Gideon Blackmane

[Urchon]

First Name: Gideon
Last Name: Blackmane

Appearance: A human in his mid-twenties, Gideon stands just above average in height with a stocky build. While mostly found in armor, his face is handsome with sharp features and blue eyes with green streaks. His eyes reflects far more emotion and depth than what is normal for a man his age and there is a weary air about him that’s speaks of a long road behind him.
Race: Human
Age: 25
Height: 6`1
Weight: 180 lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Dark brown
Facial Hair Style: N/A

Personality Profile: Torn between good and law, he is a paladin who values doing the right thing above doing what is written on paper. Even though a rare coincidence, choosing between doing the good thing and following the law would always lead to doing the good thing. He rarely smiles; whatever mirth he might’ve once had is gone and replaced with a half-cynical, half-expectant view of the world. Essentially, he’s a dreamer with a lost cause but with enough grit to force his way of life to endure. He does what he believes to be right without holding back.
General Health: Very good, immune to disease
Deity: Tyr
Initial Alignment: Lawful good
Profession: Knight/Paladin of Tyr
Base Class & Proposed Development: Paladin
Habits/Hobbies: Discussions of faith, preaching justice, blade practice, hammer practice.
Languages: Common & a northern human accent.
Weapon of Choice: Longsword/Warhammer

Background: Born 25 years prior to his arrival in the Baldur's Gate region, Gideon was part of the order of the Merciful Sword. At the age of twelve he held a blade for the first time, having entered a knight's service as a squire. It was a harsh awakening for a child who had lived a life in studies and within the halls of his fathers' lord. His father was the steward, the right hand, of a nobleman named Baeros Blodstaal. Baeros held the stronghold Carcassion close to the realm of Icewind Dale, a minor fortress containing enough space to house most of the villagers living close to the lords' holdings. By request of the lord himself Gideon was sent to the minor knight Karl Rickardsson. Although initially rejecting the twelve year old, Karl soon found use for the boy as he proved capable of reading, writing and having no difficulties learning how to wield a blade.
On his 16th birthday he was transferred to a paladins' service after Sir Rickardsson died in a fever. The paladin took him south to the closest outpost of the order of the Merciful Sword. Rather than becoming a man of the cloth, a priest, the paladin had seen promise in the young man and personally saw him through his training. A life can be far duller than studying law, practicing with a sword and committing oneself to prayer every day. Two years later, Gideon and a group of squires lead by a priest went north. There had been a murder and the Tyrrans were called upon to dispense justice. Seeing as the lord had not ruled a verdict on his own, it was the lord himself who had murdered.

Carcassion was not as he remembered it. Lord Blodstaal must've gone insane. Heads lined the walls, the hanged hung low on the sides of the towers. Gideon recognized some of the bodies, people he had known from his childhood, and he realized most of the dead were from the servants of the castle. In front of the stronghold's main doors stood the shape of a man Gideon knew was his own father. The old man looked haunted, sunken eyes and dark rings about them. He was flanked by an armed knight, a greatsword held at the ready. Before the priest could speak an arrow had struck his throat, his body toppled from his horse but had not even hit ground before the squires drew their blades and attacked. Gideon rode at the knight, his father throwing himself aside as thehorse came close. The knight made a vicious cut and sent the sword into the horse's neck, killing it instantly. Gideon tumbled to the ground and rolled himself along the ground as the greatsword swiped an inch above his body. Even as he thrust his longsword at the knight, he drew a dirk with his left hand. The knight prepared to parry and failed to see the thin blade as it dug into his armpit and punctured his heart. Gideon would never forget the wheezing sound of the man's last breath. A life whispering out its death. It was horrible.

Two of the other squires had fallen, a third had ridden away, the gates to the stronghold had closed behind him. Three days... Three days till reinforcement. Gideon had already drawn up a plan for how to hold position. But for now they had to find the lord Blodstaal. He was responsible; he had to answer for the murder of a priest and two squires along with the rest of the dead. Searching the stronghold, the three remaining squires were forced tokill eight more guards, men with the same haunted glares as his father. These men were under a spell, they were puppets. When they finally reached the lord, they were tired and bloodied. Blodstaal was a swollen remnant of the man he had once been, skin ruptured and infected with some vile disease that had cost him his sanity. Not a single word was spoken as the three squires attacked and hacked the man to death. The lord laughed as he died, vowing revenge. But the demon that held him was sent back to the Abyss, leaving only rot behind.

They held the fort without further struggle. They began to bury the dead, identify those executed and rounding up the few survivors. With no trace of his father, Gideon aided in forcing food and water down the throats of the malnourished guards and servants who had regained their sanity after lord Blodstaal had died. Three days passed until a handful of paladins arrived, relieving the squires of their duties and sending them south to the orders' outpost with the body of the slain priest. Weeks later, all of the squires were made full paladins. Each was given a suit of grey steel armor and a symbol of Tyr to wear about their necks. Gideons' first assignment was to oversee the rebuilding of the Carcassion stronghold and its village. Those that had lived under the tyranny of the possessed nobleman needed better leadership. It would take time and Gideon would be spending much of that time refunding the families of the deceased for their suffering. Thankfully, the lord had a large treasury and the Tyrran had a lot of time. Twenty dead, many more suffering, it made for a nightmare in keeping records of just how much each dead were worth, why some were given more than others and some a mere handful while another received enough to build a new life in a new land. It all came down to whom had given the dead lord the most support before giving in to the possessed man’s influence.

Two years passed and Gideon knew the rebuilding of Carcassion was at an end. The title of mayor was bestowed upon a former guard who had been one of the few to survive the three squires’ attack on the stronghold. The young paladin left the home of his childhood with no plans on returning, heading south past his order’s outpost when the order came to leave for a town called Harrowdale. The trip wasn’t exactly easy; he suffered a few setbacks on the road in the form of both bandits and lack of food. But he rode on and eventually reached the edge of the Cormanthor forest. By now Gideon was travelling with a caravan of traders, furs, spices, items of magical worth and a whole arrangement of weapons could be found on those wagons. Once they entered that ancient forest, the paladin got his first taste of elven hatred.

The first guard of the caravan slumped in his seat, a low whistling sound following as he slowly toppled from the horse. Gideon lowered his visor just as an arrow struck the grey surface of the metal. He couldn’t see anything but lowered his lance just the same. A sting like hellfire hit him in the back as something wet and burning splashed across his armor. The horse neighed in a wild manner as he turned around and charged. Behind them on the road were golden haired warriors of lean build dressed in ring-mail and leather, their shining blades curved with magnificent design. Gideon took note of these things as he saw a robe wearing figure behind the warriors. Even as he began the full gallop, lance aimed at the line of warriors, arrows battered his armor and shield. He heard the horse suffer as it received a few arrows in its flank, but it was a warhorse and would not panic. The distance closed in a matter of seconds, a spear thrust out as he crashed into the line of warriors but he deflected it with his shield. A second later the mage in robes died as the lance punched through his chest. Gideon rode on and threw the lance aside, elven mage like a speared pig tumbling along with it. He drew his sword and dismounted quickly, he barely noted the horse’s strangled breathing what with all the arrows that had pierced it. He parried a thrust the same moment both his feet were on the ground. Two elves were slashing and hacking at him with their lithe blades. The full plate served him well and he waded into their slashes, parrying only their thrusts to avoid getting skewered through the edges of the plates. The skirmish lasted for what seemed to be a lifetime before he finally caught one of the elves over the throat with his blade. The spray of blood was intense, a metallic taste he knew all too well from the battles he’d waged on the road. The second elf turned and he knocked the figure down with a shield bash. He broke the curved blade with a heavy stamping from one of his feet. It was over, the elf on the ground wailed in its strange language and voices all around called back before everything became silent. Along the road he heard the heavy thunder of horse’s hooves. A patrol. A human patrol. The elf was on her back, he only now took note of the fey-like creature’s features. Had she been a girl in a town somewhere, not a murderous bandit, he’d found her appealing. The tears in her eyes spoke of youth, killing the other elf had most likely made her lose her will to fight. Family, most likely.

Her name was unknown, she wouldn’t speak it. Gideon knew for a fact that if he hadn’t been present, if someone else had captured her, one of these brutish thugs in armor would have done something far more horrible to her. Eldreth Veluuthra, one of the patrol men had said. Elven murderers killing humans for simply being alive. No better than drow, others would claim as they continued towards Harrowdale. It slowly began to dawn on the elf that she was going to die. Her eyes scanned the forest around them hopefully whenever they stopped to make camp. For someone without the scarred emotions of older age, without the callousness of someone who simply doesn’t care for another enemy, it was heart wrenching to watch the elf. He tried speaking to her but she always stared off in the distance, he tried to use the few words of elven he knew but she only glared at him.

Harrowdale was but a day’s march ahead. The camp was silent, Gideon and a patrol man held the watch. He had thought about this. An act going against his tenets, but not against the ideals of compassion and mercy, but a breaking of his tenets nonetheless. The elf sat slumped against a tree, her head resting against the trunk and only when Gideon stood like a looming metallic monster above her did she react. He had a dagger drawn. At first fear registered in her eyes but then some kind of acceptance held her. Those slanted eyes closed and she was ready. Gideon cut her bonds in silence, meeting her gaze as she blinked and looked up. He hoped she could see he meant no harm, on a deeper level he hoped she would learn from this. He was giving her another chance at life. He knew he would be cast out of his order.

At the time of his arrival in Harrowdale he had been the focus of spite for a day’s march. The others did not care for any explanations and he had given none. Impotent rage had spilled all over and the paladin just rode ahead of the rest of the men. The few survivors from the attack that had lead the elf’s capture were close to ballistic and had to be held back. It all happened just as he had imagined; arrival in Harrowdale, a long wait and then a letter. “You are henceforth excommunicated from the order of the Merciful Sword.” The description was long, detailing all accounts, even his own, and then the order of banishment. He was to atone half-a-life for his actions. Now nothing but a paladin, he headed north. Years upon a road he would travel in bitter silence, with nothing but a hope that he had done the right thing, that the elven girl was safe in a home somewhere. It was nothing but a long shot at best, but elves were creatures of great wisdom. Perhaps she had seen the wisdom on his actions.


Goals: Gideon wants to be a guiding hand for those seeking redemption or someone to look up to. He also seeks to spread the good side of justice amongst his fellow humanoids, leaving dull lawfulness to the Helmites. He also hopes to join another Order.

Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts: The Eldreth Veluuthra might want revenge for his killing of two of their numbers. Paladins are in no shortage of enemies and the demon he banished by killing Lord Blodstaal could be plotting something. ((It’d be fun if someone wanted to play the elf he let go, or simply add this part to their history!))

[Lyrewyn]

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