Sigmar

II: Dramatis Personae For my second entry I'd like to discuss the dramatis personae as it were of my life. No doubt this list will grow, but that can be addressed at a later time as the cast adjusts. First and foremost, there is Arterius Khaine. He is like a brother to me, and our paths have been intertwined for some time now. It was in the first year of my independence that fate, or perhaps some agent of divinity bound us together. I remember the snow smothering the ground in its frigid embrace, and the war camp I had been employed in was especially hellish in the cold. The war (which I knew only rudimentary details about, some petty noble squabble I think it was) was going poorly for the side I was on, and so what happened next came as no particular surprise. In the dead of night our opponents were suddenly upon the camp, and in a frantic rush I began to pack my things. Two of the louts entered the medical pavilion, no doubt intent on preying upon those in my care. In a moment of passion I drew my rapier, and immediately regretted that decision. It was in this moment of intense need that a silent figure clad in armor delivered unto me salvation in the form of two dead louts, a fine display of martial prowess. After fleeing to safety under his protection, I learned him to be a dark elf with midnight dark skin by the name of Arterius Khaine, a mercenary by profession. For a year he and I traveled together, forming a deep fraternal bond. It was then that we happened upon an old tome on Aenguls and Daemons. We read of Xan, the aengul of guardianship and order, championed by great and noble agents of light, his paladins. Though neither Khaine nor I were particularly spiritual, we both in our heart of hearts believed in a better future for our world. Xan's purpose resonated in our souls, igniting flame of purpose that we had never felt before. Together, we resolved that serving guardianship and order would be our destiny This leads to the introduction of another character in my story,Crumena Illwindior, the elusive agent of light that oftentimes seems as out of reach as the moon on pitch black night. Through no small effort on the part of Khaine and I, we were blessed with an audience with this scion of Xan. Blessed were we further to be found worthy of perhaps walking the path of the lightsworn. -I sincerely hope, dear reader, that if my story becomes the stuff of legend, that last sentence is what causes small children's eyes to gleam with wonder and awe, because they know these to be the introduction to the legend of their favorite hero. I would be lying if I said there were not nights when I wonder if ever I will truly begin my journey on that path.- This aforementioned "perhaps" rested upon our completion of a task. Not something simple either, like "kill bad guys" or "protect the innocent", but rather a task requiring a formal education in philosophy to achieve: we must "satiate the hunger of our souls". This of course lead to the decision that we would require actual employment so that we did not starve our bodies while trying to feed our souls. That is how I ended up where I am today, writing this journal in my cozy medical pavilion and enjoying a warm cup of apple cider. It's called Luciensport, and while blinking while you ride through on horseback might cause you to miss the settlement entirely, I enjoy calling it home. When first Khaine and I arrived, Luciensport was nothing more than a frontier crusader camp that with its log palisades surely looked like so much horse dung nestled against the coast. To great relief I found its inhabitants, dubbed the Iron Lorraine, to be friendly and welcoming. While I'm sure they will appear as recurring figures in these entries, I would like to offer you the reader a glimpse into what they're like at the present. At the helm sits Balwin de Bar, nephew (I think) to the now King Guy de Bar. While he is young (a few years younger than I), in the words of Brother Leon he is a "potent lordling" and I daresay my friend. His men bask in the light of his leadership, and I hope that someday Luciensport is a sprawling metropolis because of the foundation he is establishing here. Brother Leon of Amaury, (d'Amaury in Auvergnian, though not to be confused with the noble house therein) was the architect of my arrival, and I suspect he plays a far greater role in Luciensport's success than any of us are aware. Though I'm ignorant of the schemes of the Canonist church, Brother Leon seems to wield the faith very appropriatley. Should the rest of the men of the cloth be like him, then I understand why Oren is a place of such immense faith. Likewise, Father Edmond of Eastmont is frequently at camp. I can't claim to know the man very well, but I can feel the restlessness in his soul. Whatever fire marred his visage also sparked a flame in his heart. I pray that when justice is delivered to whomever is responsible for his immolation, he may again find peace. Wilhelm Von Herrmann, a man who I trust has seen more than his fair share of war, serves to guide the Iron Lorraine in the fields of battle (which is thankfully not very frequently required). His strength of character is a boon to the small settlement, adding purpose and direction to the daily life here. Similarly, Stefan Himmel (calling himself "of Luciensport") has begun the transition from man of the blade to man of the bar, running the newly constructed tavern. His entrepreneurial mindset and positive attitude seems to be successful in attracting new residents to our humble corner of the world. Brothers Segmund Raichs and Peter Mallick, like others among the Iron Lorraine, to me embody the mentality of the "crusaders" here. In lieu of violent zealotry, there is a reserved piety. Travellers to Luciensport are greeted warmly regardless of race, and new arrivals seeking residence are given nearly the shirts off of the men's backs. It's an infectious sort of charity, and I hope it becomes a permanent fixture of the society that is developing here.

(( As a bit of an OOC prologue I'd like to thank the authors of all of the fantastic character journals and backstories that I've read here on the forums. You've inspired me to deliver you the world through my character's eyes, both for your entertainment and to help me develop him with as much depth as possible. Also shout out to the theatre professor who taught me to write such character journals as a tool of method acting. As an additional note, my writing style is very dependent on the music that I select to go along with the post. I know that's not uncommon here on the forums, but I HIGHLY encourage you to listen to the music that I've curated to go along with my writing. The underlying tone (if not the lyrics directly) of the song or musical selection deepen the meaning of the journal entry more than I can hope to do with the music alone. All comments are welcome, but keep in mind this journal is written by my character and so some factual information may be wrong because he does not know it. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!)) Starlight: The Story of Félix de Montauban --- My name is Félix de Montauban, and while history will no doubt remember me for my dashing good looks, finely trimmed moustache, and humble disposition, I felt it necessary to write this journal so that you may know the world and times I lived in through my eyes. But who are you? Well that matters very little. Emperor, slave, dwarf, elf, or human, the only thing that matters is that you are posterity. Inhabitants of a time that I with every fibre of my being hope is free from the darkness that so often plagues the hearts and minds of those I see in my travels. Let’s start with a bit about me though. To begin, (as I’m sure my name gives away) I am Auvergnian, a remnant of a culture that I know pitifully little about beyond the language, and the values instilled in me by my parents. While at first I lamented this cultural identity crisis, I have grown to cherish it. Not only does it allow me to stand out, but it has sparked in me an appreciation for and desire to learn more about the living cultures present in Vailor. My father was a surgeon, my mother a songbird, and so my childhood was spent wondering from city to city, war camp to war camp as my father sought work. Whereas most little boys run around pretending to be heroes and knights, I spent time boiling bandages or cleaning bloodied surgical implements. I was given a true glimpse at the ignoble thing called war, so frequently romanticized by songs and poems. The agonized screams, the putrid odor melange of blood, mud, and excrement that gave war camps a certain aura. My parents, poor as they were, gave me the greatest gift they could: an education. My mother taught me to read and write, nourishing an appreciation for literature, poetry, and music. My father passed on his passion for helping others and the art and science that is medicine. Poultices and herbal remedies taught to him by the druids, anatomical expertise passed down my high elven physicians (through painstaking relationship-building efforts) and his own fiery dedication to anyone in need of his services, friend or foe. I am forever grateful to them for such wonderful gifts. When the time came for me to leave the nest, my parents furnished me with a fine leather bag, a brand new set of surgical implements, an old rapier, and lots of love. Though I was afraid to leave the relative comfort of my family and set out on my own, I knew it was for the best. For a few years, I followed in their footsteps, roaming the land as a surgeon for hire. It was during this period of my life that I met the one I now lovingly call my brother: Arterius Khaine. But I’ll write more about him and the other people in my life in my next entry.

A notice scribbled in small, neat handwriting is tacked to the notice boards of all of the major urban centers. To whom it may concern, My name is Felix de Montauban, and I am seeking employment as a Chirurgien (Surgeon, in more base dialects). I have ample experience in the camps of war, and while my specialty is battlefield surgery, I am well versed in general practice techniques and concierge physician roles. I am also willing to train others in chirurgie techniques and practices. I must however stipulate that while I am no stranger to the world of soldiery, I myself prefer surgery. Those looking for another warm body on their front line will respectfully be declined. In addition, I am accompanied by a dark elf who serves as bodyguard, closest friend, and fellow pilgrim in the light. I realize his presence may be polarizing, but I must insist he be allowed to accompany me. If I may be of service, please send a courier (forum pm). I am willing to work on an as-needed basis as well, so if you require my services but not the long term employment of a physician, I aim to be available. The notice is signatured with the scribbly, illegible cursive associated with a surgeon’s handwriting.