Alweyn, Blessed Knight of Mercy

Captain Commander of the Watcher's Knights, Blessed Knight of Mercy, Lord of Virtue, Hero of all that is, First Servant of Justice, Purest of Souls Alweyn Darv-Uthear

"I was, to my knowledge, the first and only he had appeared to. Yet I learned, only watching from the ridge of Apollyon's valley, that there had been grander dreams in play. You stood beneath his throne, as it rested in pure air, seated on a pillar of gold that had erupted from the ground, adorned your youthful body in ethereal grandeur. Atop your head was the most gloried crown that I had known. Around your shoulders the most royal cloak and cloth I had seen. And your eyes, filled and flashing with white, purest fire, showed that you would be the greatest ruler that would ever grace the Isles. I heard whispers from the great armies as I moved through them unseen, on a mission from the Watcher. They spoke to themselves with a reverence that would rival the most devout hermits and monks in lands long past. They saw the flesh of the Watcher, covered in their own memory. And they saw the child he crowned below him. And all of them, from the mightiest angel to the lowliest goblin knew it just the same. A king had been made in that hour. How wondrous you seemed then. I know not what has led you to question yourself now. You have no reason to, brother of mine. Whatever you shall choose, you know it shall be just." The king crowned by the Watcher stared in silence as the man in front of him related this confession. Though he had heard the story of how his lieutenant had come to see him for the first time, and how he had been sent upon the same holy mission oh-so long ago, he had never heard the emotion that had just been made bare to him. He knew not what to say, or to feel, or to expose in this moment. Seated across from him was a man he had come to work with, to love as his closest friend, and to trust with his very life and with the fate of the Isles. Yet for reasons beyond his confidence, he was unable to trust this man's mind now. He remembered that day well, oh-so very well. In the dark of night he had escaped the palace in which he had lived so long, guided by the almighty light that only he, so far as he knew, could see. He was still young at that time, only 44 or so years of age, a near-infant for his species. In such a fashion he possessed the intelligence of something approaching a human adolescent, but the body of one of their younger children. Hidden away in a fortress stolen by his warmongering father he had been raised by simple-minded and doggedly obedient servants that obeyed his every whim - excepting that which he wanted most of all; freedom beyond the walls. Every day he would peer out into the mists of Keshpoth, the sand and sediment filled bogs of a land not quite desert not quite swamp, and wonder what was beyond, where his father was, what was happening that demanded such constant stress from all he knew. His fellow father's children, his father's myriad "wives", his father's penitent, fearful slaves that attended his needs - they each and every one of them would jump at the slightest surprise or violent sound - whether out of fear of their master of his many enemies he never could tell. He lived in finery for 44 years, 44 years of an empty, gilded, splendid slavery - a false symbol and hollow vessel for his father's all-reaching legacy. He was beaten and bruised every night by either his mother, her fellow concubines, a vicious servant hidden in a corner of the house who knew that the poor lad would never talk, or his fellow children. The latter had quite the fascination with the boy, who, by way of his remarkable lineage, was able to heal and repair most injuries caused by such mischievous childhood abuse. Every night his bones and skin were broken, and every morning upon waking he would find himself remade - perfectly as he was before to await another day of vengeance. His mother did not love him, his siblings despised him, his father was gone, and his only comfort was the peace of quiet hiding. He cried every day, on some such every hour. Yet he forgave all who did him harm, enduring for their sake the suffering done to him. Alweyn was, thusly, one well acquainted with pain. As he sat there, staring at his second in command, he knew just how much that this man too was acquainted with pain. They had suffered the two of them in ways no mortal creature should ever have had to go through. Now, the Captain Commander of the Watcher's Knights suffered daily the summit of all suffering that had ever been known in his Isles. His body burned and roiled and emptied and felt as if it would burst at every moment. Across from him he knew that the man who spoke with him was feeling every ounce of terror and panic that a being could experience - every horror that could be conjured up, every anxiety that could be borne by the human mind convicted his soul. Yet they each sat still, gifted a peace and strength unworldly. This was the blessing of the Marks. Alweyn breathed a deep sigh, reached into the top drawer of his absurdly ornate and expensive desk, grabbed two Yarvweed cigars from the chamber, passed one to his fellow, held one in his mouth and pinched his thumb and index finger together. In an instant a fierce blue flame burst from them and he held it out to his friend, who puffed a few times on the roll of dried sweet-smelling leaves to start the flame. Alweyn held his own up to the flame and set his hand back down, letting himself sink into his chair. A few moments later, after a few long drags, he finally spoke. "I wonder, and I understand that you will object to my even wondering, if I would have wished to be alive if he did not appear to me". "And what does it matter to wonder upon that past? You are not as you were", came the reply. "If I am not as I was then who am I? Why do I have the right to this crown and cloak? Look-", and here he stood up. Alweyn walked over to the window of the darkened room, and threw open the curtain, filling the darkness with blinding light. "We live at the utter height of Cleonia, 4th level of the Homecity, our citadel towering up from the first to the height of the Acubeun", motioning to the perpetual cover of floating craft and platforms that the rich enrobed the sky within over Cleon. "Naught is beyond my whim. If I were to command my armies to seek my own wealth and grandeur, you and I both know for certain that I would be crowned emperor over all the Isles tomorrow. This palatial estate, this 'hearthtemple', to our sovereign rivals the seats of the Two, or any other god. These seats, this desk, this room is valued at greater than the lives and livelihoods of a thousand of those whom live in the squalor below. Why do we require, such glory, Cosipher? Why must I live in grandeur not my own?". Cosipher said nothing for several moments as Alweyn fell to the floor, and lay there; his silver-white armor glowing in the shimmering light. After a matter of minutes, Cosipher stood, grabbed his master by the shoulder, pulled the 250 dentor man and the several dozen dentors of armor and arms that he bore up from the ground without a second's strain or hesitation and pulled him through the door. "Walk" was all he said, as they traversed the colossal marblesque hallways. They went about 1000 feet to an enormous balcony. Out in the daylight of the morning they squinted and watched the Vyxipods go by. They saw the hordes of traversing traders, workers, wanderers and citizens. At the top of the great Citadel, the tallest single mortal-made structure in the Isles, they looked out unto Cleon, the Homecity. Alweyn started to smile lightly as he felt Cosipher's hand on his shoulder. A moment later a cry erupted from his lips as he was picked up, and tossed off the edge to the ground below. He screamed in fear as he fell for what felt like ages to the bottom of the 4th level of Cleon, 5,000 tics beneath him. Yet in a matter of seconds, what felt like a thousand arms and nets and hands gripped him and held him safely in the air. A hundred flying guardsmen stationed across the building had jumped from their post to catch their master, each willing without hesitation to, if they could not save him, use their body and their last breath to break his fall. Yet there would be no sacrifices today, and they carried their Captain Commander to the same balcony from which he had fallen. The lay him down upon the stone, and kneeled before him. Cosipher, second in command of all knights, dismissed them and they went back to their stations. Cosipher picked the man he had just thrown from the heights of the Citadel up to his feet. "How long did it you to be rescued from what would, for a mortal, be certain demise? I counted brother, you fell for 12 seconds. 12 seconds and 100 of the mightiest warriors flew to your aid and would have given their life for your safety, and would have been honored to do so. You deserve this, 'crown', brother Alweyn. Not because it is your glory that you seek, but it is your glory that others seek. You are a symbol of all justice. You are the Hero of all that is. Bear it carefully and do not doubt". And with that Cosipher walked back to the grand staircase that would take him to his own office. And Alweyn was left on the Balcony of the Great Citadel's Temple. Alone once again, in hope reborn - the King-Born of the Watcher, Hero of all that is.

Current Location

Great Citadel of Watcher's Knights

Current Residence

Hearthtemple of the Watcher, The Great Citadel, Cleon, Cleonia

Sex

Male

Gender

Man

Presentation

Masculine

Eyes

Dim Brown, sharp and stern

Hair

Curly, ear length, shimmering black

Skin Tone/Pigmentation

Dark gray, speckled with silver, gold, and white

Height

6 tics, 90 centics

Weight

245 Dentors

Belief/Deity

Faith of Vitam