- Paladin: A recently-made Paladin, Dalmer is a fine example of a holy knight.. or she strives to appear so, anyway.
- Court: She's only recently begun to make forays into life as a courtier - maybe you've seen her around?
- Healer: Without blowing her own trumpet, Dalmer is regarded, in certain circles, as one of the best healers around.
- House Haldis: Known to be a staunch supporter and friend of the 'Bastard Duke' Darren Haldis, maybe she might share her opinions on recent happenings in Eastfield. Maybe.
- Tutor: Dalmer enjoys teaching. More than likely she'd be willing to help, if you need to brush up on something.
When the younger brother of ‘Old Jonn’ Haver welcomed his second child into the world, there was little in the way of fuss or fanfare. Joren’s wife had, after all, already birthed an heir in the form of Corin seven years previous. And thus Dalmer Haver, named for an infamous knight of legend - and rather prematurely, thanks to her father’s certainty she would be another son - entered the world rather unremarkably.
Unsurprisingly, especially with no other children as yet born to his brother or sisters, Joren lavished much of his attention and focus upon Corin, as the first-born of his generation and the eldest of the siblings. But that is not to say Dalmer was neglected. Far from it. She adored her father and the feeling was mutual, with more often than not a mere wry smile or turning of cheek meeting her more risky misadventures. A mischievous and cheerful child, yet with a headstrong streak and capacity for willfulness when roused to it, she was groomed from her earliest years as a representative of the House; patiently taught the basics of etiquette and the expectations of a lady by her Harwich-born mother, Avril, who had greater grounding in such things than those of the Haver line, of course. She did her best with the affectionately indulged little ragamuffin, who preferred playing swords in the bailey with her brother, or hearing her father tell of battles past than fussing over embroidery and dresses. Similarly ingrained within her early education were the teachings and tenets of the One faith, as one would expect of a House so closely connected to the Order of St Matthew. She attended the weekly sermons and dutifully made confession - though what true sins a child could need to unburden are anyone’s guess.
It was a testament to the bonds of friendship between her uncle, Old Jonn, and the Archduke Bryar Haldis that Bryar’s legitimized son, Darren, should be sent to Haverton as a page.. though Dalmer was only 4 when the young heir departed for Longfield Castle, and the Unbridled. It came as no surprise either when the arrangement was made, in 1850, following the birth of ‘Young’ Jonn’s heir, Brandon, that Dalmer would go to Charger’s Rest to begin her training.
Never balking at even the most menial of tasks, the girl ignored the occasional jibes of her better presented, more ‘proper’ peers and doggedly, diligently persevered in the work she was given, determined to do her family proud, despite her ‘flaws’. Though never one to demand or court attention, she earned it from her tutors nevertheless for her composure and good humor, always taking a ribbing without offence and winning round new friends, no matter how long it took, with a smile in the face of a thinly-veiled dig. The death of her gentle mother a year later, when Dalmer was eleven, only seemed to harden the child’s resolve to always hold the moral high ground, to lead by example. High standards to set, for one so young.
It should be noted, perhaps, that rumours persisted around the true blood of Dalmer’s newborn sister, Jorena. She was widely believed to be the bastard of a guardsman, or so the whispers amongst the servants said when Dalmer returned briefly home for the funeral, accidentally overhearing the maids gossiping as she stole to the kitchen for a bun. The revulsion that turned her stomach was something that would stay with her over the years, no matter how she prayed for the strength to forgive and she has never grown truly close to her little sister as a result, unable to help blaming her for their mother’s demise, no matter how she tries to be forgiving, and considering her a needling reminder of adultery. Her brothers, however, she continues to adore.
Another year later, now aged twelve and with glowing letters of praise from both her kin and her tutors in Eastfield, Dalmer was squired to an older Paladin, Penelope Culver, who had served in Bendingbrook for a time. She was a tutor of stern countenance, with high demands and expectations placed upon the girl in her charge. Though, as the years passed and those requirements began to be met unconsciously, their relationship would become one of almost familial affection. As close as the aloof knight could come to it, anyway. No matter what she asked of her ward, she would at the very least try, and without much complaint, unless it was a truly grisly request.
One of Dalmer’s first large social functions, outwith the grounding she had been given at Charger’s Rest, together they attended the funeral of King Lucas in the summer of 1853. The delicate politics of the situation were explained to the girl by her knight - even if she grasped them then only in simple terms, as an aspiring Paladin she was expected to weigh both sides and that could not be done without understanding. A mainstay of her time with Penelope was her constant testing of her reasoning and diplomacy - what would she advise in this situation, what action should be avoided in that.. it began sharpening her mind very early on, instilling the habit of thought before action.
With the onset of the Succession War, with Haldis and Haver both declaring for Anton, Penelope and her squire travelled on the periphery; lending aid to the forgotten outlying villages affected, particularly those ravaged by the brutal tactics of Lord Alphard, whom history would remember as ‘The Butcher’. The weight of neutrality was, at times, more than it seemed either of them could bear, in the face of such atrocities. Dalmer had need to learn swiftly the healing arts in order to usefully aid her tutor - by good fortune a discipline that seemed to come naturally to her. She was taught to ever be gathering the herbs she may need for medicines and tinctures, salves and poultices, how to prepare without halting and to be a step ahead, always, of what may be needed in the heat of the moment.. or battle. More than once their efforts were impeded by Alphard’s men, who seemed to think it good sport to keep the healers from lending aid to the enemy, though they dared only to harry the Paladin and her squire rather than outright attack.
An adequate swordswoman even at a young age, Dalmer also had to throw herself into the remaining, rigorous training of her position as a squire; learning the finer intricacies of horsemanship on a rather aged and stocky palfrey and even the basics of handling polearms from the saddle, though it never was her strong suit. Whenever there was a spare moment, a brief respite from blood and horror, she was expected to practice until her hands blistered and her muscles trembled with fatigue. There was no time for elegant instruction of fine precision, not in the dark days. It would stand her in good stead as she matured; though, building both strength and fortitude.
Venturing to Whitewalls in late 1858, visiting the paladin and templar stronghold there in order to restock some supplies for the battlefield, she and her knight found it still held, stubbornly, by her uncle Lord Randall Haldis, in the face of a Greycen siege. It transpired, however, that he was in fact seeking to seek a separate peace and negotiate surrender of the stronghold, behind the backs of his brother and Lord Anton.. and in this ill-advised scheme, Dalmer was to find herself hopelessly entangled, for the first time taking a decision upon herself and genuinely uncertain as to whether it was the right one. She served as a go-between for the castellan and the leader of the Greycen forces, Duke Rodrigo; her youth and innocent appearance no doubt helping as much as her supposedly neutral stance. In truth, it seemed the best way to her to avoid further deaths on either side.. surely that was worth the price of a little secrecy?
As negotiations seemed to be making headway, Randall rewarded his niece for her efforts - so he claimed. It was more probably a way to better bind her loyalty. Still, it seemed both flattering and oddly fitting that she should be dubbed by a Haldis, particularly for efforts as a diplomat rather than a warrior. Though hardly a pacifist, it was in Dalmer’s nature to avoid conflict if possible, taking to the blade only as a last resort. A suitable approach for a Paladin in most instances. But she had taken a grave misstep in assisting here.
Darren Haldis, having been informed by a traitorous few of the scheme, led an army to ensure Whitewalls was held.. and then promptly stripped Lord Randall of his position, returning him to Charger’s Rest under the excuse of ‘needing his counsel’. Alphard or Anton would surely have seen him dead, otherwise. Though the Duke doesn’t seem to have held a grudge against Dalmer for her part in the almost surrender, it matters little.. as she herself constantly reminds herself of how woefully wrong she had been in her judgement. It is perhaps the only thing she is truly ashamed of, leading perhaps to some over-compensation for her mistake in the years to come.
She did not immediately part ways with her knight. Indeed, they travelled together for a few months more as she settled into her new role. But Penelope would, eventually, be recalled to Sanctum, there to be honored with the title of Master Paladin and retire to a life of less exertion - much to her disgruntlement. They remain in contact to this day and there are few whose guidance she would trust so entirely.
Left to her own devices, Dalmer decided it would be to the benefit of her soul to offer some form of penance for her almost disastrous actions at Whitewalls. Foregoing the trappings of other newly-minted knights, the young lady took upon herself a vow of ‘purity’, the better to understand and acknowledge her place in the world and remind herself to remain always humble and careful. The habit remains to this day in her ascetic lifestyle - she doesn’t drink, eats only certain foods and remains as chaste as a sister, intending to be so until she marries, if she ever does. A brief return home to store her ‘good’ armor and find a mount - she purchased an old riding horse from a sarjeant’s widow, a little long in the tooth but sound and with plenty riding left in him - she departed for the mountains in only basic leathers and with a longsword slung at her hip, undertaking a pilgrimage of her own in the guise of a simple travelling healer, lest she unnecessarily upset those she encountered. The war was troubling far beyond the borders of the duchies, after all. But also, she felt she had yet to truly earn her title, as if it had been bestowed in falsehood, or for the wrong reasons.
Given the proximity of her family’s lands to the Vorlorian Mountains, and by sheer necessity, Dalmer already had a basic grasp of the Myrnesh language and customs; gleaned from travellers and merchants over the years. Certainly enough that she could, with care, approach the camps she came across, to ply her trade with some success and even learn a few less civilized remedies in kind. They didn’t truly grasp the notion of following only one deity, but she liked to believe she was at least making forays into peace between the tribes and the ‘Lowlanders’. One smallholding in particular, having been plagued by thefts and destruction for months, were most grateful for the assistance offered by a ‘passing healer’, when she managed to negotiate a tentative trade between them instead; satisfying both sides enough that at least the crops were safe, with a portion shared come winter.. though the occasional weapon or tool does still go missing, now and then.
She would venture for months at a time, one day tending the wounded in the wake of a short-lived raid she had stumbled across, happening upon the wake of Alphard’s bloody, blazing trail, the next she would vanish once more into the wilds. The very nature of the woman invited speculation and storytelling, especially amongst the commoners inhabiting the border towns and villages. Who exactly was she? Where did she disappear to? Some claimed she had established a residence within the fabled ‘hidden city’ in the mountains. Others wondered if she had wed one of the heathen tribal lords. In truth, Dalmer wandered at whim, spreading the good faith far and wide by gentle, compassionate means, the way she had always thought best. But, she was still a knight at the end of the day, and those fierce skirmishes in which she had no choice but to take up arms saw her acquit herself most admirably.
A notable example was the village of Pryhaven. Overlooked, in the grander scheme of things, the small settlement at the foot of the mountains had the misfortune of overlooking a river-ford, which a group of deserters made use of as they fled Alphard’s ensanguined rampage across the countryside. Apparently deciding to have some sport en route, or to show off in the wake of abandoning the infamous numbers, they set about the village and her people with a blatant disregard, terrorizing any who crossed their path. Until, of course, a few made the mistake of approaching a beautiful blonde as she strode into the little market square. Having been busying herself that morning with tending a few residents with one affliction of another, Dalmer was returning to her rented room at the inn when she became aware of the ruckus, a few of the village children accompanying her, as they often did, here and elsewhere. No doubt she was mistaken for one of the village wives, or at best a travelling merchant.
At first, as the brigands approached, she raised her palms in a gesture of placation, quietly suggesting their sins be taken elsewhere. But when the response to this was a sneering forward step, and a hefty cuff to one of the village boys as he thought to intervene, the young woman resignedly set aside her usually strict approach of non-interference, drawing her sword and squaring up to the ruffians, much to their amusement. Shoo’ing the youngsters to the safety of the chapel nearby, Dalmer took on the trio of thugs single-handedly; the benefit of ceaseless practicing most apparent as she dispatched them, brute strength and speed no match for precision and timing. Bolstered, the men of the village likewise took up what arms they had, easily outnumbering the would-be troublemakers and driving them out.
With her true heritage thus revealed, Dalmer remained in Pryhaven for almost a month, teaching a handful of the villagers at least the basics of swordplay, for their own protection, and offering advice as to defenses. With the One’s blessing, the village might continue to prosper and grow, and that would only invite more trouble - they needed to be capable of defending what they worked so hard for. She departed with the reward of a fine worsted wool cloak, despite her attempts to refuse, and the realisation that teaching suited her. To see even the first tentative results of training showing in her students made her happier than she would have anticipated. Perhaps something to be kept in mind for the future.
After two years errant, the young knight made her way to Sanctum, there to finalise the self-appointed pilgrimage and begin rejoining the world. The time spent in the wild places of the world, and with the tribes, had done little to help her blend within the finery of court.. she would have considerable work to do.
Ironically, it was in Sanctum that she would cross paths with both her cousin, ‘Young’ Jonn, and Darren Haldis; both having fled seeking sanctuary after the latter was accused of murdering his own father. Archduke Bryar, old friend and battle-companion of Old Jonn, had been slain in an ambush, and replaced by Alphard as Duke of Eastfield. Though she stalwartly refused to meddle directly in the politics between those involved, Dalmer’s personal affiliation to Darren’s kin, the evidence against the new Duke - and his forgiveness of the incident at Whitewalls - all inclined her to quietly take his side and offer both her support, as well as protection when he re-emerged a few months later to convince his vassals of the truth: that it was Anton and Alphard who were guilty of murder, not he.
Agreeing to take part in the battle that followed, now that the depravity of the Thorn had been revealed, Dalmer took her place once more as a knight, bidding farewell to her world-weary leathers, and selling on her trusty old horse to an elderly missionary, resplendent once more in a set of full plate gifted by House Haver and atop a ‘borrowed’ charger. The presence of the wanderer at the back of Darren Haldis roused a few murmurs from those who had heard of her, though it was a trifle in comparison to the grander scheme. A minor detail that would later be embellished upon in the retelling.
With the turn of House Haver and their convincing of their lieges, House Lockley, to follow suit, the timing of the turn of the bulk of House Haldis’ forces was both brutal and successful, leaving the remaining Thorn forces scattered, Anton grievously wounded and Alphard presumed dead.
Retiring to the academy at Bendingbrook for a time in the wake of these victories, Dalmer settled into the role of tutor, both in combat and to those who desired to learn the art of healing from such a well-known master. Now more than ever, in her opinion, everyone should be afforded such an opportunity, the better to take care of themselves and their loved ones. Already having kept a written record of her travels and adventures, the young lady also began to work on consolidating her learning in the form of detailed tomes, intending, one day, to perhaps complete a book on the topic.
In 1863, after years of pursuit, Duke Darren and the then-Baron Jaren Cassomir finally tracked down Lord Anton, capturing him after only a brief skirmish. The Lord was executed one week later. Wisely, Dalmer kept her quiet sadness over his fate to herself - her house and kin had, after all, bent knee to him, believing him to be the best choice of new leader for the kingdom. She hardly wished to be branded a sympathiser. To see how far he had fallen from grace, to have witnessed firsthand the depravity carried out in his name.. she could not help but pity him, being a woman of great heart and empathy. But from his death she took a valuable lesson; that even the mightiest can be felled by greed and malice, in the end.. and that trust can be too easily misplaced. She attended the coronation of Queen Alysande the next month, gladly paying homage to the new regent and greatly relieved by her Majesty’s compassion for most of those houses who had fought on the side of the Thorn.
The death of Darren’s wife and child in 1864 was something few, if any, could have foreseen.. and his grief and anger in the wake of such a terrible thing were.. understandable. With Charger’s Rest being pulled in a three-way tug of war between his mother, step-mother and uncle, and with the Duke himself taking the next few months to ‘re-establish ties to other nobles of Rivana’, Dalmer kept her distance from the Haldis seat. Some situations really do need to resolve themselves, after all. She did, however, visit Darren at least once during his long stay at Longfield Castle. Perhaps only to reassure herself of his wellbeing.
Between 1863 and 1865 Dalmer largely remained out of the public eye, though tales of her travels occasionally filtered through the gossips of the court, now that she had become more recognisable and had obvious ties to the much-talked-about Darren Haldis. Widely considered to be a great beauty, her reputation also as a skilled knight and impressive healer lent a typical fairytale romance to the persona. But with so many in need, after many years of the devastation the war had wrought, she devoted herself largely to offering healing and aiding in rebuilding border settlements around Eastfield and the mountains of Broken Teeth, either unaware or uninterested in the stories that followed her.
As chance would have it - or perhaps by divine intervention? - in the winter of 1865, Dalmer returned to celebrate All Feast Day in the welcoming warmth of Charger’s Rest; materialising quite out of the blue but welcomed as an old comrade of the Duke and afforded his hospitality as she waited out the formidable weather that had forced her down from the wilds once more. With the rise of the Thorn Insurgency the Duke was leading much of the defenses, serving as Lord Marshal. But his home was under the care of her uncle, Lord Randall, once more… and Dalmer elected to remain there for ‘support’. Or to make sure he didn’t try to sell the duchy out from under his nephew altogether.
Unknown to any of them, sadly, was that since that summer, Alphard Haldis and the Grey Company had been amassing, with the support of the Duke and Duchess Farrant, using Black Hills as a staging point for an attack on Eastfield.
The sack of Charger’s Rest was meticulously planned, the seat quite unprepared for such a swift and vicious attack. Though the forces rallied, only Alphard’s careful withdrawal rather than risking his capture left the city standing at all. Dalmer fought ceaselessly within the numbers of the defending troops; by the time other loyalist forces arrived, Old Jonn and his troops, her brothers and cousins among them, she was exhausted to the point of collapse, yet still stubbornly shouldering the burden of overseeing the defenses, such as they were. When Jonn insisted that he lead the hastily assembled men into the fray, she could protest only weakly; reluctantly left behind to recover her strength while her family went to stand in defense of the Halds seat.
Shaken awake by her brother, David, in the grey early hours of the next morning, she was told of their uncle’s death, run through by Alphard as they faced one another again. The guilt and grief, the private belief that it was in some way her fault, is something Dalmer would never either recover from or openly admit to, though those beneath her would likely attest to the new steel in her gaze, the determined set of her jaw as she strode out onto the battlefield, set on avenging her kin and ridding Eastfield of this blight once and for all. But she had little chance to wet her blade.
Alas for the duchy, and for Dalmer’s burning desire for justice, Darren’s own zeal in returning home and charging down his enemy led him directly into a well-laid trap set by the Butcher. The young Duke not only lost the family sword, but almost his life in facing Alphard, leaving Randall to continue controlling Eastfield in place of his grievously wounded nephew. It was in this tense and uncertain time that she grew more familiar with the Duke’s half brother, Raimond. Never one to base an opinion on hearsay, Dalmer had always been pleasant and amiable in regard to the ‘uncouth’ side of the bastard Duke’s blood family.. though, truth be told, she had some time ago dismissed the Giraldi heir as a vapid and flamboyant creature of little substance. But he was amongst those who pulled Darren from the field and kept fierce guard over him until she and the Haldis healer could make their way to his chamber. The first subtle hint that there may be more to the youngster than she had previously considered, and she has kept it in mind since.
Dalmer likewise quit the field, working alongside the Haldis healer in tending to the Duke and keeping vigil with the trusted guards of Miranda Giraldi. Nowadays, she is widely credited with saving the young man’s life, successfully crafting an antidote to a poison that might otherwise have been the death of him. Supposedly the recipe was of tribal origin.. though nobody can say for sure.
What is fact, is that during this time, as she kept vigil over the Duke and, to some extent, his lands, Dalmer received a message from beyond the turmoil surrounding them. It would seem her actions here and indeed tales of her compassionate and diplomatic efforts throughout the war had not gone unnoticed by the faith, no doubt thanks in large part to Penelope. A missive from the Grand Master, Sir Andrea Lancella herself, along with an official seal, recognised Dalmer, at last, as a worthy Paladin and a representative of the faith, just as her mentor had been, and many Havers before her. A new shield would now be hung in the great hall of Haverton.
There was no time for celebration. Following Darren’s defeat, Eastfield tumbled into Civil War, with Thorn houses rising up against the Haldis and Queen both; House Hume, House Russell and House Godwin. Beyond the immediate destruction of Charger’s Rest, House Haver sided with the Duke and the loyalists and joined the forces of the County of Ramsbridge in marching south to face the rebels.
Eventually, in Janvier of 1866, with Darren recovered and Randall to oversee the duchy, the loyalist forces were able to clear Eastfield of the rebel forces, then march on through Haverton to assault the Normont lordship of Black Hills on Haverton's northern border. This would be known, of course, as The Battle of Blackstone. With the forces under Darren, Jaren Cassomir and Thaddeus Greycen beneath the walls of the House Farrant's castle, the Rivanan loyalists turned the tables on the Butcher, using Darren as bait for a trap by making it look like the Duke had rushed in with a small force, Dalmer among them, to confront his uncle in the fiefdom. When Alphard counter attacked the other loyalist forces attacked, encircling the Thorn camp and crushing the army. And at last, amidst the fighting, Alphard was slain by Darren Haldis. Not without cost to the Duke, who sustained still further injuries.
The world does not stop turning, however.
Following the victory here and subsequently that at Sunsreach seeing the end of the uprising, Couviere came seeking Rivana’s aid with the Tirians. Darren was too badly injured to go with Rivana’s army - he remained in the capital. By Avril, the diplomats at Sanctum, joined by a party from Rivana and the High Priest, agreed to send forces from the Templars and Paladins to relieve Valetta… and Dalmer was among their number, most willingly. Even if it meant leaving Darren in the care of lesser healers. But the aid of a little coin put toward an, albeit not particularly fine, horse - for the best were in short supply - was implication enough that he thought she should go. The animal is perhaps now her most treasured possession and beloved companion. Little more than a carthorse in training and stature, she named him Ember, for the odd sorrel and black hue of his mane and tail. He’s neither particularly beautiful or powerful.. he’s not even very big.. but he’s brave and has greater speed and stamina than the heavier chargers.
The Battle of Three Crowns was the most massive in the history of the Edge and many found both glory and fame in taking up their swords. For certain, the tide was turned by the arrival of the Rivanan forces under Lord Thaddeus. Fighting alongside her fellow Paladins, shoulder to shoulder with Templars, Unbridled and Lancers alike, Dalmer also found herself working closely with the Grand Master; healing or fighting as needed at her command, rather unsurprisingly awestruck by the infamous woman… and quietly aspiring one day to command such respect and led so fearlessly herself.
And when dusk fell and victory was claimed beneath the walls of Valetta? Some strove Northward, harrying the barbarians. Others set out for Rovilon, the word having arrived of an attack upon the Couvieri capital. The lady knight herself? She chose to remain at the fortress, there to tend those injured in the field and to aid in the rebuilding of defenses; not for the first time publicly choosing humble compassion over the temptation of glory and pride. The news of triumph in the capital would follow swiftly.
In the months since, Dalmer has been seen often in the capital of Sunsreach and is immersing herself in the politics and workings of the court, there to help Archbishop Langford in his efforts to repair the damage caused by the late Cardinal Ramius’ machinations. She finds it genuinely troubling that a sense of unease or dissatisfaction, justified as it may be, with the hierarchy of the church may, long-term, diminish trust in the faith itself and desires to prove that good, honest and true followers still exist within the ranks. And, needs be, she is willing to quietly root out the dregs of Lucien’s treachery, as ferociously and diligently as necessary. But she first needs to find the threads to tug at…
She’s doing the best she can, while deep-down knowing she’s out of her depth. With strong ties still to House Haldis and her own kin, she must work hard to be taken seriously in many ways.. though her popularity, kingdom-wide recognition and undeniable beauty and charisma go a long way in making up for a somewhat less than polished facade.. her gaffes tend to be considered amusing rather than truly offensive. And if nothing else, her occasionally dreadful fashion sense gives the vipers something to snigger at.
Her days are occupied often by meetings, either accompanying the Archbishop or on the business of House Haver, while any leisure time she can find sees her spending time with Ember, writing, teaching or - and this one she doesn’t admit to - practicing her weaving; something her late mother was always nagging at her to do. She’s working on a tapestry depicting the Succession War. But she’s convinced she’s not very talented and therefore keeps that particular hobby to herself. All told, Dalmer maintains an ascetic lifestyle, as is her preference, but tries to at least appear interested in the finery and personal wealth that those around her covet so. The better to fit in and separate the wheat from the chaff within the mutterings of court and find lines of investigation worth pursuing.