Not for the first time, I find myself in a topic bearing the name "Felan", and its progenitor is similarly familiar. My return has arrived, and for good or ill...

It's your fault, Kaithas. :p

Well, as you say above, let sleeping gods lie.

But alas, it is time to open the hushed casket.

Name: Alistair Sieg
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: Unknown, somewhere in the neighborhood of several hundred years. Looks to be in his early twenties.
Weapons: Alistair carries on his person several weapons, notable among them a large longsword sheathed on his back. It’s blade is carefully maintained, with ancient lettering on the side, indecipherable for those of the modern era. Its hilt is gold in color, with a simple leather wrapped handle. Several long daggers are sheathed at his waist.
Magic: Alistair was given for his valor a unique gift. He can, in limited capacities, channel the power of Erim, his old King. Such powers are usually related to weapons and combat, and they can manifest in several forms. However, there is a severe drawback. The mortal form was never meant to channel the power of a god in any capacity, even with their blessing. Extended use causes damage to his body, and if he were to use it for too long, his body would destroy itself from the strain. As such, it is an ability rarely used.
Appearance: Alistair stands at over six feet tall, clad in shining, off white armor. Silver accents give color to the metal. The armor itself is clearly old, a relic of a more civilized age, crafted with a unique sense of dignity. Large shoulder pauldrons rest on either side of the chest piece, the edges tinted silver. His helm forms closely to his head, sculpted to resemble a lion’s head and mane. Outside of his armor, he tends to dress in old clothes, simple leather or cotton, despite his fomer affluence. He is, unsurprisingly, quite muscular, though it is not always obvious at first. His black hair is kept carefully maintained, resting a short distance above brown eyes.
Bio: Generations ago, in a time long lost to the annals of history, Felan was at war. Nerom and Hema had gathered their forces on the land’s western side, a great army filled with the most powerful creatures the two could conjure, the worst shades, the things of nightmares. They intended to march on the west, and march they did. But when the first wave crossed the mountains, they discovered that the other gods had been ready for them. An army had been created to face them head, their ranks filled with every able bodied fighter they could find, led by a single King. The fighting was vicious, but the assault was slowed, and before long, evil’s forces began to fall back, inch by inch, toward the mountains.

But another force waited beyond them, slower than the first, moving to aid the army in the west. Valiantly though they fought, the King’s army would not prevail if reinforcements were allowed to arrive. And so it was that when Nerom and Hema’s vanguard arrived at the narrow Burgin’s Gap, they found their way blocked by a small contingent of soldiers. The King’s very best, they fought for four days against the numerically superior foe, their number slowly dwindling. By the morning of the fourth day only four warriors remained to defend the pass. By noon, only one remained. Surrounded by fallen enemies and allies alike, the knight continued to fight, determined to hold the pass as long as possible. But despite his best efforts, he was felled by an enemy sword. Nerom and Hema were not able to savor their victory for long, for no sooner did he fall, than a horn sounded from beyond the gap. The warriors had bought the King’s army enough time to prevail in the west, and carry on to the pass. Nerom and Hema’s forces fell that day, never again to gather in such force.

But the final knight was not yet gone. At the battle’s end he still lived, but it was clear that he would soon pass. Tarani, however, deemed that it was not yet his time. Moments before his passing, the knight was sealed in a statue, surrounded by stone effigies of his fallen comrades. A single inscription on the base proclaimed that when the gods deemed the time right, the warrior would awaken once more.

Decades passed, and a town of the same name arose in Burgin’s Gap, built around the monument. Over the years the writing has faded, and the legend with it. Even those that remember doubt its truthfulness now, but some still believe, and spread the story as they can.

But the time foretold is now upon the world.

Hey look at that, a direct copy paste from the last revival. :p If the profile doesn't work this go around, boss, let me know and I'll think of something new.