Whisper
03-31-07, 02:15 AM
Name: Josen Langehorne
Apparent Age: Mid twenties
Race: Human
Hair/Facial Hair: Flax. Baby fine neck length curtain. Stubble
Eyes: Deep brown
HT/WT: 180, 5'10"
Discerning Marks: Common nicks and scars, some visible.
Occupation: Wanderer, perhaps
Residence: Northern Coroné
Family (nobles): Melisande (wife, deceased, 24); Christian (son, ?, 6); Devaron (father, deceased military commander*); Bethany (mother, widowed, 50's); Elizabeth and Gavin Bertrov (sister, 30, and brother-in-law, 36, fish oil factor and part time guard); Zachary, Elijah, and Sarah (nephews, nieces, 12, 11, & 7)
Personality:
By default, he is self sacrificing, patient, and generous, as well as an insightful and intuitive leader. However, with his recent loss of faith, he is somber and distant, frequently overcome by his own fathomed uncertainties, pessimistic in general, and prone to long hours of dark, inner contemplation that sometimes results in his dangling his feet over a ravine, seduced by the simplicity of ending it all.
Appearance:
Armor: Standard Coronian issue chain shirt. Leather wrist guards.
Visible Weapons: Steel longsword, Coronian issue steel dagger either braced to his boot or his back. Both weapons are plain.
http://peppermintland.com/characters/Josenhead.jpg
History:
Niema's voice in the distance, the blanket of sky whose speckled stars continued to flail at the dense mists that smothered them, the creatures that scampered and flittered and sulked beneath her, Coroné, and the heartbeats of the nations which collectively composed her, all whispered, and all held their breath at this moment. Thin strands of moonlight fought path through heavy lidded draperies to lay on the figures within the sealed room. They highlighted the lone unlit candle waiting upon the bureau to be lit. A cricket skittered it's way via elongated weeds to the sill, but it did not chirp. Not a thing made a sound.
It was because of the chair.
Simple oak of simple cut, with strong square legs and an untailored seat. It sat upturned, splintered where the floor had been cruel to it, and was, in itself, nothing of the extraordinary. But bound to it was a shape, vaguely human, and fanned upon the blood soiled floor were it's parts. There were no shadows. For to the eyes of the one man still breathing, the crimson was too thick, and it swallowed them. Back against the bureau, folded on the floor, he stared at his hands and breathed in the death...And still, was not placated. Somewhere, somehow within him, was the man who had done this, and it wanted to do it again. Slower.
From the east, a noise. Footfalls on old, weathered planks and then a tap on the door, a test on the knob, and then it was open. The figure that came had a blunt crop of hair, a gleam on his chest and his arms, and paused after his first step into the room. But he did not step back, and after a moment he remembered the door and he closed it. His dark eyes raked across the massacre - he had heard the screams, of course - and then settled upon the man, and there is where compassion entered his form and he gave his leader a moment to speak, only breaking the silence when he did not.
"Captain." *
The man looked up. His eyes were dry enough to hurt but he did not blink. Movement was liquid now, an action which was thought but dissolved before it was formed. He lifted his head only because his leadman's voice commanded him to. "Send the men home," he said.
Benjamin waited. His conscious had become something recently trustworthy so he listened to it now as he watched his captain take breaths, the image horrifically captivating, and then he turned, exiting in the same placid manner he'd entered to follow instruction. He was not surprised upon his return, two hours later, to find the room unchanged, his captain unstirred. He licked his lips, intending to choose his words very carefully, but after the confirmation that the order was done, he found speech was yet evasive and so he said nothing. Instead, his boots squelched and sucked across the floor, and he reached for the blade which was still staked through the headless form's heart.
"Leave it," said the other.
Without question, Ben did so, leaving whatever testament his captain desired in place. He didn't bother trying to collect the sawed off pieces, or make the scene more humane to whomever would find it, for he had tried that before, and his ears still burned from the lashing. So he waited, and he removed his feet from the moister sections of carpet, folded his arms across a full chest made broader by armor, and was patient.
"Tell me," he said, after enough time for silence had passed.
Josen continued to pick at the blood which was dried on his fingers, imagining that his flesh would fall away with it if he were persistent enough, performing the motion with the same steady patience in which he considered his answer. If it were any other man, too many words would be required for a reply that was sufficient, but this was Ben, and he would know in a heartbeat what meaning even a single word would compose. So he gave him several.
"He would not tell me...whom he sold him to."
Ben nodded. He understood perfectly, of course, though he doubted it was entirely true. The man had not endured the kind of torture one's tongue could withstand. It was more likely he had spoken all that he knew, but that his answers had been insufficient for the desperate man interrogating him. Regretfully, he pondered his decision to not come earlier, but it didn't take long for him to decide it was over and done, and that he had a friend on his hands who was breaking faster than his instincts knew how to mend. He took a couple steps forward, intending to pry the captain from the floor, but he was stopped, once again, by words.
"Go home, Ben."
"I cannot." It took a fraction for shock to settle, then dissolve. "You have dismissed everyone."
On some layer, Josen smiled at this. As his title deemed, it was protocol that he never journey outside the city without escort, and his lieutenant friend who habitually dismissed such regulations had no qualms reverting to it whenever it served his over-efficient ingenuity. Setting his gaze upon the carnage for a last mesmerizing time, Josen gathered the effort to lift himself, shake the stiffness but not the void from his limbs, and take his soldier, and most honored friend, home.
**
Several days later...
He entered; he did not know why. Perhaps it was because he had not yet decided the words he would say to explain his loss of leadership to his superior, or maybe it was something else which guided him, but he found himself in the Center Sacellum**, among its ornate tapestries and boldly hued auras, swallowed by the smell of its heavily oiled atmosphere, knelt before the worshiping dais and the three collective statues - stone, bronze, and marble - of Coroné's Gods. To the leftmost was Trisgen, his winged mount and majestic form rising several stories high, all his surface dark as carbon, but it was not to this God of battle Josen payed tribute this time. In fact, he did not pay tribute at all. His intentions were unaware even to him until he had drawn down on his knees and placed the ultimatum forth.
Show me, demanded his soul. Save my faith, and I will believe in you.
Astounded, he felt the call spread from his mind to every deity he had ever learned of and to those beyond, whose names had not yet graced his knowledge, and to any ethereal body who possessed the power to answer. It vanished into the air, tumbling upwards and upwards to the glass paneled roof, where his will pushed it through, and with the sun basking his shoulders and the sanctuary in which he'd come prostrate, he waited.
And he waited.
A priestly robed man tried to tend to him; Josen spoke curtly until the man wilted away, and continued to wait.
The crown of his pale head grew cool as the temperature faded, shadows' birth licked at his heels, a worried holy woman brought him refreshments, and still he did not move from his vigil. He held together his hands in his lap and bowed his head deeper, his hair creating a silk flaxen veil, and remembered.
His father, lost not in the glory of duty but in the infamy of a poor, drunken brawl. A woman he never loved dead. And his son, his own extension of life and heart...gone because of his actions and his own poorly made judgments. If he had not extracted an empty revenge upon another man's father. If he had only heeded the advice of his mother and friends. If he had not been so foolishly blinded by anger and believed so strongly that what he was doing was justice... If only these things, he would not have sealed this kind of fate for his son. But he had failed to arrive in his moment of need. And he had failed, most of all, and ruining good men in the process, to find him.
Without lifting his head, Josen removed the chain from his neck and laid it at the dark lion's feet. The crudeness of the tiny iron molding stood like a sore against its more magnificent counterpart but Trisgen didn't appear to mind or to care, and Josen knew why. He had received the answer he sought, and it had been exactly as he expected.
His blade whispered to life in the night.
...Yeah, I found God and he was absolutely just like me...
The statues did not fall but they marked and they marred, and in places, they crumbled. Just like his faith.
...He opened my mouth, looked down my throat, told me I was thirsty...
Chaos came, and with it, the panic quickened sandals of holy men and women who tried with righteous exclamations and pathetic attempts at defenses to stop him. He blooded one, and they scattered, yelling still. Hew watched them race into the street and knew his time was becoming fast limited. He was certain, most certain, that eternal damnation awaited him. But first - Oh, Glorious First - he was going to give the lying Gods an answer of his own. And it was one that he would breed of fire.
...I been in this water all my life, never took the time to breathe...
The tapestries were torn, set on fire. The wicks of prayers ignited them, consuming their old fibers fast. It was so beautifully fitting that he almost stayed, dazzled by the blasphemous display, but the blazes burned his face and the smoke began to choke. Reason, in fragments, gripped him, and he ran from the statues whose shadows had grown rapidly to claw at his heels as he escaped, smashing everything breakable in his path, leaving his sword in the end, the blade nicked and knocked. Useless, he realized at that moment of pitching, as both a weapon and symbol of honor, as it always had been.
...I couldn't take anymore so I went down to the sea, cause that's where fishes go when fishes get the sense to flee...^
* Or the equivalent.
** Blatant creation in order to serve my story needs. To verify, it is a temple to serve the polytheists, built to worship the three major gods. If I've taken too much a liberty, Please glovesmack me. (please do not use heavy leather.)
^ "Where Fishes Go" - by Live
Roleplay Notes:
Because of the uberness of his family and background, let me make some clarifications. Josen will begin play as a shadow of a man he once was. Therefore, all the abilities you would expect a captain-like character of noble birth to have are lessened (eg average) dramatically, and as he levels, he will grow back into this man (or something else?) and thus I will be able to play him as a 0 level growing character.
Also, I probably need to note my intention to not abuse the noble thing (eg, hey, he's rich! - not). This part is easy. By rampaging as he did in Radasanth, I'm assuming he is well...not welcome back. I'll let someone else more familiar with the governings of Coroné decide to what extent his dishonor would cause, and whether or not its effects would trickle down to his family, etc.
If I've overstepped boundaries, or clobbered any toes, let me know, and if I can't bring myself to make changes, I will choose another character.
Skills, Abilities & Traits:
Magic Resistance
This revolves around the fact he hates all magic passionately enough that his disbelief assists his resilience. It is also part of the 'faith' part of his character in that this gift and others are the small proofs that yes, the gods are actually there and yes, offering their protection. This ability will be ultimately defined upon reaching level 1, but vaguely will proceed as such:
Level 1 - Phantasms and Glamors. Josen will be able to recognize magically created and/or altered creatures, as well as magical glamors, roughly half of the time. He will not be able to see through magicks which are meant to conceal, but he will be able to tell they are there.
Level 2 - Mind effects. Whenever his free will or privacy of thought is magically threatened, Josen has a 50% chance of recognizing the attempted arcane and resisting it. This chance increases if the spell or effect is one he has been recently subjected to (eg within a reasonable number of days). It also decreases if the effect is not against his nature's grain. Additionally, his level 1 ability increases from working "half"of the time to "most" of the time.
And so on...
Tactician
Josen has experience leading groups of men in skirmishes and missions and is decently versed in the finding and utilizing things such as terrain, unit abilities, and just plain logic to make beneficial decisions when facing tactical endeavors and combat.
Diplomacy and Leadership
Twice bred into a leader, once by birth, and again by his militant upbringing, Josen is a natural and instinctive commander, whether it be in battle or assistance among friends. Additionally, his past noble lifestyle makes him familiar to silly court protocols, mannerisms, and keen to all that fun, backstabby maneuvers they do. So among soldiers, or amid court, he falls into whatever role easily, often without intending to. However, as his faith in himself is broken right now, the leadership part of this doesn't really apply at the moment.
Combat Skills
He knows how to fight and he's decent.
Swordsmanship (including daggers): Average
Hand to Hand: Under Average
Bowmanship: Under Average. His only use for them was commanding other men to use them, though he's personally forced himself to use them enough that they are not entirely alien to him.
Polearms: Under Average. He has only some light experience with these.
Mounted Combat: Average. He can fight as well on a horse as he can on the land.
Reflex & Parry: Average
Siegeware: Negligent. He knows of several devices and what they should do, but he has never operated one nor commanded others to, in his career.
Marksmanship (guns): Under Average. As these are not yet commonly issued militant weaponry, his only experience with them is among the noble hunting parties he's attended.
Combat Knowledge
Due to his experience in the military, he can identify certain foreign weapons and armor, from what region they are from, and their use (if not obvious). If the region is Radasanth, he may be able to label the creator as well. Additionally, he knows a few war stories or three, and perhaps the truth behind some legends, and of battle famous landmarks and such.
Ambidextrous
Due to a shoulder injury, he has taught himself to fight with a longsword left handed.
Allies
I don't intend to make use of this, other than writing in a possible save or two if and when necessary, but here is where all his military contacts and noble family is placed, since they are possibly in position to help him out if he needs aid, if his pride and self depreciation will allow him to. At the moment, this list includes his family, his former subordinate and best friend Benjamin, and a smattering of other, uncreated-thus-far officers who've worked with him closely enough to still befriend him after his dishonorable departure.
Enemies
I'm sure there may be a price on his head, or that an arrest might have been ordered, after all that he's done. Torture...destruction...probably a disobeyed order or few, or perhaps 'illegal' commanding of men. I don't imagine a charge of military desertion would be too hard to foresee.
Equipment & Gold:
Unadorned, steel longsword (found as spoils or stolen)
Coronian issued steel dagger*
Coronian issued chain shirt *
Leather wrist guards, worn most of the time
Coronian issued boots*
No pack or other equipment (he left in a hurry)
Wedding band. Gold, carved, with precious stone. I know. I never can sell it. gotcha ^_~
18 gold * I want him to start relatively poor. If this is too low (eg an ale costs 5g), let me know.
mount **
Stead w/apple farm ^
[size=1]* If indeed such things exist.
** Gained early in the first quest. (eg don't have it yet)
^ In Radasanth. Inaccessible. If it isn't outright seized, his sister will run it for him (or employ someone to). Who knows what will happen to it, but if it is there when he is ready (eg a high enough level) to accept nobility again, he will reclaim it.
Apparent Age: Mid twenties
Race: Human
Hair/Facial Hair: Flax. Baby fine neck length curtain. Stubble
Eyes: Deep brown
HT/WT: 180, 5'10"
Discerning Marks: Common nicks and scars, some visible.
Occupation: Wanderer, perhaps
Residence: Northern Coroné
Family (nobles): Melisande (wife, deceased, 24); Christian (son, ?, 6); Devaron (father, deceased military commander*); Bethany (mother, widowed, 50's); Elizabeth and Gavin Bertrov (sister, 30, and brother-in-law, 36, fish oil factor and part time guard); Zachary, Elijah, and Sarah (nephews, nieces, 12, 11, & 7)
Personality:
By default, he is self sacrificing, patient, and generous, as well as an insightful and intuitive leader. However, with his recent loss of faith, he is somber and distant, frequently overcome by his own fathomed uncertainties, pessimistic in general, and prone to long hours of dark, inner contemplation that sometimes results in his dangling his feet over a ravine, seduced by the simplicity of ending it all.
Appearance:
Armor: Standard Coronian issue chain shirt. Leather wrist guards.
Visible Weapons: Steel longsword, Coronian issue steel dagger either braced to his boot or his back. Both weapons are plain.
http://peppermintland.com/characters/Josenhead.jpg
History:
Niema's voice in the distance, the blanket of sky whose speckled stars continued to flail at the dense mists that smothered them, the creatures that scampered and flittered and sulked beneath her, Coroné, and the heartbeats of the nations which collectively composed her, all whispered, and all held their breath at this moment. Thin strands of moonlight fought path through heavy lidded draperies to lay on the figures within the sealed room. They highlighted the lone unlit candle waiting upon the bureau to be lit. A cricket skittered it's way via elongated weeds to the sill, but it did not chirp. Not a thing made a sound.
It was because of the chair.
Simple oak of simple cut, with strong square legs and an untailored seat. It sat upturned, splintered where the floor had been cruel to it, and was, in itself, nothing of the extraordinary. But bound to it was a shape, vaguely human, and fanned upon the blood soiled floor were it's parts. There were no shadows. For to the eyes of the one man still breathing, the crimson was too thick, and it swallowed them. Back against the bureau, folded on the floor, he stared at his hands and breathed in the death...And still, was not placated. Somewhere, somehow within him, was the man who had done this, and it wanted to do it again. Slower.
From the east, a noise. Footfalls on old, weathered planks and then a tap on the door, a test on the knob, and then it was open. The figure that came had a blunt crop of hair, a gleam on his chest and his arms, and paused after his first step into the room. But he did not step back, and after a moment he remembered the door and he closed it. His dark eyes raked across the massacre - he had heard the screams, of course - and then settled upon the man, and there is where compassion entered his form and he gave his leader a moment to speak, only breaking the silence when he did not.
"Captain." *
The man looked up. His eyes were dry enough to hurt but he did not blink. Movement was liquid now, an action which was thought but dissolved before it was formed. He lifted his head only because his leadman's voice commanded him to. "Send the men home," he said.
Benjamin waited. His conscious had become something recently trustworthy so he listened to it now as he watched his captain take breaths, the image horrifically captivating, and then he turned, exiting in the same placid manner he'd entered to follow instruction. He was not surprised upon his return, two hours later, to find the room unchanged, his captain unstirred. He licked his lips, intending to choose his words very carefully, but after the confirmation that the order was done, he found speech was yet evasive and so he said nothing. Instead, his boots squelched and sucked across the floor, and he reached for the blade which was still staked through the headless form's heart.
"Leave it," said the other.
Without question, Ben did so, leaving whatever testament his captain desired in place. He didn't bother trying to collect the sawed off pieces, or make the scene more humane to whomever would find it, for he had tried that before, and his ears still burned from the lashing. So he waited, and he removed his feet from the moister sections of carpet, folded his arms across a full chest made broader by armor, and was patient.
"Tell me," he said, after enough time for silence had passed.
Josen continued to pick at the blood which was dried on his fingers, imagining that his flesh would fall away with it if he were persistent enough, performing the motion with the same steady patience in which he considered his answer. If it were any other man, too many words would be required for a reply that was sufficient, but this was Ben, and he would know in a heartbeat what meaning even a single word would compose. So he gave him several.
"He would not tell me...whom he sold him to."
Ben nodded. He understood perfectly, of course, though he doubted it was entirely true. The man had not endured the kind of torture one's tongue could withstand. It was more likely he had spoken all that he knew, but that his answers had been insufficient for the desperate man interrogating him. Regretfully, he pondered his decision to not come earlier, but it didn't take long for him to decide it was over and done, and that he had a friend on his hands who was breaking faster than his instincts knew how to mend. He took a couple steps forward, intending to pry the captain from the floor, but he was stopped, once again, by words.
"Go home, Ben."
"I cannot." It took a fraction for shock to settle, then dissolve. "You have dismissed everyone."
On some layer, Josen smiled at this. As his title deemed, it was protocol that he never journey outside the city without escort, and his lieutenant friend who habitually dismissed such regulations had no qualms reverting to it whenever it served his over-efficient ingenuity. Setting his gaze upon the carnage for a last mesmerizing time, Josen gathered the effort to lift himself, shake the stiffness but not the void from his limbs, and take his soldier, and most honored friend, home.
**
Several days later...
He entered; he did not know why. Perhaps it was because he had not yet decided the words he would say to explain his loss of leadership to his superior, or maybe it was something else which guided him, but he found himself in the Center Sacellum**, among its ornate tapestries and boldly hued auras, swallowed by the smell of its heavily oiled atmosphere, knelt before the worshiping dais and the three collective statues - stone, bronze, and marble - of Coroné's Gods. To the leftmost was Trisgen, his winged mount and majestic form rising several stories high, all his surface dark as carbon, but it was not to this God of battle Josen payed tribute this time. In fact, he did not pay tribute at all. His intentions were unaware even to him until he had drawn down on his knees and placed the ultimatum forth.
Show me, demanded his soul. Save my faith, and I will believe in you.
Astounded, he felt the call spread from his mind to every deity he had ever learned of and to those beyond, whose names had not yet graced his knowledge, and to any ethereal body who possessed the power to answer. It vanished into the air, tumbling upwards and upwards to the glass paneled roof, where his will pushed it through, and with the sun basking his shoulders and the sanctuary in which he'd come prostrate, he waited.
And he waited.
A priestly robed man tried to tend to him; Josen spoke curtly until the man wilted away, and continued to wait.
The crown of his pale head grew cool as the temperature faded, shadows' birth licked at his heels, a worried holy woman brought him refreshments, and still he did not move from his vigil. He held together his hands in his lap and bowed his head deeper, his hair creating a silk flaxen veil, and remembered.
His father, lost not in the glory of duty but in the infamy of a poor, drunken brawl. A woman he never loved dead. And his son, his own extension of life and heart...gone because of his actions and his own poorly made judgments. If he had not extracted an empty revenge upon another man's father. If he had only heeded the advice of his mother and friends. If he had not been so foolishly blinded by anger and believed so strongly that what he was doing was justice... If only these things, he would not have sealed this kind of fate for his son. But he had failed to arrive in his moment of need. And he had failed, most of all, and ruining good men in the process, to find him.
Without lifting his head, Josen removed the chain from his neck and laid it at the dark lion's feet. The crudeness of the tiny iron molding stood like a sore against its more magnificent counterpart but Trisgen didn't appear to mind or to care, and Josen knew why. He had received the answer he sought, and it had been exactly as he expected.
His blade whispered to life in the night.
...Yeah, I found God and he was absolutely just like me...
The statues did not fall but they marked and they marred, and in places, they crumbled. Just like his faith.
...He opened my mouth, looked down my throat, told me I was thirsty...
Chaos came, and with it, the panic quickened sandals of holy men and women who tried with righteous exclamations and pathetic attempts at defenses to stop him. He blooded one, and they scattered, yelling still. Hew watched them race into the street and knew his time was becoming fast limited. He was certain, most certain, that eternal damnation awaited him. But first - Oh, Glorious First - he was going to give the lying Gods an answer of his own. And it was one that he would breed of fire.
...I been in this water all my life, never took the time to breathe...
The tapestries were torn, set on fire. The wicks of prayers ignited them, consuming their old fibers fast. It was so beautifully fitting that he almost stayed, dazzled by the blasphemous display, but the blazes burned his face and the smoke began to choke. Reason, in fragments, gripped him, and he ran from the statues whose shadows had grown rapidly to claw at his heels as he escaped, smashing everything breakable in his path, leaving his sword in the end, the blade nicked and knocked. Useless, he realized at that moment of pitching, as both a weapon and symbol of honor, as it always had been.
...I couldn't take anymore so I went down to the sea, cause that's where fishes go when fishes get the sense to flee...^
* Or the equivalent.
** Blatant creation in order to serve my story needs. To verify, it is a temple to serve the polytheists, built to worship the three major gods. If I've taken too much a liberty, Please glovesmack me. (please do not use heavy leather.)
^ "Where Fishes Go" - by Live
Roleplay Notes:
Because of the uberness of his family and background, let me make some clarifications. Josen will begin play as a shadow of a man he once was. Therefore, all the abilities you would expect a captain-like character of noble birth to have are lessened (eg average) dramatically, and as he levels, he will grow back into this man (or something else?) and thus I will be able to play him as a 0 level growing character.
Also, I probably need to note my intention to not abuse the noble thing (eg, hey, he's rich! - not). This part is easy. By rampaging as he did in Radasanth, I'm assuming he is well...not welcome back. I'll let someone else more familiar with the governings of Coroné decide to what extent his dishonor would cause, and whether or not its effects would trickle down to his family, etc.
If I've overstepped boundaries, or clobbered any toes, let me know, and if I can't bring myself to make changes, I will choose another character.
Skills, Abilities & Traits:
Magic Resistance
This revolves around the fact he hates all magic passionately enough that his disbelief assists his resilience. It is also part of the 'faith' part of his character in that this gift and others are the small proofs that yes, the gods are actually there and yes, offering their protection. This ability will be ultimately defined upon reaching level 1, but vaguely will proceed as such:
Level 1 - Phantasms and Glamors. Josen will be able to recognize magically created and/or altered creatures, as well as magical glamors, roughly half of the time. He will not be able to see through magicks which are meant to conceal, but he will be able to tell they are there.
Level 2 - Mind effects. Whenever his free will or privacy of thought is magically threatened, Josen has a 50% chance of recognizing the attempted arcane and resisting it. This chance increases if the spell or effect is one he has been recently subjected to (eg within a reasonable number of days). It also decreases if the effect is not against his nature's grain. Additionally, his level 1 ability increases from working "half"of the time to "most" of the time.
And so on...
Tactician
Josen has experience leading groups of men in skirmishes and missions and is decently versed in the finding and utilizing things such as terrain, unit abilities, and just plain logic to make beneficial decisions when facing tactical endeavors and combat.
Diplomacy and Leadership
Twice bred into a leader, once by birth, and again by his militant upbringing, Josen is a natural and instinctive commander, whether it be in battle or assistance among friends. Additionally, his past noble lifestyle makes him familiar to silly court protocols, mannerisms, and keen to all that fun, backstabby maneuvers they do. So among soldiers, or amid court, he falls into whatever role easily, often without intending to. However, as his faith in himself is broken right now, the leadership part of this doesn't really apply at the moment.
Combat Skills
He knows how to fight and he's decent.
Swordsmanship (including daggers): Average
Hand to Hand: Under Average
Bowmanship: Under Average. His only use for them was commanding other men to use them, though he's personally forced himself to use them enough that they are not entirely alien to him.
Polearms: Under Average. He has only some light experience with these.
Mounted Combat: Average. He can fight as well on a horse as he can on the land.
Reflex & Parry: Average
Siegeware: Negligent. He knows of several devices and what they should do, but he has never operated one nor commanded others to, in his career.
Marksmanship (guns): Under Average. As these are not yet commonly issued militant weaponry, his only experience with them is among the noble hunting parties he's attended.
Combat Knowledge
Due to his experience in the military, he can identify certain foreign weapons and armor, from what region they are from, and their use (if not obvious). If the region is Radasanth, he may be able to label the creator as well. Additionally, he knows a few war stories or three, and perhaps the truth behind some legends, and of battle famous landmarks and such.
Ambidextrous
Due to a shoulder injury, he has taught himself to fight with a longsword left handed.
Allies
I don't intend to make use of this, other than writing in a possible save or two if and when necessary, but here is where all his military contacts and noble family is placed, since they are possibly in position to help him out if he needs aid, if his pride and self depreciation will allow him to. At the moment, this list includes his family, his former subordinate and best friend Benjamin, and a smattering of other, uncreated-thus-far officers who've worked with him closely enough to still befriend him after his dishonorable departure.
Enemies
I'm sure there may be a price on his head, or that an arrest might have been ordered, after all that he's done. Torture...destruction...probably a disobeyed order or few, or perhaps 'illegal' commanding of men. I don't imagine a charge of military desertion would be too hard to foresee.
Equipment & Gold:
Unadorned, steel longsword (found as spoils or stolen)
Coronian issued steel dagger*
Coronian issued chain shirt *
Leather wrist guards, worn most of the time
Coronian issued boots*
No pack or other equipment (he left in a hurry)
Wedding band. Gold, carved, with precious stone. I know. I never can sell it. gotcha ^_~
18 gold * I want him to start relatively poor. If this is too low (eg an ale costs 5g), let me know.
mount **
Stead w/apple farm ^
[size=1]* If indeed such things exist.
** Gained early in the first quest. (eg don't have it yet)
^ In Radasanth. Inaccessible. If it isn't outright seized, his sister will run it for him (or employ someone to). Who knows what will happen to it, but if it is there when he is ready (eg a high enough level) to accept nobility again, he will reclaim it.