Every cause needs a champion, a hero to rally otherwise common men to a righteous cause and lead them to victory. The Crusader is that champion. With holy blade in hand he smites the wicked and sends them back to the darkness from whence they crept. While his armor restricts his movement it affords him great protection, allowing him to stand in the frontlines to take the blows that his weaker comrades cannot.
No matter the pressures he faces he will remain strong, finding strength within himself to keep fighting on while inspiring others to do the same. Even in the midst of battle he can galvanize his allies, giving them the strength to fight off madness for a little longer. When the Crusader is leading the charge, all of hell will know to fear the flame.
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Your name is Reynauld, of Avignon.
You came here when your campaign ended in defeat, and dismay. Not the staunch insistence of your commander nor the declaration of victory was able to erase the bitter memories of your dead friends, and dead soldiers. Among the many corpses that fell for zealous purpose, there was your own. Not much can assuage the bitter taste of war, the back of your throat used to the scent of fire and molding flesh.
You had a wife, and a child, but you could not face them outside of the helm that you wore at first. When you did try to reach them, they seemed to wish nothing to do with you. And thus, you took to older roads, in different countries far from the Light.
And then one day a man met you at a crossroads dive, looking for people to help him on an impossible quest
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THE CRUSADER OF THE LIGHT
❝A mighty sword arm anchored by holy purpose - a zealous warrior!❞
Name: Reynauld D'avignon
Age: 32
Lineage: Reborn, (Undead, Light Touched)
Class: Paladin (Oath of Devotion ), Level 10
Background: Crusader
Occupation: Hired mercenary under employ of Regulus von BockRank: Excommunicated Knight Commander/ Former High Paladin of the Flame
Height: 6'4’’ / 185 cm
Weight: 222 lbs / 100 kilograms
Characteristic Spells/Abilities: Light, Divine Smite, Divine Favor, Branding Smite, Thunderous Smite, Heroism, Lay on Hands, Beacon of Hope, Aura of Protection, Aura of Devotion, Bless, Hallow
Proficient in: Religion, History, Sleight of Hand… *whistles*, and Intimidation
Reynauld is a dexterity-based Great Weapon Fighter, whose montante great sword is aptly named “The Last Crusade”. He focuses on dealing and taking as much damage on the front line as possible, using his extreme endurance and quickness to distract the enemy from his allies. His offensive and defensive capabilities, as well as his experience in battle and healing capacity, make him an invaluable pick for expeditions into the dark corners of the Earth.
ON THE OLD ROAD WE FOUND REDEMPTION //
DARKEST DUNGEON 1 +2
Canon storyline. Reynauld arrives to the Hamlet with precious few clear memories, meeting the soon to be heroes of the Hamlet and the valley beyond it. Under Regulus’s beckon, Reynauld descends into twisting dungeons and dangerous forests, fighting beside his companions and friends. The horror grows as the truth of the Hamlet, the surrounding area, and its people are revealed, and not only that truth, but the truth about himself as well. With the defeat of the heart of darkness, the darkness itself is now the enemy to fight ever onward.
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THE LIGHT
A religion that pre-dates the Crusades. It is a pagan religion, with focus on balance, sacrifice, purity of spirit, and human willpower to achieve these things. The Light in its simplest form can be explained as the worship of daytime, the sun, stars, and celestial bodies. There are many different sects of Light worship, each sect having its own particular set of beliefs. The Light is a benevolent and demanding entity, and understanding it is to understand one’s own self as well.
As if confirming the existence of such an entity as “The Light”, there also exist what are called “Light Touched”. Light Touched individuals seem to bear a piece of the Light itself inside of them, being innately attuned to its powers and will.
📖 Light Touched Template
FIRST ORDER
The First Order of the Light believes the light is like pure essence of life and they are the taps in to that stream. They have means to open that tap wider, and do so with caution, lest they be drawn in and left no longer as an individual but part of the whole.
SECOND ORDER
📖 Of the Light
THIRD ORDER
The Third Order of the Light/The Order of Tephos’, teachings focus on curating and protecting the already present light in all creatures.
...well.
Fine.
I guess he'll allow Reynauld to help him stand.
Hissing, one of his hand reaches for the arm-- it's still there, right? ...yeah, seems like it. It's completely numb, but it's still there.
Despite the pounding headache, he finds himself chuckling.
"Always that surprised tone..." he breaths out. Whimpers. "Still-- a little... too slow. Fer my standars--
He walks alongside Dismas, gently pulling him to the coach. The lightning fast blade and gun of the Hamlet doesn't like his wounds healed. He had let him, in foggy memory, knit his flesh once, in more dire circumstances.
"You have become a lot stronger. Still as thin as a serpent."
He pats the back of Dismas's shoulder.
"Too slow? Then we recall the trainers' words and quicken your step. Or find ourselves in a spar- My hands are as fast as yours."
Maybe faster. Just not with a knife.
Back to the coach with him, though. If he passes out then he can be healed.
What happens in the stagecoach stays in the stagecoach, wether it was an inappropriate joke, a particularly visceral insult or something more physical, or if the deed was made during the journey or while the others were resting at the Inn, it didn't matter.
It was said as a joke, maybe, but most of them eventually silently agreed to follow it.
That night, it was his turn.
He hid in there, away from the rest of his companions, mostly to drink by himself. He needed some silence, some time away from the chaos in a particularly lived Inn.
Hell, when the door opened, he already brought a free hand on his gun-- relaxing only when he noticed Reynauld.
Sharing some bad whiskey, both of them started to feel at ease. They laughed - a little too loud, maybe, taken by the victories of the past day, the memories, or simply the fact that they were pretending they were back in the Hamlet, in simpler times, where, surprisingly enough, everything was easier.
He wasn't sure how they found themselves so close, what brought him to push even closer, pressing his lips on the other's, the clear taste of alcohol and rot invading his mouth, but with how quickly the Crusader pushed against him, returning the messy kiss, he was certain that if he didn't start, Reynauld would've proceeded him.
The other's skeletrical hands slither against his skin, under his jacket, make him shiver. A soft moan escapes his lips, his own fingers crawl up the other's neck, clench on his hair as he moves lower, keeping eye contact as Dismas breathes out, slow, heavy.
The knight shows a hint of a smirk as his nails are dragged down the Highwayman's body, skillfully undoing his belt and dragging down his pants - a smirk he's quick to return, just to let it die in a second moan when he feels the other's teeth on his naked leg, pressing hard enough to make the breathe escaping his mouth shake.
"Ah, fuck...!"
Dismas feels the other's lips curl into another smirk as he gives a second bite, one a little harsher, a little closer, clearly deadset on teasing as much as he can, play with his food to force him to let out as much noise as possible -- one that makes the criminal's grip on his hair tighten a bit to share the pain.
But it's fine. It's a good kind of pain, after all.
One he'll happily indulge into.
"It is no scratch, Dismas, but I must if you bleed too heavily. T'would rather care for you now, than later whilst pulling maggots out of your wounds."
It's true. The air ahead was disgusting and laced with ash and pestilence. This is an old conversation.
He treks behind him a few steps and offers his arm for the stagger.
I’m digging the nigh-invisible nature of Reynauld’s inner conflicts because he’s completely convinced that whatever lies ahead, he’s been picked to die for it. He’s going in the last dungeon. They’re going to fight the Heart of Darkness. And he will die if they follow the motions of the Ancestor.
He’s completely ruled by “his duty to the Light”. The problem is? He wants to live. His destiny is to die.
Reynauld has always been in service of others, or has been used by other people. He’s been through the indoctrination of the Church’s ideologies, and then the ideology of the Light afterwards, both of which have demanded complete fealty from him. There isn’t a single part of himself that he owns completely. Talking to him and expecting personal answers is almost impossible. He’s incredible at manipulating conversations.
The constant service mindset leaves him with virtually no coping mechanisms when he actually does get stressed out. (which is rare, because he’s constantly coping with stress through services to others). He goes from a constant calm state to absolutely distraught. His crashes are so violent and unpredictable it seems like he has two entirely different personalities.
