Phaedra Cadence Character in Cairne | World Anvil

Phaedra Cadence

Dame Phaedra Chime Cadence


Physical Description

General Physical Condition

Phaedra is a Grave Knight , and as such is undead.

Body Features

Years of wearing heavy plate and religiously honing her swordsmanship had kept her fit and strong in spite of her size up until the day she died. She generally took a degree of care in her appearance, setting aside the time to carefully style her long silver hair and accent the green of her eyes with a bit of khol. She was generally quite poised, standing straight-backed and moving with purpose- it leant her an air of nobility rather far removed from her actual station.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Taken from the personal journal of Phaedra Cadence:     This is surely hell.     In the days leading up to her final battle, Phaedra couldn’t help but think that looking over the torn landscape of the battlefield. She had fought before- many times in fact… But never like this. This contract had been grueling. Like none the company had ever faced. Men died in crushing, almost unfathomable numbers. Often before even getting a chance to fight. All that training, all they’d been through together… All of the trust placed in her.   Lost.   Her command of three hundred fifty-eight men had been reduced to a worn and weary nineteen. One-by-one, no matter her tactic, no matter how careful they were- they were dying.   And still, they trusted her.   “Stick close to the captain, she’ll get us out of this kid.”   Haddek’s words to the young new recruit followed her everywhere, echoing in her mind and robbing her of sleep. They had not held true. The wide, horror-filled eyes of the boy’s final moments haunted her every moment. Her charge. Her men. Her command. Her… Brothers.   And after that last, terrible day… Not one remained standing. All nineteen were slain in the closing hour of the bloody struggle.   She’d come so far.   Raised to be little more than a commodity to be married off, her refusal had left her with no real home to return to, and after the Blight fell, she was left, like so many survivors, with nowhere left to go. It was the Wardens that had taken her in. Hesitant at first, one of the free company’s lieutenants had allowed her to come along provisionally. She would tend their camp, cook, and read letters for them. Later, she was conscripted by the Captain to compose his missives and record their travels in her annuls. She had been content with this for a time. Accompanying them on their misadventures and milling about the camp. She was well-liked among the men and in spite of the oddity of dragging along someone not trained or actively fighting, she was rarely hassled. The men looked upon her with a fondness, as her kindness and obvious gratefulness at having a place to be was rather hard to ignore. She grew close with many of them and came to know them as friends.   A little over a year into her service, a detachment of the company was ambushed on their way to bolster a squabbling noble’s escort. In the chaos, one of her friends fell, wounded. The enemy stalked closer, axe raised to finish the deed when they found themselves face-to-face with blazing green eyes and a feral snarl… Her stolen sword buried deep in his gut.   She fought.   She did not have the training or talent to manage much. However… The sight of this woman clad in nothing more than a tattered dress dashing about, sword flashing and slashing amidst the sea of blades was enough to convince her comrades that she be allowed to train and fight. And so she did.   In time her cunning, quickness and tenacity won the respect of her superiors and she was given a small command of her own. Those men who came under her wing quickly learned that her loyalty was a valuable commodity and it became prized by all who came to know her. She could be cold and ruthless to those who did not wear the colors of the Wardens, but was motherly and kind to all in her care.   Those days however were long behind them. As they grew in prestige and notoriety, the company took on larger and larger jobs. Their ranks swelled and the rate of attrition rose with them. Phaedra’s men very rarely saw loss. She had by this point absorbed most of the long-term members. They were the hardened unit, the men who somehow just kept coming out alive. Recruits came and went with the season but theirs were the elite, the deathless.   No longer.   She lay on her back, each breath a painful struggle. Her sword broken and beyond her reach. What remained of her people scattered about around her accompanied by a considerably larger assortment of enemy colors. All dead. The battlefield was nightmarish. Men still stood, stumbling about and putting their spears through surviving Wardens. Her company. They were sparse though, as the fighting had been brutally close and most of the effort now went into chasing down stragglers or tending wounded.   The pitched battle had been a bitter fight for survival. There was no retreat. For the company it would mean death at the hands of flanking enemy forces- they had to push through and keep pushing. For the defenders… It meant the burning of their villages just miles behind their backs. The Company was not and never had been heroic. They fought for honor and coin. And now they had died for it.   One of the shambling survivors wandered closer. Phaedra tensed, slowly lifting a hand to discreetly slip free her dagger and clutch it to her chest. She did not have long to live- but she would be damned if she was going to watch one of those dogs pilfer her friends for spoils whilst she drew breath. When he was close enough- she lunged. She lurched upwards and slashed, stumbling a couple of steps before collapsing once more. She coughed, a splatter of blood painting the churned mud before her in morbid crimson hues. She glared up at the stranger… Oddly he bore no weapon. Her many wounds screamed for mercy in her hazy mind but she shrugged them off with a snarl.   “Get… Back…” She warned, voice coming out far more frail than she had intended. Looking closer… The being almost seemed amused. Casually, it circled… Watching her as she struggled to track it. Her vision blurred, her strength ebbed, the broken spear point embedded in her chest working its way deeper with every movement. It waited, almost politely, for her to stop struggling. It almost reminded her of the way buzzards begin to creep in closer, hopping about and taking tentative, inching steps closer as the dying creature moves less and less. Curious… And somehow hungry.   She finally collapsed once more, unable to rise to her feet. Sensing this, the being drew closer. It moved with an unnatural grace, its gaze never leaving her face as it studied her. It began to ask her questions… Its voice was soothing and calm, almost jarring juxtaposed against the carnage around them. In her delirious state, she began to wonder…   “Are… Are you death?”   The creature did not deign to answer, opting instead to simply continue its line of questioning. Prompting her to answer with gentle, almost affectionate encouragement. She slumped, forcing herself into a half-sitting position- her back propped up on a convenient pile of corpses. Resigned and having lost enough blood she had difficulty distinguishing the waking world from that of her delirium… She answered ‘deaths’ questions honestly… But still she waited. Some small part of the warrior in her searching for an opening. One last effort. Phaedra figured it might be worth it if only just to see if death might bleed. She bided her time and finally, the moment arrived. He leaned in close, straining to hear her fading voice… She stabbed him. The blade slid cleanly to the hilt and yet… The man didn’t flinch. He only shook his head and smiled.   “I would like to make you an offer, Phaedra Cadence…”

Personality Characteristics

Virtues & Personality perks

Phaedra is unflinchingly loyal and utterly devout in her convictions. A single-minded drive certain to be unmatched by any who would oppose their will or stand between them and the dream they share. She is a competent fighter in her own right, but empowered as the Champion of a Lich her skill when it comes to doling out death is frightening to behold. Beyond mere muscle, however, Phaedra is a tactician and is often sought out by her master for consultation on matters of import.

Vices & Personality flaws

Prideful in the extreme, anything that besmirches her view of her own ‘honor’ is sure to set her teeth to grinding. She is a vain and dignified individual… Because she must be. In the deepest seat of her heart, the woman has doubts. The tiny spark of humanity that smolders in her damned soul must remain buried under that steadfast trust and belief in her mission. Anything that undermines that pride- shows the ugly and rot just beneath her beautiful facade of humanity will deeply unnerve her. Further still, while generally even-tempered and calm… Slights against her lord can not go unanswered unless he specifically commands her not to. And even then, the debate will be visible on her features. In Short: Erebus Himself is her greatest weakness.   Outside of this, Phaedra struggles to remain in touch with her former humanity. She is a great deal more adept at it than Erebus- but alas the many years spent in undeath has left her somewhat odd… Distant. Connecting with other people and remaining in disguise can be a chore and after a time- she grows quite tired of it.



Elevated to Champion 25 AR

Contacts & Relations

Divine Classification
Grave Knight
Current Status
Safeguarding Erebus Kane and his vision
Current Location
Honorary & Occupational Titles
Supreme Grand-Master of Winter, Shah's Love, The Hand of Adoration
Date of Birth
1st of Frigus, 150 AR
150 AR 5 PR 155 years old
Circumstances of Death
Mortally wounded in battle by a spear to the chest
Current Residence
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
150 cm
54 kg
Aligned Organization
Other Affiliations
Ruled Locations

Character Portrait image: by Midjourney


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