Rhys Oreliahan

*"Don't look so glum, friend! The Inheritor is with us today!"*

## History

Born to a family that once had noble affiliations, Rhys grew up a simple peasant boy. His family's fame and notoriety had long since faded by the time of his birth, though his grandfather still loved to tell the boy of his heritage. The Oreliahans had once commanded at least *some* respect in town, known for their warrior's skill and tactical talent. They had been masters at the art of warfare, able to plan for almost any outcome, acting as a force multiplier in the wars of old! This, at least, according to Rhys's grandfather. However, over the years, a series of horrible mistakes, poor plans, and lack of ambition had gradually sunk the family back down to the level of mere commoners. Nobody in the family since had been able to restore their name.

Rhys, a practical boy, did not weep for the loss of their fame. However, he was not going to let his family name languish either. He was not able to restore the name yet, not as a small child, but he would one day. He knew that much. He would keep their name known as one for its military and martial prowess.

Power, after all, is always respected, and strength of arm is power indeed. Rhys took a job as a stablehand, intending to one day become a cavalier or knight in order to make the Oreliahan name known again one day, flying on the banner of a fearsome cavalry legion. During this time, Rhys honed his skill with training animals, while also using his natural charisma to glean whatever advice and tips he could from the knights and soldiers who solicited his services.

One knight in particular took a shine to Rhys, and decided to take the now-teenager with him on a journey to deal with some unruly undead that had been creeping around the woodlands. It was supposed to be an easy enough mission, and Rhys was excited to see martial prowess in action. However, easy things are not always simple. When the pair reached the hive of undead, there were swarms of the creature. Individually they were no match for the knight, but in such large numbers...

The sky had been overcast the whole day, but in a brief moment, a ray of light burst through the cloud cover. It shined upon Rhys in particular, and he felt something within him begin to stir. A voice, the cacophony of trumpets calling around it, whispered in his mind. Iomedae, in some small way, had taken notice of him - he'd have to be woefully ignorant to not notice the signs.

Calling to the knight that this auspicious sign should not be wasted, he demanded they stay and fight the horde - with Rhys providing support. Harnessing divine magic previously completely unknown to him, Rhys was able to heal and support the knight as he cut a mighty swathe through the horde.

Astonished at what he had witnessed, the knight returned Rhys back to town, and bade him to go to the church of Iomedae. There, they could teach him about the goddess, and not only that, but give him proper martial training. He would not be a cavalier or a mere knight, he would be a *shining* knight. A mighty paladin, wielding Iomedae's righteous fury against the evils of the world.

It seemed that the path to restoring the name of Oreliahan had made itself clear.

## Appearance

Rhys is a man of rather average height, with much of his weight coming from his armor rather than himself. At the least, he is not out of shape! His armor typically bears iconography typical of Iomedae, as well as the symbol of his family - the upraised palm, ready to stop the incoming blow of the enemy. He has shaved most of his hair off, keeping a close crop around his skull along with what some might call an impressive beard and mutton chop combination.

## Personality

Rhys is practical, to be sure, but he is not a stoic man of faith as he might want others to believe. Though he labors to try and portray the stolid hero spoke of in many fables and stories, he cannot hide his good cheer when it comes to adventuring with strong companions and close friends. He has betrayed his own image more than once by bursting out into hearty laughter, seeming more a cheerful, courageous knight rather than a stoic man of action.

## Tower of Death

Still somewhat new to the field of adventuring, but not without at least some experience, the news of a fearsome 'tower of death' appearing in the Ghostlands galvanized Rhys into proper action. Though there was no need *yet* of him charging headlong into the Ghostlands to cut a bloody swathe through the horde, he knew his offensive potential could be of great value later on.

For the moment, he focused his natural talents elsewhere. The strike force needed to plant the wards as well as infiltrate the tower would need to be fast, and there was a limit to how fast people could move without magic. Even with magic, their speed would not be as good as it could be. Rhys knew the perfect way to fix this, and when combined with proper magic, could lend greatly needed speed to the people chosen to infiltrate the interior of the Ghostlands.

With his animal training harness in hand and a great deal of patience, Rhys volunteered himself to begin training mounts of all kinds, mostly those favored by the local adventurers. Horses and other mounts *needed* to be trained to not turn tail and flee the second they noticed a ghost wailing at them or a skeleton menacing them. Rhys took it upon himself to work with each and every mount available, drilling into them not only the courage needed to not buck their riders at first fright, but also the tricks necessary to fight back against such horrible abominations or otherwise go around them.

This was far more difficult than it sounds. Such a training regimen entailed practically dragging each and every horse and horse analog to a captured undead creature and encouraging it to not start screaming and fleeing. This was accomplished through a series of treats, a few threats, a small number of prayers to Iomedae, and not a few encouraging pats on the head and calming words. Gradually the beasts brought for the preparation of the raid on the tower began to calm down, seeing undead as a threat but not something to throw their riders over. Once this was done, Rhys *then* had to begin drilling each of them on important tricks such as defending, guarding, returning to their riders, and perhaps most importantly, backing off from a foe they had been ordered to attack.

Once all was said and done, though Rhys had not produced a dramatic effect like unveiling a secret divine spell that could blast away all undead within a five hundred kilometre radius, he *had* created a small cadre of swift steeds that would not flee from danger that could ferry their riders quickly through the land to where they needed to go. Rhys was no military genius, but from what he recalled of his grandfather's stories, he knew that a light force needed to move as quickly as possible. For each second gained, that would be one less spent under the claws of a territorial ghoul intent on having a new meal. The paladin feverishly prayed that his efforts would be enough to prevent what otherwise may have been someone's untimely demise at the hands of those lost souls.

In fact, Rhys went the extra mile, and after training his speedy legion, he attended the church of Iomedae and prayed fiercely for divine protection for the coming crusade. It was of vital importance that they succeed, lest a massive swarm of undead engulf the lands. He did not wish for any heroes to die on this journey, and if his prayers could sway, in any way, the will of his goddess, he would do so until he fell from exhaustion. Since the completion of the animal training, Rhys focused almost entirely on making pleas to his deity when he was not busy earning coin to live off of or training in preparation if he himself were selected to infiltrate the tower.