Character Race: Human

Character Class: Fighter

Character Alignment: Chaotic Good

Deity: N/A

Age: 22

Sex: Male

Height: 6' 2"

Weight: 195 lbs.

Hair: Blond

Eyes: Blue

Trystan is a handsome man, tall and broad of shoulders. He is missing his left arm, a reminder of better times. Blond hair once well kept now blows in the wind, and a unshaven beard is beginning to form on his chin and neck. His tanned skin is a testimony to his travels.

Long Sword - Specialized

Medium Shield (+3 to AC)

Weapon and Shield Style

Ambidexterity

Land Based Riding

Read / Write Common

Herbalism

Religion

Cooking

Etiquette

Modern Language - Elven

Common, Elven

Chain Mail +4 (50,000 gp)

Longsword +2

Mace of Pain +2 Harm 1/Day

Belt of Healing (Heals wounds 1hp/hour does not regenerate lost limbs)

Heavy War Horse

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Trystan bears the determination of one wronged painfully. His will is unerring and his focus narrow as he seeks to avenge the death of his father for a senseless raid on a peaceful city – a family stolen from him as he grew to manhood. His errant status from the Church Knights has given him the leeway to serve those in need, seeking to bring justice to those who have been wronged and create peace where those of evil intent seek to sow hatred and war. He is devout in his religious pursuits, although his independence has taught him to view rules in a slightly different manner, affording him flexibility to carry out his pursuit of purity. Despite his charm and the attention he draws from the fairer sex, he uses his charisma as an asset toward his leadership alone. Intent on exacting the revenge he seeks before pursuit of his own family or furthering his military career in the Knighthood, his devotion lies only in seeking Smolek and imparting the justice of the Knighthood everywhere he can on his way. Outside of the battle arena, he is warm and friendly, showing a special weakness toward children, often dropping a coin or two in the small fingers of one who will sit with him for a story or play with him in the street.

As the son of a Preceptor of the Order of the Elshan Elite Knighthood, the Knighthood of the Church, Trystan Khale’el was always sure that he himself would one day be a knight. His training was going marvelously. He led his class of recruits and squires in swordplay, mounted tactics, lance-work and was highly regarded in his academic pursuits as a templar as well. He progressed earlier and better than anyone could anticipate, but under the guidance of his father, put off his transition to full Knighthood to further his studies in religion, the history of the Church and the art of healing. Being at a prominent outpost, he was given such a luxury to take the time he wanted to develop other skills, since most of the Knights were primarily a deterrent and hadn’t seen active duty since the past crusade of the empire, nearly five years earlier.

Plans changed abruptly, as the best laid plans have a habit of doing. It was spring, the rain had been pouring incessantly for nearly a week when the first rumbling came over the mountains. The city guard outpost had not reported for three days, which was fairly regular when the weather took a turn for the worse. No one ever became alarmed because Espar was a large city, certainly not a target for a random attack, let alone an outright invasion. As the hordes poured out of the surrounding foothills, that overconfidence gave way to the sinking feeling of ill-preparation. The Knights were a highly trained force however, and there were nearly three full garrisons stationed at Espar, along with the city guard, a formidable force in itself. Mounting a defense quickly and efficiently, the Knights were able to rush outside the city wall and meet the oncoming hordes of orc and ogre invaders with a decisive charge. The Knights’ skill alone bought time for the citizens outside the walls and siege preparations before the general retreat. Trystan watched the gates uneasily as the Knights rode in, looking for the familiar gold tunic and golden helm of his father. As the last of the Kngihts rode in, Trystan felt his anxiety disappear for the moment, as his father, the Preceptor rode in at the trail of the now diminished ranks of the Elshan Elite Knights.

The siege lasted two weeks before the first assault at the walls came. The rain aided the defenders in making the surrounding field too muddy and slick to mount a serious offensive. The Knights and guard were able to easily squelch the first attack with virtually no losses. The rains continued for three more days before coming to a sudden end. IT wasn’t the rain stopping that worried his father as much as the sudden winds that immediately replaced the rain torrents. The warm, dry wind, sweeping out to the harbor would likely dry the battlefield enough to support any type of further attacks. Certainly a wind of that convenience meant a magical presence on the battlefield – and likely one greater than could be provided by any typical Ogre Mage.

As predicted, the main thrust came a few days after the winds started. Despite the routing only a few days earlier, the enemy troops marched with feverish zeal toward the city walls, intent on slaying the occupants of the large city. This time, the enemy met with more success. The gates were the first to be pounded by the orcan attack force, damaging the main wall and the gates themselves at a heavy cost. Yet still the invaders came. The tides turned as the magical element made its presence known by destroying the heavy gates in a ball of fire so tremendous that the walls themselves were torn away as well. The citizens were housed in the basilica in the center of the city while the streets outside filled with violence and death. Trystan had stolen away to the tower of the basilica, placed within the refuge as a final guard and had a view of the carnage below as it took place throughout the city. Although the Knights were by far more disciplined and technically sound, the sheer number of the filthy orcs soon began to take its toll on their ranks. The battle backed toward the basilica with the knights charging and reforming over and over, each time crushing scores of the humanoid invaders. Trystan’s anxiety eased as he watched his father continuously cutting through the enemy troops without taking a hit to his bronze emblazoned armor. His anxiety eased even further when he heard the trumpets sounding the Knight’s charge and looked outside the city walls to see a full four garrison reinforcement squadron bearing down on the city. The gleam of the sea of armor still brings a chill to his spine as the rows upon rows of holy death rolled toward the doomed orcs.

Turning his attention back to the battle, Trystan’s ease was erased as he saw his father engaged with an ogre general whose name he later learned to be Smolek. Smolek’s wide axe had cut a swath through several mounted Knights before engaging his father in death’s dance. The strength of the ogre was matched only by the skill and cunning of the Preceptor as the traded skillful blows and parries, feints and counters – feeling out the other, looking for the one weakness that would spell the other’s demise. Trystan’s eyes were torn back and forth between the approaching curtain of Knights and his father’s battle. Again the gleam of the armor transfixed his eyes as the Church Knights rode within striking distance of the outer encampments of the besieging army, preparing for the first charge. A charge Trystan had to watch because of its precision and destruction. As the reinforcement garrisons mowed down the scrambling orcs, Trystan’s attention was drawn back to his father. The arc of the axe seemed so slow, matching the turn of his eyes, as the glimmer of a shining sea of armor was replaced by a spray of blood. So much blood. Smolek himself was bleeding from his left leg from a deep wound that had trapped his father’s sword – likely lodged in the bone. Smolek’s scream was not one of pain, however, as his axe swung fully through, opening the Preceptor’s chest wide. The scream was one of victory. Trystan’s next memory was waking in the arms of a Church Kngiht, the stench of his own vomit saturating his tabard.

Only five years later, the young Knight, Trystan, had since left the service of the Church Knights. He had risen rapidly in rank – his steely determination carrying him through drills and tasks faster than most Knights had ever progressed – his hatred bearing the weight of the hardships. His passion for Knighthood was fueled even further by the ungodly thoughts of revenge and he had grown to the point where he would soon have to decide between leadership of a garrison or chasing the thoughts of revenge that haunted his dreams nightly. Under the counsel of his mentoring Knights and the Dolmant himself, Trystan was granted an indefinite leave of absence – a Knight Errant – to exact his revenge and come to peace with his commission to the church. Taking his father’s shield, he remained a true paladin, holding fast to that which was upright and chaste, but always wrestling with the burning fire of sin within his heart – the sin of vengeance. To continue furthering his holy cause and to purify his own heart, Trystan is devoted to not only destroying the ogre Smolek, but every vile orc in his path.

Trystan has fallen from Tyr's grace and now travels the realms as a warrior for hire. He never leaves the side of his love Adrienne.