Arkloyd
From FFa2Wiki
History
The Wold... A lovely place. To visit. If you've your wits about you. Not so nice to live there... Perhaps for it's common population, it's much like any other place, but to be the first son of a small matriarchal clan... You're counted lower than even the youngest ruling daughter, little above those very Common folk the Clan rules and protects. In terms of the Shire, you're considered 'Merchant Class', So much responsibility, so little to show for it. Our Clan has ever been Shunned for following the Old Ways, of venerating the Spirits around us, and acknowledging, mollifying and honouring them.
Perhaps that's why I left, to make a name for myself over and above what aetherial status my birth provides. To prove I'm worthy of my little nobility. I think, now, I had only thought to show this to myself, as none are there, at home, that know or care of my deeds. It was this realization that lead me to a greater ambition, but the realization had only come with a price. First, however, I shall start this tale from the beginning.
I'd left home, and the one family member I'd really come to care for, in a fit of pique, to seek fortune and fame. The very first 'civilized' place I'd found had been Drachenkeep, to whom my savage strength (The mark of a true Duwier) had gotten me, quickly, into their armed forces. It was another Duwier hallmark, a 'taint' of Spirit, long the bane of Duwier ambition, which kept us from the high Clan circles, which gave me the inborn social grace and ability to rise quickly in rank to General, I'd lead a full unit of Flagellites, flail wielding, heavy hitting shock troops.
My unit had been called up to battle, against a force I no longer can recall, as at this point, one battle has seemed to melt into the next, when we were sent to flank a troublesome calvary charge of the enemy du jour. I'd lead the spear-head formation, and we'd executed a picture perfect charge, burrowing right into their left flank, and sinking in deep. The last thing I recall had been pulling a rider from his mount, which I had just injured. The well trained beast fought even without the rider's direction, and was made all the more vicious and nimble by the lack. I distinctly recall every nail in it's horse-shoe, just as it struck my face.
The injury should have killed me. I awoke in a pile of my own blood, and... I do believe the brain matter that had been my pillow was indeed my own. See, our connection to to the Old Ones, what some might call the Savages of the Woods across the walls bourdering the Misty Wilds, sometimes causes the appearance of certain traits. One of them is that the Duwier's greatest warriors and those of the purest blood often heal even deathly wounds right before the eyes of those watching.
This wound, the threat to my life, had awoken this in me.
I'd returned to DrachenKeep, where they had thought me dead, and I found that, being dead, I was no longer able to command a unit... I had ceased to exist there, and nothing could appeal the sentence, as one of the Kingdom's laws is 'Death is permanent'. I had to move on. I wandered aimlessly, South, East, slowly trying to relearn what the kick to my head had robbed me of. I had eventually found the Shirelands, a place that seemed suited to opportunity. I immediately settled, and was soon found by the ruling 'Peace Keepers', who made me Shire-reeve. My deeds in Drachenkeep, my ability at arms, and at leading men had been just a step ahead of me. Much of the ability they had sought in me, as a leader, had been lost... Not by injury, as I would have belived, but melencholy, I had convinced myself of a certain kind of worthlessness. Powerlessness. It does not seem so long after I found myself isolated, and alone through every fault of my own. I felt old, tired. I had accepted a position at 'Terrabrea', a Keep on the borders, training the land-owner's small force, as a line of defense for the Shire. This was somewhat more satisfying, if only for the familarity of the work. I was soon convinced that I should leave the Peace Keepers, thus I did, leaving it in the hands of my one time Deputy, Amanda Dalton, ever a good friend of mine. I took my leave, then, of the Shire, wandering the land. The one thing I felt I would succeed in.
The call of my new home had been hard to ignore. Upon returning, I felt more vital, more alive than I had in what felt like an age. I took up a new position in the Peace Keepers, having mistook this new found love of life, and self-assuredness, for something else. My next shock was when I found the Third girl of my family, my sister, Sera, had made her way here with no knowledge of where I had been. All grown up, and still every bit the loveable brat I had left as but a small lass. The very one I had the most regret in leaving at home. I had sorely been tempted to bring her along, but I felt I could not. She took every opportunity to remind me I should have, of the plight of younger Daughters, to be wed off to secure Duwier power in the Wold. It was then I promised never to leave her again...
But as it is, the responsibilities of being a Peace Keeper had started to weight on me once more. For all the Good I thought I was doing, the Bad things never stopped coming. It was like trying to drink a river dry. I happened, during Duty, to have a need to visit the Naipon Embassy, to calm a situation having to deal with the Naiponese Honour and a few Shire-Folk, both of whom had taken insult to the other. Once I had diffused the situation with some aid, I took a moment to ask those that run the Embassy if I may explore the grounds. Given permission, I was struck by their ways, how every moment they seemed at peace, even the youths sparring with wasters in the gardens. Everything they did seemed to have signifigant purpose. I then approached the head of the Embassy, and asked him how I might find this peace.
Thus began my training under Shiro-Sama, I learned their language, their ways of combat, of meditation, of self discipline. Of Honour and certainty of one's purpose in life. Somehow, a lesson in combat could tie to one of inner stillness, and a lesson in language could apply to honour. Somehow, everything was connected. Nothing was an island to itself.
I had still felt like an island... and again, as being the wont of many a First Male in Duwier history, the urge to wander struck. I will only say I returned to the Wold for some time, and to Drachenkeep, where they could no longer deny my existance, and finally gave me the honours I had gained as a General and Soldier. Returning to the Shire, I brought these honours with me, as a Medaled 'Man at Arms', and resigned my position in the Peace Keepers. My travels left me many nights to meditate upon my life to this point, and I still feel that I made the right choice. I can not drink the river dry, but I can keep the Bad things away from myself and my own. Sera.
She's given me a great honour... I've been inatiated into her guild. She runs the Shire cell of the Crimson Paw, and brought me in against the judgement of her officers, to become fully into her confidence, and to protect her new status, and now mine. I can start to see certain plans I have held, dreams until now, coming to possibility. The assension of the Duwier Clan, a true Nobility in what I hope to make one of the Majour Clans. Such things are now coming into focus which before had been hidden from me.
I am Arkloyd mac Alistair mac Duwier.
I write these words of my past so they may not fade from my mind, so that I may learn who I am, by knowing who I was, and perhaps allowing me to see how I may become what I wish to be.
These words are penned in secret, and kept safe. until the time of my death, to make a tale for Bards to tell when I have joined the Spirits once more.
Description
Short and massive describe Arkloyd best upon first sight. Only five feet tall, he masses at two hundred pounds of hard worked muscle. Overall, his pelt is a grizzled grey colour, due to the underlying guard coat, which is a darker umber brown mostly hidden by the thicker longer fur, which is a rich silver grey.
Arkloyd's hands are gloved in a short, coarse covering of glossy ebony fur, thinning out to near nothing on his fingers, which show dark brown skin on the dorsal, the palms protected with black leathery pads, calloused from his line of work. His feet are similar, though broader and made for walking.
His tail is a wonder, bushy and quite plush, it is accented by seven black rings, the last making a cap at the tip. If held high, it would touch the back of his head, covering his wide back from view.
Arkloyd's most striking feature is his face, for many reasons. Instead of a simple band of black masking his green eyes, his is patterned like a bat's or dragon's wings, the band flowing and fading down to his nose giving the illusion of a tail. He carries a sort of rugged handsomeness, the result of the unearthly beauty of the Faerie mixing with the all too earthy Savage folk, As massive as he is, it's more than obvious that bone plays just as much of a role as muscle in making up his bulk, though this very definition gives his face strikingly chizelled features that are the hallmark of Duwier males.
Currently dressed for battle, Arkloyd is wearing a layered canvas shirt, the torso festooned with an orderly array of pale golden brown scales. His shoulders are capped with articulated spaulders, under which the pauldrons hang, laced to the plain heavy canvas sleeves. His elbows are protected by simple cops, leaving the bracers alone to protect his forearm to the gauntlet, which hold no finger protection save the thick black canvas of the open palmed gloves he wears. He protects his hips with strips of the same metal as the rest of his armour, which hang halfway to his knees. Upper legs are protected with curved plates belted to his thighs, lower legs holding simple greaves, below which are a pair of well worn and maintained hiking boots.
