IC-Materials: Singal

1 : Slums : Neutral
2 : Aristocratic Homes : Slavers
3 : Council Palaces : Slavers
4 : Patrician Housing : Merchants
5 : Patrician Housing : Merchants
6 : Tradesmen Housing : Slavers
7 : Tradesmen Housing : Slavers
8 : Slums : Neutral
9 : Slums : Red Brotherhood
10 : Tradesmen Housing : Neutral
11 : Slums : Red Brotherhood
12 : Slums : Neutral
13 : Slums : Neutral
14 : Slums : Red Brotherhood
15 : Armories : Town Guard
16 : Shanty Town : Neutral
17 : Shanty Town : Neutral
18 : Singalian Army Headquaters : Singalian Army
19 : Trademen Housing : Town Guard
20 : Town Guard Headquarters : Town Guard
21 : Slums : Red Brotherhood
22 : Tradesmen Housing : Town Guard
23 : Tradesmen Housing : Merchants
24 : Market : Merchants
25 : Slums : Slavers
26 : Slums : Neutral

City Council of 7 members. All members have have 1 vote in all legislation and each member has an area of politics for which they are responsible.
Chairman - The head of the council. Any diplomatic overtures go through him and he is the Crown's representative in town.
Chamberlain - Malik Nalin - The deputy head, charged with making sure the administration runs smoothly.
Guard Captain - Head of the Singal Town Guard.
Chancellor - Charged with oversight of the Town's finances, this includes power over the tax assessors.
Lord Patrician - Responsible for the many traders and merchants who do business in Singal. Note this position is assigned by the merchants, not the council.
Chief Justice - Responsible for keeping justice in the town. Current Chief Justice is a very, very wealthy man.
Counsellor - The one member of the council who is chosen simply for being influential and does not have any set political duties. This position is usually chosen by the powerful Singalian military who patrol outside of the city.

The Shadow, the ominous head of the Council. Very little known about them.
Malik Nalin, former steward to the Lord of Singal. Currently serving as the Chamberlain.
Roshan Abbasi, inept son of Khorvash Abbasi, currently serving as the Guard Captain
Hesam Za'irpur, renowned for his exceptional greed, currently serving as the Chancellor
Ramun Mashkat, slaver of international fame, currently serving as the Lord Patrician
Khorvash Abbasi, an influential patrician, currently serves as the Chief Justice
General Arash Lavassaney, commander of the Singalian Army
Nilus Vegorius, suspected leader of the Red Brotherhood, never proven
Mina Afsoon, youngest ever Matriach of the Singalian Tempresses, allegiance unknown
Fjalmurn Scorchsail, former Vanskerry chieftain now a famous gladiator, allegiance unknown

Perks:

• A swift and agile swordsman
  
• Notorious among tavern brawlers.
  
• Can hold his liquor
  

Weaks:

• Almost always drunk.
  
• irritable
  
• careless
  
• known to slice throats and stab backs.
  

Appearance:

• Simple leather tunic, often unwashed but the crest of his Order clearly visible if he wants it to be seen. Hygiëne not his strong suit as dried blood might be visible on his hands and weapons. Speaking of weapons; Sir Alerio carries around a dirk and short rapier (perfect for his kind of fight)
  

Born into nobility as the third son of a minor lord sworn to Lord Ferenc the Noxious, Alerio started drinking on a daily basis since he was eight years of age. Unruly and pitiless he often bullied his older brothers because he envied their promised titles and commissions as Baron and Conquistadors. It came to his father’s great relief that the thirteen year old Alerio agreed to become a squire and move out of his father’s estate.

Born for subtle politics of the cloak and dagger, Alerio naturally found his way into the more morally challenged knighthood Orders and eventually joined Sir Alistair (among others) to Pendor to eradicate a rival Barclayan Order and find more riches to desire. While the land was torn by warring factions no one batted an eye to a group of knights robbing the rich and selling the poor to Singalian slavers. After the unification things were different and Alerio spend most of his time in the various tavern seeking a good brawl or a worthy opponent for his more violent lusts.

Perks:


• A large man with strength to back it up.
• Principled
• Idealistic

Weaks:


• Naive
• Gloomy
• Self critical
• Believes in fortune telling, jinxes, “luck”, and other kinds of pseudo-science.

Appearance:

• Tebbe has short blond hair, he typically wears a white tunic with black leggings and tall boots, coupled with his long sword at his side. He keeps himself relatively clean for fear that others find out about his lower birth. When in duty, he additionally wears the Iconic eventide plate armor with a halberd.

    Tebbe was born from the union of a mercenary knight and a serving girl during a drunken night. Being a virtuous man, his father took him as a legitimate son when he found out about him and brought him back home in Barclay to serve under a local lord as a page.  He lived most of his early life as a page, as his father warred in campaigns around the world, until one day he never came back.

     Tebbe had great respect for his deceased father; as such he kept knight-errant stories and songs at heart. Believing that his father died a hero, he fashioned himself to follow his steps, and easy it was as the young lad towered over his peers. Attempting to be virtuous as his father was, he squired for the Order of the Eventide after hearing their plight concerning the dawn, and followed along when they migrated to Pendor. After showing martial prowess and earning his keep, he was made knight a few years ago. Fast forward today, he is known as an up and coming knight in the order of the Eventide, recently earning himself a private room and being embarked on a mission with veterans of the order.

In the far north-western corner of the Kingdom of Sarleon, nestled in the foothills of a mighty mountain range lay the quaint village of Rivelothe. With the mountains looming over the hamlet like ever watchful sentinels, the lush, green, bountiful fields and calm rivers flowing steadily from the hills made such a place the perfect environment in which Sir Galeron Moriendor could at long last settle down and enjoy the life of peace that he had so long craved. Having spent so many years serving the benevolent Order of the Radiant Cross, both on the battlefield inflicting wounds and in the infirmary healing them, Galeron had finally grown weary of the never ceasing wars that gripped Pendor in its vice like grasp. With some amount of apprehension, and a great deal of sadness, he left the Order, with honourable commendations for his efforts through his long, gruelling years of service, and set out into the world to seek out the place where he truly belonged in this ever changing world. Though still a young man, he had seen enough of what evil mankind was capable of in his short life to consume him for a thousand years. Seeking a life away from the troubles of the world and the past that he left behind is what, at long last, brought him to Rivelothe, where he would, with the blessing of the gods, be permitted to live the rest of his life in harmony. Galeron found his niche almost immediately, arriving to find that the village had for some time been without a capable doctor, a role that Galeron now felt destined to play, and was quickly assimilated into the kind and welcoming community. In time Galeron became one of the central figures in Rivelothe, and a man so well respected and liked that he couldnt help catching the attention of a young, elligible woman by the name of Helaine. A woman that in time would be Galeron's bride, and the mother of his first born child, a stong, healthy baby boy. A boy destined for a life far beyond what any in the village could possibly imagine. His name; Celdiur. Celdiur Moriendor.

Growing up, it could be said that Celdiur had a somewhat spoiled upbringing, being the son of well off parents (in commoner terms), Celdiur never truly wanted for anything. Though his father, a humble man if ever there was one, always brought Celdiur back to the ground whenever he let his existence go to his head. If his father's words couldnt achieve this goal, then his swift skelp to the back of the head most certainly would. By the time that Celdiur celebrated his second birthday his younger brother Rion was born. A further three years saw the arrival of his first and only sister Viviana. When reaching an age of reasonable maturity the differences between Celdiur and Rion became far more distinct. Whereas Rion far prefered locking training swords with the other village boys, Celdiur was far more interested in his father's profession, and thus in the early years of his adolescance spent a great deal of time at work with his father learning the ways of alchemy, medicine, surgery and the human anatomy. That is not to say that Celdiur did not enjoy fighting, it was afterall an entertaining passtime, an what older brother didnt relish the thought of putting his younger siblings back in their place?. Reaching the age of seventeen, well educated, strong and intelligent, Celdiur was set to follow in his father's footsteps and one day replace him as the village doctor, much to the delight of his mother who, as all mothers do, dreaded the day that her children finally left the nest. With the prospects of a bright future and with the new found confidence of adulthood, Celdiur at long last mustered the courage to ask for the hand of his childhood sweetheart, Lucia Bourchier, in marriage, a proposal quickly accepted and a date set for the day of their union. With all this ahead of him, bright prospects, a loving family, a beautiful fiancee, life seemed, for all intents and purposes, complete. This was his place in the world, here, in Rivelothe. His home. His land. And it would always be so.

It was a cold October day when Celdiur and his siblings left the village for the markets of Avendor. Celdiur, now a man of eighteen years age, Rion, slighly younger at the age of sixteen, and Viviana, the youngest among them at the age of thirteen, undertook the long journey on the well used trade lanes between Sarleon and the Fierdsvain to barter off a large batch of fine furs accumulated by Celdiur and Rion on one of their many hunting trips. Viviana had never before visited a large city, and as all younger siblings do, demanded that her brothers take her with them. Begrudgingly they bowed to pressure from their mother, and so the three departed upon the long road, already littered with the rustic colours of fallen leaves, the first victims of autumn. The stay in Avendor was nowhere near as productive as Celdiur had hoped, fighting a hard won battle just to get a decent price out of the greedy merchants that infested the marketplace like vermin. The night in the tavern was worse still, with Viviana easily frightened by the hectic atmosphere and Rion picking fights with every drunkard that knocked shoulders with him. After dragging him off of one particular patron, whom Celdiur would later learn was a mercenary from Mettenheim by the name of Frederick, Celdiur, like a stern parent, sent them both to their rooms, leaving him free to enjoy his first night spent in a tavern, exhanging stories with Othmall the tavern keeper and inhaling the musky smoke of tabacco and shisha that swirled in clouds above the heads of the patrons. Embarking from the city early the next morning, his head pounding as he finally experienced one of these "hangovers" for the first time, Celdiur and his siblings made haste back towards Rivelothe, too long away were they from there now, all three desperate to see home again. Several days past as they journeyed along the road, and Celdiur couldn't help but feel that somehing was amiss. The roads, they were too...quiet. They had been far busier on their journey to Avendor, but they had passed bairly a sole on the road home. Alert, and perhaps a little frightened, they pressed onwards, always cautious to the slightest noise from the nearby fields and forests. The lands grew more familiar, but so to did the sickly feeling that gripped them all, the voice in the back of their heads screaming now, "Something isnt right here!". And they were soon to discover the terrible reason why. Summiting the final hill before Rivelothe, the village came into full view below. Celdiur's heart sank in his chest as his eyes took in the horrific scene before him. From every corner of the village smoke billowed, fresh flames still licking the sides of the now ruined buildings. Before they fully took in the situation they were running down hill, running faster than they had ever done so before, desperate to ensure themselves that their parents were safe. Upon reaching the village, Viviana screamed in horror at the sight now laid out before them. The bodies of those that they once knew and loved littered the streets, some impaled upon wooden stakes, others left horribly mutilated in the gutters, and others still dissembowled upon foul makeshift altars dedicated to the insidious dark gods. Men, women, children, dogs, cats, cows, chickens. All dead at the hands of whatever monsters could commit an act so malicious. Making their way cautiously through the smoldering ruins they made haste to their family home, ever watchful for signs of those that had done this, ever hoping against hope that those they loved had managed to survive. They soon recieved the answer that they had dreaded. Arriving before their family home they found nothing but anguish and despair. The small farmhouse was a smoldering wreck, the corpse of their mutilated mother hanging from the rafters of the nearby barn, father's corpse nearby, sword in hand and pierced countless times by unknown weapons. And a short distance beyond the village boundaries, just before the entrance to the barley fields, lay the cold, lifeless corpse of Celdiur's beloved, Lucia Bourchier. Celdiur ran to her lifeless form, crashing to his knees and scooping her body up in his arms, begging her to come back, praying to the gods to tell him this was all just a nightmare. But they never answered. Lucia lay dead in his arms, his parents beneath the sobbing forms of his siblings, never again to hold them, never again to tell them how much they loved them. Celdiur broke down into uncontrollable tears, soaking both his tunic and the dress of his lossed love. All that Celdiur knew now was pain, anguish, despair. They consumed him like a thick fog, a black cloud over the paradise that was once his life. Celdiur remained there for what seemed like hours, perhaps even days. Time had no meaning to him in this moment. Nothing did. Nothing, with the exception of one. For through his anguish and sorrow rose a new force within him, rising up and consuming his entire body, his very soul ablaze now with the fires of hatred. Celdiur's hands tightened into fists, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. He finally found the strength to take to his feet. Rising slowly, he turned to his brother and sister, Viviana wrapped in the warm embrace of Rion, tears still streaming down their faces. They both looked to him through tear filled eyes. He stumbled over to them and embraced them like he never had before. Never before had they felt so important to him as they did now. After a brief exchange of comforts they set about the dreaded task of burying those that they had loved, along with any others that were still recognizable through their wounds. Standing now before a row of graves, Rion and Viviana turned to Celdiur, now the oldest living member of their family. "What are we to do now?" they asked him,
Celdiur looked at them through bloodshot eyes, "There is nothing left for us here now. Rion, take Viviana far away from this place and never return",
Viviana ran forward and embraced Celdiur, fresh tears swelling up in her eyes, "What about you? Why do you not come with us?!" she cried,
Celdiur glanced down at his young sister, "Because the path that I choose to travel must be done so alone. You must not follow me little sister, nor must you brother. Go now. Far away and forget what has transpired here",
Viviana protested, prompting Rion to step forward and remove her from his elder brother. Rion gazed at Celdiur with an understanding look. Calming his sister down they slowly turned and walked away, towards the road, away from everything they had ever known. Celdiur watched them leave for some time, whispering under his breath just before they left his line of sight "I love you both dearly".
With that Celdiur turned back towards the graves, the anger rising through his blood at the very sight of them. Bidding a silent farewell to his parents and beloved, Celdiur took his fathers sword into his hands. A fine, elegant bastard sword of polished ebony that had claimed the lives of many foes. "And it shall do so again" Celdiur muttered through clenched teeth. Entering his ruined home Celdiur was fortunate to find his hunting bow unharmed by the blaze, and a few unspoiled foodstuffs to sustain him on the road. Gathering up all that was left to him, Celdiur exited the building. Gazing upon it for the last time for a moment, he set off towards the edge of the barley fields. The ground here was trampled by a large host, their footprints still clear in the mud heading west towards the gathering mist that would soon consume Rivelothe. Celdiur's eyes narrowed. He set off at a sprint and never glanced back.

The forests of the Fierdsvain, the arid plains of the D'Shar Principalities, the frozen wilderness of Ravenstern. In time there was no place that Celdiur had not seen in his quest for vengeance. Two years past since that fateful day in Rivelothe, two years past since he had seen his siblings. The vision of his childhood home still burned into his mind, plaguing his every dream. It had become an old and bitter companion to Celdiur, who bore it as a constant reminder of his mission. The monsters that had brought Hell itself to Rivelothe had been well aware of his ever haunting presence since that day. Upon commiting such an attrocious act they had inadvertantly brought their own deaths ever closer, and they now lived every day in fear, always on the move, always running from the one they had dubbed "Black Death". Always fleeing from a man they had never even layed eyes upon. For Celdiur, though driven by pure rage and hatred, was an intelligent young man, who resolved to wage a guerilla war against the ones he had branded "Heretics", picking them off slowly, one by one and leaving their mutilated bodies as a grim warning to all that would oppose him, hanging from blood stained trees, beheaded by the roadside. Slowly but surely Celdiur whitled down the numbers of his quarry until only a scant handful of the "Heretics" remained. Numbering less then ten foes now, Celdiur would strike the killing blow. None of them would walk away from this. He would have his vengeance, or he would die trying. Night fell over their small camp. A tense atmosphere lay heavily in the air. Five slept restlessly around the fire, a further four anxiously kept watch around the perimeter. Celdiur watched and waited for his moment to strike. A guard wondered too far from his comrades, away from the light of the fire. Celdiur notched an arrow to his bowstring and took steady aim, a movement he had become accustomed to over these harrowing two years. His fingers parted, and the arrow took flight. Whistling through the night air as silently as a bird it found its target, and embedded itself deep into his prey's neck. A gargled scream escaped from the man's mouth, not loud, but enough to alert the others to his downfall. Those that were asleep scrambled for their weapons, the three remaining guards cautiously approaching their downed comrade. Another whistle, and another in quick succession. Two more well placed arrows found their marks, one head and one torso. The last remaining guard watched helplessly as his two companions fell to the ground. His blood froze when he heard the berzerk warcry rising from the trees. He turned just in time to gatch a glimpse of his killer, as a sleek, black blade cut through his windpipe like a hot knife through butter. Celdiur charged his final opponents, now standing ready to meet their dooms. The first swung a sidewards slash with his falchion, quickly parried to the side and then dispatched with a swift upper thrust from the ebony blade. Celdiur swung his blade in a high ark to meet his next victim only to be blocked by a well placed shield. Another charged him with a mace raised high above his head. Celdiur aimed a well place kick into his assailant's sternum and he crumpled to the ground. Turning quickly into a swift upper slash from his blade another opponent fell to the ground, a deep gash crossing his torso. His last two enemies stood before him, spears held high, legs trembling in fear. They both charged simultaneously. Celdiur quickly side stepped to the left and swung his sword down to catch the exposed back of his attacker, felling him instantly. Siezing his advantage Celdiur charged his final opponent and with a swift brutal thrust finished him. His last enemy fallen at his feet, Celdiur surveyed the bloody scene around him, to relish in the victory that he had so long craved. With these final deaths his vengeance was served. Something sturred in the corner of his eye. The heretic that had taken the kick to the stomach was regaining consciousness and desperately tried to crawl away from the scene. A wicked smile spread its way across Celdiur's blood stained face. He approached the wounded animal, now fully aware of Celdiur's presence. Lifting the sword of one of his defeated adversaries, Celdiur positioned the blade above the man's left leg and, with a hard downward thrust, pinned him to the ground. The man writhed in agony, his screams piercing the calm of the night air, causing birds to flee from their nests. Picking up another blade Celdiur repeated the same process on his victims right leg. Now screaming in pain, the downed man pleaded with Celdiur, "Please! Please show mercy! Spare my life!",
"The same mercy that you showed to the village of Rivelothe? The same mercy that you showed to my parents? My beloved!?", Celdiur booted the man in the face for the insult,
"It wasnt us! It wasnt me I swear it!" he cried, "We were but desperate outcasts, we would never commit an attrocity like was done at Rivelothe!",
Celdiur was taken aback by this statement. This was far from what he expected, and far from what he wanted to hear. "And if not you then who? ANSWER ME!",
"I cannot answer that question! You have blindly followed the wrong group for these past two years!" At this the man afforded himself a pain wracked laugh,
Celdiur glared at the man with a most intense hatred, "Maybe this is so, though I do not believe it. But if there is truth in your words then my work is far from done. Rest in peace, scum!", and with that Celdiur brought his sword down hard upon the man's head, forever silencing his foul tongue.
Celdiur felt that same anger boil within that he had felt at Rivelothe. Had this scum spoke the truth? Had the past two years been for naught? He did not have the answers to these questions, only uncertainty. He took one last look at the slaughter that he had commited and left, leaving their corpses to the creatures of the night.

Years past since that night, and with every passing day the doubt that lingered over the dying bandit's words ate away at Celdiur. For years he wandered the land, trying to make sense of them, always seeking to find the truth about what happened those long years ago in Rivelothe. His desire to seek out the ever illusive truth is what consumed Celdiur in the end, plummeting him into a pit of hatred and rage. Gone was the man whom had set out to Avendor with his siblings those long years ago. Replaced by a grim, brooding and uncaring shadow of his former self, driven half insane by the anger that accompanied him wherever he travelled. All around him Pendor began to change rapidly. The realm of this "Mordred" that he had heard so much about rose everywhere he went. Even the lands upon which Rivelothe was once situated fell under the rule of this new king, but it all meant nothing to Celdiur, who cared not for the rulers of the ever warring kingdoms. Afterall they were in part responsible for creating the chaos that had brought about Celdiur's downfall. All Celdiur saw now was dark, grim and evil. Every living thing in his eyes was deserving of death. He wondered the plains, mountains and forests of Pendor, with no purpose and with naught but the desire to kill all who crossed his path, any of whom could be the ones responsible for the death's of those he loved. Bandits, Heretics, Snake Cultists, Refugees, Farmers. It made no difference to him now. Nothing made any difference to him now. Losing all concept of time and morality, Celdiur was doomed to forever walk the land bringing the pain and anguish that he felt to bear upon others. However, this was not to be Celdiur's destiny. All was about to change on one fateful summer day, during which Celdiur stumbled upon a most breathtaking sight during his travels. Stood before him between two mighty oak trees was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was tall, slender in build, fair skin and long, flowing blonde hair, a rich and elegant silk like dress the likes of which Celdiur had never seen before. But it was her eyes that captured his full attention. Those serene but piercing pale green eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul. Expecting deception as always, Celdiur approached the woman, but no matter how many steps he took, no matter how fast he moved he could not reach her. Frustration built within him as he ran after her, frustration that gave way to anger in due time. He ran and ran until he felt as if he could not take another step, until finally he cleared the edge of the forest. He stopped dead in his tracks. Before him lay a village, and a familiar village at that. Walven was its name, a small settlement on the edge of the Empire. Yes, Celdiur remembered it well indeed. He had suspected this village to be harbouring  the ones who put Rivelothe to the torch, and thus he had...he had...slaughtered half the village. And found not what he was looking for. With a look of horror upon his face he approached the first few houses. The villagers, upon seeing this dark figure again, began to run and scream in terror, a few of the braver men of the village armed themselves and charged at Celdiur. But he did not respond. His mind was overwhelmed now with images of the attrocity that he had commited here. The slaughter, the wounds inflicted, the lives destroyed. They washed over him like a black tide, unrelenting and potent. He fell to his knees and screamed in pain. A pain that he had never experienced before in his life, not physical, not mental, but in his very soul. Had it not been for the pain he felt he would have noticed that the men of the village, taking full advantage of the situation, beat him mercilessly with whatever they could lay their hands on. The assault continued but Celdiur took no notice of it. The pain was all that concerned him, a pain that rended him internally. A merciful blow from one of the villagers rendered Celdiur unconscious, briefly releaving him for a short while. He awoke to find his head still throbbing but the thoughts subsided. He heard raised voices. He tried to move, only to discover his hands were bound against something. A tree he realised quickly and, regaining his sight, realised that he was surrounded by the entire populace of Walven, all angrily debating what should be Celdiur's fate. "Kill him here and now!" one shouted, followed by "No, give him to the Dawn Knights. He must pay for his crimes!" It was in this moment, when Celdiur believed his doom to be decided, the woman that he had chased through the forest emerged from the crowd, even more beautiful up close than she ever was. She looked calmly at Celdiur, and she smiled. "I know what it is that you saw. The pain that you felt. You understand now why I brought you here". She had the most calming and gentle voice Celdiur had ever been blessed to hear. "Who are you? What do you want from me!?" he demanded. He must know who this mysterious stranger was.
"I have been known by many names since this world began. In time you will know me only by one" she said calmly, "What do I want from you? Nothing. It is what I will give to you that is of importance".
Had he not been so engrossed by this woman he may have noticed that the villagers around had stopped arguing and were looking intently upon his battered form. "Give to me? What could a woman like you possibly give to me that will have any worth?",
"Redemption" She stated clearly, and at the mention of that word Celdiur's heart lept in his chest,
"For this land sickens Celdiur, and only by the hands of the strong and the just can it be restored",
"But I am not any of those!" he screamed, "Do you not know what I have done to this land. The untold pain that I have brought to Pendor!?",
"I know you completely Celdiur, and more. For I am Astraea, Goddess of Justice. Fight for it and I will aid you when and where I can". With those final words, the woman turned and vanished into the crowd beyond.
"Wait!" Celdiur bellowed at the top of his lungs, but his words fell upon ears that were no longer there. He felt a rush of strength unlike anything he had experienced before. Stepping forward he tore at his bonds and they snapped like straw. Celdiur fell to his knees and looked upon the villagers, all of whom were dumbfounded and in awe of what they had just experienced. For before them knelt Celdiur Moriendor, the one time terror of all of Pendor, now a soul in search of redemption.

Celdiur ran from the village that day with an unearthly speed, never to return to that place again. For too many memories that he no longer wanted were associated with that place, so much evil that he wanted to erase. He ran for days until he reached the high walls of Ethos, the banners of the Empire long since replaced by those of Mordred Adalhard. Retreating to the tavern to drown his sorrows, Celdiur spent many days searching for answers at the bottom of a tankard. How was he to redeem himself? What did Astraea want of him?. It took Celdiur many a long, gruelling day to decide upon his path, for it is not often that a man like him was given a second chance, and he would not squander it. Early in the morning of the 7th of August he left Ethos, embarking upon a long journey to the west coast of Pendor, a journey that brought back memories long forgotten of his trip to Avendor with his brother and sister. Rion and Viviana. By the gods, it had been five years since he had last seen them. Five long years since he had spared time to think about their wellbeing, their whereabouts. He spent the vast amount of his journey thinking about them, reflecting on the evil and corrupted life that he had lived. These thoughts only subsiding when at long last the wooden walls of Valonbray came into view. It was here the center of the Church of Astraea was based and the High Judicator dwelled. And it was here that he would begin his life of purity, pledging his life and soul to the service of Astraea as he donned the cloth and began his religious studies, ever hoping to better himself, ever seeking the dream of redemption. In the years that he studied in Valonbray, Celdiur formed a bitter and distrustful view of his Dawn Knight "brothers". An order gone mad by the power bestowed upon them by the High Judicator. Internally corrupt and comprised of self righteous lunatics who believed they had a god given right to persecute and execute the people of Pendor with little to no justification or evidence to prove their guilt. It made Celdiur sick to the core, and that was truly something to a man who had seen what he had seen. All too often his heated arguments against the Dawn Knights came to blows, regular occurences that earned him the scorn of his elders. But Celdiur what not be swayed from his path. Not now. Not ever. Not even by the Dawn. And so it was that come his twenty fifth birthday Celdiur was ordained as a fully trained and blessed Priest of the Church of Astraea, ready to embark once again into the world, though this time not to spread hate, misery and destruction. No. This time he would right all the wrongs he had commited in the past. This time he would deliver the words of Justice, bring light to the dark places of the world and, as Astraea had commanded him, restore a broken land.

For a year now Celdiur had wondered the lands of Pendor, preaching sermons to commoners and nobles alike, aiding the people to harvest their crops and build their homes and standing up to injustice and oppresion wherever he found it. The entire continent had long since been unified under the banner of King Mordred I, bringing at long last some small measure of peace to a land plagued for so long by war. Establishing a permanent residence in the village of Elerdah, Celdiur settled down for the first time in seven years, for the first time since that horrible day in Rivelothe. It was from here that at long last and many years of searching that Celdiur finally made contact with his siblings once again. His soul was lifted further by the news that they were alive and well, Rion earning a good living as an Officer in the Kings Army and Viviana engaged to be married to Randolf Burnell, a successful young blacksmith in Sarleon. With his new found faith, a new home and his family alive and well, Celdiur at last felt that his soul could finally be at ease, that he could finally let go of his dark past. However as time went by Celdiur once again began to grow aggitated and dissillusioned. For no matter how many prayers he spoke or sermons he preached, and no matter how many good works he performed throughout the land, the world continued to grow darker still. Unrest, famine, crime, heresy. They all grew stronger still, and Celdiur felt powerless to prevent them. Alone one night in his chapel, under the flickering lights of candles and a large chalice of the communion wine in hand, he sat and faced the shrine to Astraea. Time and time again he asked what it was she wanted from him. Time and time again there would be no answer. At this Celdiur grew angry, a small part of his dark past reemerging after all this time. It was then that sitting there, deep in thought, that Celdiur came to the most drastic conclusion of his short existance; If Astraea's justice could not be delivered on the tip of a tongue then it would be delivered on the tip of a sword. But from this conclusion more questions arose. Where was a man like him needed? Where was a man like him to find others who shared his belief and took a stand against the rising darkness? There was the Dawn Knights, but he could never stomach them or their beliefs, and he would never allow himself to join an order that he believed to be internally corrupt and unjust. Who then did that leave?.
It was this very question that in time brought Celdiur to Singal, the most corrupted city in all of Pendor, an immoral cesspit of crime and depravity. For it was here that stood the fortress monastery of the Knights of Eventide. As a man of the cloth he was quickly allowed permission to enter. It was here before a select council of knights that he impressed the Order with his devotion to Astraea, his skills in combat honed over many years in the wild and his distrust of the Order of the Dawn. Now initiated into the Order, Celdiur spent the next couple of years hardening his body against the rigours of battle and perfecting his skills in melee combat. In time he was finally deemed ready and was named a Full Knight by the Grandmaster himself, Azlanek of Tantal. It was here and now that Celdiur finally understood what it was that Astraea wanted of him. Armed now with his faith, his physical strength and his considerable skills with the blade, Celdiur began his campaign to bring light to darkness, to aid the common people in their times of need and to deliver the justice of Astraea on the end of his father's sword.

In times of hardship and danger it has always been the way of the common man to pray to the gods for a champion. They recieved it in the form of a man whom they dubbed "The Black Paladin of Singal", Celdiur Moriendor, repentant soul, holy warrior and true servant of Astraea.