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Background
Raised in the t'Maren Household, nephew to Baron Louis t'Maren, Vorian was made a page at six, a squire at twelve, and a knight at eighteen — young, but then, he displayed exceptional abilities. Assigned to command a contingent of infantry, he was sent into the North to reinforce then-prince Jean-Paul against the Tirians. He and his men fought for six years, their service culminating in the Siege of Valetta, and he has been sent home. He and his remaining men now serve among the l'Saigner guard.
First-born to Dominic t'Maren, the younger brother of Baron Louis t'Maren, Vorian was never destined to be a ruler — and indeed, it was apparent from a young age that this suited the boy fine. Even as a toddler, he was a prankster, telling the other children tall tales that would often result in nightmares. Pink elephants, for instance, that stalked through the gardens at night, crushing all those that they found. A whole regiment of ghosts haunted the other children up until he was finally assigned as a page to another cousin, Jessin t'Maren, one of the finest instructors of knights in the famed t'Maren retinue.
Jessin pushed Vorian hard from a young age, and with a ruthless attention to detail. Vorian learned to scrub maile in a barrel of sand, learned to sharpen a sword and a dagger and an axe, learned to aid his knight in arming himself, mounting a destrier, and all the other tasks a page must know. And he trained him vigorously at sword, hammer, and bow. But what Jessin could not do was reduce the boy's wit — his innate sense of fun. And in truth, Jessin had no desire to crush his spirit. So Vorian remained a vibrant, lively, child. Properly respectful at times, and at other times in need — and delivered — of a good box on the ears.
As a page, and later squire to Sir Jessin, he attended many of the council meetings, standing to pour wine for his knight and listening to all that was said. In his teenage years, he began to develop a capacity for tactics and strategy — all of this, of course, entirely intentional on Jessin's part. He also discovered girls. And here, Jessin was forced to resort to extreme measures. Not that he disapproved of a tumble in the hay, but really? Sisters? There were more and more sharp words between the knight and his squire, and many a night was spent on watch-duty with common soldiers as punishment. And it paid dividends.
Vorian learned about the yeoman soldier. He learned about his complaints, about his wants, about his kindnesses and cruelties. He observed them with one another, and learned what they respected and what they hated. He learned their personal, creative, profanity. And he learned to love them. More than anything, he learned to love them. When an older yeoman lent him a cloak on a cold night, Vorian learned to respect them. When a sergeant sat down and told him stories of stupid knights who got their men killed, Vorian listened — and learned to listen to his veterans. These nights on the wall became his blood and milk. He even volunteered. And all of this — ALL of this — was by Jessin's design. He had known, or at least hoped, that this was the sort of warrior Vorian would develop into.
And so when he was knighted, it was very little shock to him to be assigned command of a block of Infantry that was being sent north to reinforce against the Tirian raids. He at eighteen, a young man, was given an experienced yeoman banner sergeant and a green group of soldiers — as green as he was. And though he tried hard to keep himself aloof, to maintain his dignity, he loved them as though they were his children and that Sergeant, Pramm, his partner in raising them.
The war against the Tirians began to heat up. Under the command of the then-Prince, Jean-Paul, the t'Maren contingent distinguished themselves — and within the contingent of soldiers known to his house, Vorian developed a reputation. He took to soldiering as naturally as he had taken to swordplay, tricks, and women. When his men marched, he marched, leading his horse alongside them. He ate what they ate. He slept under the open sky, the same as them. And in battle, he took the same risks, only hanging back to capture a tactical image, or to execute some order from on high. He was known to carry wounded men out on his saddle. Several times, he barely escaped capture — or outright death. He loved war!
And then, in 1865, it all went wrong. The Tirians, well-armed and brilliantly-led, lashed out in a massive offensive against Prince Jean-Paul's forces, forcing them into retreat. Vorian and his contingent fell back as part of the rear-guard, fighting desperate action after desperate action. His horse was killed under him, and the others were needed to convey the wounded, and so Vorian fought on foot alongside his men. Pramm died — his old friend, his advisor — of an arrow through the arm that grew infested. And where was the Prince? Rumor had it that he had been arrested! Some said killed. Oh, Duke Cesare was a magnificent officer — he fought like a lion, he held the line — but the Prince was, well, the Prince. And being under the command of a l'Corren, even one as well-loved as Duke Cesare, simply didn't feel right to the young t'Maren and his men. And this is where Vorian's former pranks really showed their worth. Whenever things were the hardest, the young knight was smiling, pacing the ranks, telling horrible jokes and racy stories, and listening to them in kind. Every night, he would visit the hospital tents, and every dawn he was up and ready to march. And he wore himself down, bit by bit, but he held nothing back from his men. In his heart, he began to be certain that they were doomed.
Finally, they arrive in Valetta. Things here are not much better than on the road, but at least there are fireplaces, homes that soldiers can be quartered in, real hospital areas that can be established. And as Vorian settles into the siege, he begins to feel hope again. For the first month or so. But the months go on. And on. His men grow thin — and he grows thin — as rations grow shorter. Horsemeat becomes a commodity. And then there is the economy of rats. It is a siege. There are worse things than rats that are eaten. And he becomes more and more aware that Richard Toulin, their supposed commander of Templar forces, is either incompetent or insane. But Vorian does his best to keep smiling for his men, and he remains a competent, hard-nosed fighter when the walls are stormed. If, before Valetta, he was a good knight — it is in Valetta that he truly learns about war. And heartbreak.
In the Battle of the Breach, Vorian watched his men die. Oh, they held the line. Duke Cesare himself complimented them on their courage, when it was all done. But his beautiful, beloved men? Two in three were dead or maimed by the end of it. Sure, there was help out there in the darkness now, but what of it? Far too late. And still, Vorian smiled and cracked jokes. And grew thinner. And weaker. And finally, there came the Battle of the Three Crowns. Finally, relief was at hand. Vorian and his remaining men sallied forth with the rest of the garrison, and they fought. And fought. It was a long, long, day for them. By the end of it, it was Vorian and ten of his men who still stood, all of them sporting fresh wounds — Vorian had taken a spear through his shield-arm in the first moments of the exchange, but he fought on.
He and his men marched in victory back to Rovilon with the rest of the men, and Vorian — though weak, wounded, and heartsore — took advantage of his status as a hero of Valetta to thoroughly enjoy some pleasant company while he was there. But then, he and his men — far too few to be useful — were sent home
to Bloodfield and disbanded, each of them — men and knight — assigned to training roles until they were recovered. Since then, Vorian has spent many days with Sir Jessin, his old knight, who has worked to guide the young man's spirits back from the brink of despair. And he constantly visits with his surviving men, maintaining the bond between them.
So it really wasn't a surprise that, after Lord Sir Jonathan's wedding — a cousin that Vorian hardly knows but greatly admires — he came together with these same ten men, all now hardened veterans, and decided to seek out employment near to the Heir. Hopefully they may gain his favor and, it is hoped, share in his adventures. Presenting himself to Baron Louis, and gaining permission to depart, Vorian and his tiny retinue of soldiers have traveled to the l'Saigner estate, there to present themselves and seek service within the famed House of their lord.
On the Grid
In the chaos of battle when the ground beneath your feet is a slurry of blood, puke, piss, and the entrails of friends and enemies alike, it is easy to turn to the Gods for salvation. But it's soldiers who do the killing, and soldiers who do the dying, and the gods never get their feet wet. Quintus, Centurion
Standing just below six feet, this young man is not an exemplar of size — nor is he as broad-chested as many other men. There is strength in him, however, an energy that radiates off the man. His frame is lean, not an ounce of flesh going to waste, muscle packed on to what little space he has to spare. Though his posture is perfectly correct, there is some inherent insouciance in his stance that implies a catlike laziness — never tense, and yet always ready to spring. His face is narrow and taut, with high cheekbones touched often by the sun. A narrow jawline and broad nose serve to further accentuate his sharp features. Perhaps in the hopes of softening the austere lines of his face, he has grown a beard — a few shades lighter than his hair, a rich chestnut, well-trimmed and lightly oiled. Pale brown eyes — the color of tanned leather — are set beneath thick, arching, brows. Here and there, scars are evident — a tiny, triangular, nick on his cheek has gone pale with the years. There is a certain scent about him — clean sweat and leather, with a hint of the tang of iron. His jet-black hair falls to his neck in subtle waves, untidy but largely kept off his features.
His armor shows signs of frequent use, though it appears to be exquisitely-maintained, no hint of rust or damage evident. His breastplate is well-fitted to him and completely unadorned, enameled in black. There are places where it is evident former dents have been hammered out, and his left spaulder is subtly newer than the right, as though necessity had caused it to be recently replaced. Beneath the breastplate, he wears a suit of oiled chainmail which hangs to his thighs, providing a skirt of protection. His boots are tall, and sewn in with iron studs designed to turn an enemy's blade. A pair of thick leather bracers are strapped to his forearms, and he favors heavy leather gauntlets which run to just above the wrist. A longsword is strapped to his left hip, a dagger to his right. Neither are particularly elegant weapons, and both show signs of hard use, their leather-wrapped hilts stained and faded with sweat.
Charismatic Undeniably handsome, Vorian radiates an intense interest in the world around him. He has the gift of focusing all his attention on a person, truly listening. In public, as well, he presents himself with a candid pleasure in the company of others that is hard to resist.
Duty Bound Despite the smiles and the charm, Vorian is a t'Maren to the core. Duty comes before all, even his own life. He has already proven, on many occasions, his willingness to risk himself for the sake of the mission.
Good Reputation The common folk speak of Sir Vorian with approval. He's not one to come through, impregnate a farmer's daughter, and ride off again. No, he pays for his whiskey and he speaks civilly to even the lowest commoner. And among the soldiers of the t'Maren household, he's held in high esteem for the way in which he shares their hardships.
Rough Around the Edges Vorian is known for his rather earthy sense of humor. It's said that, as a young man, he spent too much time among the common soldiers. If that is the case, then his sense of delicacy has surely been ruined.
Natural Leader Where Vorian leads, men follow. It's hard to define the qualities that make up a leader, but perhaps they're similar to the qualities in a lover. He is considerate, he puts his men's comfort before his own, but when the time comes he makes a decision and follows through.
Vorian's armor is designed for a swordsman, rather than a heavy lancer. His breastplate is well-fitted and enameled in plain black. There are signs of former use — dents that have been hammered out, a mended gouge through the left spaulder. Chainmail accounts for the rest of his armor, apart from simple leather bracers. His boots are studded with iron. He owns a plain helm with a long nasal bar and a short aventail.
His longsword is a simple thing, its crossguard of unpolished steel and its leather-wrapped hilt stained with sweat. He also owns a bastard sword, an older brother of his favored longsword, though he rarely brings it to battle. He also possesses a set of light training leathers and an unadorned dagger.
He owns two horses — a dapple-grey riding palfrey, for his general travels, and a destrier named Ox, a powerful horse, chestnut with a white crest.
Logs and Sundry
"We're the lucky ones, lads. While all the others are snug abed, here we are. They're getting fat and lazy. But we're the ones who're going to get the women." Vorian, at the Battle of the Breach.
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(adrienne aidric alaric alexandra alina amara antonia ariane artos clara clarke conrad corvin devlin dora elaida emilia esyld evelyn event gabriel james jonathan leander log lorelei lucas philippe quentyn raimond symon thaddeus the-last tiadora tristan vorian)
(alina clarke corvin esyld gabriel joshua log lucas noel odilia paege social talia vorian)
(alexandra artos clarke conrad corvin esyld event gabriel jonathan log lucas odilia talia vorian wilson)
(alaina alina alivia amara ariane cesare clara dalmer darren dawn devlin dixon elaida elrick emilia esyld evelina event gabriel leander log manfred mina orion osric quentyn raelyn raimond reese thaddeus tristan vorian)
(alexandra alivia amara ariane cesare darren dawn devlin drusilla elrick emilia evelyn event gabriel joffrey jonathan leander lero log manfred michael odilia orion quentyn raelyn raimond thaddeus vorian)
(alexandra alina amara antonia darren devlin elrick emilia evelyn event gabriel gawain joffrey jonathan leander liam log manfred odilia quentyn raimond thaddeus tiadora vorian)
(alexandra alina alivia amara ariane cesare clarke cynthia darren dawn devlin drusilla elaida elrick emilia esyld evelyn event gabriel gastogne joffrey jonathan leander lero log manfred mina orion quentyn raelyn raimond samuel thaddeus tiadora tristan vorian)
Relationships
Couviere
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Esyld Draven : I knew you as a child, and we were close. Now I see you as an adult and I wonder why I never noticed before how the world seems to work better around you. It's a shame, really, that I can't explain it properly. |
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Corvin Fremont : I barely know the man, but I can tell that there are hidden depths here. I had hoped we could be friends. Now I wonder if the world will allow that. |
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Gabriel l'Corren : I've come to Lonnaire to work for and with this man, and from what I've seen of him, I haven't chosen wrong. He fights bravely and leads from the front, and that's all a soldier needs to know. |
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Alina l'Saigner : The Lady of Lonnaire. I shall be respectful, and keep my head down. She seems remarkably intelligent. |
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