Watchknight de'Ardo

[tzaeru]

Appearance & Personality:

Name: Delarion de'Ardo
Age: 25 (upon arrival - 27 now.)
Height: 178cm (5'10")
Weight: 75kg (165 lbs.)
Hair: Raven dark
Eyes: Hazel (Green and golden brown)

   Delarion doesn't stand particulary tall or big; But his muscles are well trained and, while obviously a warrior of some sort, he has a noble appearance, formed by symmetrical face, high cheekbones and flawless skin, giving him much of the traits of a succesful diplomat.
   His gaze is often watchful and guarding of those in his immediate field of vision. It's quick to change from piercing and unforgiving in combat to that of a more compassionate, friendly one. His voice - as well as his appearance - strike him as a self-assured, confident person.

   A clisché for a paladin, Delarion's greatest fear is, naturally, in breaking his oath: Particulary, as Helm is the most concerned with the well-being of children, Delarion has sworn to protect them for his life, as well as those mentioned in his oaths.
   And so Helm's dogma reflects to his own personality as well. "He also serves who stands and waits and watches carefully" - Delarion feels to be foremost a guardian, and secondarily an antagonizer of evil.

From childhood to oath to arrival:

   Born in Suzail of Cormyr in 1343 DR to a lesser noble family, Delarion's path to knighthood was carved to stone at delivery. His childhood with his sister was spent in the noble houses - and in hard training - interrupted by occasional ride to the woods with the family's horses.
   In 1365 DR came the oath, and knighting to the title of a Watchknight of Helm:
"...I shall perform my duties with loyal faith, never betray the trust of those I've sworn to defend; And I so shall never sacrifice the innocent, the weak, the injured nor the young for anyone else, including for my own life."

   And in a midsummer night of 1368 DR - when Azoun IV was still leading the Cormyrite army from victory to victory, waging battle in frontline with his men - a trip with Delarion's sister to the woods, on horseback, took a fatal turn, as the Mists crawled in. Seeing just a few meters ahead and otherwise nothing but pitch dark, a branch suddenly appeared, much too late, and pushed Delarion off his horse. He woke up in woods, not far from where one could see the nightly play around the Vistani bonfire.

   At age of 25 the Watchknight of The Vigilant Eyes of the Deity arrived to Ravenloft, young, and never before seen true combat. But the years taught him a lot; Patience as well as skill with sword and words, and new found Divine strength.

EDIT: and probably I never manage to write down even 1/3 of the personality traits and history I've thought out for my chars. Oh well. 

[tzaeru]

A description of Delarion's thoughts to gods, religion and dogma at large..

Dogma, philosophy and religion:

I've often presented to myself and others the question why: What is the purpose of my oath and how does it relate to the world we all share? I am very assured that Helm's faith lays in the field of possibilities. My life and motivations are largely set, but why would a Helmite sacrifice himself for someone already injured, or someone young whose future is uncertain? This, I believe, is due to the chance. It is never known if an injured man, once his wounds are healed, would be a man who turns into actions of heroic proportions. One may never know if a young man would be our future king, ruling righteously and proudly. Therefore Helm's will for his knights is that they protect the possibility each life holds inside it, for life is the field of possibilities and fates unset. This also reflects to many sayings of Helm and his faithful, such as "careful planning always defeats rushed actions in the end" - One must consider over the possibilities that turn the route of events and to see all the options, one must have patience to simply wait.

Considering why am I faithful of Helm, and why may someone else hold his faith for other gods, I've come to a conclusion that with this, humans exercise ultimate free will. That no man is born to be the follower of a certain god. But one simply listens to his heart and therefore finds the deity who answers to his call. This, I believe, is also largely a thing bound to the culture. In lands where the favors of gods are sparse and reserved to those whose hearts are fully dedicated to the path, in lands where gods never show themselves or perform miracles, I can fully understand lack of religion. So I also understand why Barovians are rarely religious. However, following a god does not change man's heart. He's still the same man - He is the one who chose his god, not the other way around. So there can be good and noble in the ranks of many gods and in the ranks of the faithless.

I also understand that my thoughts, perhaps, by some parts have driven me far from my church. For the two and half years I've spent in this land, I've had many days to consider the differences between policies of church, my dogma, my oaths and the will of Helm, as well as to listen to my own heart. Sometimes it strikes me as unsettling to think how my old superiors would see my views.. But I am trustful that I've always followed my path - The path shared with Helm's fate and duty. On that path I shall continue until my time is up: And on this land, it is hard to say when that day will arise.

[tzaeru]

*A drawing of the fireplace infront of him preceeds the text*

Diary entry, written in Wayfarer Kinship's living room.

Word of faith

"He also serves who stands and waits and watches carefully" combined with "careful planning always defeats rushed actions in the end" are two of my favorite tenets of Helm. I've also found that these two in particular are highly essential in surviving the horrors of Barovia. Back when I gave my oath of knighthood, the only people covered under my protection were the injured, the innocent, the young and the unpopular; Therefore I feel no need to stand as a guard between armed fools and the horrors of the night. Perhaps in some sense, the insane could be counted as the injured. However, protecting those whose flaw is foolishness is counter-productive for the true goals of a Helmite knight.

Points of concern

Banite and the Iron Tyrant threat: I've met a few of Bane's worshippers. One of them introduced herself as Artemis, for the others, I did not caught any names. It seems that Bane of my land and the Iron Tyrant of this land have much in common; Including many shared names. Nevertheless, this is indeed alarming, and I am considering on what possible actions I could take. So far I've simply been waiting for a initial move from their side.. I hope this is not the false course of action.

Vampire numbers: Met several times one named Morticia. We've fought twice. I feel it is inappropriate to refer to the outcome as a victory, as she's still in unharmed state. However it is for certain I didn't lose either, but I have a sensation that this has been mostly due to mere luck. Last time I met her she was with a man who Kyorli, "The Watcher". I am unsure if this was intentional mockery towards me and Helm, who is also known as "The Watcher" amongst other names. Regardless, had they chosen to attack me, I would have fallen, since for that night, my strength of a divine source had long been drained.

The Wayfarer Kinship: Joined the ranks. Hesitated at first, as I am uncertain of the motivations behind other members. The code of the Kinship matches my oaths though. Loric seems a kind and compassionate man, I am clad to sit here, under his roof. But whether I can place any trust to the other members, I do not know. The ones I've met, seem to be driven by selfish greed, wasted pride, egoistic goals I can never take part in. Thus there is likely little I can contribute in cooperation..

All of these happened weeks or months ago, as only rarely do I take to a quill and add to this book.

[tzaeru]

On quintessential differences between a knight and the foe

*..As written in the Watchknight's personal logbook*

Not many weeks ago I ran to vampires known as Morticia and Vincent outside the walls of Vallaki. Retreat didn't appear as a choice, taken that I was not only 'mortal' outside at the night. How it could been expected, the combat didn't fall to my favor and for a brief time I was held captive by the two; And tortured. Not for the first time, and I am afraid neither for the final time. But wounds to the body heal much quicker than wounds to the soul, and hurting my body after my whole life has been of sacrificial, is not something that greatly touches my spirit. Particularly not by beasts so different from me - Here we arrive to what strikes me as the greatest difference between a Knight and, for example, a Vampire.

This difference is in between pleasure - or desire - as a motivation, and compassion as a motivation. In the manner these beasts of the night laugh and smile for the suffering of others, or those who oppose them, I take no joy from the pain I cause to those who I wage battle with. There's not a hint of pleasure when my sword strikes against a foe, may that foe be one of the Legions or living flesh and blood like I am. This, to me, stands as the quintessential difference, and the reason why the mocking words of the undead are so easy to block out.

On a quick note of fear. Whilst any man is entitled - I as well - to feel fear, or even terror, when his body is tormented, and he is trapped, where a knight often stands is an ability to hold to oaths and vows, to act despite fear. However my mind has been crossed by scenarios where even I could be gripped by fear so cold that following my oaths and creeds of Helm would become a burden, even impossible.

Even the mere thought of the possibility of these scenarios is much more terrifying to me in itself, than anything I have so far actually fought with my sword.

- Delarion de'Ardo, Watchknight of Helm

[tzaeru]

// Digging out this bio from long past, I'll try and resist the urge of rewriting the old updates. The desire is great, but I'll stay strong!

have now spent ten years of my life in this realm of horrors and sorrows. I would lie if I said that these years had been kind to me.

To the best of my current knowledge, my sister - Prudence - can only be presumed dead. Did I remember to mourn her?.. It is alarming how the memory of her has almost fled me. Only with trouble can I bring back the old days in Suzail, and never come the images in vivid colors. Instead, they come in distant, blurred greys and browns. When I bring myself back to the once beautiful gardens of the city now lost to me, instead of the blossoming roses I smell and taste ash only.

Despite its horrors, I did also find brief love in this land; But now, that, too, is long gone. She was a beautiful woman of both elven and human making - Liliya - but the tempting nature of this dreadful place took its toll upon her. She walked the path of the arcane arts and she fell from it. Alarmingly, and for this I loathe myself, even her memory is fading as years are piled between now and the last time I saw her. I still remember my mourning of her, but I do remember the mourn itself? I couldn't say..

Perhaps all this is just a defense, a protective measure to shield myself against the corruption of this land. Perhaps the reality is that the sorrows and grudges I carry - and all the memories linked to them - are simply buried, locked away, the key hidden so that my door of faith wouldn't falter.

But be as it is, I've travelled much in the last few years. I will once again attempt to find a place from where I needn't to feel the anxious hurry to depart from within the moon.

I've abandoned the colors of my house - steel grey and blue - and instead I had my cloak and the leather of my armor dyed deep red. This is the color that the knights of Helm usually wear. Let it be a defense more against the horrors of the night. Let it say that I've not lost my faith; Now and forever, I am a Watchknight of Helm, of his Vigilant Eyes. We are born to guard the innocent, and if nothing else in this life I'll have, then this will be enough. Sorrow is inherently selfish, and anything selfish will this land quickly amplify to sin and once you sin, your path is in dire peril indeed.

I still stand, while many of my foes do not. Forever watchful,
- Delarion de'Ardo, Watcknight of the Vigilant Eyes of Helm, and to his knowledge, the last of his order in this hellish realm.

[tzaeru]

fought. And I lost.

Lost.

In the Mist Camp, a man introducing himself as the Lord Commander of the Black Hand ran his split, slithery tongue against my comrades in faith. Weapons were drawn.

And I lost.

Do I wish to return to this event, even in writing, even in my personal journal? No, I do not. I hear that after I fell, the Lord Commander and his mage ally were to take my defeated body for whatever nefarious purpose it might have been. But they were stopped by those witnessing the fight; Leon Shelks, Arden and Yunon Ambrosius amongst them.

They carved the hand of the Black Lord to my shield and to.. Here, the writing gets messier, ink dotting the paper. ..my chest. I threw the shield away, though Edwin later presented it to me, having polished the carving away. My chest was healed as well, but under the proper light, you can still see the dim outline of the carving..

Under the guise of invisibility and with the help of Arden and Edwin, I escaped to Dementlieu. I've spent sullen and withdrawn the last weeks there. I could not help but to reminiscent to my other defeats and losses. Time by time, it becomes harder to carry myself with head high when I'm being dragged down. There's so much loss. And what have I actually gained through my fights? So little. But again, I must keep reminding myself that sorrow is selfish and selfish thoughts quickly set you to the path to self-destruction.

I've been slowly recupitating, in part with the help of those few with whom I've spent my time in Dementlieu. Iridni Rein talked in length with me, upon my request. I've also gotten to know the elf Lue'atha, a former slave, who is learning what freedom actually means and is.

Yet, I can not help but to miss those I knew since my early days here. I miss my sister. I miss Lilya. I miss people I could share my sorrows with; It'd be easier to carry the burdens if one didn't have to carry them alone.

But no. I carry my burden alone. That's the path of the paladin. And I will not falter from that path.

I've been recupitating. I am now writing this entry from the lodge of the Kinship; Though to Barovia I looked for a path through the Mists, for I couldn't bring myself to the Mist Camp after such a humiliating defeat. But, attending to the business of the Kinship has helped me heal further. I've brought a member suggestion, Dale Wetten, my countryman from Cormyr.

I am hoping that in the future, I might learn the language of Mordentish and even attain citizenship in the Port. I could then push on with my agenda of opening a lodge in there. It's an uphill struggle and may fail, but I believe it would be a good thing to try regardless; So I shall attempt it.

Through fear and sorrow, true bravery is to raise up after a fall. Cursed be the Black Hand and let their downfall be swift and full!

[tzaeru]

oon the horror of war will once again visit Port-a-Lucine as the civil war continues to rage on in Dementlieu.

I have asked the many, but no one has been eager to discuss the background to the war with me. As such, I've chosen to take no sides. However, as always, the creed of Helm dictates that I can not remain a mere witness. Instead, I will focus on protecting the common people where I can. Albeit it is in benefit of neither side to seek the slaughter of the common man, the truth of the matter is that in any war, civilians always pay the highest price. Not all soldiers, especially the paid ones, are honorable; Once they are relieved, or when their commanding officer is not watching them, they are quick to turn on the common folk, raping and pillaging as they go. At the same time, the thugs and bandits of the city are sure to see their opportunity in the shallow calms between the storms of battle.

I requested the support of my kin in the Wayfarers, but none seem to have answered the call. I do not know why this is; Perhaps I've simply not met with them, or they know something about this that I do not?

For my efforts to prepare, I have brought an ox packed full of food, medical supplies and other utilities to Cezar's café, with the help of a prospect to Kinship, a woodsman by the name of Dale Wetten who like me, hails from Cormyr. I was worried that if I tried to haul in such an amount of dried, prepared food, it might be confiscated by the guard for their own stocks. As such, the top of the ox's bags I packed with bottles and fresh meat as to make it seem like a proper delivery for a restaurant. I managed the haul to Cezar's. I trust that he's a good man and I know he has sympathies for the Kinship. I've met him briefly years ago, in another mission regarding the Kinship.

To my delight, after living perhaps two years in total at the Port, I find that I can finally get the gist of most discussions in High and Low Mordentish that I hear. Perhaps soon I will get the confidence to start trying to speak it myself. It is my hope that via learning the language - and perhaps via demonstrating excellence during the siege - I may prove worthy of citizenship, so I can continue proceeding with my plan of opening a small lodge for the Kinship at the Port.