Recent content by Syr Dorn

Her name is Innis. "Ah yes, Innis. I've heard good things, can't say I've seen them yet," He would pause to take a sip from his waterskin. "Yet to teach a class she was in." He would clarify, before laughing at the next statement. "She doesn't need to agree, Dej. She's a squire. If she wishes...

Their coursers continued down the busy street, Dorn's focus on his companion as they rode, it seemed as if both Knight and steed had known the way by heart. At Dejans remark about the caskets, Dorn would grunt in affirmation. "Tis always the hope. Isn't always the case, however." His look bore...

Dorn would look to Master Featherwind, his disdain for the other knight clear as day. "Then as a Pursuant of Death who knows how to put the Orders benefit above their own comfort, I would happily submit myself for an investigation. I've nothing to hide from my kin." Investigation, witch-hunt...

Kristen's laughter would pull Dorn's attention, his pace slowing. Upon conclusion of her defense, it was his turn to laugh. "All Anirians, really? So you were protecting Elves two years ago? Generous enough to let them move within the walls of one of their ancient cities? You romanticize a...

Dorn had been clustered with many of the older Knights, those few of his own class and those still older. Syr Arinnhok, a true rarity to see within the Monastery, Talymor the Green, his companion. Hilde, Hrothgar, Varstaak, their most prominent Dwarven Knights. Even Syrs Awarthion and Kal were...

One of the most popular tales of the old battlemaster was that he was so filled with spite, that death herself didn't want him. It was for the most part, true, but to the young who had come long after such an event, it was an impossibility. His gaze swept over to Dejan and he remembered when his...

She placed a hand on Pollocks shoulder and so his face reddened, his gaze shifted to hers. "Oh I don't want to travel and fight. I wish to go the path of the non-combatant, either a scribe like Brother Ashton or Gylbert. Or even a healer like Syr Galvanhad and Master Brambleshell." A shrug. "But...

The road, it was always a nice release from the recent hell that had become the classroom. Well, it wasn't that bad. The squires suffered more than he did. And their suffering lifted his spirits. To be on the road with Dejan? Rare. Priceless. A fellow older warrior to aire the grievances of...

A Noble indeed. It wasnt lost on him that despite his harsh words, she remained quiet. Stilled her tongue. It was noted, perhaps there was a chance she would some day understand the truth behind his words. And so, he exited out into the main street, city watch were heading their way over one...

Kristen Pirian, Initiate of the Dreadlord Academy of Vel Anir. Surely there is some avenue available to be pursued. Great. A Dreadlord, no an initiate. An organization so corrupt, in a region so corrupt, that they took the humanity from children to make them weapons. They were as sickening as...

Does it show so much? Well, 'tis true. I am but a learner, a novice in the crafts of magic and combat, and I've a long way yet to go. "Confidence is a tricky bridge for each of us. Lack it, and you'll die. Bear too much of it, and you'll push yourself to your own doom. So take this small...

Dorn looked around at the commonfolk and felt pity. These Desecrators were his true purpose within Alliria, at least tracking them. They had become active in the east and traveled west.. or had it been the opposite? Brother Ashton didn't even know what they were, only that they had preyed upon...

Black misty sinew seeped frome the shoulder of the Desecrator before spreading along each inch that Requiem carved open. It was ugly work, his ears having gone numb during the dying shrieks of his Desecrator. The lower half would suddenly drop free as he divided it. Instead of the plop, it would...

The axe impacted as the old Battlemaster predicted and as it let out a shriek, he would collide into it, one hand wrestling for its free limb, while his other hand gripped the haft of his axe. It tried to phase to mist, a partial, or perhaps intentional. But the Desecrator would sway and...

Pollocks! His name, someone had cried out his name and it wasn't his grumpy old taskmaster, it was her. His cheeks alit with a crimson, possibly a reflection of the flame as he flourished his flame blade (singeing a shoulder lightly). By Aionus was she skilled?! Creepy chains grappled their...