Triston Blackcloak

[Gelatinous_Cube91788]

Full Name: Triston Blackcloak
Age: 27
Class(es): Paladin
Race: Human
Subrace: None
Alignment: Lawful Good
Deity: Toran
Domains (if cleric):
Short Bio/Description:

Born to a well-off family, Triston was born as Lothar Kindle, of the Kindle family. He had a happy childhood; filled with most of the things any child would want. In short: He was spoiled rotten by his parents, who loved him dearly. Lothar loved his parents, but always wanted more. Values such as modesty had never been instilled upon him. He was mean to the other children--often exercising the fact that he was wealthier, and better.

As Triston came into his teens, he started taking swordplay lessons--he was a natural with all kinds of blades, but preferred the Bastard Sword for it's power and utility. His cockiness and selfishness carried into his swordplay lessons, as he would make the other children unwanted by putting them down. Whenever he himself was bested he would claim it was a foul, and attack the other student when their back was turned. Afterall, he was rich--he could get away with that. His parents did not realize their error in spoiling their child until it was too late--after all, they had worked hard their entire lives to accumulate their fortune, and modesty and poiteness came naturally to them.

One day, at his sword lessons--Lothar was fifteen years old at the time--a tournament of sorts was being held. Not to the death, of course, as you were expected to pull your blows, and be careful. Naturally, Lothar climbed his way to the top. At the time of the final match, it was Lothar against a new kid in the class. This new kid--about Lothar's age--had arrived a week prior to the tournament, and quickly dominated the class, aside from Lothar who he was evenly matched with. In fact, they even preferred the same kind of weapon, they were the same height, same build, and both from powerful and rich families. The only real difference was attitude. While Lothar was snide, arrogant, rude, spoiled, and generally an ; the new kid was kind, polite, and modest. Even their clothes reflected this. The new kid wore dull colored clothes that did not attract attention to himself, while Lothar wore lavish silken suits, and his armor was as fancy as could be. The new kid's name was Triston Blackcloak, of the family Blackcloak.

And so, the final match of the tournament began. The two matched eachother swing for swing, feint for feint, blow for blow. As long as they pulled their blows, it would go on until luck intervened. Lothar, of course, saw this as an outrage. In a fit of selfish, concieted, anger he did not pull his final blow. Triston, the polite and unassuming teenager that he was, did not expect Lothar to cheat. Triston's head was completely removed from his body, the blood shot into the air like a fountain. Lothar did not regret it until after he had done it. He ran home and hid in his room. His famiy's wealth assured the fact that it would be overlooked as an accident.

What was not considered, however, was Triston's family. Much like Lothar was opposite of his parents, so was Triston the opposite of his. Triston's parents were angry, snide, and powerful people. They saw this as an attack on their family by another family, and did not hesitate to take action against the Kindle family. The Blackcloak's hired assasins. Not just any assasins, however. These asassins would only kill those who they thought to be criminals. Many of them were friends with Triston, and had no qualms doing this job. In the dark of the night in the following week, the assasins stole away into the Kindle family manor. The screams of Mister and Mrs. Kindle woke Lothar up from a nightmare. He sat bolt upright, sweat pouring off of him. He grabbed his sword, and sat in the corner--hoping whatever was out there would go away.
CRACK! The door to Lothar's room burst inwards--showering Lothar with shards of broken wood.
"This is for Triston, you bastard!" cried the assasin as he jumped at Lothar, who defended himself appropriately. After the assasin was disposed of, he lept out of his room, and dashed out of his house--leaving his parents to their fate, if they had not been slain already.

Over the next ten years, Lothar inhabited several taverns throghout the world. He drank like a fish, and dwelled in his own misery. Despite his selfish attitude, he was a bright man with a creative mind. And after 10 years of soul searching in the bottom of an ale-stein, he knew his error. His lavish clothing had long since stopped fitting him. He now wore drab rags, preferring the color of black. He no longer had much to say--preferring to keep his mouth shut. He was no longer rich, preferring to keep what little money he had where he could see it. There were only two ways to redeem his conscience, as far as he could tell. There was the easy way, and the hard way. The old Lothar would have taken the easy way, by relieving his own misery (albiet only temporarily) by making others just as miserable. But 10 years of drinking his off, and 10 years of wallowing in thought and despair had made him just crazy enough to consider the hard way...

Over the next 2 years, Lothar Kindle ceased to exist. He began to dress only in plain, dark colored clothes (preferably black, with a cloak), he once again picked up his sword and practiced. He got rid of his beer gut, and got back in shape--vowing never to drink again. He began giving gold to beggars when they asked for it, and he had aquired a sort of modesty. Not entirely right in the head, he decided to rename himself "Triston Blackcloak". After all, he was far from his hometown, and he reasoned that the name Lothar Kindle would be too much of a temptation to return to his old ways.

Seeking a way to anchor his new-found devotion to goodness, he sought out the church of Toran. After all, he would reason, you don't get much more good than that, do you? After a long period of training, and proving of his devotion to goodness, he joined up with the Undead Hunters of Toran. This group had the autonomy and the kind of drive that Triston needed. And a drive he needed indeed, for every time his mind wandered, it came back to old Lothar. Around every corner, along every curve and twist of his mind, was the temptation to return to his old self--something he fights every day to avoid. Being a member of the Undead Hunters of Toran has given him a cause and a purpose, so he may keep his mind on the task at hand.

Unlike many Paladins, who are flashy and like to announce their presence with gaudy clothes and bright armor, Triston prefers utilitarian equipment. He prefers the color Black, in honor of his past, and because the color so often resembles his mood. Triston tries to his utmost abilities to further the cause of goodness, but his almost perpetual depression and slightly unstable mental health can cause him to falter at times--though this is rare. Now, he scours the land as an Undead Hunter of Toran, bastard sword at his side. In fact, the only things that could cause a casual obersever to notice he is a paladin is the openly displayed Ankh, the symbol of Toran, hanging from his neck.

[Aurhinius]

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