Arron stands a commanding six feet and ten inches, heavily huscled and scarred all over. One scar lifts the corner of his eye, another crosses his eyelid. The nose looks as if it had been broken several times. His auburn hair and beard fall down in a mane loosely harnessed by a few leather strings.
Despite his intimidating appearance htough, he’s got a pleasant quality around him - the chesnut eyes shine warm, and the smile is not cruel. The broad face and strong jaw give him a somewhat simple, but sturdy outlook.
Arron will go around clad in armor, he does not know the term ‘civilian clothing’. It is a ramshackle collection of plates, chain and studded leather, all heavily worn yet serviceable. His armor is adorned with strings of teeth - wolf fangs, bear claws, orc teeth, strung up all over him. Around his, neck, he carries a string of coins, as not to lose them.
His trusted companions are a sturdy sword with a heavy blade, and a round shield strengthened with iron bolts and a sheet of steel.
By his side stands a figure much unlike him, a female slender and tall, with alabaster skin, eyes like two azure pools and hair the color of ripe wheat, tied in several braids.
Clad in light garments, striking red, sea blue and golden yellow, she is almost impossible to overlook, her every move accompanied by a soft tinkle of her earrings, armbands and necklaces. Constantly accompanied by small colourful birds, she looks like a flower being courted by butterflies.
Her manner is precisely calculated, every step as if choreographed to display her best qualities, and still, she’s so sparklingly natural. Across her face, the moods flie like clouds in the skies, once it is clouded in anger, another time filled with a blissful light.
Of huble origins, Arron was but a farmer’s lad, and his world simple, consisting of hard work and little reward. Not many were surprised when Lord Javon, the local feudal ruler, called for able men to join his ranks, that Arron followed. The promise of a wider world with better hopes was hard to resist.
The training was hard, yet he bore it well. The campaigns were dreary, yet he found cheer where he went. Many were the perils, yet his common sense, resolve and a mug of ale carried him through.
Arron saw himself in a very positive light, as a guardian of the lord, who cared for the well-being of his people. He liked the decent pay, likewise welcome were the affections of girls swayed by a soldiers uniform. Until he learned what the nobility he fought so hard to protect really was like, he was content.
On Midsummer day his ideals fell to dust as he saw Lord Javon take a girl to be wed by force, using his ius primae noctae. Enraged, he lifted his liege, the lord’s bloated form twitching as he was held up high by his neck, and threw him down the well to calm his lust.
One impact and the sound of broken bones later Arron learned that the well had dried out the month before.
Chased by his former comrades he fled, hunted like a wild beast, and far off he ran.
The pursuit was rough, yet prevail he did, but like a tree uprooted, he did not find a new home. Carried hence and forth by the tides of fate, he lived by the sword. He was a member of the Reikland Reavers, Burkhold’s Barbarians, and the Hellhounds… and too many other companies to name. Still, he retained a sense of what is right or wrong, and never stole, though gold he liked. Though a ladie’s charms could cloud his mind, he never took by force, but rather won their hearts, through character or through coin.
His temper was his greatest flaw and asset, for it brought him troubles too many to count, but also helped him stay on the right course - other members of his unit soon learned to leave commoners alone and ladies unharmed when Arron was around, lest they be confronted by a furious giant, his eyes coloured red.
Arron though did not learn one thing, and that was to keep his temper cool, mouth shut and remarks to him when nobles were close. Oh, how ofted he fled, be it because of ruining a noble’s face when the pay was due and not to be seen, or telling him to shove his suicide orders where the sun does not shine!
Yet once, once that changed his life, his spirit speaking true was a boon to him as well.
It was the year of Burning Leaves, and the air was thick with arrows and the stench of funeral pyres. The borders of Illay, a border kingdom, have been breached, and hordes of savages marched upon the temple city of Sevenshine. The walls were crumbling, their supplies dwindling, and men outnumbered ten to one. The lord commander Halvi Gane felt panic in his heart, and ordered the white flags to flz, though he was damning the lives of all clergy thus, and the citys to fall into ruin. That was when Arron spoke ‘no’ again. He would not see the city fall, he would not hear the people cry in despair and stand by as the flames claimed all. With a swing of his blade, he took the furious lord’s head off his shoulders, and the crown off his head.
That eve, when the hordes celebrated, for the next day, the city was sure to be theirs, they salied forth, militia men and mercenaries, royal guard and armed priests, into the heart of the enemy encampment, and claimed the lives of their leaders. Before the dawn broke, they fought an enemy too confused to strike back, and then withdrew.
In disarray and leaderless, the scourge fled, leaving behind but a trampled plain littered with bodies and garbage… and all within the city spat upon the corpse of Halvi Gane.
The next night, music instead of the cries of the wounded filled the streets of Sevenshine, and Arron, weary of the public celebrations, chose to have a celebration in private instead, with Jaina, a temple novice, by his side, and noone else to disturb them.
Thus, he was more than annoyed when a priest of Rynnu, the Lord of Thunder and the Beyond, stormed into his chambers, his voice booming: “How dare you? That woman is mine!” Swift to reply, Arron spoke: “You cannot own a person, and anyway, if you were less interested in the dead, and less dead where it counts, she’d be sure to lie with you and not me here on this fine eve… but see, I’m lively, therefore I shall do two things - first, deport you, and then, give her the most beautiful night of her life.” And with these words, naked as he was, he threw the surprised priest out of the window, and waved him goodbye.
It was but the first floor, and the priest broke but two legs, still his rage was great, and, the next day, he came, cursing Arron: “You shall be far less lively now, mercenary!” waving his crutch as if it was his staff.
And he spoke true, for since then, Arron could bring himself to stay awake perhaps for hours a day.
While members of other temples offered him care and a place to stay, none of them could sway the spiteful Rynnu, and Arron still did not take root, and the winds carried him off, dozing in the saddle.
Lienne breathed life into Cinthra, for it was in her power as the godess of love and the arts. Of light and song had she made her, and such was her intent, that Cinthra would walk amongst the mortal crowds to bring light and joy to them.
And so Cinthra did, and was a fount of joy and happiness, until she lost her way. Instead of granting pleasure, she took it, instead of blessing wine she drank it herself. While she should be whispering encouragement into the ears of artists, she stood model, and struck them down when the work was not to her liking. Where she should be a beacon and encouragement to thoser in love, she shattered relationships and made men burn with desire for her, only to delight in their suffering as she rejected them over and over again.
Lienne was patient and good-hearted, so she spoke kindly to her wayward child, yet the advice fell on dead ground. She urged her to repent, and to set right what she’d done wrong, yet Cinthra remained deaf, indulging in her pleasures.
Finally, with teary cheeks, Lienne took Cintra’s wings, and locked her away in the Misty Gardens, where all is silent and calm, to contemplate.
Cintra was blind with anger, yet was powerless.
One day, a valliant man had saved a temple deemed to be lost, and there, he rescued the lives of fivescore novices, young girls pure as lilies… yet his reward was but a curse. His name was Arron.
None of the other gods dared to go against Rynnu, for he was the keeper of their life-threads as well, but Lienne stood against him, and spoke: “Everyone deserves a chance. Everyone.”
That eve, she unlocked the Garden of Mists, and released Cinthra, and thus she spoke: “You shall guide Arron, and help him lift his curse. You shall guide the mortals you were supposed to as well, yet this time, you will be one of them. Go forth, I shall call you when I deem you worthy again.”
Cinthra lowered her gaze, and wandered to Arron’s side.
At first she was apalled, for he was much unlike the crowd the muse was used to - plain and direct, rough and unhewn.
Arron sent her away at first, shouting: “I need no aid!” but when he fell asleep, she came back, angry yet determined, and guided him.
Still, Cinthra was furious, for Arron got drunk, engaged in brawls, and broke what she deemed art in anger. Yet she came back, for where else should she go?
They were a pair of wanderers, much unlike each other, hardly exchanging a word, Arron earning what coin he could, while Cinthra stayed in the background, and offered aid as her Lady had ordered.
Soon, Cinthra learned that her beauty was a burden as well, for when slavers gazed upon her, their eyes filled with greed, and claim her as their own they did, yet as soon as Arron rose, he hunted them down, one and all, and saved Cinthra from a dreary fate and a life of hardship.
That night, she loked at the grizzled mercenary, and saw a bright soul that had to dim its light because of a harsh life, and felt shame, for she had previously refused to talk to him unless he abstained from the slang he was used to, refused to let him eat until he washed, and called him names just to see his response - which was always but a smile. Filled with that shame, and honest thankfulness, she felt pure affection for the first time in her existence.
That was the night of their first kiss.
That was the night when she earned her wings again.
Surprised though was Lienne when Cinthra spoke: “Let me stay a mortal by Arron’s side as long as he lives, for so I shall help him lift his curse. Then, I will assume my mantle again, and serve you and the mortals faithfully.”
And Lienne saw the love and truth in those words, kissed Cinthra on her brow, and bade her farewell.
Thus, Arron and Cinthra wander the world, very unlike each other, yet closer through this, seeking a way to ease the anger of the Lord of the Beyond, all while not straying from what they deem to be right.