Rathgaard
Most Reverend Knight Rathgaard Stonewarden
I, Rathgaard, Cleric of Tyr and High Priest of the Coliseum of the Green City, do leave these dictums to add henceforth to the holy see.
The worship of Tyr requires combat, and pain both received and given is our tithe.
The symbol of the priest is a weapon of Tyr, for he favors them all.
The sign of the acolyte is the sheleighly, simple yet effective, and the goal is to learn through hard lessons.
The center of the see of this realm is the Green City, and the Coliseum is the cathedral, and through here is the clergy trained.
Honor is the utmost, and threat to the life of the adherent to the faith is smiled upon by Tyr.
The faith is simple and the theology short. Protect the innocent, be honorable in battle, punish the wicked through individual combat, and fear not death for therein lies the greatest discoveries.
Divine Domains
War; Personal Combat and Conquest
Holy Books & Codes
None. Aside from collected Journals, Tyr's teachings are oral and passed down from Knight (Priest in other faiths) to their acolytes.
Divine Symbols & Sigils
War Hammer (Knights Shilieghly (Acolytes)
Tenets of Faith
"Honor Foremost; Death Second"
Holidays
Boxing Day
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Rathgaard is extremely athletic. Stocky and short (he is a dwarf, after all), days in the arena of the Colisseum have made him strong and the sun has made him ruddy. Years of fighting have scarred him, yet he is stronger today than he has ever been.
Body Features
Ruddy and scarred; Short and thick, and muscles pronounced. Due to The Bleeding, in which Rathgaard spiritually fought the archangels of Tyr, he has found his blood to be acidic, the consequence of which remains to be seen.
Facial Features
Thick beard, yet not long. Hair cut short
Identifying Characteristics
The Hammer is tattooed upon his back.
Physical quirks
When he fights, he fights shirtless, allowing the uppers of his robes to hang behind by his belt.
Special abilities
Due to The Bleeding, Rathgaard has found his blood to be acidic and dangerous to all those antagonistic to Tyr.
Apparel & Accessories
White bleached robes of linen belted with a matching sash. Leather boots.
Specialized Equipment
Tyr's Hammer; Nothing more.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Raised in the mountains near Westermeath, Rathgaard was drawn to the Church of Tyr as a youth amongst the dwarves when a wandering priest challenged a large mob of brigands to personal combat and won with little trouble. Rathgaard became an acolyte, and upon the priest's death in honorable combat, inherited his hammer - Tyr's holy symbol as well as a weapon.
In his 75th Year (not yet middle-aged in the reckoning of dwarves) Rathgaard was sent to the lesser parish of The Green City to there assume his own church with which to honor Tyr and to raise acolyte to the faith. Few months had passed when befell the cataclysm which beset the City to rest in a new (and very strange) realm. Tyr, thine mysteries are great.
Gender Identity
Male
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Education
The Church of Tyr, and life experience. Rathgaard's father, Rathmore, was a general in the Great Dwarven Army that defended the borders of the Westermeath. His death came with great honor and great violence in the Battle for Mydian and the War of the Artifact, when Rathgaard was but a lad. The stories of valor told by his comrades in arms greatly influenced Rathgaard's path in life.
Accomplishments & Achievements
High Priest of Tyr in the Green City and surrounding realms.
Renowned for fighting prowess.
Morality & Philosophy
Tyr is the god of war and personal combat/conquest. Therefore, Rathgaard's personal morality is to never interfere in a proper challenge unless the formal rules of the dual are violated. His preference - Marquis of Queensbury rules, but others agreed upon are acceptable as well.
Taboos
Rathgaard wears no armor. While it is not forbidden by Tyr, Rathgaard feels that the use of armor shows fear, and therefore fights most often bare-chested.
Personality Characteristics
Motivation
To gain glory and to be worthy of his position.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Max, a former librarian and acolyte of Tyr
Hannibal, former captain of the guard in the Silver Spire, a former acolyte of Tyr, currently the Bishop of the Quivering Keep.
Family Ties
None in the Green City; Related to most of the Dwarves of Westermeath
Religious Views
Church of Tyr
Social Aptitude
A dwarf of few words, yet his actions speak volumes. Many have been moved to action by his leadership through combat.
Hobbies & Pets
None.
Speech
He bears the brogue of Westermeath.
Divine Classification
High Priest of Tyr
Honorary & Occupational Titles
The Most Reverend Knight of Tyr
Birthplace
Stonewarden, The Westermeath, in the North of Mydian
Children
Current Residence
The Cathedral of Tyr, in the Green City. Continent Unknown.
Gender
Male
Eyes
Grey
Hair
Brown, cut short
Height
4' 6"
Character Prototype
Chuck Norris
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Supplemental - Upon contemplation of The Bleeding
Evening in the Shivering Keep, upon our journey southward
As I set in Silver Spire, a few moments have found me in the quiet of the night, with the patter of rain upon the roof of the tavern where we have found refuge for the night. An ill-gained reputation seems to precede us, and unearned, yet it is thus, and our welcome is to be short-lived.
Sleep comes reluctantly. Max slumbers, as does the rest of our band who share the large quarters above the public house. Thus far my single candle flame bothers none.
As we have ventured I have had time to reflect. Only days before we set out, Tyr summoned me to his arena while my shell slept. His training ground was large, perfectly round, and surrounded by risers with his saints that have died in glorious combat. Upon seven points of the arena stood his archangels. Each was armed with a different weapon:
An elf carried a bow of golden wood in a cloak of green;
A human in brown robes bore a two-hand sword;
A halfing, in grey, bore a sling;
A second Human, wearing crimson, carried a long halberd the length of a short pine;
A dwarf, not unlike myself yet wearing blue hoisted a battleax like the one may father bore;
A second elf, black as pitch with like garments, with white hair and red eyes sharpened a dagger with a blackened blade;
And lastly, a figure whose form I did not know carried a blade unlike any I had seen as if the lighting had been harnessed and set within a silver hilt. Of all of the beings whether they were male or female I could tell, but not this last warrior with the lighting blade.
As I looked on, each held their weapon a-front, as if in salute, and they nodded.
And behold, a voice announced:
"Before you stands Rathgaard of Stonewarden, who soon will make The Eighth.
"Upon the terra firma, he has been tested and has proven worthy. Now here upon my grounds, he will be tested by The Seven."
I found myself in the arena surrounded by the warriors of Tyr. First came The Bow, whose arrows I dodged with the training of youth. Then came The Sword, whose blade cast blue sparks when I parried with my hammer. Thirdly The Sling, whose bullets sounded like hornets - those I dodge as well. Fourth The Halberd whose long shaft allowed a reach that no hammer could match, yet I disarmed him by a quick step which drove the halberd to the ground. Fifthly, The Dwarven Axe, and here the battle went long, yet I triumphed when the steel blade cracked. Each match continued, and The One Who Wielded Lighting watched. In the bout, I did not notice that The Black Blade did not advance, yet she was not in her place either - until I felt a piercing in my back, and Black Blade came through my chest. The vision of red blood and black steel lingered when the One Who Wielded Lighting shouted, "ENOUGH!
"You have done well. No other has bested The Seven, yet honor has been bested by dishonor. This will be your undoing, so beware."
With that, he nodded, and the elf with the black blade touched her weapon and it faded as if doused in a caustic liquid. Shortly, the wound closed with little more than a scar, smaller than those earned in other seasons of my life.
"Rathgaard of Stonewarden, rise and return to your place," echoed a bodiless voice, the one I had heard upon first arriving in the presence of The Seven. "Return and carry on the calling I have for you. 'Honor First; Death Second!"
And I awoke.
****
I awoke in a sweat and mine muscles ached, and for a moment I searched for the wound in my chest. There was no hole or piercing, yet the coverlet that draped me was ragged as if burned by a flame where it covered the place that the black blade cut.
This quest, I feel, will give me answers as to the purpose of this vision, this Bleeding. Thine mysteries, Tyr, are great.
Journey once again to the Silver Spire...
Five years, 20 days since the banishment of the Green City
Wonder of wonders. Rumors abound in the Green City, and several came unto mine ears, and that of mine apprentice Max. Much of the talk is that of the strange weathers that have plagued us of late; notably the deluge of rain sent from the heavens which threaten the city to drown.
Max purchased from an unfortunate soul a journal, which traced a southerly route hence unknown to the Silver Spire and Vex, whom many a traveler claims to be no more. The same unfortunate also spoke of rumors of a great lady who had swallowed the Moon. Myself have heard rumors of one who wears the beings of three gods about her neck. Aside from these similarities, the claims are of the south. Tonight we gathered in The Inn, and the decision to investigate was made. Communion was made just after, and prayers for the rains to cease were raised. We shall venture forth tomorrow.
****
We left at daybreak with a belly full of boiled eggs and broth. Max accompanied me with her newly-acquired tome. Since Morgan's retreat to his tower stronghold, there have been several changes to the party that first found themselves exiled to these parts; Lucius, a Paladin of Life's Tree; Erian, a spellslinger who seeks to earn his keep in the apprehension of those that flee; Nova and her beast Pelt, ranger of the unknown mists; Cinderclaw, the beast whose trust from me he has not earned; Jack, who cuts the purse; and Saeros of the Many Forms.
My prayers have been heard and the rains ceased today, yet in the distance, the clouds swirl. I fear they will return soon with vengence. The paths we followed were sodden and passage hard. Our first camp was away to the south and west
*****
Strange goings on. Upon our venture south we encountered what the elves among us believe to be a burial ground for their kind, with the words of their sending-off calling forth a garden borne of elven blood. Strange people - we Dwarves are of stone, so therefore return to stone at our passing, thus say The Pantheon. A black beast unknown to me and found not in Max's journals were cleansing the bones. Elias believes Necromancy to be at work. Hopefully we will see not. The elvenkind called it blasphemy. There truth is one is the heresy of another, so I know not.
It was Elias who beckoned us to leave the grove where the elven dead lay, yet this mystery of two races of elves resting together in such numbers cause me unrest. Was it war? Is this a battleground? I digress. It was he that first noticed that our food had gone rancid far sooner than nature dictates. His wands also have reacted poorly to whatever arcane air has fouled this lovely (and sheltered place). It would seem our path lay in the direction of the Shivering Keep, since the storm has made our planned route impossible to take.
****
We have encountered Lycanthropy. A lost soul we found, burned and tattered. The forces that bring forth the wolf have seared his skin, and his words were thus: "The Moon has never burned me, yet now it is so." I believe this meeting is fortuitous, for I believe it points towards that which we must devine. It is clear, as should have been obvious, that Cinderclaw gets along with no one, including those with whom he travels.
*****
Several days have passed. Necromancy we encountered, and a terrible price was paid by Jack, for some magicks have changed his form to flame. I shall seek a remedy to this curse. One talisman of Jack's is a door to his vaults. All but Nova entered therein to seek refuge from the rains, and Elias was attacked by a group of three. One was dispatched this life, while two we detained.
****
I write from the Shivering Keep. One of our captives is called The Dent. Only Lucius can speak his tongue, but he seems to be of a culture that values learning yet he knows not any language that I can cipher. He speaks of a Nameless Queen that has cast some sorcery on the moon, which I believe accounts for the rumors common now. This, I believe, will be the quest which Tyr has ordained forthwith.
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