silver's bite.
When Rohiron asked what he was being trained to fight, the Lady Winter peeled back the veil. There exist in the world forces unnatural and infernal. Spawns of ancient evils; mad gods and their servitors, the abominations they wrought which spread as anathema to the natural order. The seasons turn, beholden to the Courts, and such is the vigil entrusted to Rohiron and other like him: Witch-Knights sworn to their Courts' agendas, but most importantly their preservation, and the destruction of the despoiling forces.
"You serve the Unseelie, Little Prince, but never forget that you belong to me."