Alamin Lightblade

[Zkenic]

Alamin Lightblade
Sex - Male
Age - 34
Height - 6'2"
Ethnicity - Damaran
Class - Paladin/sorcerer


Rain drizzled down upon a duo as they walked the beaten path up on the mountain side. Looming before them, wedged into the side of the towering behemoth, was the Monastery of the Yellow Rose, the destination of the two travelers. Fatigue, fear, and cold withered away at the second companion, a young boy of eight years. He did not, could not fully understand the situation. All but two days ago he was happy at home with his mother and younger brother. Daddy said they were dead now, in a better place, and that the home they had left behind should be forgotten. The monastery would be his new home. Alamin liked his old home, he liked his brother's giggling and his mothers tasty cakes...

"Daddy, cant we just go home. I dont want..."

A hand gripped the boys shoulder. "No. This is your home now. Tell them you are Ian's son. They will let you in."

The hand let go of the boy. The words "but daddy..." could barely escape the bows lips as he turned around before he noticed the words were wasted. His father was gone. As the giant gates loomed before him, it sunk into his little heart that he was alone. All alone.

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The monk sighed as he bandaged the adolescent. He knew it was an accident. The poor child bore the blood of Orcus, and the outbursts of negative energy was not under his control. It did not help that the young man did not have much focus or control. He possessed such passion, something unwanted in the ways of the monk.

"I have from friends in the Golden Cup. The path you walk is not of the monk or monastery. Begin packing your materials, for your guide will arrive tomorrow to take you the keep of Sir Sidine."

No verbal response came from the boy, only a large grin. Indeed this child needed some change. The old man only hoped that it would not lead Alamin into the darkness.

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The light of the dawn sun shined brightly off the mighty blade as it descended oh so lightly onto the kneeling man's shoulder.

"Let it be know that from this moment forward Alamin shall bear not only the crest of the knight of the realm, but also as a true Paladin of the Companionship. May the light illuminate your path, guiding your blade to strike down the wicked, and bolstering your soul so that it might carry the burdens of the worlds for others."

Gareth whispered a prayer, causing his blade to light in holy flames. "I bestow upon you, Alamin, the surname Lightblade. Carry it with the pride of Damara resting on your shoulders. Now rise, Sir Alamin Lightblade, and accept this blessing."

As Alamin stood it seemed as if time itself stood still. King Dragonsbane was offering a warm smile as two priests mouths opened to offer prayers to Ilmater. Behind him stood other knights of the realm, including Lord Sidine and Master Meridor. Pride coursed through him. This was his fate. This was what he was born for... or so he thought.

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Sidine let out a laugh as the training blade swung a few inches short of landing the blow.

"Your passion is admirable, but if you cant keep your mind clear you will never lay a strike on me."

With a flick Sidine pushed Alamin's wooden sword to the side, placing a solid jab into the opposing man's shoulder. Alamin grunted in pain, focusing it and his frustration to let out three solid slashes in quick succession. The first two pushed against Sidines defense, the third breaking through, landing his strike against Sidines abdomen.

Alamin let out a shout of triumph. The image of the blade landing on his masters body fueled him. He turned to see Sidine laying on the ground, his shin pale, his breaths shallow. It was then that Alamin noticed the bruises of his failed parries were gone, and any weariness from the twenty minute duel was oddly missing. Pride turned to terror as the damages of his necrotic abilities worked their way over his lord. the calls for priests were issued as Sidine's life energy was siphoned into the unwilling Alamin, but it was already too late...

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Alamin sat comfortable on his horse as the sun peeked over the horizon. The keep was still in view, close enough to still turn back. No one blamed him for Sidine's death. The blood curse of Orcus was not a thing a noble soul would ever choose to possess. None the less that blood pulsed through Alamin's veins, and he needed answers. He knew the blood came from his mother, that she and his brother died for it. He did not know why he was still alive, or how to control such abilities. The high priest pointed Alamin to Waterdeep, and if that venture was unsuccessful then a place called Candlekeep. Turning his horse towards the southern path, Alamin lead the horse with as much confidence as he could muster. As long as Ilmater's light illuminated his path, he would not waver. He wondered though how bright that light would shine for a vessel of Orcus's might.