Name: Landron Bareaux
Gender: Male
Race: Breton
Age and Date of Birth: 34, 22nd of Evening Star
Sexual Preference: Heterosexual
Class: Knight
Weapons: A steel longsword, named Lament, with a round pommel, and the usual leather wrapped hilt. The blade was a gift from the family of duchess Annabelle Carconne, given to Landron after he took his knightly vows, and was assigned as duchess Carconnes' protector.
Armour: Steel plate, with an armet helm, complete with a gorget. Under this, he wears the chainmail, and a thin layer of leather to cushion blows/minimize discomfort. Over his armour, he wears a sky blue tabard, with a depiction of a hawk or some other bird of prey centred on it. Over this, he wears a dark, hooded cloak, tattered and dusty from near constant travel. Usually strapped to his left arm is an heater shield, painted the same sky blue, with the spread wings of his bird of prey sigil touching each corner, the body dominating the center.
Combat Preference : As a knightly warrior, Landron has learnt to fight in single combat as well as against groups of two or three. He uses his shield as well as his sword, skillfully deflecting those attacks he can't parry, and freeing his sword arm up for dealing damage. In a group, Landron is a solid damage dealer, and is more than willing to stand and defend his allies, should one of them need protection. He has no means of ranged combat, but his shield and armour offer a good amount of protection against most arrows. Despite being a breton, he has no real magical talent.
Character Appearance : Landron stands at six feet exactly, with dark, wavy brown hair, pale blue eyes, and fair skin. His eyes seem to hold a great weariness, as if he is truly much older than his thirty four years. He wears no warpaint, jewelry, or tattoos, seeing them as pointless and vulgar displays. Years of combat have seen him collect perhaps more than his fair share of scars, many of them on his chest, stomach, and a good few on all of his limbs as well.
Personality: As a knight, he has sworn to uphold his code, protect innocents, and honour his word, should he give it...practical experience, however, has taught him just how little that is worth. Traumatized by his personal failings, he is a broken, bitter husk of the man he once was. While he will never go back on his word once it is given, or abandon an ally to their death, he constantly expects the worst of people, and will act accordingly.
Likes: Traveling the road, protecting innocents, and honourable folk.
Dislikes: Naievity, thieves, liars, undead.
Quirks : Polishes his armour to a near shine- a coping method he's developed in recent years.
Fears : His past, specifically that it might repeat itself.
Phobias: atychiphobia, an irrational and persistent fear of failing.
History : Born to a noble family in the freezing north of High Rock, Jelhanna, Landron always wanted to be hero. A knight, specifically. His father, proud of his sons aspirations, hired the best tutors and sword instructors that gold could buy. At the age of ten, he left his home to join the order of saint Pelin, in evermore. For the next decade, he trained under sir Merric Ardoine, a famed knight of the order. He learned the chivalric code, cared for his mentors' horse and gear, and helping him dress in his armour.
Shortly after his twentieth birthday, Landron took his knightly vows, did his vigil, and rose a knight. Shortly after this, he was contacted by an old friend of the family, duke Armand Carconne, who wished the service of the order to defend his daughter, on a diplomatic voyage to Evermore, to wed the heir to the throne. The roads had grown dangerous in recent years, bandits and creatures were reported to attack travelers and merchants who weren't under heavy guard.
Landron was glad of this opportunity for two reasons; the first being that it was his opportunity to perform his duties in the field as a true knight, and the second, to see his childhood friend, Annabelle, once more. He, sir Ardoine, and two other knights rode to Landrons' home and to the estate of duke Armand. There, Landron was bestowed a sword that the duke had commissioned to congradulate the young man on taking his vows. After some fond words, the groups parted, the four knights accompanying the wagon that held duchess Annabelle and her handmaidens.
It was during a passage along a narrow road, with a steep drop to the left, and a sheer cliff face to the right that everything went wrong. Bandits, having somehow heard of the knights plans to take this particular road, had set up an ambush, high above. Large boulders had been shifted into position, and hidden paths had been made ready. As the group came into view, the first of the boulders was released. Sir Merric and his companion, riding ahead of the duchess' carriage, were struck and killed instantly, their armour doing little against the weight and momentum of the huge rock.
Perhaps by luck or poor timing on the part of the bandits, the second boulder missed Landron and his companion, sir Norvald, by barely a metre. Still, they were not safe. Knowing they could not take the duchess until the knights were dealt with, the bandits, a dozen in total, rushed down their hidden pathways to engage. Many brandished long spears, forcing the knights off their horses.
Norvald and Landron fought brilliantly, ferociously, both to avenge their fallen comrades and to protect the duchess. But a dozen to two are bad odds, even for a pair of knights. Worse, when the enemy rely on range. Sir Norvald fell, a lucky shot punching through his gorget, into his throat. Alone against the five remaining bandits, Landron was outmatched. He managed to kill two more, but bolts that had felled Norvald, exhaustion, and numbers, won out. The bandits shoved the badly wounded Landron off the road, leaving him to die of his injuries.
Nearly a day later, a group of traveling priests happened upon the massacre. Landron still lived, barely. The sympathetic clergymen took him to their temple, and nursed him back to health. When he was well enough, Landron asked after his companions and friends. The priests sadly informed him that their was no sign of the duchess or her carriage, and he'd been the only one breathing at the sight of the battle.
Something broke in the young knight then. Without a word, he donned his armour, took his sword, and strode out of the temple. The blade, which he had sworn only to name once his quest was complete, he named Lament. For his dead comrades and his friend. Believed dead by his family and knightly brothers, and without the courage to return to them, Landron took to the road, a wandering, forlorn knight. He has heard of lord Gravus' summons, and looks to assist the lord, and perhaps join his brethren in death.
Dialogue color:This, if available.