wearepaladin reblogged
Amara <3
Hollow Knight Musketeer and Hornet by David Richardson
Character concept for a Paladin of the Merethic Era.
Just writing this down for hopefully future use. I’ve been brainstorming a character concept for a Paladin of Stuhn, the Whale Totem forebear/original incarnation of Stendarr of the old Atmoran Pantheon and later the Imperial Pantheon of the Nine Divines in The Elder Scrolls, and I’ve come up with a character I’d like to play in a campaign set in the middle to late Merethic era of the The Elder Scrolls setting
Name: Torne of Stuhn.
Background: Folk/Forgotten Hero
Race: Nord/Atmoran
Alignment: Lawful Good
Class: Paladin/Hexblade, Devoted to the Old Ways and Bladepact made with Stuhn.
History: There is a legend of old Atmora that says when her people first fled south to warmer waters, many were lost in a great storm consumed them in hungry depths. But some who escaped spoke of a great leviathan rising from the depths to lead their people safely through the maelstrom. The great whale Stuhn took those travelers captive rather than devour them all whole in his great maw, guarding his prisoners to shore, where Kyne waited to guide her people to the Throat of the World. In return for her people’s safety, Kyne demanded what the leviathan wanted in ransom. To which Stuhn said for the Atmorans to sheathe their spears from his fellow leviathans, to remember Stuhn’s mercy and the value staying a killing blow from those who cannot defend themselves. To this Kyne agreed, on the condition that Leviathans never feast on any of her children, which Stuhn honored in turn, and no whale ever did again find succor in the flesh of man or mer. The Nords remember and heed this lesson
There is value in mercy, and that peace can be found between old enemies through the exchange of prisoners.
Torne of Stuhn remembered that, and had begged for his life as his ship, one of the many carrying those who would be remembered as The Companions made their journey south, the memory of the slaughter at Saarthal burning in their hearts, and the treacherous snow elves who would burn for it. But all that fire could not stand against the cold icewater of the Sea of Ghosts. Thus did Torne descend into the depths, his last breath spent on a prayer for mercy.
He woke, seawater bursting from his lungs, on the cold shores of the north, the only heat found in a blade in his hand, and the memory of a great leviathan prodding him from the abyss.
The pact made with Stuhn burned brightly in Torne’s soul, and as he rejoined the Companions, who took no prisoners from the Falmer, be they warrior, farmer, maid, elder, or child. Shame filled him, seeing his kinsman forget the ways of Stuhn, Ysgramor and his sons abandoning that old lesson in favor of the dragon path, domination and fire above any other ways of the old gods. Thus did Alduin and his priests find a willing a chorus to better dominate the world.
But one stood away from the Companions and the foul whispers of the Dragon Priests. Torne saved all he could of the Snow Elves, secreting them away to places of refuge and among other Mer. Thus did Stuhn who would one day be known as Stendarr among Mer be forever remembered as the Apologist of Men, the speaker of mankind’s virtue in all the ages to come.
Torne himself is not remembered, nor his final fate. Did he forever hide his true nature from the Companions, choosing to hide his defiance of Ysgramor’s genocide to very end? Or was he discovered and slain, his memory burned away from history thanks to Ysgramor, the first human historian, the one to tell the story of his victory only as he would wish it? Or did Torne remain, at the side of Stuhn, the last champion of the Old Ways of Atmora, guiding those lost in the sea to safe harbor? None can say.
#Stuhn#Torne of Stuhn#The Old Ways#Tes#TES OC#there is a 5e conversion for TES that I'd like to try someday#Here's the prototype of the character I'd like to play in it.#oath of devotion#Oath of the Drowned#Hexblade#warlock#this all based on the addmittedly jumbled up understanding of what happened in the Merethic and Stendarr/Stuhn Lore with some embellishments#Stendarr#mild editing done because Kyne was a better fit both to meet stuhn#and to add a small myth detail to explain why whales dont eat people
wearepaladin reblogged
Daniel Dos Santos, The Duke’s Ballad
An Oath of the Ancients Paladin/HexBlade Pact of the Chains Warlock
A memo from Tarek.
The following memo is passed on to all members of the Collective.
From the Office of Tarek Al Amir, Senior Officer of the Collective, and Paladin of the First Sun.
To all members of the Collective, let it be known that this concerns the actions of the Hexblade Quinn, and the Dancer Breamson. Two weeks ago, these men were accused of murdering a woman in the heart of the Collective Guild Hall, an act witnessed by multiple people. After multiple above board interrogations committed by myself, with various truth spells in action, I have determined that the circumstances may have been orchestrated by a faction of fae interlopers, and the men’s actions may have been in self defense against a fae simulacrum. Tests are being done on the body to determine the truth of the matter.
As for the two men, I intend to put them on supervised probation, and am currently looking for volunteers to look after and escort them to Atala, the Hexblade the believed simulacrum was impersonating, and confirm their story. If they fail to corroborate the account given by the two accused men, then the pair of them are to be returned here for indefinite detainment pending a trial. If their story is corroborated, we will be discussing further options and will likely lift the probation.
May justice, honor, and compassion guide our steps. -Tarek Al Amir.
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Quinn is Back
It was early in the morning when a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the guild halls- seeming to go much farther than physically possible. And yet, there it happened, rousing each collective member from their beds (or startling those already up). The clatter of running feet marked various servants heading for the wing of the guild that had once housed the Hexblade, and now his apprentice. The scream had come from the very same apprentice, but had been ominously cut off.
The door was locked, and some of the burlier people there were commissioned to break it down. “Someone, get Sir Tarek,” one of the senior servants commanded, and two pages sprinted off down the corridor, their young faces excited, despite the gravity of the situation. The thud and crash of heavy benches, found in the hall, slamming into the door echoed, nearly carrying as far as the scream.
More footsteps, other collective members arrived, or at least those curious enough to crawl out of their beds on this particularly cool and rainy day. A tremendous clatter and smash, and the lock of the door shattered, countless metal fragments from the chains on the other side ringing to the ground. Almost as a whole, the witnessing crowd flinched at what lay beyond.
It was a catastrophe.
The furniture was pulverized, wooden shards scattered across the floor, the once thick and rich carpet torn to shreds, elegant hangings crumpled and ripped. Blood splattered across every surface, somehow more than was possible that could come from the crumpled body of the halfling woman. Her face, twisted in fear, seemed to draw all eyes, before they turned accusing, to the face of her killer kneeling at her side.
Quinn’s expression was terrible, a roil of loathing, fear, and a deep pain as he stared at her body. He held the hilt of one of his rapiers, broken in half. The other part of the blade was embedded in her heart. The second rapier hung partly off a stand on the mantle, as if the apprentice had tried to grab it to defend herself before the killing blow had fallen.
The returned hexblade made no move to justify himself, sitting there in silence, almost impossibly still. Someone in the crowd choked, turning away. There was a wail, and an elderly woman broke away, running down the hall. Whispers started, accusing him, calling him murderer, despicable. Soon, the city guards assigned to the Collective halls would arrive, as they had many times, but now for an offense worse than any foolish pranks Quinn had achieved before.
Those gathered were no strangers to death, of course, but this seemed incredibly wrong, somehow.
It was now, that one would notice that the hexblade had not returned alone. Breamson was there, standing in a corner, similarly splattered in blood. The Dancer made no move to speak either, his eyes only on the half-elf, face set with a grim expression.
All the while, Quinn stayed frozen. If anyone asked him where he had been, what he did, he did not react. His upper body was bare, a keen eye catching whip lashes, burns, and other recent scars. Heavy shackles with a broken chain looked to have connected his ankles. He was gaunt, his hair was dirty and soaked. For once, no illusions hid his true mangled state, and the scars where ice ripped away his flesh were in full view.
The pages soon arrived with Tarek and any others they had picked up on their way through the guild.
(I ask that people wait for paladin to reply before posting any of their reactions. Anyone is free to react, just respect what others post and wait a couple seconds before posting your own reply to give some a chance to add to the thread. Please check notes. No, this is not part of dancer’s murder mystery. This is real.)
It had been two hours since Tarek had settled in his office. His thoughts were occupied, of the wedding, of his enemy’s movements, of his options for receiving a new arm. As always, the Paladin had plenty occupy him, more so as he did it all with only one eye and his right hand.
The scream was enough to shatter that concentration of the Paladin, and the pages who rapidly knocked on his door confirmed it. Tarek felt like he’d stumbled into a nightmare visual, the surrounding onlookers horrified faces, Quinn’s gaunt visage,Breamson’s bloody features, and the body at the center of it all.
The mood was tense, liable to go whatever way he commanded, and he felt the power latch onto him like a manacle. Then..
“Take them both to separate cells, and subdue them if they resist, Call the city guard, and all non essential personnel clear the building. This is a murder scene.”
The paladin ordered, and after a moment’s hesitation, those orders were followed. The building emptied, and Tarek gave both Breamson and Quinn a searching look. Whatever he see’s, he can only shake his head before banishing them to their cells.
For a moment, he is alone, with only the body as company. Only then does he look and acknowledge body of the halfling. Atala. The girl who’d sent him baked goods while he was in recovery, who’d seemed too kind to be Quinn’s apprentice.
Her frightened gaze wounds him to his heart, and he can only close her eyes, and pray that she finds peace in the next world.
It would be up to him to find her justice in this one.
wearepaladin reblogged
Tarek, sans his armor, carefully set the bladed implement down in an expert down, its edge passing through all resistance. This really was an excellent loaf of bread, he decided, enjoying the smell even as he worked.
One of Tarek’s favorite perks of adventuring within the bounds of civlization was access to kitchens. You could only do so much with rations, a pot, and whatever game or other edibles you could find in the wild. In a kitchen, he could take the time tp make something meant to be savored, not merely gulped down before getting back on the road.
The sound of footsteps alerted him to the presence of another. The Paladin barely paused from his work.
“Can I get you anything? The kitchen’s got a pretty full stock, and I can make most anything fairly edible.”
The Paladin said with the slightest of smiles, before turning to meet the gaze of his visitor.
“What would you like?”
wearehexblade
Quinn practically choked down his surprise at seeing the paladin there, and swallowed his usual mixture of a flippant flirtatious remark. “Oh… uh… H-hi, Tarek.” Of the whole collective, only the paladin and anti-paladin and perhaps the assassin were safe from his charm. They were a bit too terrifying for him. Best to avoid the boot before being squashed by it. “What are you making?”
Tarek raised an eyebrow. Apparently that last question had gone right past the Hexblade.
“Sandwiches. Would you like one?”
Tarek said with his enunciation slightly slower than normal, uncertain if he really had the other man’s attention.