Elijah Whitehallow
Nov 12, 2015 23:07:12 GMT
Post by Prestige on Nov 12, 2015 23:07:12 GMT
Name: See above.
Race: Human.
Age: Mid 40s.
Height: 6'1
Weight: Comparatively light, due to malnutrition.
Physically:
Dented, scratched plate mail adorns the knight's figure, from heavy, well-made helm to the meticulously cared for and shined boots, he looked every bit the picture of a stately, powerful figure. Without his helm, his eyes were sunken into his face somewhat and streaks of gray ran through his hair. Beneath the tired, world-weary visage, there were still the obvious signs of a spry, capable fighter, despite his age. As far as equipment went: he vastly favored martial weapons and heavy shields, demonstrating an immense degree of prowess with all varieties of weaponry.
Mentally:
Years of campaigning, guarding, and training have made Elijah every bit the strong-willed, powerful fighter that many would say epitomizes the order of Sirandian knights, including the powers that were in the kingdom. He held a generous rank before the outbreak hit, which was fortunate: for years of killing or being killed, a break from the field was exactly what he needed. He demonstrated an exceptional degree of battlefield tactics and prowess.
Biography:
Third-born to a pair of low-ranking Sirandian nobles, Elijah was never destined for great things. He could either toil his life away, working at the trading business that his elder brothers would inherit, join the clergy, or try his hand at fighting. From a very early age, he demonstrated an exceptional prowess with sword and board, and left home to join the order of Sirandian knights.
Years passed. Training, campaigning, and guarding passed in a blur: every day that passed sharpened his skills, honed his abilities to fight, his willingness to die, and his utter inability to care about the risks and dangers that stared him down day after day. When he was finally pulled off of the battlefield to take a half-step back and put into a role as a commander, he did his job to the level best of his abilities.
Years of righteously striking down enemies of the crown had hardened his heart, enabling him to make difficult decisions without hesitation. As a result, the few years he spent in command of a large troop of knights were exceptionally successful, allowing his standing in the nobility rankings to increase significantly. All of his progress was for nothing when the undead blight took the castle, and seeing all his years of work undone caused him to undergo revelations when he fled the castle, arriving in Kalaram with a softened heart and a renewed sense of purpose: to defend and protect any and all survivors that he would find.
Race: Human.
Age: Mid 40s.
Height: 6'1
Weight: Comparatively light, due to malnutrition.
Physically:
Dented, scratched plate mail adorns the knight's figure, from heavy, well-made helm to the meticulously cared for and shined boots, he looked every bit the picture of a stately, powerful figure. Without his helm, his eyes were sunken into his face somewhat and streaks of gray ran through his hair. Beneath the tired, world-weary visage, there were still the obvious signs of a spry, capable fighter, despite his age. As far as equipment went: he vastly favored martial weapons and heavy shields, demonstrating an immense degree of prowess with all varieties of weaponry.
Mentally:
Years of campaigning, guarding, and training have made Elijah every bit the strong-willed, powerful fighter that many would say epitomizes the order of Sirandian knights, including the powers that were in the kingdom. He held a generous rank before the outbreak hit, which was fortunate: for years of killing or being killed, a break from the field was exactly what he needed. He demonstrated an exceptional degree of battlefield tactics and prowess.
Biography:
Third-born to a pair of low-ranking Sirandian nobles, Elijah was never destined for great things. He could either toil his life away, working at the trading business that his elder brothers would inherit, join the clergy, or try his hand at fighting. From a very early age, he demonstrated an exceptional prowess with sword and board, and left home to join the order of Sirandian knights.
Years passed. Training, campaigning, and guarding passed in a blur: every day that passed sharpened his skills, honed his abilities to fight, his willingness to die, and his utter inability to care about the risks and dangers that stared him down day after day. When he was finally pulled off of the battlefield to take a half-step back and put into a role as a commander, he did his job to the level best of his abilities.
Years of righteously striking down enemies of the crown had hardened his heart, enabling him to make difficult decisions without hesitation. As a result, the few years he spent in command of a large troop of knights were exceptionally successful, allowing his standing in the nobility rankings to increase significantly. All of his progress was for nothing when the undead blight took the castle, and seeing all his years of work undone caused him to undergo revelations when he fled the castle, arriving in Kalaram with a softened heart and a renewed sense of purpose: to defend and protect any and all survivors that he would find.
