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Galen

The Weary Knight of Rumed

0 · 372 views · located in The Lands of Edàin

a character in “Savior”, as played by Genesis Rhapsodos

Description

Galen




General Information

Name: Galen

Age: Unkown

Height: 6'9" but often slouches as if bowed by some great weight

Weight: 195lbs.

Build: Galen is tall and fit resulting in a big build. However if one was to look close Galen is more gaunt than anything.

Gender: Male

Nation: Rumed

Description

Hair Color: Galen appears to be middle aged in all but his hair which has turned bone white and falls to his shoulders.

Eye Color: The Essence of Health has made his eyes an unnatural dark green color that flashes brightly when Galen uses his power or experiences strong emotions.

Facial Features: He has a short beard, as is common in Rumed, which has also turned white. In a great irony of fate the healer is unable to heal himself and is covered with scars and marks of countless battles, the most prominent of which is the one that runs from under his left ear down to his chin.

Attire: Because of his eyes and his scars Galen has taken to covering himself from prying eyes. He wears a doublet displaying the sigil of Rumed, two crossed hammers on a field of blue, over his chain mail which he rarely removes. He also constantly wears a scarred, but highly polished great-helm. He tops it off with a large black cloak with a hood deep enough to hide his face when he is not wearing his helm. Because he is always covered Galen's skin has turned a pale white.

Personality

Behavior: Neurotic in the extreme. His great age has left Galen withdrawn and suspicious. He has lost most of his ability to connect and communicate with others, and mostly remains silent behind his helm. He is a man of great conviction, especially when it comes to his country, but is now tempered by weariness. Galen is reckless with his life, but only because he has outlived his fear of death. This has given him great confidence along with a sense of resignation.

Habits/Tendencies/Quirks: Galen rarely removes his armor and wears his great-helm as often as possible. Indeed his helmet has become something of a comfort object, saving him from prying eyes. This habit has developed because of Galen's distinct appearance, and some peoples mistrust of his powers. Galen would much rather seclude himself than face judgment.

Likes/Dislikes:
Above all Galen likes seclusion and quiet, only then can he truly relax.
Galen is fiercely loyal to his country of Rumed, although the term 'like' doesn't really apply.
Through he despises battle, Galen is very fond of fair combat. It is his life's work after all.
Galen hates interaction, but not necessarily people.
He holds a certain dislike for the country of Luthor and it's inhabitants. The split from Rumed was a long time ago, but relations have always been tense.
Though he knows it's value, Galen has long sense stopped thinking of his powers as gifts.

Fears: The Scion. Galen witnessed his power first hand, and fear is the only possible conclusion.
Judgment and condemnation of people for being different.

Hopes/Dreams: About the only one left is the hope of being accepted by others.


Essence

Essence: The Essence of Health

Abilities: The Essence of Health has given Galen unnatural longevity, and he has lived far beyond his allotted years. That is not to say that he is immortal, but rather his ability combats the ravages of time. He also has gained the ability to transfer his life-force to other objects. This has a multitude of uses, but can be extremely exhausting depending on the object, amount of energy used, and purpose of the transfer.

Techniques:

1. Transfer life to Answeller. The blade takes on an unnatural dark green glow, becomes unbreakable, and is rendered impervious to magic. This takes the least amount of energy out of Galen as the sword has become like an extra limb over the years. However as the blade absorbs damage Galen's energy drops correspondingly.

2. Transfer life to living organism. Giving his life to another Galen is able to heal and restore. This is dangerous however because the time and energy taken to heal a wound naturally is extracted from Galen's life-force.

3. Transfer life to inanimate object. This can have a host of effects depending on the object and the amount of energy used. Galen can only guess what his powers will awaken with these objects.

4. (Over The Top) Soul Blast. In times of great duress Galen can focus the entirety of his life-force into Answeller and emit a mighty blast that is not quite magical in composition. Galen has only done this once before, and it is doubtful he would survive a second time.


Weaponry

Type of Weapon: flamberge

Name of Weapon: Answeller

Length: 170 Cm


Background

History: To persist through time is no easy thing, and has left its mark on Galen. Along with his surname, much of Galen's humanity has been lost to the chasm of time. Surviving all friends and family have left him withdrawn and bitter.Despite this his sense of duty and honor remain as well as his nationalism. That he hails from the land of Rumed is without a doubt. He is very gruff and nonvocal, and cannot easily resist the call to battle, glory, and death if necessary. Indeed Galen's recklessness can often be misinterpreted as a wish for death, but he has survived countless centuries and refuses to throw away his life meaninglessly. In addition he stubbornly clings to the past and refuses to replace his outdated equipment in a land where projectile weapons are common, and a bullet can punch through chain mail. 
Galen retreated to the wilderness after the Dragonspawn attack ten years ago and lived in seclusion. Recently King Felafial, wishing to fulfill promises made and to prove his country's prowess, sent out envoys to find Galen who had become something of a local legend. Reluctantly brought before the King, Galen was soon convinced that it was his duty to his country and to all humanity to become the Champion of Rumed. Now he sets out on his fateful venture, knowing that it will probably be his last.

So begins...

Galen's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Galen
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Galen

Posilidia Harbor, Rumed

Galen stood gazing out over the sea. His green eyes stared unblinking at the waves that lapped lazily against the harbor side. Galen loved the sea: ancient, unchanging, and misunderstood. He liked to think they had these things in common. He had spent much of the last ten years secluded in the woods, away from prying eyes, but he had missed the sea. Indeed sense he had arrived in Posilidia he had done little else but gaze at it's unfathomable depths.

A tolling bell shook him from his reverie, and his tranquility was shattered. His gaze swept across the rest of the dock, from which he stood a little apart. It was full of people, bustling about their daily lives albeit soberly. They know they will soon be dead. Galen shook his head violently, as if his despair was something he could physically shake off. But it wasn't. Galen had been there ten years ago, he had seen the Scion brush away Rumed's finest with impunity. Galen was helpless before such might, they all were. and then this place, and my country, will burn.

He sighed heavily and donned his helm, looking at the sun's position in the sky. Nothing left but to push onward. There may be little hope, but Galen wouldn't quit now. He adjusted his great-sword on his back and then began a slow walk towards the other end of the harbor. Today was the day the others were supposedly arriving. He was admittedly nervous to meet his new comrades, they were likely to be his last after all. Yet his blood stirred now that the time had finally come to campaign once again.

Galen stopped abruptly as he saw an armored man standing all alone, head bowed. He wasn't sure how he knew, but something was different about this man. He was one of the champions. Galen stood frozen in fear. Human interaction was getting harder and harder to deal with, and this situation was already so full of despair. As he he hesitated more and more champions came up to join the man. He couldn't hear their conversation but they seemed a lively bunch. Taking a few deep breaths Galen strode forward until he was a few feet away from the rest. "Greetings," he said lamely, his voice sounding flat and metallic beneath his helmet.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Meskal Kender Character Portrait: Damian Maleck Character Portrait: Atonia Biyos Abbilati Character Portrait: Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes Character Portrait: Galen Character Portrait: Riley Paolimi
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Meskal Kender

Polisidia Harbour, Docks, Rumed


Meskal had barely sat down to pray before he was rudely disturbed by the second of the champions to show their face on the docks proper. Meskal spared a second searching glance for the man, but he could discover little of interest. A plain man wearing skilfully made, practical clothes. He supposed that was for the best, no need to bring one’s fineries here, especially when they will be of no use against the Scion. When the young man spoke Meskal frowned, unfolded his hands and stood up, clearly irked by the man’s words. But before he could speak two new arrivals presented themselves, these two more like Meskal himself and one of them obviously of noble birth. Meskal listened to the second man’s introduction and was sad to hear the silent despondent one was supposed to be the champion of Perialis. But the sudden arrivals did not end there, for it seemed Meskal had arrived but moments before the other champions.

A woman dressed in finer clothing, with a familiar face, though he could not quite place her. Meskal snorted when she introduced herself as Princess of Saverilla. Either she was lying or anyone with even the slightest inkling of power in Saverilla had lost their minds. His eyes narrowed as he studied the strange woman, trying to figure out if she was truly the Princess of Saverilla by sight alone. His concentration was quickly broken however when the sound of something hitting another thing with force came from the dockside buildings. A quick glance in that direction revealed to him the source of the unusual sound. A fairly tall woman, standing near an a group of sailors, one of which was either slumped against the wall and unconscious, or taking a nap. When the woman introduced herself as the champion of Almekia, Meskal nodded in greeting. And finally a giant of man, taller even than Meskal appeared as if out of nowhere and hovered a few feet away from the newly formed group and gave a simple word of greeting.

These were to be his comrades in arms then? This poor bunch of thugs, princesses, spoiled brats and giants? Perhaps they didn’t have as big of a chance as Meskal had hoped at first, if this was the best the other nations could produce. With a grimace he looked over his fellow champions and took a deep breath. With an accusatory finger pointed in Damien’s direction Meskal finally spoke. ”How sad, are you so frightened that you would take away another man’s solace in prayer? Or are you simply a pathetic cur, not willing to spare another a bit of happiness in their beliefs?” He shook his head in disappointment and turned to the woman who seemed to have sent a sailor flying with just one punch. ”And you! What point was there in hitting that poor man? Clearly he was no match for you. Did you hit him simply to feed your own ego by showing others how strong you are, or do you enjoy hurting others so much you couldn’t help yourself?"

Meskal shook his head in disappointment once more, before turning to the despondent looking youth. ”And you! That man won’t be fighting in the tournament for you, so don’t let him speak for you either, lest he says something you will regret.” Meskal shook his head one final time before he straightened his back and turned his piercing gaze to each of his fellow champions in turn. ”Now that I have said my piece, I shall introduce myself.” Meskal said, his chest sticking outward slightly and his eyes slowly going over his fellow champions, even as his voice grew a little louder for his introduction. ”I am Meskal Kender, master of the house Kender and chosen champion of Luther. I greet you fellow champions and pray we will be victorious in our struggle against the foul Scion!” Meskal spoke, his voice filled with pride and conviction, even as the fire of the little candle still situated on his trunk seemed to suddenly burn more fiercely.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Meskal Kender Character Portrait: Damian Maleck Character Portrait: Atonia Biyos Abbilati Character Portrait: Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes Character Portrait: Galen Character Portrait: Riley Paolimi
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Damian Maleck

Polisida Harbour, Docks, Rumed


Damian examined his new allies as they arrived, his hightened rate of thought allowing him to gain more information in a shorter time. He already wasn't too fond of the noble, as he appeared to represent the average traits of a royal knight, religous and honorable to a fault. Damian was honorable as well, but he abided by a different kind of honor: the honor of a thief. This was an idea he doubted any of the other champions would understand or respect, but he wasn't going to change his ways for them.

The man was about to respond when another champion arrived. This one was accompanied by what looked like a servant, and reaked of the priviliged life. If Damian could place bets on who the weakest link would be, he'd bet his entire savings on this guy. It didn't help that the man stunk of doubt and fear as well. Damian, showing no sign of it outwardly, grimaced on the inside. Only the most daring and bold would survive this, and this man didn't have an ounce of either.

Then, Damian was surprised by another member atop the Progenitor's statue. Her clothing clearly signified nobility, but her actions indicated otherwise. Damian could not help but be impressed. As she introduced herself as a princess, he couldn't help but be even more impressed. Perhaps he would not be entirely lonely on this buisness. Any noble who could act like this in public, let alone an princess, had Damian's respect, though not neccesarilly trust. Damian but everyone new to him at arm's length out of habit. In his buisness, misplaced trust could get you killed.

Then Damian saw another girl approach, after having sent a sailor flying. He couldn't tell from what walk of life she hailed from, but she clearly could fight. Finally, a giant knight appeared, who apparently had been watching the whole time from his relaxed position. He didn't seem to be a talker, which Damian respected. He gave a curt nod back to the knight.

The first champion finally spoke up, but appeared to be just as self-righteous and predictable as Damain expected, lecturing him on interupting prayer, and introducing himself with the most pompous introduction Damian every saw. "Typical noble" Damian muttered under his breath. He approached the pompous jerk and gave retort to his little speech, all while absentmindedly tapping his fingers together on both hands. "Afraid? If I had any doubts that I would survive this, I wouldn't be here. I came here of my own free choice. I also dislike the term cur as much as I do thug or brigand. They do a diservice and act as misnomers of my profession. Call me that again, and you may find your belongings magically appearing in my cabin. Don't preach your Progenitor crap to me either. The Progenitor has never offered me any help before, so why would he now?"

Turning away from the morbid buisness of threats, he addressed the whole group. "Now that most of us are here, let me introduce myself." He decided to give a traditional Tavaro greeting, though he dealt with an outside crowd. He wanted them to know exactly what he was. "I am Damian Maleck of Tavaro. Son of no one." He turned to the princess of Saverilla, as he wanted allies within this group as quickly as possible. "Nice technique back there." he said. "Pardon me if I offend, but I wouldn't expect a princess to carry on like that. That was impressive for one of means."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Meskal Kender Character Portrait: Damian Maleck Character Portrait: Atonia Biyos Abbilati Character Portrait: Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes Character Portrait: Galen Character Portrait: Riley Paolimi
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Fraisier Jourdain Florentine Hughes

Posilidia Harbor, Rumed


Fraisier nearly jumped out of his skin as the, formerly silent knight, snapped at the majority of them. Already Fraisier felt even more useless than previously. He knew he generated a bad impression, but he didn't mean it. He has quite the difficulty in trying to make new friends, or at least acquaintances. Still the one called Meskal of The House of Kender, was correct in his assumptions. Fraisier isn't the most courageous man. He wasn't cowering behind Maurice, and probably a degree of this trouble was in fact wrought by him. Still Fraisier bares no ill will to anyone except himself. He always did blame himself before anyone else. Then came more unnecessary fire upon himself.

"Now you listen here Kender of Luther!" "That is no tone to speak with a man you haven't even begun to know!" "Young Master Fraisier is an kind and gentle soul!" "There is no need to make such worded threa-" He was cut off by Fraisier's hand on his shoulder.

"Please, he is correct." Fraisier mumbled in his ear.

"But Master Fraisier, that is no way to speak to someone." Maurice argued.

"No, it is quite alright, I understand his criticism...I can't rely on anyone." Fraisier rather solemnly spoke.

"Master Fraisier." Maurice spoke as his face went from outrage to a frown. "I apologize for speaking out of terms...I am only a simple servant, please forgive my impudence." Maurice humbly spoke.

"Well Master Hughes, thanks to the kind Mistress here I shall take your luggage upon the boat." Maurice spoke.

"Uh yes, I'll join you." Fraisier spoke.

"Are you sure?" "Carrying luggage isn't your concern." Maurice spoke.

"No, I'm going to have to take care of it anyway, your not commissioned for the voyage to Ulmath." Fraisier spoke.

Maurice sighed. "I know...lets get it done and I'll say my goodbyes." Maurice spoke Fraisier took the last of the luggage. Fraisier then bowed before the others, still having a nervous look on his face as he attempted eye contact and then quickly scooted off.

Fraisier and Maurice entered the ship chartered for their voyage as the two Perialisians bored the ship. They entered one of the cabins and began to place the assorted luggage within. Maurice then looked over to Fraisier.

"Well good luck Master Fraisier." "It was an honor to serve you for the time we spent." Maurice spoke as he gave out his hand. "Oh wait sorry, I'm supposed to bow." Maurice corrected himself.

"No it is quite alright, I'm actually more comfortable with a handshake." He spoke with a smile.

"Are you sure?" "Handshakes are for common folk." Maurice spoke flabbergasted.

"In the time you have known me, you should know I don't care about that stuff, here." Fraisier spoke as he held out his hand.

Nearly beside himself he took his hand and shook it. "It truly was a please, Young Master Fraisier." Maurice spoke as he stopped. "I'll be telling Master Hughes that you safely arrived on schedule." "Please...take care of yourself Master Fraisier." Maurice spoke with apprehension.

"I shall, tell my family I love them." Fraisier spoke as Maurice nodded and left him alone.

Maurice came upon the dock once more as he exited the ship and returned to their pier where the other champions are. He looked towards them all. He then bowed before them.

"Please...do your best." Maurice spoke to them as he left for the carriage. He sat up upon the seat and saw Fraisier standing upon the deck as he waved goodbye. Maurice waved back and then whipped the horses, ushering them to move, and so they did. Soon the elegant and richly carriage disappeared within the city streets. Now Fraisier was truly alone. Already he wasn't sure what kind of company these champions would keep. Already, it would seem he won't be making any friends again. They all seem either confidant or aggressive. Perhaps qualities needed for such a job, and Fraisier is neither of those things. He certainly was the odd man out.

He did wonder of the other knight, out of all of them, he is the most mysterious. Not to mention, some what distant himself. Perhaps Fraisier isn't alone at being alone. He sympathized with the large man, but he can't assume anything. A Knight is a man of war, who knows what kind of person he will turn out to be. The same could be said of all of them. He really shouldn't make unfounded claims, but their behavior thus far haven't spoken either wise. Still, Fraisier can't help but fall into despair, that he will hopelessly fail to gain favor. This will truly be a long voyage.