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[indent]Logran Eaton Fellenore, son of Eaton and Loraine Fellenore; Saint Slayer; The Wild Man; Reed; The Dark Paladin[/indent]

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[indent]30[/indent]

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[indent]Human[/indent]

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[indent][color=gray][b]Major[/b][/color]
[indent][i]He might have been a squire or he might have been just a servant. In his past, he performed the same duties as a steward. He then became a wandering hammerdin.[/i][/indent]
[color=gray][b]Minor[/b][/color][/indent]
[indent][indent]Hammerdin[/indent][/indent] 

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[indent]Michael[/indent] 

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[indent]Logran is six-foot weighing roughly 200 pounds out of armor. Beneath his armor, he wears a tunic worn to a dusty and dirtied gray from age and use. His trousers are a faded-black and pool slightly over a pair of brown rabbit-skin shoes. His hair is raven-black. Its length is down to his shoulders, and he wears it in a loose tail. His eyes are slate-grey, his right eye half-closed due to a scar cutting into his cheek passed his eye in a diagonal slant. He wears a black cloth bandage wrapped about his head over his right eye.

When Logran’s face isn’t behind his facemask or eye bandage, he appears to be younger than his actual age. His boyish appearance makes him appear in his early twenties. With a beard on his face, he appears his age or ten years older. His body is jutting with tanned muscle covered in light scars that contrast his complexion. Wielding Glosgnir has conditioned his body to resemble that of an experienced lifter.[/indent]

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[indent]Logran goes by the name Reed. Even though it has been 15 years since he murdered Sir Aragon, he does not believe zealots of the Eizellen Church or even of Michael would ever forget that his murderer is possibly still at large. He keeps his scar and the mystery of whether or not he’s actually missing a right eye a secret from even people he would deem friends. Because of incidents in his past, there are a few things that Logran doesn’t like. Those things being swords and alcohol. He will never partake in alcoholic beverages or wield a sword even if his hammer, Glosgnir, is not present.

Is Logran troubled? It’s hard to say. Logran has admitted and taken responsibility for each of his sins. Having murdered once, the blood can no longer be washed from his hands. He is his own judge. He will execute whoever he deems unworthy of mercy. The paladin is soft-spoken. He rarely raises his voice above a shout and over the years, his life has led to him becoming quieter. He is dutiful—one to not stray from the mission until it is complete. He has worked in a team before but not one anywhere close to a mercenary group. Because of the misfortune that befalls anyone who is around him, he prefers to work alone.

The paladin is a humble man who doesn’t boast his skills or abilities. He doesn’t completely understand most of his abilities, but one has led to him not liking liars. Liars remind him of the blinded fools in Eizellen. While he understands lies being used tactfully, he still just doesn’t like hearing them.[/indent]

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[indent]White Stag[/indent] 

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[indent][i]Black Mithril Armor[/i] The black armor that encases his body resembles heavy armor in appearance. It is as sturdy as steel, and most Dwarves would recognize the craft to be that of their own: Dwarvish. The mithril armor is a light armor that places little burden on the wearer. The armor is a necessity for Logran who wields a great hammer and cannot afford his movements to be hampered by extra weight. The specific armor components: mantle, greaves, torso, chest, dress (groin), boots, mask, and gauntlets.

[i]Black Sun Buckler[/i] The buckler is one-foot-and a half in length and width. The buckler is circular with jutting and bladed overlapping layers surrounding it in what appears to be rays. The buckler acts as a small shield and can be used as a lethal throwing disc. If thrown with a reverse spin, the disc can be thrown in a forward direction for a brief moment before the spin would cause it to return. If not thrown, then the buckler can act as a bladed disc for slashing down opponents.

[i]Glosgnir[/i] is a great hammer of dwarvish craft designed from a hardwood overlaid with steel. The weapon is as long as Logran is tall. The head is two-feet wide in all directions, and the obvious heaviest part of the weapon. Logran can wield the hammer in close-combat by gripping it closest to its head, and he can wield the weapon in medium-range combat by gripping it near the tail. The blunt weapon is designed to break shields and guards. Like a battering ram, Glosgnir can knock a turtling enemy on his ass if he insists on hiding behind his shield. He can use the hammer to damage the wheels of war machines and pachyderm steeds. If there’s a reinforced door, Glosgnir will bust it open. The worst position an enemy can find himself in is beneath the hammer when it falls.

[i]Kheluz[/i] Dwarvish for “strong” it is the name of Logran’s horse. Kheluz is a black stallion standing at 20 hands (82” tall) and weighs 1.3 tons. Logran needed a big and strong horse to not only be able to survive and carry his belongings, but to carry Glosgnir most of all.

[i]Rations[/i] Dried meats, pemmican, honey, nuts, salted fish, and tubers.
[i]Waterskin[/i]
[i]Triage Kit[/i] Bandages, Needle & Thread, and pomade
[i]Utility Knife[/i]
[i]Extra Set of Clothes[/i]
[i]Furs[/i]
[i]Saddle, Bit, Reins, Stirrups, Harness[/i]
[i]Bed Roll[/i]
[i]Rope and Grapple[/i]
[i]Gold[/i][/indent]

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[color=gray][b]Major[/b][/color] Shieldbreaker
[indent]Logran is the guy you want to get in close in order to take out the enemy’s defense. Heavily-armored enemies, war machines, pachyderms, reinforced doors—Logran will Glosgnir will bring it all down. The enemy does not want to be in the shadow of the hammer when it falls. His hammer is like a battering ram, shaking the poise of enemies who hide behind their shields. If the shield isn’t sturdy enough, Glosgnir has been known to break or warp a shield beyond convenience.[/indent]
[color=gray][b]Minor[/b][/color] Holy Man
[indent]Logran is blessed with abilities that help one find his or her way through the darkness. His blessings allow those to punish evil and see when they are blinded by trickery. He can hear lies.[/indent]

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[color=gray][b]Wayfinder[/b][/color]
[indent]When lost, afraid, or confused, Logran can unconsciously evoke a guide to lead him out of a complicated situation. This ability doesn’t always allow him to find who he is looking for. He can find someone if he is meant to find someone as decided by Michael, but if he doesn’t find the person then the person is either no longer of this life or someone not meant to be found. Logran would be the one to lead a group out of a maze or out of darkness. If separated, he will get a gut feeling to go in the direction of the group he is to reunite with if Michael wills it. The ability is confusing and Logran doesn’t quite understand it himself. He’s just always had it since he was a boy.[/indent]
[color=gray][b]Blessings[/b][/color]
[indent]Logran can lay his hand on weapons or equipment and imbue them with a holy blessing through prayer. The weapon or tool when blessed takes on the properties of a blessed item capable of inflicting extra damage to evil entities to include the corporeal and incorporeal.[/indent]

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[indent]Logran’s devotion to his god has given him an indomitable will. He finds strength through his faith in Michael, and this strength could rival the strength of any godless man. His past is filled with hardship and adversity. He has survived being nearly beaten to death, starvation, and madness. With nothing to live for, Logran has completely surrendered himself to Michael, and in doing so, has acquired some uncanny advantages. His mind is difficult to break, and he is well-accustomed to the harsh wilderness. His constitution is higher than most humans, and his mysterious abilities will often have others coming to him for truth and guidance. Logran can hear lies, the whispers of evil, and he will boldly call a liar out on his or her game when he hears one.

As a fighter, Logran is devastating at close and even medium ranges. His hammer can cripple and throw the balance of his opponents. His hammer can breach most defenses. His blessings can send evil running. The mysterious paladin is a reliable addition to any team.[/indent]

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[indent]As far as combat, even when wearing a lighter armor, a swing from his hammer is still slower than the swing of a short sword or dagger. To compensate, he will switch between single-handed to two-handed, and gripping near the head of his hammer for swifter strikes. A hammer is not as easy to manipulate or change trajectory as a lighter weapon and so a swing will happen in the direction it is initially intended. If ever disarmed, if swords are all the paladin has left to wield, he won’t use them. He refuses to use them because they bring about a terrible memory.

Like most fighters, the back is always a vulnerable area for ambushes or backstabs. He cannot see a sniper planning to shoot him down, and therefore, his morality is like anybody elses. His holy abilities are reliant on Michael, and Michael may not make decisions in the group’s favor.

His identity as Logran Fellenore is ever uncovered by an enemy can create trouble for him or any group he is with. Churches of Michael often have drank the Apotheoses’ koolaid and their flocks are just as toxic.

Logran does not like rape, and if he is ever witness to such an act, his friends may see him fly off the deep end. Such horrendous acts fill him with a terrible rage.[/indent]

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[indent][color=BCB9B9]Slate[/color][/indent]

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[hider=The Story]Logran was born to Eaton and Loraine Fellenore in the prairies north of the Eizellen peninsula. His birth, though expected, was unwanted for their struggles as farmers were worsened by another mouth to feed. Loraine did not ever blame her son for she knew that it was she and Eaton who had born him into their hardship. Logran grew only in their love until they could no longer bear it. When Logran was eight-years-old, old enough to properly hold a sword, Eaton took him to Eizellen, City of Men. Eaton introduced Logran to an old friend of his, Sir Aragon Brightshield, Paladin Saint of Eizellen, Dawnbringer. Eaton and his father were acquainted only by tale. In the tale, Aragon had supposedly saved his father’s soul from an evil eidolon once, and if it hadn’t been for him, Eaton would not have lived. He thought he would repay the holy knight by having his son bend the knee as his squire. Aragon accepted Eaton’s offer, and from that day until he was fifteen-years-old, Logran served him.

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Logran was captivated by the paladin from the way the man walked, wore his armor, and rode his horse. He was radiant and everything Logran believed a Servant of Michael to be. The people loved him. The church loved him. He was loved by all. It was because of Aragon that Logran began his studies in The Word and when he was tending to the paladin’s horse or chambers, he was in the yard of Brightshield Estate, training with a wooden mallet and barrel lid since Aragon didn’t allow him to have weapons. Over the years, Aragon softened and allowed Logran to wade closer into his life. Logran saw a side of the man; the saint; that no one knew and would never know. When he wasn’t riding with his fellow knights or playing hero in the streets and surrounding lands, when he was home in the privacy of his estate, he was a drunkard. Aragon didn’t summon his servants to scrub his vomit from the floor or empty his piss-pot, he summoned Logran. The man was human. Logran didn’t know why he had felt so surprised. Had they all been blinded by his brilliance? Everyone saw him as the closest thing to Michael. Everyone was a fool.

Logran felt his admiration for the man weaken, and he had wept for feeling such a way for he didn’t know if losing faith in a saint was right or wrong. It had felt wrong to him. Logran placed his full faith in only Michael that night Aragon in an inebriated stupor laid a hand on him. It had been the first time anyone had ever struck him and to be struck by the Paladin Saint was traumatizing. He didn’t mean it, he tried to convince himself. He was drunk and Logran was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The servant who tended to his bruises, Marigold, named after the flower, enlightened Logran and told him that to the servants that was Aragon. The realization both disturbed and astounded Logran. Outside the estate, the man was hailed like a god, but in his own home, he was merely a man. An abusive. Drunk. Man. Everyone; all of Eizellen was wrong. They had put more faith into Aragon and the other saints than they put in the human god. It was a mistake!

In a way, Logran was thankful for having been introduced to the saint for he too would still have been blind. He would have never been able to grow close to Michael. Logran endured his employment as a squire in order to continue to send gold to his parents. By thirteen, puberty was creeping. Logran became more assertive than subservient and made the mistake of demanding training lessons from Aragon. When would he teach him how to wield a sword? When Aragon refused to teach him, Logran boldly took Aragon’s cup of wine and dumped it all over him. Aragon chased Logran out into the yard as the boy had desired. Taking up his familiar arms—the hammer and barrel lid—Logran faced the infuriated Aragon who to his fright had called for one of his servants to bring his sword. Aragon didn’t stick him with it as he had thought he would have. He instead disarmed him and beat him with the pummel. In a struggle on the ground, Aragon held Logran down and attempted to carve his name onto his face. He started with “A” on his right cheek up to his eye. He managed to only scrawl the first leg and middle stem before Logran’s knee caught him between the legs. Bruised and bleeding, Logran scrambled away from the man in a daze only to be snagged and beaten into unconsciousness by the man’s fist. Logran recalled briefly waking to a white creature that resembled a deer licking the blood from his cheek. He awoke again in a bed with a single candle burning. Next to him was Marigold, tending to his wounds with a damp cloth.

Marigold, to his teenage eyes, had aged pleasantly. He noticed things about her that he hadn’t before. Her fiery-orange hair, her green eyes, and freckled face. Her lips were bowed and pink and formed one word to him: “Idjit.” That night had been the second time she had to clean him up, and it was the night that Logran forgot all about Aragon. The remaining three years he spent as a squire were spent watching Marigold. He didn’t know what had come over him. It was a sickness. She looked more and more beautiful to him every day. He had found himself acting a fool when she was involved, such as attempting to spy on her and the other maids when they were bathing in the river. He had gotten his ear yanked doing such a thing. What was more interesting was, she had done the same back. She would spy on him training in the yard, and one day, he caught her and playfully chased her through the yard and into the barn where they both would share their first kiss.

At fifteen-years-old, Logran was torn between going the route of a paladin or giving it up to marry Marigold. Could he be a squire his entire life? Aragon would never see him knighted. Squire? Huh, Logran had long ago accepted that he was just another servant to bow to Aragon’s greatness. Perhaps he could work at a tavern or inn? Or at the stables as a horsekeeper? Marigold had grown to be too gorgeous to be a servant girl and Logran was determined to make her his bride. Logran hadn’t been the only one to notice Marigold’s beauty. Aragon had seen them plenty of times together, and having sworn off woman for so long, the horrible ache he had thought he had buried when he had sworn himself to Michael and the Eizellen Church had reemerged and was unbearable in her presence.

Marigold was summoned to his quarters one evening, and locking the door, he took her against her will. Logran had searched everywhere for her, eager to grace her with the surprising proposal he had been practicing for two days and had finally gotten right. No other servants had seen her, but one said she had been summoned by Aragon. Logran went to the knight’s quarters and a fear clenched his heart as he drew closer to the door. The noises he heard. He peered through the keyhole at Aragon and a distressed Marigold. Logran knew not what had overcame him that night; at that moment. It had been disturbing even to him. Had it been rage? A rage so strong that he felt nothing; thought nothing; and that everything turned into a nightmare and like a puppet he was following along—no, he might have wanted to believe that he was a puppet. He was in complete control. Logran had distanced himself and ran so hard at Aragon’s door that when he threw his body against it, the wood shattered about the lock-bolt. Logran collapsed into the room, startling Aragon, and Logran could recall no words. He could only recall his enraged screams as he rushed for Aragon’s sword mount and yanked the blade from its scabbard. He had finally wielded a sword, and it hadn’t been to train. Had it been to exact justice? Logran murdered Aragon. No; he had murdered Sir Aragon Brightshield; Paladin Saint of Eizellen; The Dawnbringer.

It was like waking from a dream. Logran woke to find the sword in his hands, Aragon’s butchered body at his feet, and Marigold staring at him in horror from the bed. The cold waters of terror closed in around him, swallowing him. He had killed a saint and a man. His dreams; his hopes; they were gone. Everything was gone in that moment. Logran in a fearful panic abandoned the knight’s sword on the floor and attempted to beg Marigold to flee with him, but she no longer recognized him. Scared and mind broken from her sullying, she shrieked in a noise so dreadful that Logran fled to get away from it. He fled into the night with but the clothes on his back. He ran and never looked back. He was pursued by the church for years. Logran only had to hide for three. He allowed his beard to grow in and covered his right eye with a bandage to give the impression he only had one.

For three years, Logran lived with Michael in the wilderness, shaken by his sin. Being alone for so long had made him crazy. He began talking to himself to apparitions that didn’t exist, haunted by his guilt and shame. He was discovered by a group of pilgrims who lured him with a hot meal and promise of safety. They asked if he was a believer in Michael and asked him to join them on their pilgrimage to Eizellen. Frightened at first, Logran yielded in order to free himself from his insanity. He told the pilgrims no name and they didn’t ask for they believed him to be daft. He was “The Wild Man” to them. They returned to Eizellen and the city was hardly different than from what he remembered. There were wanted posters with a rough sketch of his face when he was younger on it. A statue of Aragon was erected in the square. The pilgrims stopped there to pray and Logran joined them only to not raise any suspicion. The Wild Man was not worried. He was nonexistent to those outside the Brightshield Estate. He could only guess they had gotten his description from one of the servants. The pilgrims told him what happened to Sir Brightshield. He had been killed trying to stop a rapist. They hadn’t been able to find the rapist, but they prayed for Michael to bring him to justice soon. The pilgrims didn’t know what happened to the victim, Marigold; but the mention of the rapist’s parents being executed for charges of protecting the saint slayer nearly made Logran retch. Logran left the pilgrims and Eizellen. He journeyed to his home in the prairies and discovered that it had been burned to the ground. He didn’t linger for fear who may be stalking the place. Logran instead returned to the wilderness to grieve.

In the wild, Logran wringed out his heart and laid in a pool of his depression, waiting to die. If a wolf or bear had eaten him then, then he would not have cared for he was ready to perish. One night, he was visited by the strange creature again. The creature had nuzzled his cheek, waking him from his perishing sleep and pranced away. Logran watched the creature stop and gaze back at him with its uncanny rack of horns rising into an ornate shape unlike anything he had ever seen on a normal creature. He weakly rose to his feet and followed it until he no longer knew what he was following for the creature vanished long ago. He came before a camp where a group of travelling performers were laughing, clapping, dancing, and playing music. When the performers gazed upon him, they were frightened by his gaunt appearance. Logran was who they would later name “Reed” for he was as thin as one when they found him. Nothing but skin and bones!

As Reed, Logran travelled with the friendly group that comprised: Ofelia, the acrobatic Otter-kin; Saevel, a fire-breathing and juggling surface elf; Norasgroir, a strongman dwarf; and Brandt and Heidi, a human singer and lute-playing pair. They were a happy folk and didn’t mind his presence. Reed didn’t know why he accompanied them. He had no reason not to, but they gave him purpose. He helped around the camp and helped them set up their performances. Overtime, he grew to love and trust his new family, and from them he learned a strange truth. The troupe didn’t believe in gods, denouncing them for personal reasons. Reed had asked them what had brought them to Eizellen that day. Brandt explained that they were kicked out of the city when the church deemed their performances inappropriate. In one of the acts, Saevel had pretended to be one of the beloved saints of Eizellen, Sir Brightshield, and offended many of the citizens with his satire. The church chased them out and Norasgroir claimed that it was because the Apotheoses were in full manipulative control of the city. They didn’t want anything that would [i]poison[/i] the flock of idiots’ minds. It had been the first time Reed had ever heard of the Apotheoses. It fascinated him how large the world was and how so many secrets were hidden in it.

During their travels, Reed demonstrated his skill with a mallet in helping the troupe protect the camp from bandits. At the next city, Norasgroir stopped by the smithy of a cousin of his and together they built and forged Reed a hammer by the name of [i]Glosgnir[/i]. It was dwarven tongue for “giant.” The giant’s hammer was Reed’s new weapon, and it was too heavy for him to properly wield at first. Norasgroir was confident Reed would grow into it, and overtime, he did.

The troupe’s travels led them around The Hook to a city none had ventured to before. It was a ghost town, and it made each of them uncomfortable. Ofelia, being more attuned with her sixth sense than the rest, alerted the group that she believed they had stumbled into Valgar, the City of the Undead. Many tales were told of the city, but no one had expected to ever find it or had the city found them? The troupe turned to leave, but their way was blocked by a group of shambling corpses. Ofelia shook the group from their terror by screaming at them to fight. If they didn’t fight, then they would be lost in the city’s madness. The troupe fought their way out until the first sign of madness was seen. Norasgroir clubbed Saevel in the back of his head with a club unable to tell the difference between him and the creatures. Ofelia was rolling on the ground screaming about worms bursting out of her fur and skin. Brandt had a thousand-mile stare as he gazed upon the body of Saevel after Norasgroir had murdered him. Everyone was going insane and Reed could feel the madness trying to split open his head. He grasped a fistful of his hair as he winced in his desperation to clear his mind. Upon lowering his fist, he didn’t see hair clenched in it but the writhing worms Ofelia had been screaming about. They were crawling down his face!

Screaming and trying to shake the worms from his head, a white figure brought his eyes to the wagon. It had been but a wink, but Reed knew it to have been that creature again. Reed steeled himself, uttered a brief prayer to Michael for strength, and strode over to Brandt, grabbing him and dragging him to the wagon. He tossed the man into the back of it and the sudden tremble of the wagon startled Heidi out of her shocked coma to snap the reins. The wagon rolled over Ofelia who had fallen before it, crushing her. Norasgroir had fallen having fought too deeply into the undead ranks and was overwhelmed. Reed charged through the opening Heidi had made with the wagon and continued to chase it until he cleared the city and the cloud of madness. The wagon was long gone by the time Reed found his breath to be able to search for it. In but a moment, again, everything was gone.

Reed began to notice a trend in his luck. It hadn’t been the first time the creature appeared to him and each time it was as though he was guided to or away from something or someone. The undead ichor on the end of his hammer began to burn away in a white flame. What did it all mean? Reed ventured away from the undead city, silently mourning the loss of his friends and how he was alone again. Reed wasn’t sure if he would ever see Heidi or Brandt again, and he was in no mood to play woe-as-me again. Over the years, his bond with the troupe had made him stronger. He started to suspect that the reason the troupe suffered worse than him from the city’s madness was because they were godless. It was because of his faith in Michael that he was able to overcome his numerous counters with adversity.

With Glosgnir in hand, Reed travelled the rest of The Hook alone, hoping to one day see Heidi and Brandt again. He worked a few jobs as an honest sellsword punishing the wicked and searching for lost or stolen children and people. With the money he earned, he was able to purchase Dwarvish armor. He would never forget the words of his old friend that only the dwarves knew their way best around a forge. He kept his name Reed for it hadn’t been a sullied name, and those who he helped gave him another name, “The Dark Paladin.” Reed wore black for he did not believe he was absolved from his sins and thus was not pure, but deep down, he believed himself to still be a good man. Riding back up the coast upon a black steed, the dark paladin headed north.[/hider]

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[indent][url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4299045]Writing Sample[/url][/indent]