"Dominus Regnavit"
Full Name: Garrim Udain of Autenbry
Nicknames/Aliases:
Garrim is not a man with many names. He is, however, one with many titles. Of such include Garrim the Greater, the Quiet, the Stern, the Grim, the Giant, the Bulwark, and the Shield of Miriand.
Age: 37
Gender: Male
Occupation/Class: Paladin/
Kingdom of Origin: The Holy Kingdom of Miriand
Description:
Though as the ages past, time and that dark abyss of Yulia's dungeons took it's toll. The light had begun to leave his once sterling blue eyes, fading into a somber grey. His hair lost it's once golden shine prematurely, leaving it now with a sheen like white steel. A vicious scar arcs over his left brow, stealing ever yet more color from his eye and indeed hampering his vision on that side. His face bears many small lacerations, and his legs are coated in scars left behind by the rats. Much of his features are covered in what was once a rough stubble, now grown fully into a short but thick beard of solid gray. Though now this all matters little. Since the day of his "Dereliction of Duty" and failure to the Church, he has sworn himself never to remove a single piece of his armour. It serves as the face of his mistake, and it will be his to wear until at last he is redeemed.
Equipment:
Paladin's Oathbound Plate- Crafted from the finest metals the Kingdom of Pradus was willing to trade, there is no expense spared in the makings of a Paladin's armour. Every plate is forged and layered by the greatest smiths of Miriand and thrice blessed by the Exarchs of the Great Church before finally being made to pass the judgement of the Lord Chaplains of each Order. While not as robust as those pieces Pradus crafts and keeps for it's own elite forces, this mail far exceeds anything ever seen in the ranks of Yulia. However, it's true strength lies not in the steel from which it was forged, but rather in the blessings and sacred etchings carved upon the inner piece of every plate. These sigils grow in power with the wearer's faith, in tradition with Miriand's lacking understanding of how magic functions. Thus is made a protective ward, reinforcing the armor against physical blows and repelling the effects of magic. It stands as testament that Miriand owes many victories in it's long standing feud with the heretical Kingdom of Yulia to their affinity with warding magics.
The Stave of Ahl- An artisan-crafted lucerne hammer was the chief weapon of the Paladins of Ahl. Garrim's Stave once belonged to a great hero of the Order of Ahl known as Kestrel the Great. As most lucerne hammers have much smaller, more practical heads, Kestrel's was laughed off as unwieldy and illogical for use in traditional combat. However, the old hero made a name for himself by wielding it with grace and ferocity in the Old War, and Garrim upholds such a legacy well. The shaft of this weapon is inscribed in it's entirety with the complete "Litany of Benediction". All one hundred and fifty seven verses of it, of which Garrim will obediently recite at every day's end.
Shield of Miriand- A token of gratitude awarded by King Othurn himself for the successful thwarting of an attempt on the High Priestess' life. It is a small but beautifully crafted heater shield made in thanks to Garrim's Order for producing such a Paladin, and less so to Garrim himself for the deed. As with his armour, the shield is protected by powerful enchantments against magic, serving as a formidable aegis against the arcane. With gilded trim and silver plating, it once shined like the light of dawn at his side. Now, like all other pieces of his arms and armour, it too has dulled in it's luster. An embellished inscription along the face of the shield reads: "In times of War, Pray for Peace. In times of Peace, Make Ready for War".
The Crown Breaker- A large, steel and silver-plated flanged mace awarded to Garrim by his Order for being appointed as a member of the Royal Guard. In a perhaps jovial manner, the mace was made somewhat larger in comparison to the more typical variety. Perhaps to better compliment Garrim's Stave....
Ahl, it is in your benevolence that I pray to thee. Grant me mercy in the sanctuary from mine own dreams... For when I am damned to their grasp, I find my limbs bound by a great and terrible serpent. Upon it's feted tongue it carries the name: Patricide. Of each night it partakes of my flesh with venomous fangs, and I feel it's vile ichors scorching my veins. It drinks of my soul, until at last I am left to tumble forever in Darkness... Only then do I awake.
Personality:
If ever there were three words to describe Garrim, it is without doubt that they would be quiet, endurant, and dutiful. The Silent Ward of the Order of Ahl, his actions even in childhood were only those that best served the will of the Gods. All save one.... There isn't a single hell or nightmare that could ever be conjured with the power to shake his faith in the Gods, but of his faith in his own two hands is of another matter. His youth shaped his way of being in a manner that may never be broken.
Beaten and rejected by his father, blamed for what tragic fate befell his mother, Garrim found himself forced to commit a grave sin. One which he never believed himself forgiven for. Even before then, he never spoke. Many believed him to be mute or perhaps a bit touched, until the day he entered the village abbey with blood stained clothes, collapsing on his knees and begging the God Ahl for forgiveness. Those were his first words, spoken in grief and guilt. This became a common theme for Garrim. Never speaking so much as a whisper or gesture unless it was in solemn prayer. Garrim has well been known to stand guard through day and night, motionless and in total silence. So much so that he was once mistaken as simply being an empty suit of armour.
The Chantry's indoctrination process, done to all young aspirants who have been chosen as possible Paladins, only further reinforced his desire for penance and his unending, unnerving silence. He found solace in fealty to the Great Church and in the protection of the people of Miriand, accepting the Oath of service to the order of Ahl. From his first day of training to his ascension, none matched his adherence to duty nor his force of will. Even as a squire under the tutelage of Kestrel the Great, exposed headlong into the horrors of the Old War and the foul black arts of Yulia, ne'er did he avert his eyes or even flinch. Dauntless even when his mentor and teacher was felled on the battlefield, Garrim readily took up the old hero's arms and lead the charge, seemingly blind to fear of death.
Indeed, he was fearless. Though whether through incredible bravery or sheer uncaring for his own life was often a matter of debate amongst the Chaplains. The Chantry itself insisted that it was through power of faith that he was sustained, and to a partial degree they were correct. Save that Garrem held no belief that Ahl would protect him, merely that should he come to meet his end, it would be as Ahl wished for his final repentance. So it was that in war the boy became a Man, steadfast and unyielding in his duty, yet still grief stricken within. Even with what little merriment was allowed to the Paladin Orders, Garrim refused to take part. Celibate and Abstinent, his lack of desire for such simple pleasures earned him the mocking title of "Garrim the Stern".
Though with every glory, he seemed to slip only farther from what little comradery was offered. Soldiers often attributed him more akin to some manner of golem than an actual warrior, let alone a Man. His descent towards being not but a tool of the Church was fast approaching, until the day he met her. At first, the honor of being Royal Guard of the High Priestess meant little to Garrim beyond a new duty to swear himself to fully, but from the moment he met the Priestess Astara... The girl emitted a sort of radiance which basked him in warmth. As tho, for the first time in all his days of life, a great weight had finally been allowed to slip from his shoulders.
Her words were spoken to him in kindness, and of no requirement to do so. She was of nobility, of Royalty even. Garrim was to be her shield and little more, should she wish it, and yet still she spoke to him as if a friend. Before this moment the number of times Garrim had conversed with another person could be counted on a single hand, but with her... None of that seemed to matter to him anymore. The first time even he had heard his own laughter was her doing. It was the first time he had ever felt happy. The day an assassin made an attempt at her life was the day they both learned something. For Garrim, it was that there could be such wicked souls in our world that they would wish something of such goodness as her to die. For Astara, it was that her protector, her friend... was capable of taking another's life.
Before that moment, she had never thought of him as such. She knew of the Paladins as warriors, and of course that meant they too would march for war, but Garrim felt different to her. She use to jokingly mock his constant vigil of her. Garrim was someone she'd never imagine killing a man, or indeed ever having the need to. A naivety soundly broken when she saw clearly there was need, and it was for her own life. From then on, she seemed... scared of the world around her. A fact which made Garrim's heart burn with anger. He would guard her with fierce loyalty, offering his own life for the pursuit of a world where she needn't have such fears. A promise of which needn't be spoken. Even when the day came that Miriand burned, and the Great Church fell into ruin, he never left her side until the very end... Where he would come to fail her, and break his silent promise.
Garrim's internal torment was such that no manner of punishment offered by Yulia's dungeon could contend with. He had lost purpose, a reason to be. For him, all that remained was to pray for some way, any way to pay penance for his mistakes. No matter the years, Garrim could not allow himself to die until such a day that he was shown the path to redemption. This expedition is his walk of faith, his final quest to at last pay the blood price needed for all his greatest sins.
Of little else matters now.....
Skills:
- Fortitude- Of his greatest traits is his ability to endure the worst of hardships. Not just of body, but of mind and spirit as well. Sustained through faith and force of will, Garrim shows little care for any pain or injury inflicted upon him, and even such terrible horrors, whether those of the natural world or invoked by sorcery, fail to take hold in his mind. Even with the Great Church gone, his faith in the Gods is absolute. He does not see what has become of the world as the failings of the Gods, but rather the failings of Man to care for ourselves in their service. Even now as he begs forgiveness, Garrim would not harbor resentment should they choose to remain silent. It is in humility he accepts their decrees, and still in their service he pledges his life. With such assurance in the machinations of the world, there is little one could do to shake such belief. It seems most likely that the only person capable of breaking Garrim is himself.
- Goliath- Garrim is quite large and imposing, and with such size comes long reach and a great deal of physical strength. Tho this does come with it's share of weaknesses, it makes him a difficult opponent for even trained warriors to face. He is easily capable throwing of a man several feet back with the force of his shield arm alone.
- Of The Elite- There are no more than twelve Paladins in service to any Order of the Gods. To be selected for such is done at a young age, and it is an extreme few who succeed. Those who ascend to the highest echelons of the Order are considered of the greatest warriors Miriand has to offer. It is by no mere coincidence that Garrim stood among them. He is a veteran of countless battles in the Old War and extremely well-honed in his method of combat. Well versed in the manners of fighting both men and magical creatures, Garrim stands ready to defend against all foes.
- Skin of Iron- Every Paladin's armour is made specifically for them, hand tailored to their form and exacting measurements. Garrim has spent such a long span of time within his, that it has begun to feel as though a second skin of sorts. He knows well of it's limitations in his movements, and tho he appears to be slowed by it's weight, one should not be fooled. Garrim is able of releasing a burst of speed and force that is more than capable of overwhelming an unsuspecting opponent. Though his time in the dungeons may have caused his muscles and bones to ache at it's unyielding weight on his limbs, he is extremely accustomed to long marches on foot. If that were not enough, his own resolve gives him strength in fulfilling his oath of never removing it until his journey is complete.
- Divine Rites- Miriand is not beyond it's secrets, and none were ever as guarded as that of Divine Rites. Even as the Great Church burned, the priests within insured this secret burned with them. In truth, Paladins are not selected on merit of physical combat alone, but also of skill with magic. Through Miriand's archaic and somewhat primitive understanding of magic, Paladins are taught to channel spells not through their own force of will, but rather through their faith in the Gods they serve. These "Divine Rites" as they are called, are limited to the sphere's of influence belonging to a Paladin's religious beliefs, and as the caster's faith wanes, so to does their power. However, those filled with zeal and fervor find their spells able to thwart the sorcery of even Yulian mages. As a servant of Ahl, Garrim's use of magic is highly limited in terms of offensive ability. All of his Rites are either relatively nonlethal or able to slay only those beings made of darkness. For the greater part, they are more attuned to defending himself and others by strengthening his armaments against attack, calling his weapons to him, warding against offensive magic, granting him heightened awareness and vigilance, fending off sickness and disease, rebuking the unnatural, and healing lesser injuries with but a touch. However, as all magic, such spells still require a toll to be paid from the caster.
- Royal Guard- Garrim was among the select few Paladins chosen to protect those of the highest import within the clergy, and as such he is highly skilled at guarding against sudden attack. Adept at recognizing the most likely source of an ambush and protecting his chosen charge, Garrim excels in the role of a bodyguard. As was said, he is more than capable as a watchmen, able to stand guard for many hours on end. He is extremely vigilant.
Weaknesses:
- Chink in the Armor- Garrim's will is powerful, but it is far from insurmountable. It is best described as a Great Wall, with it's face marred only by a single crack. Lay siege after siege upon any other section of this wall, and you will find it's stone unscratched by your assault. Yet that single crack continues to grow and fester, and threatens to bring down this wall entirely on it's own. Let alone if something were to start picking away at it...
- Blind Spot- Garrim's left eye was damaged, and in order to guard the Paladin's secret of Magic Use he was forced to let it remain unhealed. Now it is well beyond his abilities to mend. Though it hasn't lost vision entirely, he can see little more than blurs and movement. With his sight already hindered by his helm, this forces Garrim to rely heavily on his magics more so than he'd ever wish to.
- Heavy- Garrim is quite familiar with his armour, but to believe himself unhindered by it is an illusion at best. When faced with assault, he is left few choices beyond either parrying, blocking, or bearing the brunt of it. Dodging is possible, but only barely and at best only against slow or unskilled opponents.
- Faith in Man- While Garrim's faith in the Gods is absolute, it is his faith in himself that falls severely short. As his Divine Rites are tied directly to his strength of belief, this can become quite problematic. His past failures have led him to doubt his abilities, and his worthiness to act in their service.
- Close Quarters- Though extremely effective in open spaces, Garrim's choice of weaponry is much less so in tight quarters. Without sufficient room to swing, a lucerne hammer serves as little more than an especially heavy pike. While this lends to it's force of impact, it's makes it much slower and less efficient than an actual spear.
- The Best Defense- All of Garrim's training, weapons, and magical abilities highlight one thing above all else: Defense. While when holding a chosen line there are few that can match him, it is ironic that much like Miriand itself he too lacks the offensive capabilities needed to press an advantage. He is an unparalleled guardian, but as the saying goes sometimes the best defense is a good offense.
Fatal Flaw: Crippling Guilt
(Not so) Brief History:
In the rural edges of the Kingdom of Mirion lies the small yet prominent village of Autenbry. A young farmer of the Udain clan had won the heart of a young woman from a traveling band of Orryni Gypsies. Together they had a daughter, and experienced four good years of happiness before being blessed by the Gods with a second child. Sadly, such bliss would not last. The child's birth was a harsh one, and complications had claimed the mother's life. The father, distraught with grief, soon found himself blaming his newborn son for such misfortunes.
Even the boy's name, Garrim, hails from an old Orryni word meaning "unwanted". The lad often found himself the receiver of his father's ale-soaked beatings, and with age came only the growing severity of the lash. Garrim was set to work at the young age of nine, joining his father and many of the villager's workers in constructing a great bridge of cobblestone into the village. As the world beyond seemed to decay, Autenbry seemed the least touched by this. The once humble village was soon booming into a major town for trade and wares, and the old bridge of mere woodwork had become decrepit. Every day, for hours on end, Garrim would lift large river stones from the bank or dredge them up from the shallows, carrying them to the other workers to be pressed into the mortar.
Day left the boy exhausted from the labor, and night only brought around his father's bitterness and belt. His sister made efforts to comfort young Garrim, but to her surprise he never once shed a tear. In fact, he had never spoken in his life. Most of the village was well aware of his father's habits and wondered if perhaps he had beaten the boy handicapped, or if he was simply born mute. Unfortunately, the child was for his father to do with as he pleased, and they as yet had no reason to intervene. Years passed, and Garim's size over the other children began to show greatly. By the age of fourteen he was able to look his father eye-to-eye, and hauled loads of stones the same as any adult. The large bridge was nearing completion at long last, and the village had grown dramatically. One thing that remained the same was his father, however. It was nearing the evening, with the sun starting to slip below the rolling hills, when his father stumbled from the tavern and down towards the river. All the other villagers had either returned home, or were attending that evening's sermon.
As usual, Garrim expected a slew of drunken ramblings and perhaps a strike across his face, as was common. What he did not expect was to be struck from behind by a fishing club, with the belligerent, drunken bastard soon bludgeoning him half to death. It was a cruel fate that his sister caught sight of this and bravely attempted to intervene. Her reward was being struck down by her father's wrath, however when she ceased to move it garnered the concern of both father and son. Blood slowly seeped from her head, not from where the club had landed, but from where she fell upon a protruding stone. The girl had perished.
Tears welled in her father's eyes, and yet still his words... The words he had chosen were not of revelation, or remorse, or even humility. He turned to the boy, with equal amounts sadness and hatred in his eyes, and asked "How many more are you going to take from me?" This was the breaking point, as Garrim's teeth clenched in anger. Even now the bastard was blaming his son, when it was his own hand that took her life. Garrim toppled his father over with ease, beating the man repeatedly. He was finally exacting the retribution he had well earned, but failed to cease when he should. Filled with uncontrollable rage, Garrim hefted a massive stone and brought it slamming down upon his father's skull, crushing it. The calm waters which ran beneath him slowly turned red, as the realization of his actions finally dawned upon him. What he had done, what he had committed, and that terrible question of should he had done it sooner?
The doors of the abbey were flung open, as the boy, clothes soaked in blood, strode in. In the middle of the towns prayers, Garrim walked down the aisle, past the clergymen, and dropped to his knees before the alter of Ahl. Prayers and pleadings fell from his lips, asking the Gods, any of them, to hear him. Begging forgiveness, begging penance, begging salvation. His anguished chants and prayers went on for hours, until at last he was dragged out of the building by the local constable's men. The town was set to see the boy hang, but all felt a great shock at the intervention of the Chantry. They had taken notice of Garrim, and his desires for the penitent path would prove most useful. By Holy Edict of the Great Church they ceased the boy, and their rituals soon proved Garrim held a modest potential for magic. No great amount, but enough to suit their purposes. He was offered the role of aspirant to the Paladin Orders, being promised that such service would see him forgiven in the eyes of the Church and Ahl. Garrim accepted with a mere nod.
From the first day of training he showed promise. Matching and soon overpowering many of his instructors, he was swiftly picked as squire by the then-champion of the Order of Ahl, Sir Kestrel the Great. A large man who was perhaps nearing the golden years of his life, yet acted and fought as though he still lay in his prime. His lessons were strict and harsher than those given by the chaplains, yet meaningful. It was not long before the Old War began to stir once more, and with many Paladins being called to the forefront of battle, Kestrel brought young Garrim to see, first hand, the spectacle that was the field of war. The sight of his fellow men, some requisitioned from his very home, slain in an instant by the flash of mystic light. The cold, heartless sorcery of their great enemy summoning countless horrors upon the righteous soldiers of Miriand. "This is why we stand here", said Garrim's mentor. "Know that we stand for Goodness, for Kindness. Know that we would never allow such wickedry within our lands, nor beset them upon our foes. Even dogs such as these. Know that you fight for the Gods, and never cease believing that, boy".
Now perhaps it should be best explained as to what the Old War was, for it was not named for being some ancient battle from long ago. It was known as the Old War for the massive span of years in which it had stretched without end. The feud between the Heretical Blasphemers of Yulia and the Holy Kingdom of Miriand had persisted for nearly five centuries. So many kings and queens had risen and fallen, and yet the war never changed. Both sides would amass forces and resources, burn them all in a glorious clash of arms, and then the war would grow cold until such time as it could be done again. Every time, Yulia would invade Miriand, and time and again be beaten back. The Two were at seemingly perfect odds.
Yulia's advanced Military Logistics allowed them tactical superiority and seemingly unbreakable supply lines, yet Mirand held varying Military Doctrines for soldiers under every God, each with their own strengths and weakness but with the uncanny ability to compliment each other and thus leave no true exploitable weaknesses. Yulia's numbers often appeared without end, and constantly found Miriand's ancient, massive fortresses to be nigh impregnable. Yulia's Magecraft allowed them to assail their foes with powerful spells and hexes, only to be repelled by Miriand's warpriests and clerics. Inquisitorial Agents were masters at espionage and subterfuge, yet their work was constantly undone by a surplus of healers and advanced medicines. Even the fearsome Inquisitors themselves found an even match against the mighty Paladins of the Great Church. There was, however, one thing that leant the advantage to Mirand, and that was their long standing trade with Pradus.
Mirand's wealth of culture brought in traders, merchants, travelers, and pilgrims from around the world. Every smith, carpenter, and farmer supplied their forces not under the orders of their King, but by the will of the Gods. And of course, all faithful worshipers of the Great Church would gladly pay tithe in proof of their faith. Such revenue allowed Mirand's economy to dwarf that of other kingdoms, even Yulia. More than enough to pay Pradus exuberant amounts of coin for their ores and armaments. However, Miriand's pride and lack of common sense prevented them from ever pressing such an advantage, and so the status quo kept the war alive for hundreds of years. The very same war which started likely before Garrim's family line, and now he too would be caught within it's terrible grip.
It was the third year of the campaign to retake the foothold Yulia's forces had secured in the midlands. Rain had turned the shallow valley into a bog. Fire and lightning fell from above, as hails of arrows flashed into ashes against mystic barriers. The fight had been dragging on for hours now, with both signs wearing thin. It wasn't till that horrid blast of light did a possible victor began to emerge. With the combined efforts of many a mage, the blessed wards of Sir Kestrel's armour had finally ruptured, his armour shattering and slaying him in an instant. As his hammer sank into the mud, the soldiers of Miriand began to lose morale. Without hesitation, Garrim snatched the old hero's weapon from the muck, wielding it as his own. As the faithful men of Mirand saw the young squire continue the charge against enemy lines, their will to continue the fight returned. Pressing against Yulia's lines, they did not succeed in forcing the enemy back. They had, however, held the line long enough for an additional regiment to arrive in relief, finally securing the victory. Garrim was allowed to return to the Order, being called for his trial of ascension as Sir Garrim the Greater.
As a full fledged Paladin, Garrim's efforts in the war had earned him a fierce and stalwart reputation as a warrior, though an admittedly sub-par commander. He was highly devoted to the defense of his lands, however, and his deeds of holding the lines when few others would had earned him the name of "Garrim the Bulwark" for his unyielding bravery. Time and again it was Garrim who would serve as the chosen Champion to square off against the enemy's contender, and he had rightly earned a place as one of the Order of Ahl's greatest Paladins. His time on the battlefield would come to an end when a new High Priestess of the Great Church had been chosen, and it was none other than Garrim who was selected to be her sworn guardian.
The moment he saw her, the resemblance to his sister was uncanny. It was not in her form or features, but in her mannerisms. Even as he tried to kneel before her, she halted him. She confided in him that such a thing embarrassed her, feeling personally of ill worth for such respect. Then in an instant she was smiling brightly and asking for his name. This was most unorthodox, and yet her presence left him with a since of ease he'd never known. In only a moment of meeting, the Priestess had become one of the few people ever to have Garrim introduce himself. She shared hers; Astara, and from then on Garrim became her constant companion. Though considered informal, Astara did not hesitate to call her new guardian friend, rather than a mere servant.
In such dark times, she shined like the light of dawn. Such an odd thing, staggeringly shy one moment, only to jokingly pester him and poke fun at his stern demeanor the next. She would often speak of her life in the cloister and her concerns as to her new responsibility, to which Garrim would always try to reassure her in what few words he could offer. Surprisingly even to him, Astara seemed like the one person in all the world in which he felt the comfort to speak freely. Something no one else had ever offered. He felt his stay with her was something beyond a simple friendship, yet as to whether or not these thoughts were romantic in nature is a question that is beyond even him. It didn't matter. He felt a contentedness and peace at her side that he had never known before, and could not ask for anything else.
When he heard a muffled scream from within her chamber, his heart jumped. Bursting down her door, only to find a cloaked assailant cornering her with a blade. Anger surged through his soul, calling upon Ahl's hand to crush this man against the wall, shortly before running him through. For a moment, Garrim believed all well, but the look upon Astara's face had shown him otherwise. There was fear, true fear, in her eyes, and it was not just of the assassin. She was worried of the violence this situation had inspired in her friend, of his capacity to take life with such ease. At first Garrim could not follow, but slowly he began to understand her feelings. For her, the world had shifted and darkened, changing with it her understandings. Though she always tried to be kind, there were still those who would wish her dead. Perhaps, despite her belief, there was evil to be found in this world.
The light within her dimmed, and she soon became fearful of anything beyond her chambers. She would hide behind Garrim whenever she could to escape notice, and her voice became timid and meek. Garrim found himself infuriated and disheartened that such a thing had changed her, that anything gave her need to harbor such dread. When a sudden stir in a crowd of her followers startled her in to fleeing, Garrim pursued. Finding her in tears, Garrim took knee and held her in his arms, refusing to let her go despite her protests until at last she understood. This was his Silent Promise. No matter what, he would always be there for her. He would always stand between her and harm, and never would he allow anything to happen to her. Garrim lifted his visor, smiling at her for the first time. Astara smiled back, before wiping away the tears and rejoining the sermon. The world was dark, but for Garrim she was his light, and for Astara he was her shield.
And then came the day everything changed. The day the Old War ended, and the status quo was broken. Yulia had done the unthinkable and shifted it's attack against Miriand's source of materials. The conquest of Pradus was so short and so sudden, word never reached Miriand. At this point in the war was usually the time when resources would run low for both sides, with Miriand being supported solely by it's trade with Pradus. Now supplies had ceased arriving, and soon the enemy had returned to their gates with new arms and armour. Miriand scrounged whatever weapons and men it could muster, but it failed to be enough. Soon Talrahn, the capital city of Miriand and home of the Great Church, was under siege. The temples were burned, the castle was looted, and the Church was pulled into rubble. Yulia's victory had finally been secured.
The nobility of Miriand were fleeing their own lands as the city burned. Garrim road through the night, Priestess Astara straddled behind him and gripping him tightly. As the greatest symbol of faith, several of Yulian soldiers were dedicated to her capture and execution. Though astride one of the finest horses in the kingdom, Garrim knew it struggled to carry them and felt their pursuers gaining. Worse still, the light of Ahl had revealed to him a force of soldiers ahead, seeking to cut them off. With little choice he guided the steed through the blackened woods, treading where he prayed large numbers of cavalry would find difficult. Misfortune struck when a bolt shot through the horse's throat, the beast slowing to a halt before finally collapsing from blood loss. The two fled on foot, but it soon became apparent that Garrim was slowing them down. Against either's desires, Garrim broke his unspoken promise and begged the Priestess to continue on without him.
She rejected the very idea, forcing Garrim to confide in her his plan to lead them away, and that the two would meet again on the far side of the river. At last, she complied.... It was such a pretty lie. If only it were the truth, but no. There was no outrunning them, not in such heavy armour. No, it would serve only in one last purpose. His last stand, his final service to Astara in hopes to buy enough time to ensure her escape. The line was drawn, and it was here he would at last earn his redemption. When the enemy finally descended upon him, they were unprepared for what they faced. Garrim's zeal burned like fire, and even the mightiest Yulian incantation failed to even slow him. In but a few moments, there lay at least twenty men and mages dead by his hand. Then rode in a cloaked figure upon a dark horse. Garrim recognized him as an Inquisitor, before taking notice of what lay slung over the back of his saddle. A body, which the man let slide free and fall to the ground. Astara... an arrow through her heart, and the look of fear frozen upon her face. Garrim fell to his knees, his Stave falling from his hands just as it had done Kestrel before. He had failed... His mother, his sister, his God, and now her....
The once great warrior offered no resistance to his capture. He felt only sorrow that they did not execute him on the spot. It seemed in the Godless lands of Yulia, they had other methods of dealing with captured Paladins, a fact that the Warden of this great prison spoke to his face with glee. He was to be dragged into the deepest depths of the dungeons, chained to the walls within his very armour, and it is there he would be left to beg his worthless "Gods" for a mercy that would never come. The weight of his once glorious platemail would slowly begin to crush his very bones, and as the years would go by, the pain of it would drive him insane. But, he may only make a single utterance, and reject his Gods, and the Warden would offer to kill him quickly and end his torment. Of course, if the rats hadn't devoured him by then. The Warden's pride in his methods was heinous, as he personally oversaw Garrim's "instatement" as one of his newest "trophies". In brief glimpse, Garrim saw that other Paladins, some of his own Order, were being subjected to the same torture.
As the chains bound his arms, the Warden tossed out one last mockery, informing Garrim that his own weapons would find a similar place on the wall of the Warden's personal chambers, as a reminder that the Paladin is still here, rotting away. And then the door to his cell was closed, mystic seals cutting off all sound from the outside world. No light ever entered the room, and his only company became the rats, who sure enough began feeding at his legs. The Warden had made a grave folly, however. One amongst many, was leaving the Paladin's within their armour. Still guarded by the blessed wards, none had detected their magical potential. It seemed the secret of the Paladin orders had made it to destruction without Yulia's notice, but that was something which would save few. In time, even the most pious man's faith can fade.
As the years passed, many Paladins had done as the Warden hoped, rejecting their Gods in return for merciful oblivion. Those who lost faith but refused to speak it found their Divine Rites had abandoned them, unable to stave off the diseases which eventually claimed their lives. Of those few who held on to their beliefs, there was nothing to save them from the sickness of their own minds. Many had bitten off their own tongues or volunteered to starve to death, while others still hang, chanting and whaling in those dark pits to this day. And then there was Garrim. Six long years had passed, and yet for him little had changed. Whenever they remembered to feed the Warden's pets, Garrim would never utter a word. He simply hung in silence, speaking only at the beginning and end of every single day in his prayers to Ahl. Never in mercy, but of the same he spoke every day in his service to the Church. Every day, of every week, of every season, of every year without fail.
No matter the pain from the rats feeding on his feet, or his own damned armour pulled down on his limbs. No matter the endless hours in total darkness and silence. Whenever the Warden would visit his cell and lift the face plate of the fallen Paladin's helm to see if Garrim would accept his "generous offer", Garrim simply replied only with a cold and unblinking stare. At first this bothered the Warden little, but as the years went on and the other Paladins succumbed to his wishes, it slowly began to infuriate him that one still resisted. Whenever he walked the halls and listened for the songs of agony, it was always Garrim's cell that was silent. It was always Garrim who refused to scream. At last, the Warden could take no more. He entered Garrim's cell late one evening, a knife in hand. He looked over the Paladin, noting the blood staining Garrim's boots and tabard from the vermin taking their due.
Lifting the face plate on that damned helm he had become so familiar with, the Warden looked hard into those cold, uncaring eyes of his before sinking the knife deep into Garrim's shoulder, beneath the plates. Much to his displeasure, Garrim didn't even so much as grimace. Slowly, the Warden began dragging the blade of the knife all across Garrim's face, to which he still got no reply. Finally, he relented and posed his query. "Do you truly not know of pain?" he asked, to which Garrim responded only by beginning his prayer of that evening. Right to the Warden's face. Needless to say, this infuriated the Warden, who lashed out and sliced across Garrim's left eye, causing him to cease in his pray only for a moment before continuing just the same. This was it, the Warden could stand no more. To kill the bastard now would be to admit defeat, however. Then came the call for this season's expedition into the Lost Lands....
Using some pull within the Inquisition, the Warden had his little problem Paladin accepted without consent. If only the fool had realized Garrim would've accepted regardless. He still remembers when at last the chains were removed, falling to the floor with an inglorious clatter. He had tried to keep his strength up, pulling against his binding and working his legs (which also helped in kicking away the rats), but for several moments the ability to walk eluded him. Though if ever there was a final nail in the coffin, it was when the Warden watched this intolerable bastard stand on his own moments later without aid. It was a great surprise when Garrim had finally seen light... The sun glaring down on his armour, even through graying skies, blinded him with it's radiance. It's warmth burned him with the holes of his visor, and it was in that light he knew this journey was Ahl's gift. A quest to finally and truly redeem himself for his failings. It was an even greater surprise when he found himself presented with his own armaments. It seemed the Warden grew just as tired of them as he did their owner. Their vile forms adorned on his walls reminding him only of the Man who would not Scream. As Garrim was guided into the back of a wagon under armed guard, he knew this to be the will of the Gods.
Whether to his peace or damnation, it would be only as they desired......
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