Character Biography I've written in 2015 to first character, Cavalier, the first time I saw this kit
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notes: Not a native speaker, I'm not the best at English, that's my level at the language and I accept corrections if you wish to help me edit this text. I hope you enjoy this short story.
The Legend of the unknown Cavalier, Lance.
People gaze with marvel at the knight riding his horse quietly and slowly across the city square. Scar across his neck, scar above his eye and cross through his ear . His arms bear old signs of burning. One hand on the horse’s back, and one on his sword’s hilt, with two more swords on his belt, and a large one on his back. The white horse is adorned with armor and cloth. A long pitchfork with a leather case on it’s spikes is hanging on the settle bags, as well as a halberd with matching leather cases as well.
“Lance is here!” whispers travel through the mob. “He’s born of lions he is” the men boast. “A golden hearted knight he is” the ladies approve. None of them know his true story, not even Lance himself.
Beyond a lake, across many cliffs to the north, In a manor, was a boarding school where the noble class children were sent to be educated properly. The kind of school a father would send his pompous boy to, spoiled rotten by women and servants, who can’t even make his own bed or fix a meal for himself, hoping they will make a man out of him.
Days on the school pass, between poetry lessons to finance, politics, protocol, arts and history. Sometimes there was swordplay, and hunting. One particular day, the class of children with their tutor knight were out on a hunting trip, teaching the boys on life in the wilderness, not even two days’ walk away from school.
Shadows crossed past them over the leaves of the trees. And screeches of beasts, terrible screeches that bore terrible screams.The tutor knight called the boys to him, amidst the havoc and the terror, under assault by winged devils. Their hunting trip was not prepared for this. Stags and ducks, not Wyverns. On their way to find nestings in the cliffs by the manor, a flight of Wyverns past by the children hunting trip. And down they descended upon them. The Elder Wyvern first attempting to smash their horses with his huge body. The Tutor knew all too well the massacre is imminent if he won’t act quickly, and so he conjured up his most powerful incantation, and blasted it upon the elder wyrm. But alas, not only was it far from enough to kill the creature, the blast hit it right on its tail, right on the venom sack. With the explosion of the magic, the venom sack inflated, grew and grew and exploded in a huge burst of poison everywhere. Everyone was hit. Poison and acid everywhere, cries and screams at the terrible pain, scratching tearing skin to take the poison out. Terror has descended like hail on them. But not everyone was in panic. One boy, feared not. He went there to hunt. And hunting he will. Sided by the screams of his dying companions, the boy struggled to stand up, he lifted his body to get on his knees, while the Wyvern looked at him, gazing at one boy wearing a still face, not quivering, not quaking, not crying… not dying. As the cryings were dying out, and went silent, he deepened his focus on the boy,
As they all went silent, only one carried on crying. Not the boy. The boy wanted the Wyvern’s blood. He wanted to strangle his wormy neck in his arms. He cared not that his burned body was paralyzed by the poison, ravaging through him. He was getting up to kill it. He will kill it. A single tear dropped, out of the air in a twinkle unnoticed to anyone, a tear fell through the air. A merciful Angel was watching the boys at their last setting place, and could not contain their sorrow. But not only sorrow, there was pride, and admiration. A lion’s heart was an understatement to what the angel was witnessing. For you know, immortals don’t see with the sense of time that mortals do, the angel saw it all, past, present, and future, and their heart broke. The tear fell on the boy’s wound, and quickly made it to his heart. In that moment, the boy’s courage was infused with the poison, and the divine providence, that was merely a drop, with the potency of heavenly rays showering down upon him. He remained on his knees, paralyzed, while the angel’s tear kept his heart alive. With a soul chilling screech, the Elder Wyvern called on his flight to carry on, and take on the cliffs. The boy watched as the wyverns flew towards his home, his school, to kill everyone that was remaining in his life. He will not tolerate it. He will not allow it while he still draws breath. What strength carried him on his feet, we can not know. He picked up a lance from his party’s hunting equipment, and walked up to face the elder one. As the Wyvern looked down at the boy with contempt, the boy stabbed the lance in the wyrm's chest. The wyvern gave little reaction to the hit, a mere poke for him, he pulled the lance out and stabbed it again through his chest, and as the wyvern went to bite the boy’s chest off where he stood, instead of the boy, he caught the lance. With a mighty roar he pulled the lance again and stabbed the creature right though his head until the lance went out the other side, breaking some of the wyrm’s skull in its exit. Not even a quick screech did the elder wyrm give up this time. as he was killed too quickly to react, and the boy finally collapsed to the ground.
How long he remained to lay there, no one knows for sure. Between paralysis and sleeping state, he drifted in dreams but only one thought haunted him, his friends being ravaged by the flight of wyverns. He will get up, he will stop them, he will hunt them, he will never be stopped, he won’t be stopped by their poison, he will never fear, he will never be alone. The single tear of the angel remained with the boy’s heart. Kept him in sedation as his body recovers. When he woke up, several weeks later, he didn’t remember anything. Not what happened, how he got there, or any of his own previous life. The blood soaked into the soil and the dead bodies were quickly claimed by scavengers. He only saw the dead elder, rotting, and felt the burning desire in his heart, empowering him, willing him. The boy pulled the lance out of the elder’s head, and stuck it in the ground. “Lance, I am.” Forever he will be governed by his will to hunt the fiendish ones. Forever he will not know why, and what is beating within his own heart. He is Lance, the Cavalier, he has never feared them, and he never will.
The Legend of the unknown Cavalier, Lance.
People gaze with marvel at the knight riding his horse quietly and slowly across the city square. Scar across his neck, scar above his eye and cross through his ear . His arms bear old signs of burning. One hand on the horse’s back, and one on his sword’s hilt, with two more swords on his belt, and a large one on his back. The white horse is adorned with armor and cloth. A long pitchfork with a leather case on it’s spikes is hanging on the settle bags, as well as a halberd with matching leather cases as well.
“Lance is here!” whispers travel through the mob. “He’s born of lions he is” the men boast. “A golden hearted knight he is” the ladies approve. None of them know his true story, not even Lance himself.
Beyond a lake, across many cliffs to the north, In a manor, was a boarding school where the noble class children were sent to be educated properly. The kind of school a father would send his pompous boy to, spoiled rotten by women and servants, who can’t even make his own bed or fix a meal for himself, hoping they will make a man out of him.
Days on the school pass, between poetry lessons to finance, politics, protocol, arts and history. Sometimes there was swordplay, and hunting. One particular day, the class of children with their tutor knight were out on a hunting trip, teaching the boys on life in the wilderness, not even two days’ walk away from school.
Shadows crossed past them over the leaves of the trees. And screeches of beasts, terrible screeches that bore terrible screams.The tutor knight called the boys to him, amidst the havoc and the terror, under assault by winged devils. Their hunting trip was not prepared for this. Stags and ducks, not Wyverns. On their way to find nestings in the cliffs by the manor, a flight of Wyverns past by the children hunting trip. And down they descended upon them. The Elder Wyvern first attempting to smash their horses with his huge body. The Tutor knew all too well the massacre is imminent if he won’t act quickly, and so he conjured up his most powerful incantation, and blasted it upon the elder wyrm. But alas, not only was it far from enough to kill the creature, the blast hit it right on its tail, right on the venom sack. With the explosion of the magic, the venom sack inflated, grew and grew and exploded in a huge burst of poison everywhere. Everyone was hit. Poison and acid everywhere, cries and screams at the terrible pain, scratching tearing skin to take the poison out. Terror has descended like hail on them. But not everyone was in panic. One boy, feared not. He went there to hunt. And hunting he will. Sided by the screams of his dying companions, the boy struggled to stand up, he lifted his body to get on his knees, while the Wyvern looked at him, gazing at one boy wearing a still face, not quivering, not quaking, not crying… not dying. As the cryings were dying out, and went silent, he deepened his focus on the boy,
As they all went silent, only one carried on crying. Not the boy. The boy wanted the Wyvern’s blood. He wanted to strangle his wormy neck in his arms. He cared not that his burned body was paralyzed by the poison, ravaging through him. He was getting up to kill it. He will kill it. A single tear dropped, out of the air in a twinkle unnoticed to anyone, a tear fell through the air. A merciful Angel was watching the boys at their last setting place, and could not contain their sorrow. But not only sorrow, there was pride, and admiration. A lion’s heart was an understatement to what the angel was witnessing. For you know, immortals don’t see with the sense of time that mortals do, the angel saw it all, past, present, and future, and their heart broke. The tear fell on the boy’s wound, and quickly made it to his heart. In that moment, the boy’s courage was infused with the poison, and the divine providence, that was merely a drop, with the potency of heavenly rays showering down upon him. He remained on his knees, paralyzed, while the angel’s tear kept his heart alive. With a soul chilling screech, the Elder Wyvern called on his flight to carry on, and take on the cliffs. The boy watched as the wyverns flew towards his home, his school, to kill everyone that was remaining in his life. He will not tolerate it. He will not allow it while he still draws breath. What strength carried him on his feet, we can not know. He picked up a lance from his party’s hunting equipment, and walked up to face the elder one. As the Wyvern looked down at the boy with contempt, the boy stabbed the lance in the wyrm's chest. The wyvern gave little reaction to the hit, a mere poke for him, he pulled the lance out and stabbed it again through his chest, and as the wyvern went to bite the boy’s chest off where he stood, instead of the boy, he caught the lance. With a mighty roar he pulled the lance again and stabbed the creature right though his head until the lance went out the other side, breaking some of the wyrm’s skull in its exit. Not even a quick screech did the elder wyrm give up this time. as he was killed too quickly to react, and the boy finally collapsed to the ground.
How long he remained to lay there, no one knows for sure. Between paralysis and sleeping state, he drifted in dreams but only one thought haunted him, his friends being ravaged by the flight of wyverns. He will get up, he will stop them, he will hunt them, he will never be stopped, he won’t be stopped by their poison, he will never fear, he will never be alone. The single tear of the angel remained with the boy’s heart. Kept him in sedation as his body recovers. When he woke up, several weeks later, he didn’t remember anything. Not what happened, how he got there, or any of his own previous life. The blood soaked into the soil and the dead bodies were quickly claimed by scavengers. He only saw the dead elder, rotting, and felt the burning desire in his heart, empowering him, willing him. The boy pulled the lance out of the elder’s head, and stuck it in the ground. “Lance, I am.” Forever he will be governed by his will to hunt the fiendish ones. Forever he will not know why, and what is beating within his own heart. He is Lance, the Cavalier, he has never feared them, and he never will.
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