With the permission of the GM, I have made some additions to Fleuri's CS.
He missed out on the war because he was following a Reonite paladin around battling necromancers behind the scenes. The fact that nobody knows about it probably contributed to his glory-seeking attention whore phase.
Appearance: A sundry of tattoos flow down his face, diving under a well-groomed beard, woven through horse-bone beads and charms. The color seems to be absent from his eyes; they’re only hues of grey, black and white. Jerel is tall and muscled, with hair the colour of old oak logs, and hands coated in calluses.
Ter, Jerel’s large, magical falcon, has plumage of brilliant blue, orange on the underbelly, and white around the eyes. Small feathers stick up either side of his head, looking like horns or ears. His tail feathers are long and trailing.
Personality: Jerel is slow to anger and slower still to judge. His inquisitive and curious nature takes him far afield or long into books in the mazes of libraries. Happy just to explore and learn, Jerel often scratches notes into travel books when the day has drawn to a close. Despite his affinity for solitary activity, he is quite sociable and as much at home among people as he is alone. He holds a view of knightly virtue coloured by romanticism, and tries his hardest to uphold that.
Brief Backstory: In the vast grassy seas of Velt, Jerel was born in his family’s tent. They were the leading family of a nomadic tribe, their wealth was horses, and they roamed to graze and water them. As early as Jerel could run, he was being taught to ride. He learnt the language of horses, told through their ears and eyes and breath, how they move, and the sounds they make. Hunting was vital, and he would ride out with the more experienced hunters to learn from them, how to first shoot a bow, and then where to shoot to kill quickly. At age five he claimed his first life: a young deer that was still alive and helplessly frantic by the time they reached it, unable to do anything but watch with wild eyes as its life pooled around it, staining the grass red. Simple traps were set up every night near the camp, and every child knew how to make these from a young age. By age six, his father had gifted him a rare falcon, a gift from a mountain lord after a great trade, and he named it Ter. The falconers in the tribe taught him how to hunt smaller prey with it, too skittish or small for the bow. Watching Ter fly filled Jerel with awe and envy.
His father and many others taught him skills to keep the tribe safe and the herd well-fed: how to read the land, the animals, and the weather through all manner of interlinked subtleties. The dangers of men were taught to him, as were how to spot, avoid or deal with them; swordplay and archery from horseback were among these, though Jerel took a far greater shining to the latter. He battled a handful of times with rival tribes, though these were small skirmishes in his earlier years as a time of peace settled upon the plains after new agreements were made at a decennial meet. Fletching and craft were taught to him. He learnt how to play a two-stringed instrument. His mother made him memorise simple herbal remedies and which plants were good to eat and which would turn you ill or kill you from the inside. He loved his tribe and their traditions, but every time they came close to civilisation he was filled with a curiosity that wove tightly inside his chest at tugged at him.
On his seventeenth birthday an opportunity came, dressed as a man in blood and abandon. Jerel found him whilst out with Ter, huddled by a dead horse, raving. He brought the fever-clutched man back to camp, and after he was nursed back to health it transpired that he was a knight. Jerel asked his father and the knight to leave and journey with the man, and surprisingly, both parties agreed.
After that he travelled a while with the knight, Sir Lored. They shared stories, Sir Lored intrigued, Jerel amazed. The virtues of knighthood sparked Jerel’s imagination like flame to dry grass. They saw all manner of towns and cities, and Jerel was educated, often harshly, by the world and its people.
Battles with bandits and monsters reinforced frequent training, enough to become proficient but never masterful with the blade. The bow, however, was at home in his hand, and he taught his teacher in turn some of its many secrets.
They spent some time in Thaln's capital, where Jerel learnt to read and write whilst Sir Lored was on business there. When they left, Jerel was officially Sir Lored’s squire. It was at this time Jerel discovered a new love: books. Stories and history, trapped in paper with ink, was as much a wonder as the magic of the realm. Sir Lored paid for a few enchantments on Jerel’s bow, “an investment'' he called it.
It was not until the War of the Red Flag that Jerel truly cut his teeth in combat, beholden to the horrors of war on a scale he’d never seen before. It was also here that Jerel distinguished himself at the battle of Three Rills, venturing into the woods to convince a powerful fairy to aid a losing battle by creating an illusion of reinforcements charging in, for the price of the colour from his eyes and a favour in the future. The route of the Phoran Cal forces that day was solely due to his bargain. For his role throughout the war he was knighted, and awarded a small stead in Thaln.
Since then, in the time of relative peace, Jerel has taken full advantage of his access to vast libraries, consuming books whenever can find the time. He hunts, trains, travels, and meets with Sir Lored on the odd occasion. He also tends rookeries at the Iron Rose Knights’ base in Thaln’s capital, and is involved in communications, mostly non-magical, because of that. Though he understands these birds less than he does Ter, he still has his favourites and names for each of them.
Equipment: Bow (Enchanted) - A recurve bow of horn, sinew and red oak. Two runes are etched in gold and lacquer, above and below the grip; tapping one will imbue the next arrow fired with increased power and speed, increasing range and lethality, tapping the other will cause the next arrow fired to explode upon impact.
Armour - Jerel has two sets of armour: a basic platemail with scant decoration marking it as of the Iron Rose Knights and a helm styled after a bird, and a set of leather that he wears far more frequently.
Basic equipment - Jerel has access to a variety of unexceptional weapons and gear, such as swords and quivers.
Animals - His three horses and falcon, Ter. Ter has rune-etched collar made from a thin strip of leather that allows Jerel to sense the bird’s surface emotional state.
Skills: Archery and Horsearchery - Jerel is an exceptional archer, and is able to fire from horseback and retain control of arrow and horse, a skill passed to him from his tribe and honed by time.
Hunting and tracking - Skills again passed on at first by his tribe, and them from Sir Lored. Jerel can track animals for leagues and move stealthily to avoid startling them. He can dress his kills with expertise.
Animal handling - Interacting with horses is almost second nature to Jerel, and his bond with Ter as deep as the ocean of the night sky, and from this Jerel has a mostly accurate intuition when dealing with animals. He is a master horserider and falconer in part because of this.
Melee - Jerel’s skill with melee weapons is just about passable for a knight, since he trains with other knights not quite as regularly as he should.
Name: Jorm of Pharn Age: Very old. Gender: Male Race: Half-Giant (Dark Elf)
Appearance: From his size alone, many would assume Jorm to be a full blooded giant than a half-breed. Standing at close to 14', his elvish heritage expresses itself in both his greater height and his slightly thinner physique. Course, most people wouldn't be able to tell the difference given the rarity of meeting a Giant in Thaln. Another sign of his elvish heritage would be the glow that occasionally lights up his body and eyes as mana courses through him.
Jorm does have a set of armor ready to be worn. It's not uncomfortable to wear constantly, but the slight clinks that inevitably occur grow annoying when they are a constant companion.
Personality Somewhat detached from the troubles that many of the Order's members plague themselves with such as social status or position, Jorm's primary drive seems to be maintaining the peace and ensuring that the Order's purpose is never lost. The loss of association with the Church is unfortunate, but more so from a practical side as Jorm views it. Those devoted to Mayon simply seemed to uphold the tenants that the Order was founded upon. Since it became more open in its recruitment, he's seen many join up simply to associate themselves with the prestige the Iron Roses hold.
Still, if they can serve to stomp out the evils that might plague Thaln then so be it. Though it can be hard to instruct for many given the differences in physique, he nonetheless serves to pass on knowledge and techniques accumulated over his life time. He prides himself in the martial prowess he has developed, and very much sticks to it within the Order. Dealing with the politics that have become more entwined as nobles and parties worm their way into the Order is very much something he disdains, but puts up with. He might be old, but he isn't important in the same way they are.
Brief Backstory Born and raised beneath the frozen lands to the far North, Jorm occasionally leaves for them to visit family and friends. He may be old among the Order, but compared to his father and the rest of Nu-Gorath he might as well still be a teenager searching for his place in the world. Though his departure from the subterranean city wasn't the most diplomatic, their relations are largely amicable at this point.
His relationship with the Order is something of ancient news, hardly relevant to those who still serve it today. When the Order was still young and its numbers lacking, he sought out their aid in saving one of his brethren from the shackles of magic. Despite the magic being successfully dispelled, the damage left on the victim's mind were permanent and scarring. Perhaps the High Elves could have done more, but the Order was there and willing to help. It was not enough to make Jorm kneel and pledge himself, but it was the planting of a seed.
With the years came more brushes with the Order as he passed through Thaln or its surrounding lands. Not always for the best as some didn't approve of an outsider's involvement, but he could appreciate the ones that saw the practical use for a half-giant like himself. Slowly but surely, he grew to become more than a passing ally. When he had at long last sated his wanderlust, he turned to the capital to see if he had made himself useful enough to the Order. He'd come to see Nu-Gorath as a home of sorts by then, but damn was it still dim and cramped.
The first few generations were when Jorm made a name for himself among the Order. Plagued by open conflicts in which he could wade in and crush the opposition, the half-giant racked up a bloody count through the many battles the Order saw itself involved in. As new blood replaced the old and familiar faces and peace settled through Thaln, he saw himself hanging back from the battles. Giving others a chance to bloody their blades and test their mettle in combat.
Nowadays, Jorm only really fights when there's slavers abound given his ire for the ilk. He'll occasionally accompany a group on its tasking as oversight, but the actual fighting and job is left to the new blood. They'll need deeds and fame of their own if they want to rise up in the Order, though it only helps to a point. A point of contention in recent times, and one he's pointedly avoided weighing in on. No need to pour fuel to the fire.
Equipment: A variety of weapons of dwarven make that have then been enchanted to boast great durability. Finding anyone capable of forging weapons for someone of his physique is enough of a challenge, and their size alone makes enchanting them heavily all but an impossibility.
Jorm also possesses a mana reservoir. Originally an invention of the High Elves before Dark Elves copied it for their own use, these are objects that an user can store mana in to be withdrawn at a later time to fuel their spells or replenish flagging reserves. Given his lack of magical aptitude, Jorm carries this around as a boon to allies who may travel alongside him. A jagged black crystal when empty, it gradually fills with a multitude of dancing lights as more and more mana is stored within.
Skills: As befitting as a half-giant and veteran of the Order, Jorm is a dangerous and skilled opponent. With years to hone his abilities with a myriad of weapons, he's moved past just using his physical might to overwhelm and pairs it with genuine technique and understanding. To that end, he serves as something of a drill sergeant for the Order and concerns himself with the martial skill of all involved.
Though he doesn't travel as often nowadays, having mostly settled down, Jorm's skill as a woodsman haven't diminished terribly. The years spent roaming the land to sate his wanderlust have left a permanent mark on him, and he welcomes the wilderness once the hustle and bustle of a packed city have faded away. In the same vein, he tends to provide for himself out of simple necessity. Though there are cooks and serfs that serve the Order, he would not burden them with the difficulty of feeding him or looking out for his other needs.
Lastly, despite his size, the reputation Dark Elves hold is not completely lost on Jorm. He moves with an eerie silence when he wishes to and coupled with his ability to see in the darkness just fine, he can be easier to miss in the dark than most would expect.
I mean... yeah, questionable is in fact an apt description. Like there's a lot of things that don't quite make sense there and others that are just... bad. Like the first thing that comes to mind is the appearance. His skin tone doesn't make a whole lot of sense because all elves are basically the same physically. Dark elves are... well, they're about what you'd expect underground-living northerners to look like: pale; not drow. The mana glowy stuff is also not really a thing as... every race has mana. Any glowing would have to be conscious effort from a magic user.
Being so much taller than an average half giant is actually a bad thing from the point of view of getting involved and like... you've already de facto committed to not taking part in the roleplay at all. There's not going to be a slaver focused. There's at least one thing near the beginning that takes place entirely indoors.
Then finally... all the age and "it's ancient!" stuff going on. Even putting aside that "oldest youngest knight" is basically my character schtick, it's really hopelessly vague and relies on another interpretation of elves that doesn't apply here--it's a lot closer to the "well, you're pretty much an adult when you're grown" approach with a lot of experience caveats. But specifically... the knights origins' aren't ancient history. It's two human lifetimes ago, which is pretty reasonable in a fantasy setting. Its founder is a Saint so people are very interested. They've always been based in the capital and are unsurprisingly well documented. And hell, one of the founding members is again right there, it's not a forgotten mists of history deal.