Damien IV

Name: His Radiance King Damien IV, Protector of the Realm and Ruler of the Sovereign Union.

Race: Amarok

Age: 55

Proficiences

A Rank: Charisma & Knowledge

B Rank: Swords, Staves, & Combat.

C Rank: Endurance

Personality: Maintaining the image of a Warrior King for his people Damien's strength and intelligence are exceeded only by his pride, a black stain on the character of an otherwise charming man.

The Banishment

Damien struggled to stay awake as his councilmen droned on for some time, talking of matters concerning the smallfolk - nothing important clearly. He repositioned himself in his seat, shifted his crown as it began to make sore his head. His mind wondered back to his childhood and his lesson with the Master at Arms. "Have you every considered, Young Master, that a sword is different from other weapons?". How, he had asked. "Why, swords have a voice." A frown spread across his face, he was young, not stupid. The Master at Arms only grinned, "Ah, but they do. I will show you. Sheathed it has nothing to say, surely, but I need only place my hand on the hilt and it whispers caution. Half drawn now it speaks louder, it hisses warning to your foes. Now see it full drawn - It shouts does it not? It sings your victory!" Damien woke with a start as a Zaraton burst into the councilroom. His first instinct was to have the man thrown out but something gave him pause, something his father had said "Caring for the smallfolk is not nearly as important as maintaining the illusion you do." A grin tugged at the edges of his mouth, let us maintain the illusion. Damien waved away the encroaching guards, leaned forward and raised his eyebrows "Yes?"

As the man spoke Damien gripped his throne, knuckles white with fury. His face twisted in a mixture of rage and disgust. ''What citizen of the Sovereignty would claim its downfall? None! This man is unworthy to be a part of something so great, the very sight of him is sickening''. "Remove this man... this... filth from my presence; remove him from my Kingdom!" As the Honor Guards pulled the man from the palace he spat on the floor in an uncourtly manner. "If I see you again, if you ever return to my Kingdom, MY lands - you will be executed!" The council watched, faces pale with shock at the Kings sudden rage. He threw them all a silent glare as he stormed from the hall to his royal chambers.

Damien marched into his chambers and snapped at a nearby serving maid for wine before slaming the door at her heels. He dumped himself into a chair and wiped clean the nearby desk, sending a scattering of quills and parchment. As his rage waned he couldn't keep his thoughts from returning to one point Zantoss had made; the Marked. ''They are freaks, what threat could they possibly pose to the Sovereignty? Some amoung the races may be bitter - jealous of the slendor of the Amorak no doubt. Yet the marked are a minority, no threat at all''.

Then why must I convince myself?


 * Knock, Knock* then the sound of feet scurrying away. His wine no doubt.