Le père Jan s'est levé tôt, avant l'aube. Il dormait mal, et une heure ou deux de plus ferait peu de différence. Compilant ses maigres possessions, il décida qu'un peu de pratique était en ordre. Échappant à la soutane et au manteau pour mieux libérer ses mouvements, il planta une position au bord du camp.
Épée et bouclier en main, il s'est engagé dans les exercices simples qu'il avait appris il y a longtemps. Il a été agréablement surpris de la rapidité avec laquelle tout lui est revenu, comme le jeu de l'épée lui semblait encore naturel. Son timing était peut-être un peu décalé, et il était un peu plus lent qu'il ne l'était autrefois. Mais il était presque aussi rude et robuste qu'il l'était dans sa prime.
Avance, coup latéral. Bloc, coup de dos. Double dos, feinte, et montée. Et anon, jusqu'à ce que le soleil se lève, réveillant le reste du camp.

Jan a rejoint la ligne de formage, prenant place vers le front. Toujours sans sa soutane et son manteau, il n'était vêtu que d'une tunique et d'un pantalon courts et sans manches. Sa chemise de courrier noir lui donnait cependant quelque chose de l'apparence d'un guerrier.
Le prêtre écouta, muselé, la stratégie proposée par leur commandant. Bien que surpris, il n'était pas le moins contrarié de le voir abattu par l'homme qui s'appelait lui-même Silas. Apparemment un camarade du faux pénitent d'hier soir, il était maintenant en charge. Pour le meilleur ou le pire. Pour mieux, cependant, il semblerait. Le nouveau plan était beaucoup plus raisonnable. Et, bien qu'il n'ait pas eu le cheval qu'il avait espéré, il savait mieux que de questionner leur nouveau chef devant leurs troupes presque vertes. Ils devaient croire que la nouvelle stratégie était totalement irréalisable.
Cela à l'esprit, Jan est tombé dans sa position désignée dans la formation actuelle, au centre gauche. Il a tiré son épée. Il était un peu vieux, la lame qui avait besoin de brûler, mais il semblait être de fabrication assez fine. Avec son courrier, c'était sa dernière connexion physique avec son temps avec les Broken Blades. Le talon était incrusté d'argent, et la poignée en cuir bien travaillé.
Levant son épée en l'air, il appela l'escouade qui lui avait été assignée.
À moi, à vous tous. Regarde bien! Je pense que je suis le plus éprouvé parmi vous. Essayez de rester derrière moi, et attaquez par mon flanc.
Il s'est arrêté pour compter son petit groupe.
C'est vous trois. Il devrait y avoir une quatrième femme en robe étrange. Un sorcier, je crois. Où est-elle?
Name: Jan Oremus, Priest of Ristoth
Gender: Male
Age: 53
Appearance: Father Jan is a fair-skinned human with brown eyes and graying black hair. Not physically imposing, he is of middling height but is possessed of an athletic build. His large nose, which seems to have been broken repeatedly over the years, and his notable lack of several teeth would generally preclude him from the label 'handsome.'
He is very rarely seen wearing anything other than a simple black cassock, a matching cloak, a shirt of blackened mail beneath, and a worn-out pair of cavalry boots. Around his neck shines a silver emblem of his faith. He often smells faintly, though sometimes strongly, of wine, ale, or whatever sort of alcohol he has managed to lay his hands on.
Bio: Jan was born to a family of free peasant farmers in the heartlands of the Empire. The youngest of three sons, he was apprenticed to the local blacksmith, and spent several years under the tutelage of a man that may have been the worst smith in the country. Wearying of life with an incompetent and cruel master, he ran away at the age of fifteen to join a passing mercenary band, the Broken Blades.
For many years Jan rode with the Broken Blades and their captain, Mortain the Black- so called for the blackened armor he and the rest of his men wore. Serving first repairing and maintaining equipment and later as a man-at-arms, Jan grew to adulthood amid the blood and the din of battle. He found that the soldier's life suited him very well, and he rose over the years to become a lieutenant to Mortain, commanding the light cavalry.
Twenty years after he had first joined the Broken Blades, what was supposed to have been a routine skirmish quickly degenerated into a slaughter. The company was under orders to turn back an orcish raiding party, though it would happen that the 'raiding party' was in fact the vanguard for a much larger force which significantly outmatched the small mercenary band. Mortain, his bodyguard retinue, and the infantry were rapidly encircled. Jan and his light cavalry attempted to punch a hole in the orcish flank and create an exit for his comrades, but to naught.
What little remained of the Broken Blades fled at the death of their captain, dissipating into the countryside. The organization that Jan had spent his life working for, building up, had simply ceased to exist. All he had to show for his time was a ravaged set of teeth and a somewhat disfigured nose. He spent most of the next decade drunk and waiting for death. He briefly took up adventuring, finding his skill set well-suited to the work. At the age of forty-six, while defending a monastery devoted to Ristoth and the monks and laypeople sheltering inside of it, he experienced a religious awakening. He was quite convinced The Creator spoke directly to him, urging him to mend his wicked ways and live righteously. Once his job was complete, he entered the seminary and trained zealously for the priesthood.
Upon completion of his training, Jan was dispatched to a small village near the fringe of the Dread Desert, not far from Blackstone Fortress. In time he learned to let go of the rage and the hatred in his heart, and came even to love his little flock. He felt like a man reborn, and would have gladly ended his days there in peace.
Unfortunately, an invading orcish clan has destroyed the village, and Father Jan, along with the other survivors, have been pressed into service with the militia. His lack of enthusiasm with this new state of affairs has resulted in a return to drink, though he is eager to repay the monsters that have again ruined him for their trouble.
Fighting Style: Jan fights best from horseback with sword and lance, and, though his skill has rusted significantly, he has not forgotten the basics.
Equipment: Old arming sword, scavenged shield, dirk, holy text, and a shirt of blackened mail.
Skills/Abilities:
Capable swordsman (rusty)
Skilled horseman (rusty)
Skilled lancer (rusty)
Excellent bookkeeper
Competent tactician
Passable orator

1. Listen to the GM(s), If you have a complaint tell me. I am not an evil dictator and if I am wrong I will admit it.
2. Romance and Gore allowed, But keep it in good taste and in site rules
3. Now not all characters will play nice with each other I understand that, but keep the disputes in the RP not in OOC
4. Be civilized and polite please
5. All basic RP rules apply to this roleplay: Power playing, Meta gaming, and others are not allowed.
6. The story isn't exactly set, If you have an idea for a mission feel free to pm me the details and I'll try to work it in.
7. Copy the rules into a Hider in the "other" of your cs so I know you read them.
8. Get into your character's skin become him or her as you are playing have fun and give us insight into their thoughts.
9. Try to keep active, in both the IC and OOC pages please. And even if you don't have anything to say, at least read the OOC