Cyre Red (IC)

[purepolarpanzer]

First Sergeant Honor Warforged Paladin of Conquest AC: 19 HP: 54/54 PP: 11 PIv: 9 PIs: 14 Conditions: Concentrating on: 5 / 5 d10 HD Spell Slots- 4/4 1st, 2/2 2nd Lay on Hands- 25/25 When the letter reached Honor at Salvation he was praying at a small shrine of the Sovereign Host. Kneeled before the small shrine with his eye lights dimmed and his hammer at his side, to an unknowing observer it would be difficult to tell if the man shaped mass of steel was a statue. He was all dark steel with flecks of rust, corded brown material that served as his formidable muscles, and a number of jangling chains hanging from his plates, the latter being a recent addition and the only sign of personalization or vanity. He kept his prayers inside his own mind, which was normal for him, but he had his reasons beyond his normal quiet nature. The messenger had been given a description, and they gently called his name to try to get his attention. Dol Arrah guide my mind, that I never forget my obligations, both to my soldiers and to my nation... Dol Dorn guide my hand, and let it never forget that I fight side by side with my soldiers without pretense or illusions of grandeur... Dol Azure guide my practicality, that I never again forget that my home is more important than my morals... May the Three Faces of War restore that which was and will be again... by whatever means necessary. My life for Cyre. The messenger called his name again, and the warforged's eye lights grew brighter again. Wordlessly, he stood, using his hammer to aid the process, and turned to receive the letter. It took a few moments to read, but once it was finished, Honor took the gold and counted it slowly into his purse. "It is time." Some Time Later Honor rides in the carriage silently, trying not to monopolize the limited space inside the carriage while also spending his time reading a well worn, tattered book of Cyran poetry. It was a struggle to turn the pages with his inelegant hands, and the warforged read excruciatingly slow, but continued on with dogged determination, using his compound fingers to underline the text. Those who had known him for some time would know that once he reached the end of the book, he would simply flip back to the start and begin again. Honor had always been quiet outside of combat, and any attempts at conversation during the travel to New Cyre is met with flat, succinct responses. New Cyre Honor stows his book as the carriage passes through New Cyre, looking out the windows and taking in the sights of this place. The despair. The hopelessness. The grim determination to survive. It all only served to reinforce the injustice of what was done to his adopted home, and fuel the burning flame of determination inside the warforged's heart. He paid particular attention to the sobbing woman. There was once a time when he didn't understand her pain. Her loss. Part of him longed for that naivety. His emotionless face didn't betray any of this introspection, but it didn't need to. His drive was his own, and his passion would be unleashed when they returned to the Mournland. Any who thought the warforged dull or mute would be rudely retorted when his battle cry was unleashed. But for now he remained silent, as per usual. When they arrived at the manor, Honor removed his full kit from the storage on top of the carriage. This was a matter of realism more than anything- the warforged would have preferred to keep his armaments on his person at all times, but considering their absolute size and mass, that simply was not possible without having an entire carriage to himself. After the gnome majordomo introduced themselves and announced their station there was a metallic scraping or splint plated and a rattling of chains as Honor bowed, giving the respect that he felt was due to the prince's right hand. He followed Duvi inside the manor, admiring the artwork and Cyran relics as they passed them. Once prompted for a name and title, the warforged spoke out, his voice sounding something like a whetstone dragged over a rusted blade. First Sergeant Honor, of the Cyran Fourth Company.