[hider=Rolan Thatcher]Name: Rolan Thatcher
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: Standing at just above 6'0", Rolan is a lean, but muscled fellow who walks about with a catlike grace. He possesses aquiline features with a nose that has been notably broken many a time, a mess of dirty blonde hair kept swept out of his face and hard grey eyes, like orbs of ice.

Personality: Rolan is by all means civil in manner, but painfully introspective of all he does in this company of living legends, outside the order and among the more familiar rabble of the common folk Rolan is a lot more unreserved in nature. He's suspicious and distrustful of strangers, however those of whom earn his trust will often find loyalty, he is also often given to thoughts of extreme courage and heroism but his grounded nature, grown from a life of harsh reality often curbs him away from such daring action.

Brief Backstory: Rolan was raised in the town of Alugaurd, a bustling community nestled in what is known as the 'Golden Valley' in the northern reaches of Velt. Life was hard but fair growing up on his family's farm, growing, harvesting and selling the golden yellow wheat from whence the valley got its name. But as he grew so too did his spirit grow in restlessness, slowly filling with a desire to seek and explore until finally he could take it no more, and then on one warm, summers night, he stole off into darkness with nothing more then a few coins and the clothes on his back.

By the time the sun had dawned and flooded the world with a soft orange light, Rolan had almost walked all the way to the next town and although he desired rest, he knew he must walk on around it, lest he be discovered and held captive til claimed by his parents, for although he was only 13 and would probably be sorely missed, he couldn't imagine his folks would be too upset with his leaving, being one less mouth to feed. That would have been the case were it not for the fact he had also taken with him a family heirloom, his Grandfathers helmet, which he wore tied to his waist as a suspicious bulk beneath his coat, so on he walked, stopping only briefly to eat beneath the shade of some boulders clustered around the foot of a nearby mountain. His travels continued on for some time, leaving behind him the valleys and foothills of his home until stretching out before him was scores of endless plains as far as the eye could see, however his adventure soon turned sour as he ran out of food and was forced to forage among the meager game of the plains. Starvation was all he knew for the following week, walking shorter and shorter distances each day until he grew too weak to continue, laying down to die against a moss covered stone that rested at a crossroads as his world turned black.

Strangely the life in him clung on and the light from the sun above filtered through his shut eyelids, stirring him to wakefulness, weakly he opened his eyes, the light suddenly becoming too harsh forcing him to squint as he teared up, blinking profusely to regain his vision. It was then that he noticed he was moving, the ground beneath him slowly swaying from side to side, his hands ran along the length of it and found it to be wood, somehow he had found himself on the back of a horse-drawn cart. For as luck would have it he had been found and rescued by an old veteran soldier by the name of Horace Longfellow, having come upon the boy Horace took pity upon him and helped him in his recovery. Initially planning on dropping him off at the next village along the way, Horace eventually took the young lad beneath his wing, finding within him a certain kinship he had never had, being childless and a widower. And so it was that Rolan found himself living in the capital city of Thaln, where he eventually joined the city guard, whilst under the tutelage of Horace and thanks to him, served with distinction for many years. It was due to his excellent record as a city guard that one of the resident Nobles took an interest in him, eventually endorsing and backing him in the Iron rose knights recruiting process, hoping to use him as a tool of influence within its ranks. 

Equipment:

A plain steel long sword with a black, well worn leather grip; Held in a simple and unadorned sheath at his side.

A small oak kite shield with iron rims, painted with the Iron rose knight insignia.

A simple hunting bow, with a quiver of iron tipped arrows. 

His grandfathers helmet, refitted for himself: [hider] [img]http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/x/ancient-helmet-medieval-21347386.jpg[/img] [/hider]

Boiled leather armor, with a plain white tunic beneath, embroided on the right breast is the Iron rose knight insignia: [hider] [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/41/a0/90/41a090cc577f85e1df79a8ca27b31a79.jpg[/img] [/hider]

Skills: He's deadly proficient with his long sword from years of practical use and from training under Horace, however his recent training under the Iron rose knights implements shields which has hindered his usual grace with a blade. He also possesses unnatural vigilance and very little need for sleep from years of being on watch whilst with the city guard, a handy skill while watching horses and tending fires as a squire for his knights. And having being somewhat scarred by his experience on the road, Rolan has ensured that he himself became a skilled hunter and forager so he'd never go too hungry on any travels again.[/hider]