Sir Allen J. Mirantha de Ronce
"Your words will mean little to those who truly wish to harm you. When they won't listen; let your actions deafen them."
- Margot Mirantha
- Margot Mirantha
Appearance
A thinner knight with a slim frame, Allen's most attractive qualities are his quiet gracefulness and calculated movements. His wide jaw narrows into a pointed chin and a gentle scruff has become a staple of his look in recent years. His eyes are a soft, forest green and are often impassioned with thought and analysis. A flop of charcoal hair sits atop his head; it's shaved on the sides to a gentle fuzz and a quiff that folds over at the peak. Given his parentage, he's really rather quite handsome - though he refuses to accept or acknowledge that fact. He's no where nearly as muscled or built out as other Knights of the Order, but he's no slouch either. He is toned to a fine point despite it always being covered by his dark teal leathers and draped hood.Skills and Abilities
- A proficient duelist, highly efficient with the single blade; namely his irreplaceable rapier Silvertide.
- Expert in illusion and divination magics and exceptional at deciphering texts and scripts of old.
- Linguistics and translations. Created his own sign language system.
Personality
Allen is mute by vow of silence. This makes connection difficult, and thus gives him an air of chilly loneliness. He keeps to his books and his scripture but is occasionally capable of an honest-to-goodness joke. Rare as this may be, Mirantha de Ronce's general attitude is positive if not a little intense. He often does not act until he has every variable and every morsel of information. Things are dire if he breaks this pact with himself. To be unsure is to be dead. Facts and outcomes are all that matter.Biography & Lore
= The Story So Far =
- Seafoam Beginnings -
In the spray of Ra Gnamh a roguish pirate baroness carried, in her belly, the future soul of the sea. A daring adventurer of the high seas, Margot Mirantha made a name for herself as one of the most efficient pirate lords to ever sail the northern reaches. Braving the coldest of fronts, nailing down the deadliest of prey, and hauling in the treasures most dare not dream of collecting - this was the way of the great Margot 'Silvertide' Mirantha. She had known only this life from the days of her youth. She played with daggers and dolls alike, taking a shining to all things shiny upon discovering the thrill of cutting purses. Morals, ethics; these were things under-considered in the pirate bay of Teth. Margot knew this better than most and twisted the absence of law in her favor.
-
Her exploits did not go unnoticed, however, and along her journeys she did incur the vexing pursuit of a naval authority known as the Kayfleet. A vigilante band of aged warriors and time worn heroes, the Kayfleet acted as an unofficial policing agent that sailed the oceans to hunt pirates. In a fated skirmish between Margot's flagship, The Ruckspin, and a Kayfleet brigantine, the pirate baroness faced off against Lillard de Ronce. Their paths would forever intertwine from this moment on.
-
De Ronce had been, in a life long foreign to him, an aspirant venturer on the heels of glory and riches. Finding minimal success in his youth as a sellsword, he turned to the trade of his father and his father's father before him. Commerce. De Ronce returned to his home on the outskirts of Oban. This was a place where the children could play in the fields and folk could keep their doors unlatched at night. Growing into his years, he planted roots and became prolific among the trade caravans traveling to and from Dornoch to the north. The years trudged on and Lillard felt the call in his bones once more to see the world and stake his claim as an errant defender. Spurred by his father's passing, he entrusted his business to his associates and set forth to join the Kayfleet.
-
The sky was torn apart by crackling lightning which cast quick and long shadows across the decks of their warring vessels. Rain drenched the sailors into exhausted and waterlogged mules, working themselves ragged to twists about in the maelstrom. Battle cries exploded as the ships danced in a deadly waltz along the turbulent waves; waves so high you'd mistake them for mountains. The storm had been brewing for nearly a fortnight and it slowly crept along the horizon as Margot and her crew chartered themselves. Their destination was the presumed resting place of an ancient pirate galleon, whose names of both vessel and crew were lost to time. What was of more importance to baroness Mirantha was the loss of what lied within their hold. A bounteous sum of jewels, coin and relics.
Lillard, aboard the fated brigantine, had been acting as navigator on what was intended to be a routine patrol of farther waters. A call floated down from the crow's nest, the voice of a meek teenager who'd been hired for his sharp eye and rapturous hate of thieves. Upon the far horizon, wreathed in a bank of encroaching haze, was a ship flying the flag of the notorious Ruckspin Gang. Battle was upon them.
-
Her head spun like a carousel, eyes straining to pull open as sand stung into them. Every muscle ached and cried as she pushed herself to her knees. The beach was long and littered with wooden debris; some familiar and some not. A decent thicket of tall palm trees sat over a grassy knoll, a decadent feast of natural fruits lazily about. She surely washed ashore in the aftermath of the battle. The storm still thundered with fervor in the distance but had moved many miles away, back towards the east where it came. Margot took her time getting to her feet and taking inventory of herself before pulling herself up the bank and into the knoll - and into the knoll she did find a treasure.
With his saber already primed and peeking through the tall brush, Lillard's aim would have surely been the end of the lady had it not been for the unkind elements. His fatigue was paramount to his anxiety as he, too, had just pulled himself from the churning of the tides. They held a long, tense moment. Their lips cracked from dehydration and their fingers jittered anxiously. They held a long, tense moment before succumbing to their hunger. Taking opposing sides of the thicket, they eyed each other with immense disdain as they gorged on the fruity feast around them. After taking their fill, they spoke with replenished voices. They shared their tales and learned of their differences. It was in these differences that they discovered their similarities.
-
He had been a learner of stars and map, she had been a dreamer and poet. They both loved the smell of crackling campfires and the taste of white wine. They felt a kinship with the seas and her terrifying depths. Their hate quickly turned to cooperated, turned to infatuation, turned to romance. For a week did they spend regaling one another with their histories and passions while counting the stars, drawing their own hidden constellations; all with bellies full of the richest sweets they'd ever had. It was near the end of this time that they caught the visage of a passing ship. They departed the island together under the guise of wayward fishermen and found safe harbor in Dornoch.
From there, a taboo correspondence of love formed. She returned to her unlawful ways and he to his negotiations. Years of secret letters and rare rendezvous turned into a deep connection broken only by the difference of their worlds. Before long she was with child. Enter our valiant inquisitor, Allen Mirantha. Allen was raised in the safety of his father's care, learning the trade of trade and becoming a studious scamp. Margot would visit often and stay for long stretches of time but her attachment to the sea could never be truly severed. This worked for much of Allen's upbringing. It worked until the strange happenings became more and more typical around Allen - around Allen's emotions an around Allen's intents.
Magic had begun to come to young Mirantha-de Ronce; and so did come the question of how to control him. Lillard and Margot knew that they were ill-equipped to oversee and properly raise a boy with magic aptitude and worked to find a better environment for him. An unseen hand, at this very moment, had lead their son's very savior to them - the Knights of Anathaeum.
- Pursuit of the Loch -
It took no time at all for Allen to become comfortable in the presence of his now-superiors. Quickly moving from Prospect to Squire, he become paired with an enigmatic Pursuant by the name of Opahl. The Considerable, as he had been called, was warm to Allen and took a shine to the boy in their early days together. He made it his duty to keep the boy in good standing with his inquisitive nature and curiosity. Allen had just come into his early teens when he and Opahl set out on a daring quest to slay a monstrous creature in a far off land. The trek was dangerous and hard, but no harder or dangerous than the battle that belied them at the end of it.
-
Facing off against a horde of megafauna taking the shapes of various insectoids, the pair clashed in mortal combat for what felt like days. They cleaved through the swath of overgrown beetles and roaches to come face to face with the dreaded Kahg'moraw. This vile creature had the body of a centipede, the head of an ant, and the fangs of a huntsman spider; all while standing two and a half stories and weighing several tons. Opahl entrusted Allen and the two worked tirelessly to fell the horrible beast. Kahg'moraw did not go so easily, grievously severing Opahl's arm and shattering his legendary great sword. In what would've Opahl's final moments, Allen took hold of the sundered blade and pierced Kahg'moraw's fleshy underbelly. Quiet fell. The monster held in place for no more than two heartbeats before collapsing to the ground in a booming low. Opahl was rushed to a nearby sanctum and kept in the living realm.
-
Time passed yet and Allen came into his own as an indispensable ally. Not only to mentor Opahl, but the Anathaeum at large. His mounting grasp of the arcane had caught the eye of the knights stationed at the Astenvale Monastery, who needed growing numbers of magic users to bolster their ranks. He had, during this time of recognition, realized an unspoken understanding between himself an Opahl. As indomitable as their bond had become - it had a shelf life. An end that was nearing.
With a banterful fanfare and a bittersweet round of celebrations, the two parted ways. Opahl returned to the Eldyr tree and his duties as he prepared to be welcomed into the upper ranks of the Knighthood. Allen made his way to Astenvale alongside a clutch of young magicians and found he felt more at home here than any place before; second, perhaps, only to his childhood home on the edge of Oban. His studies were much harder now and his physical training took a backburner seat to his advancement of magic and investigative skills. In this time of quiet pivoting a happening would shake this young student forever. Destiny was not yet done with Allen Mirantha de Ronce.
-
Approached on a winter's evening was Allen as he toiled in the Monastery courtyards. He had been up late burning the midnight oil. He needed to perfect his footwork, he knew he'd fallen behind in his swordsmanship and figured that it was worth losing sleep to get himself back on track. Silent - non-existent - were the footsteps in the stout snow that neared. A man clad in strange, black leathers and gray robes made his way through the courtyard. Closer to Allen did he draw with hands clasped behind his back. Allen, aware of his presence, spoke first. The man spoke in whispers and cryptic meanderings, but spoke nonetheless. They shared a brief rapport in which he learned the stranger's name and intent.
A nomad scholar calling himself Nuevor. That was his identity. From the far lands of Amol-Kalit had he traveled in search of the brave Knight of Anatheum - Opahl the Considerable. Nuevor spoke tales of lashing tails and gnashing jaws that slinked about in the sand dunes of his homeland. He implored young Marintha of the Considerable's location so that he may bequeath the glory of felling these beasts in the name of protection. Protection for his people. Allen was hesitant, yes, but not more than he was sure that Opahl could hanle this matter. It wasn't much further that this wandering stranger would need to walk to find his mentor, after all.
With a soft instruction and fast farewell, Nuevor was gone. A stranger here and gone like the flicker of candlelight - this was all he thought of the encounter.
-
The words still haunt him. Those words that fell from the messenger's mouth like an anchor on dry land. Opahl had been killed in his sleep and the murderer had slipped into the night as a snake slips through grass. No one could identify him, but Allen knew. Nuevor. On wings of malice and rage did Allen travel to the vigil held in Opahl's honor in the shadow of the Eldyr's roots. As he looked down at his friend's body, silken wrappings draped over to hide his slit throat, he bit his tongue in vile remembrance. His blood boiled and his mind churned. He did this. A hero - his hero - is dead because of his actions. His words.
In that moment, the younger knight swore to never again let his words endanger another. He would let his tongue shrivel and bleed and fall out from underuse. He mourned in the company of his superior's superiors and shared in the depth of grief. None could know that his pain struck deeper than all.
He returned after some time to his studies, rejecting the offer of leave from his teachers and burying himself in study. Time - as it defies all others - marched. Allen normalized his vow and began working out a system of gestures and facial intonations to convey concepts and unspoken verbiage. He taught this system only to his closest allies, peers, teachers, and friends. A chill now followed him and many fell silent, too, in his presence. Months passed and a parcel arrived at the Monastery. Within it was a gift addressed to Mirantha, the sender a member of the Knighthood who had attended the funeral. A beautiful rapier forged from the restored salvage of Opahl's own blade had been specially crafted in Allen's name. Feeling homesick in this, his darkest hour, he named the blade after an anecdotal story his father once told him about his mom - Silvertide.
- Love Like the Tides -
Romance was something Allen knew little of. His talents lie with research and puzzle solving and calculations. This didn't stop the intrepid mute from falling madly in love with a local poet whose musings were, to him, the work of masters. Living in the settlement of Astenvale where the Monastery was erected was a young lady with chocolate hair and golden eyes. Ariel Hymway. Allen never fancied himself the kind to settle down, marry, or even bed a partner at all. His life had so thoroughly been devoted to his training that to be enraptured by the likes of an author girl was unimaginable. Yet, his heart was magnetized to her from their first encounter. He had been in town looking to acquire some new reading from a passing procession of mercantiles when she caught his eye. No damsel in distress, no accidental grazing of hands reaching for the same book; she was simply there. Engaged in a lively debate with one of the merchants, a rotund dwarf of questionable hygiene, her voice poured into his ears as water fills a sponge. Her vocabulary was broad and her demeanor miniscule; as if she were afraid to take up more room than she had the right to.
Their eyes met as she watched her and they shared in an awkward, young dance of emotion. How the hell did people do this? Slaying monsters, conjuring magic, bearing the weight of fallen friends - all of this was within Allen's capacity. Telling a girl you like her was entirely out of the question. Luckily for him, Ariel had the wherewithal to approach him first. This was a trait he would come to admire most in her.
-
Ariel stood beside Allen as he completed his trials and became sworn into the Knighthood proper. His curious ways had made him easy pickings for the Sanctum of Dusk and the Pursuit of the Loch, the former having been lobbied by Allen since first learning of the Order's hierarchy. Together they formed an unbreakable connection that spanned even the greatest distances Allen was conscripted to travel. To this day they work as a harmonious pair; Ariel the soft but sure writer and Allen the silent protector. Where her words were honeyed and pure, his were hidden behind solemn eyes and trapped in his turmoiled mind.
She is his other half - and the only thing he'll die for.
- Seafoam Beginnings -
In the spray of Ra Gnamh a roguish pirate baroness carried, in her belly, the future soul of the sea. A daring adventurer of the high seas, Margot Mirantha made a name for herself as one of the most efficient pirate lords to ever sail the northern reaches. Braving the coldest of fronts, nailing down the deadliest of prey, and hauling in the treasures most dare not dream of collecting - this was the way of the great Margot 'Silvertide' Mirantha. She had known only this life from the days of her youth. She played with daggers and dolls alike, taking a shining to all things shiny upon discovering the thrill of cutting purses. Morals, ethics; these were things under-considered in the pirate bay of Teth. Margot knew this better than most and twisted the absence of law in her favor.
-
Her exploits did not go unnoticed, however, and along her journeys she did incur the vexing pursuit of a naval authority known as the Kayfleet. A vigilante band of aged warriors and time worn heroes, the Kayfleet acted as an unofficial policing agent that sailed the oceans to hunt pirates. In a fated skirmish between Margot's flagship, The Ruckspin, and a Kayfleet brigantine, the pirate baroness faced off against Lillard de Ronce. Their paths would forever intertwine from this moment on.
-
De Ronce had been, in a life long foreign to him, an aspirant venturer on the heels of glory and riches. Finding minimal success in his youth as a sellsword, he turned to the trade of his father and his father's father before him. Commerce. De Ronce returned to his home on the outskirts of Oban. This was a place where the children could play in the fields and folk could keep their doors unlatched at night. Growing into his years, he planted roots and became prolific among the trade caravans traveling to and from Dornoch to the north. The years trudged on and Lillard felt the call in his bones once more to see the world and stake his claim as an errant defender. Spurred by his father's passing, he entrusted his business to his associates and set forth to join the Kayfleet.
-
The sky was torn apart by crackling lightning which cast quick and long shadows across the decks of their warring vessels. Rain drenched the sailors into exhausted and waterlogged mules, working themselves ragged to twists about in the maelstrom. Battle cries exploded as the ships danced in a deadly waltz along the turbulent waves; waves so high you'd mistake them for mountains. The storm had been brewing for nearly a fortnight and it slowly crept along the horizon as Margot and her crew chartered themselves. Their destination was the presumed resting place of an ancient pirate galleon, whose names of both vessel and crew were lost to time. What was of more importance to baroness Mirantha was the loss of what lied within their hold. A bounteous sum of jewels, coin and relics.
Lillard, aboard the fated brigantine, had been acting as navigator on what was intended to be a routine patrol of farther waters. A call floated down from the crow's nest, the voice of a meek teenager who'd been hired for his sharp eye and rapturous hate of thieves. Upon the far horizon, wreathed in a bank of encroaching haze, was a ship flying the flag of the notorious Ruckspin Gang. Battle was upon them.
-
Her head spun like a carousel, eyes straining to pull open as sand stung into them. Every muscle ached and cried as she pushed herself to her knees. The beach was long and littered with wooden debris; some familiar and some not. A decent thicket of tall palm trees sat over a grassy knoll, a decadent feast of natural fruits lazily about. She surely washed ashore in the aftermath of the battle. The storm still thundered with fervor in the distance but had moved many miles away, back towards the east where it came. Margot took her time getting to her feet and taking inventory of herself before pulling herself up the bank and into the knoll - and into the knoll she did find a treasure.
With his saber already primed and peeking through the tall brush, Lillard's aim would have surely been the end of the lady had it not been for the unkind elements. His fatigue was paramount to his anxiety as he, too, had just pulled himself from the churning of the tides. They held a long, tense moment. Their lips cracked from dehydration and their fingers jittered anxiously. They held a long, tense moment before succumbing to their hunger. Taking opposing sides of the thicket, they eyed each other with immense disdain as they gorged on the fruity feast around them. After taking their fill, they spoke with replenished voices. They shared their tales and learned of their differences. It was in these differences that they discovered their similarities.
-
He had been a learner of stars and map, she had been a dreamer and poet. They both loved the smell of crackling campfires and the taste of white wine. They felt a kinship with the seas and her terrifying depths. Their hate quickly turned to cooperated, turned to infatuation, turned to romance. For a week did they spend regaling one another with their histories and passions while counting the stars, drawing their own hidden constellations; all with bellies full of the richest sweets they'd ever had. It was near the end of this time that they caught the visage of a passing ship. They departed the island together under the guise of wayward fishermen and found safe harbor in Dornoch.
From there, a taboo correspondence of love formed. She returned to her unlawful ways and he to his negotiations. Years of secret letters and rare rendezvous turned into a deep connection broken only by the difference of their worlds. Before long she was with child. Enter our valiant inquisitor, Allen Mirantha. Allen was raised in the safety of his father's care, learning the trade of trade and becoming a studious scamp. Margot would visit often and stay for long stretches of time but her attachment to the sea could never be truly severed. This worked for much of Allen's upbringing. It worked until the strange happenings became more and more typical around Allen - around Allen's emotions an around Allen's intents.
Magic had begun to come to young Mirantha-de Ronce; and so did come the question of how to control him. Lillard and Margot knew that they were ill-equipped to oversee and properly raise a boy with magic aptitude and worked to find a better environment for him. An unseen hand, at this very moment, had lead their son's very savior to them - the Knights of Anathaeum.
- Pursuit of the Loch -
It took no time at all for Allen to become comfortable in the presence of his now-superiors. Quickly moving from Prospect to Squire, he become paired with an enigmatic Pursuant by the name of Opahl. The Considerable, as he had been called, was warm to Allen and took a shine to the boy in their early days together. He made it his duty to keep the boy in good standing with his inquisitive nature and curiosity. Allen had just come into his early teens when he and Opahl set out on a daring quest to slay a monstrous creature in a far off land. The trek was dangerous and hard, but no harder or dangerous than the battle that belied them at the end of it.
-
Facing off against a horde of megafauna taking the shapes of various insectoids, the pair clashed in mortal combat for what felt like days. They cleaved through the swath of overgrown beetles and roaches to come face to face with the dreaded Kahg'moraw. This vile creature had the body of a centipede, the head of an ant, and the fangs of a huntsman spider; all while standing two and a half stories and weighing several tons. Opahl entrusted Allen and the two worked tirelessly to fell the horrible beast. Kahg'moraw did not go so easily, grievously severing Opahl's arm and shattering his legendary great sword. In what would've Opahl's final moments, Allen took hold of the sundered blade and pierced Kahg'moraw's fleshy underbelly. Quiet fell. The monster held in place for no more than two heartbeats before collapsing to the ground in a booming low. Opahl was rushed to a nearby sanctum and kept in the living realm.
-
Time passed yet and Allen came into his own as an indispensable ally. Not only to mentor Opahl, but the Anathaeum at large. His mounting grasp of the arcane had caught the eye of the knights stationed at the Astenvale Monastery, who needed growing numbers of magic users to bolster their ranks. He had, during this time of recognition, realized an unspoken understanding between himself an Opahl. As indomitable as their bond had become - it had a shelf life. An end that was nearing.
With a banterful fanfare and a bittersweet round of celebrations, the two parted ways. Opahl returned to the Eldyr tree and his duties as he prepared to be welcomed into the upper ranks of the Knighthood. Allen made his way to Astenvale alongside a clutch of young magicians and found he felt more at home here than any place before; second, perhaps, only to his childhood home on the edge of Oban. His studies were much harder now and his physical training took a backburner seat to his advancement of magic and investigative skills. In this time of quiet pivoting a happening would shake this young student forever. Destiny was not yet done with Allen Mirantha de Ronce.
-
Approached on a winter's evening was Allen as he toiled in the Monastery courtyards. He had been up late burning the midnight oil. He needed to perfect his footwork, he knew he'd fallen behind in his swordsmanship and figured that it was worth losing sleep to get himself back on track. Silent - non-existent - were the footsteps in the stout snow that neared. A man clad in strange, black leathers and gray robes made his way through the courtyard. Closer to Allen did he draw with hands clasped behind his back. Allen, aware of his presence, spoke first. The man spoke in whispers and cryptic meanderings, but spoke nonetheless. They shared a brief rapport in which he learned the stranger's name and intent.
A nomad scholar calling himself Nuevor. That was his identity. From the far lands of Amol-Kalit had he traveled in search of the brave Knight of Anatheum - Opahl the Considerable. Nuevor spoke tales of lashing tails and gnashing jaws that slinked about in the sand dunes of his homeland. He implored young Marintha of the Considerable's location so that he may bequeath the glory of felling these beasts in the name of protection. Protection for his people. Allen was hesitant, yes, but not more than he was sure that Opahl could hanle this matter. It wasn't much further that this wandering stranger would need to walk to find his mentor, after all.
With a soft instruction and fast farewell, Nuevor was gone. A stranger here and gone like the flicker of candlelight - this was all he thought of the encounter.
-
The words still haunt him. Those words that fell from the messenger's mouth like an anchor on dry land. Opahl had been killed in his sleep and the murderer had slipped into the night as a snake slips through grass. No one could identify him, but Allen knew. Nuevor. On wings of malice and rage did Allen travel to the vigil held in Opahl's honor in the shadow of the Eldyr's roots. As he looked down at his friend's body, silken wrappings draped over to hide his slit throat, he bit his tongue in vile remembrance. His blood boiled and his mind churned. He did this. A hero - his hero - is dead because of his actions. His words.
In that moment, the younger knight swore to never again let his words endanger another. He would let his tongue shrivel and bleed and fall out from underuse. He mourned in the company of his superior's superiors and shared in the depth of grief. None could know that his pain struck deeper than all.
He returned after some time to his studies, rejecting the offer of leave from his teachers and burying himself in study. Time - as it defies all others - marched. Allen normalized his vow and began working out a system of gestures and facial intonations to convey concepts and unspoken verbiage. He taught this system only to his closest allies, peers, teachers, and friends. A chill now followed him and many fell silent, too, in his presence. Months passed and a parcel arrived at the Monastery. Within it was a gift addressed to Mirantha, the sender a member of the Knighthood who had attended the funeral. A beautiful rapier forged from the restored salvage of Opahl's own blade had been specially crafted in Allen's name. Feeling homesick in this, his darkest hour, he named the blade after an anecdotal story his father once told him about his mom - Silvertide.
- Love Like the Tides -
Romance was something Allen knew little of. His talents lie with research and puzzle solving and calculations. This didn't stop the intrepid mute from falling madly in love with a local poet whose musings were, to him, the work of masters. Living in the settlement of Astenvale where the Monastery was erected was a young lady with chocolate hair and golden eyes. Ariel Hymway. Allen never fancied himself the kind to settle down, marry, or even bed a partner at all. His life had so thoroughly been devoted to his training that to be enraptured by the likes of an author girl was unimaginable. Yet, his heart was magnetized to her from their first encounter. He had been in town looking to acquire some new reading from a passing procession of mercantiles when she caught his eye. No damsel in distress, no accidental grazing of hands reaching for the same book; she was simply there. Engaged in a lively debate with one of the merchants, a rotund dwarf of questionable hygiene, her voice poured into his ears as water fills a sponge. Her vocabulary was broad and her demeanor miniscule; as if she were afraid to take up more room than she had the right to.
Their eyes met as she watched her and they shared in an awkward, young dance of emotion. How the hell did people do this? Slaying monsters, conjuring magic, bearing the weight of fallen friends - all of this was within Allen's capacity. Telling a girl you like her was entirely out of the question. Luckily for him, Ariel had the wherewithal to approach him first. This was a trait he would come to admire most in her.
-
Ariel stood beside Allen as he completed his trials and became sworn into the Knighthood proper. His curious ways had made him easy pickings for the Sanctum of Dusk and the Pursuit of the Loch, the former having been lobbied by Allen since first learning of the Order's hierarchy. Together they formed an unbreakable connection that spanned even the greatest distances Allen was conscripted to travel. To this day they work as a harmonious pair; Ariel the soft but sure writer and Allen the silent protector. Where her words were honeyed and pure, his were hidden behind solemn eyes and trapped in his turmoiled mind.
She is his other half - and the only thing he'll die for.
