Arlo Talworth
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- 15
- Character Biography
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Duty binds one to bold actions that one might describe as suicidal.
The vows taken, the oaths spoken, they etched a path deep in fate's path of dangers to face.
Sir Arlo Talworth, Knight of the Order of the Enshrined Blade, had made his requests of the Knights of Anathaeum and found them bountiful in generosity, understanding, tutorship and comraderary. He made good his resolve to apply their methods of magic to his own practice. The domains, five, imparted to him new understanding. Life, to heal, death, to ward, flame, to further ignite his sword, wylds, to temper his wisdom of the earth, loch, to protect the mind and temper the spirit. All studied, conversed, a great number of arcane wit learned by Arlo.
He was gifted with arcane thought amongst his order, but here, amongst those of the Anathaeum, he was not an exception to the pedigree that defended the land. He felt a kinship in purpose with his new found comrades, studying with them, talking with them, comparing schools of thought and matters of honour over many cups. When he thought that he had learned all that might be gained, a new lesson emerged. And now his cup of knowledge seemed to overspill, which only meant one thing in his mind when one reached this point. To deep drink until it was drained completely.
Applying himself within missions, he had proven his mettle to the Anathaeum kin. Now, it was time to apply himself to make good his purpose here. To bolster the defences to which the Enshrined relied. New methods of magic had been inscribed within his mind to defend his self through the power of oath, vow, and mystical understanding of the nature of battle.
Five wands lay poised and pointed at him, set to an device known as an 'auto-trigger' box. A ghostly hand would sieze the wands each in turn and fire them at himself. The wands had been requested and delivered. He had answered honestly as to why he needed them.
Because Arlo assumed that no-one of the Order would want to do what he demanded of himself.
A test. A test that could easily claim his life.
The wands, five, one for each domain. Four with vicious intent. One to heal.
The time was three hours past midnight in the grounds of the Monestary.
Arlo drew his sword and recited the appropriate vows that he had sworn within the Enshrined Blades. Vows that defined him, and providing an emboldening of the soul.
“I act to enrich my vow of Lexicon. May the magic I now understand, thanks to the fellowship of my fellow knights, guide me in this arcane crucible. For the Knights that have fallen for our lapse of protection in arcane matters, do I apply my skill to render future death preventable by my Art.”
The auto-trigger box was activated. A hand would pluck out a random wand to fire first. Perhaps a ray of death, perhaps a scorching path of fire, perhaps lashing vines, perhaps an assault on the mind, perhaps...just to be healed. The hand deliberated over the wands as it powered up.
Arlo held the crossguard of his longsword to temple and readied his arcane shield which flickered with white specks of power around himself. The shield that had protected him so many times before, yet, was the weakness within his order. The technique of shielding was ancient in design from the formal education of the Enshrined Blades, and was weak to the onslaught of more powerful modern spellcraft that ruled the lands. This lapse had claimed many Enshrined Blades. And Sir Arlo acted now in education and test to prove that he had taken the lessons the Anathaeum had provided him, and enriched that ancient defense to be a true fortress to any knight in the field. Such was his purpose to be transfered here. And tonight would be the night his self made crucible would prove his lessons, or his own undoing.
The wands began to glow...Arlo stood ready under the pale moonlight, as a barrage of arcane energy would soon be upon him. Who might witness this apparent self inflicted torture of these highly taut arcane devices upon the foreign knight was to be seen...
The vows taken, the oaths spoken, they etched a path deep in fate's path of dangers to face.
Sir Arlo Talworth, Knight of the Order of the Enshrined Blade, had made his requests of the Knights of Anathaeum and found them bountiful in generosity, understanding, tutorship and comraderary. He made good his resolve to apply their methods of magic to his own practice. The domains, five, imparted to him new understanding. Life, to heal, death, to ward, flame, to further ignite his sword, wylds, to temper his wisdom of the earth, loch, to protect the mind and temper the spirit. All studied, conversed, a great number of arcane wit learned by Arlo.
He was gifted with arcane thought amongst his order, but here, amongst those of the Anathaeum, he was not an exception to the pedigree that defended the land. He felt a kinship in purpose with his new found comrades, studying with them, talking with them, comparing schools of thought and matters of honour over many cups. When he thought that he had learned all that might be gained, a new lesson emerged. And now his cup of knowledge seemed to overspill, which only meant one thing in his mind when one reached this point. To deep drink until it was drained completely.
Applying himself within missions, he had proven his mettle to the Anathaeum kin. Now, it was time to apply himself to make good his purpose here. To bolster the defences to which the Enshrined relied. New methods of magic had been inscribed within his mind to defend his self through the power of oath, vow, and mystical understanding of the nature of battle.
Five wands lay poised and pointed at him, set to an device known as an 'auto-trigger' box. A ghostly hand would sieze the wands each in turn and fire them at himself. The wands had been requested and delivered. He had answered honestly as to why he needed them.
Because Arlo assumed that no-one of the Order would want to do what he demanded of himself.
A test. A test that could easily claim his life.
The wands, five, one for each domain. Four with vicious intent. One to heal.
The time was three hours past midnight in the grounds of the Monestary.
Arlo drew his sword and recited the appropriate vows that he had sworn within the Enshrined Blades. Vows that defined him, and providing an emboldening of the soul.
“I act to enrich my vow of Lexicon. May the magic I now understand, thanks to the fellowship of my fellow knights, guide me in this arcane crucible. For the Knights that have fallen for our lapse of protection in arcane matters, do I apply my skill to render future death preventable by my Art.”
The auto-trigger box was activated. A hand would pluck out a random wand to fire first. Perhaps a ray of death, perhaps a scorching path of fire, perhaps lashing vines, perhaps an assault on the mind, perhaps...just to be healed. The hand deliberated over the wands as it powered up.
Arlo held the crossguard of his longsword to temple and readied his arcane shield which flickered with white specks of power around himself. The shield that had protected him so many times before, yet, was the weakness within his order. The technique of shielding was ancient in design from the formal education of the Enshrined Blades, and was weak to the onslaught of more powerful modern spellcraft that ruled the lands. This lapse had claimed many Enshrined Blades. And Sir Arlo acted now in education and test to prove that he had taken the lessons the Anathaeum had provided him, and enriched that ancient defense to be a true fortress to any knight in the field. Such was his purpose to be transfered here. And tonight would be the night his self made crucible would prove his lessons, or his own undoing.
The wands began to glow...Arlo stood ready under the pale moonlight, as a barrage of arcane energy would soon be upon him. Who might witness this apparent self inflicted torture of these highly taut arcane devices upon the foreign knight was to be seen...