Sir Halgard Tanaaren

Appearance
A handsome lad is this knight, tall and built like an oak tree, with a rough, unpolished charm, short curly platinum hair, and pleasant gray eyes. His armor is worn yet well-kept, his leather cloak polished to a dull sheen by years of use. In harmony with that, he appears to have shaven two days ago, his hair just recently having voiced the need for a barber’s attention, sword well-kept but heavily used.

Much in discordance with courtly custom, he is quite hairy, be it chest, or forearm; his horse is a dull gray, and his armor a comfortable mesh of chain, leather and plate seemingly grown around him.

History/Background
It was a calm day on the cloud number nine, high above the blessed fields of the Elysium. Mount Celestia was clearly visible in the background, the sun setting behind it coloring the clouds in warm pastel tones.

The silence was broken by speech most unheavenly, pronounced in a rather angry tone. "Drats, I lose again! You got those cards marked, cheater?" The burst of temper came from Calathien, a girlish angel sitting upon an especially comfy cloud, together with Si-Ennah, a celestial of more mature female proportions, a few dozen playing cards lying between them, right where Calathien had tossed them. Her frustration was fuelled even more by the smug smile of her friend.
Truth be said, the younger angel was just plain bad at cards. Not that she admitted this rather obvious fact.

Her insight had much room for improvement, but then, she was young.

Si-Ennah offered an enchanting smile in turn, and spoke: "Girl, you know we play to sort out the order. Your chapter’s vacation is over tomorrow, and you have to be assigned a charge. Seeing as you lost all the games, save for one draw, the others will get to pick first."

See, this was back in a time when the gods were yet not jaded enough by the mortals doing the most outrageous things in their name, the same mortals claiming that they don’t exist, or killing off their kids by nailing them to wooden planks, or something equally stupid.
Back, in that day, to the people of Tillyia, they sent guardian angels, spirits to watch over them and shelter them from fate’s most cruel jokes.

Back in that time, Calathien was made for exactly this task, woven of sunlight and child’s laughter, playful wind and cinnamon cookies, though, given her nature, some claim chilli con carne or weed cookies were used instead.
And of course a divine spark, that rested in her heart.

That eve, she recieved her next charge, his name and place of birth, as well as a few other details, written on a sheet of alabaster-white parchment, coincidentally the sole one left after the other angels stormed the senior seraph’s bureau. In disbelief Calathien stared at the writing, and asked the serene elder angel: "Are the pocking joking, or what?"

Special Equipment

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