Arthfael


 * "May your soul be guided to the After Life."

- Arthfael

Arthfael Kylaev Olivriar (Pronounced ARTH-file) is a prolific, legendary individual born out of peasantry in Ardougne. Arthfael would begin a path towards his still-unknown destiny - one filled with riches and improvement. Known to have helped slay a ferocious black dragon -  collecting both its head and some of its valuable hide, participating in many battles, building his family to become a great, respected House and becoming the King of Paixholm - a small, peaceful kingdom part of the Tri-Kingdom Kandarin. Throughout his life, he has built a long-desired legacy - to which continues to build upon itself.

He is played by Dnl.

Body Description
Arthfael is a man built of a slender, wily figure. He was moderately muscular, much like the average human. A man of about six feet, his skin's tone slightly tanned by the Sun's constant array upon him. He had hazel grey eyes, and short, military-cut hair. He had a prominent chin, and a heart-shaped face and jaw. His jaw is lined with a short, light jet black beard of whiskers.

Armored
Armored, Arthfael wore body armor - a thick vest layer of black dragonhide, and cloth, covering his body and protecting himself from enemy magic and common attacks. A dragonhide-layered cloth hood was pulled over his head, yet did not veil his electric blue gaze, and dark hair poking out from the shadows. The robes continued down to his legs, where he wore fur-lined boots, with a dragonhide layer. His legs were also armoured in chaps of the smokey black dragonhide. He wore a simple set of gauntlets, connected to decorative bracers which had been lined with metal and had a magical presence about them. The gauntlets of both arms led to the palms of his hands where a glowing, enchanted gem sat in the middle; the gloves seemed to be made of cloth, and dragonhide. At his hip was a dark, slender misericorde, and sheathed at his back was a Holy Icyenic longsword - sheathed in a fine, leather scabbard and decorated in brilliant sapphires around the hilt, and pommel.

Regular Garment
Arthfael wore a vest-coat of black, gold and white over a long-sleeved white shirt. Over his abdomen was a tired-on belt of some type of leather. He wore his flowing cloak of white, to which has long, flowing individual strips escaping from its end. He wore rather simple pants, with black boots that are buckled on. At his side was the a dark, metallic dagger, slender and long in shape and seemed to fit the description of your simple misericorde; it was lined with a dark green metal - likely adamant.

Personality
Arthfael is a sarcastic, relaxed person - holding a rather casual attitude - insisting the people he meets call him only by his first name - and not his earned titles. Although, Arthfael takes situations calmed, although at times can become angered - this has led to manhy weaknesses - and revenge attacks, like his attack on the Rimmingtonian food supply, which ended with a fraction of the town being destroyed - although with a cost - most of his fighters' lives. Arthfael is mostly a kind, friendly man despite his occasional rage.

Birth
A young boy’s cries broke the peaceful silence of the afternoon; curious gazes flickered towards the small home, to which the wailing originated. Hearing the cries, a middle-aged man, a man armored valiantly in steel chainmail, hurried only quicker towards his home, bursting through the door, the man smiled widely at the nearby nurse, whom raised her attention to gaze at the man who entered.

“Sir! Your wife, she has birthed a new, baby boy. “She smiled sweetly at the man, whom at her gesture followed her into the bedroom. Upon entry, the man’s wife lay upon the bed, a small child held gently in her arms; she smiled at her husband as he enters. With a joyful expression, the man moved to seat himself at her bedside, and smile at the small, lively baby whom made gently breaths at the rise and fall of his tiny chest; this child was obviously built of a smaller stature than most others. Then, a man approached the husband, offering him a hand. The brunette male doctor, in a medical gown smiled down at the husband as they shook; his voice was accented to that of Kandarian quality as he spoke.

“Hello. Doctor Michael Dossyn; your baby is healthy, Mister Olivriar. “The husband, now known as Mister Olivriar, smiled giving the Doctor an acknowledging gaze.

“Thank you Doctor – but please – call me Aravis. “ Aravis gave a wide grin to the doctor, whom would only nod in response, before hurrying he and his medical staff out of the door and, after pattering the floor of the next room into the outside, shutting the door graciously behind them. Suddenly, a voice erupted from the blankets and covering, a raspy, exhausted one – the voice of Aravis’s wife.

“ My dear, what do we name our little boy? “ She cooed to the child in an inaudible speech; Aravis looked to his wife with a smile, before he began to speak.

“ Arthfael, “ He smiled at Lyrianne, his wife as he continued. “ Arthfael Olivriar. "

Childhood
Several years later, and a six year old boy by the name of Arthfael had grown from his meager baby steps, from his first words to a lively, young boy with not a care in the world. And, notably Aravis, Arthfael’s father, was the young boy’s role-model, having served for Ardougne’s city guard – a hero – for several years, well-deserving of his rank as a lieutenant. In fact, Arthfael aspired to one day fight alongside him, fighting with law and justice! Arthfael, as a young boy, enjoyed the city and what he loved the most: The Marketplace; some days, Arthfael’s mother, Lyrianne, would take the young boy to the Market to sift through the stalls and purchase much needed items; his favorite stall was the one that held the decadent, lustrous pies, cakes and bread over it – some still seeped the steam from the freshly-baked product. His mouth watered to taste them – and one time he could not hold his desire, and whilst no one was looking? The small be took a small sample of the cake and stuffed it into his mouth, running away before he’s caught. Arthfael, even at such a small age was notably smaller than the other children, making him a constant target of bullies, whom were all muscularly larger than the frail boy. Finally, the tiny boy of ten years of age was fed up, and picked up and threw a large rock at the head of a lean boy whom also picked on him; a broken nose received, a larger boy came running and slammed his fist into Arthfael’s face, sending him to the floor – the boy had to be at least twelve. Arthfael lifted himself up, though despite the bleeding lip, Arthfael scurried off home with a twisted grin upon his lips, disregarding the sharp pain that shot through him as he did – at home, he is tended to by his mother.

“ Do not worry, Arthfael – you’ll be a big, strong man one day – bigger than those boys – and they will be the ones running off! “ She would say, as she tended to the stinging wound, reassuring her unconvinced boy.

“… Do you really think so, Ma’? “He then smiled, and looked up at her motherly, sky blue gaze.

“I know so, Arthfael. “ She smiled, brushing a stray golden lock from her fair skinned face. And, from then, Arthfael was brave – reassured by his mother. Though, at the age of twelve, dinner is abruptly halted as Aravis bursted through the front door; a fire was at the fireplace where, around the crude table, crude chairs sat – one was empty, the other two occupied by Arthfael and his mother, Lyrianne. One door on each side of the room and another, opposite the burning fireplace was the front door withj two, small framed windows on either side of it. The doors led to bedrooms – one medium, the other tiny – made for Arthfael. His father breathed raggedly, and Lyrianne looked up at Aravis with a concerned, frightened look in her eyes. “Dear? “ Words came from her mouth, as he began to speak.

“We need to pack up and get out of here; there’s a log cabin in the woods we’ll stay at. “ Despite their efforts to question him, he disregarded them and walked off. Thus, we looked at each other briefly before standing up to follow after his orders – they were off before the hour’s end…

… His eyes fluttered open, his vision flooding with the world – the warm summer air filled his veins in his wool clothing; he found himself upon the cot, rolling slightly off of it – it had been yesterday that Arthfael had abruptly left the city, with quiet steps he followed the aroma of eggs – freshly from the range. Into the main room, a scent of pine logs, which were burning in the fireplace’s hearth, the orangeish red flames licking delicately upon the black-burned log. Outside of the door, he heard a hatchet’s head burrow into more firewood, and his mother hard at work in the kitchen; at this moment, Arthfael would realize that this was a new chapter in his life – a new beginning…

Growing Up Is Hard
By the time the boy had become a young man, Arthfael had gotten accustomed to residing within the deep woodland, though the time would come where Arthfael would have to contribute to the family – to grow up. His father, Aravis, demanded the boy learn archery, so that he may help his father in hunting the next night’s dinner – that is unless he uses traps. For years, Arthfael had eaten venison – its taste a constant reminder of his living situation if not made by the monotonous chirping of birds outside of his window. The taste of venison was bland, tasteless by now. Arthfael could not escape growing up, not matter the effort he put into it; his mother came out of the kitchen with a smile towards him, before the door opened, and Aravis entered moving to sit at the table as Lyrianne set down a tea cup for both parents, Arthfael sat at the crude table alongside them, looking around at them before Aravis spoke in his hoarse voice.

“ Son – you’re gon’ come out with yer’ ol’ man and learn howta’ usea’ bow, al’right? “ Arthfael nodded, giving a wide grin – finally he would learn to use a bow! Aravis nodded, returning a smirk as he glanced towards the sweetly-smiling Lyrianne. A few sips later, and Aravis was finished with his refreshing cup of tea and he summoned the impatient, finger-drumming Arthfael towards the door with himself. Outside, Arthfael was given a bow and quickly instructed; over the yard, a makeshift shooting range was crafted from old bottles of alcohol his father had long since drunk, and he held in his hand, the stock of a crudely-crafted bow – he made do, though.

“Son, “He spoke, moving to indicate to his quiver with a finger. “Get an arrow, put it on the bow. “ And Arthfael followed his order, settling the feathered arrow onto the bowstring with his father’s direction, moving to raise the stock high, and pull the string back to my cheek; Arthfael could see from parts of his vision, his father grinning at him.

“Good job, son. When you’re ready to fire, inhale and release – hit that bottla’ whiskey, will ya’? “With the head of the feathered craft pointed at the base of the bottle labeled boldly ‘whiskey’, Arthfael inhaled and released. The arrow wobbled out of the stock and straightened as it dipped to strike the right flank of the bottle, chipping the glass and shoving the bottle to the floor. Aravis frowned, shaking his head as he stepped forwards and took the bow from Arthfael.

“If that was damned game, it woulda’ scared the whole damn forest off. “ Suddenly, he was glaring angrily down at his son, a rather disappointed expression shown in his fiery amber eyes. He sighed, frustrated, at his cowering son. Aravis shook his head, moving to hand the bow back.

“Aim at the next bottle. “ Arthfael nodded, moving to take an arrow – now he was determined to impress his upset father, that look of determination the first ever to show as he brought the arrow into the stock, and pulled the string back to his cheek; after a brief inhale, he took no hesitation and flicked his fingers away as the arrowhead went dead onto the bottle labeled ‘vodka’, shattering it into pieces as it was tore into the air, and thrown into the dirt. Aravis’ face lit up, and he grinned, moving to slap a hand onto Arthfael’s back and shouts his congratulations.

“Well done, son! “ He smiled proudly onto the boy, and then moved to beckon him with a giant hand as he moved towards the door – breakfast was ready.

After breakfast, the duo set out into the forest – Arthfael on his first trip – was excited to check the hunting traps with his father; rabbit hang limp in most of the ones set. On the second trap, a sound caught their senses – a stag. Arthfael’s father beckoned him towards it with a whisper.

“All yours, kid. “ Third time around, he pulled his bow into ready, before long he was inhaling pulling the bowstring back before the arrow whizzed through the air, and into the throat of the stag, sending it to the floor in a tumble. In time, the duo are dragging a large stag home – Aravis clearly proud of his boy…

… Fifteen, and the boy was ready to walk out of the house, but, his father – whom had for aslong kept the reason of the departure a secret  from his son – prevented it as long as he possibly could, though-.. The gallop of hooves upon dirt one morning woke the forest – woke the family, and Aravis went to a window, and peered outside – he recognized the mounted men, but it wasn’t hard to tell from the gold-star adorned banners hanging from their saddles. They got off; two men, and pulled the swords from their scabbards as they stepped forwards. Aravis gave a glance to Lyrianne and she nodded, moving to a drawer and taking a nice dagger and moving into the main parlour, passing through quietly towards Arthfael’s room. Arthfael was sitting onto his cot when Lyrianne came in and crouched at the drawer.

“People are after us, Arthfael, stay quiet. “ Arthfael, though he didn’t fully understand the situation, nodded. He moved to grasp the grip of a small hunting knife by his cot and pull it out, Lyrianne putting his finger to her lips. Meanwhile, Aravis held a broadsword in his grasp as he moved into the lounge and opened the door.

“Aravis – for far too long you have ran from our blade – this once, we offer you, that horrid wench and your creation mercy in the name of the Lord Saradomin – you must be willing to set your head at the will of my hand and blade, and face the consequence for showing faith of the heathen False God. “ A man’s voice called, and my father shouted loudly in response, hissing at him.

“We shall not bow to those that are fraudulent – I will die before my family, Raivius. “ Raivius growled, moving to order his companion forth and hissed at Aravis.

“Fine then, fool. Thine honor is in vain, cretin. “ The younger man started forwards, and Aravis backed up, meeting his blade; meanwhile, Raivius entered and seeked Lyrianne and Arthfael; after a break peek into the parents’ bedroom, he made into Arthfael’s bedroom, where Lyrianne met him with vicious assaults – a flurry. Her dagger flurrying across his face and cheek, causing a long cut along it. Angered, the armed man thrusted his pommel forth and slammed it into her skull, sending her into a daze on the floor. Just as he moved to finish Lyrianne, Arthfael moved forwards, moving to burrow the hunting knife into the man’s gut, he grunted and screeched as it burrowed deep and he moved to thrust a fist at Arthfael’s face. Crack! The blood flew, and Arthfael is thrusted back into the wall, as he held his nose. Lyrianne glanced to Arthfael, her terror lost and a look that reassured Arthfael as Raivius drove the blade into her chest screeching profanities.

“To death, vile witch! “ Not a whimper, she was satisfied in her last breath before the life faded from her eyes; Arthfael cried out in anger and broke forth, adrenaline pumping through his system as fire erupted in his veins – without hesitation that look of fiery determination crossed his expression, lighting his gaze as his dagger and fists thrust forwards, lost deep into his anger. Then, he calmed down, finding himself pinning the man to the door, bloodv seeping not only from the holes at his chest but from his mouth – Raivius was dying. Arthfael wasted no time, as his father cried out in pain and the younger man looked to his father, it was too late, Arthfael rose the dagger and thrusted it down hard into his cranium.

“NO! “ The hatred burned in his eyes, as he gazed as his father’s slayer. Arthfael moved to take Raivius’ sword and match his gaze towards Hayvell – his childhood bully. Hayvell pulled a long, dark and slender dagger from its sheath at his hip, and moved forwards furiously, thrusting the misericorde into Aravis’ eye – suddenly, Aravis was limp and thrown away. Hayvell pulled the misericorde and spat at the stunned Arthfael as he ran away.

Recent Events

 * Arthfael has started a relationship with the mother of his child, Arthfael 'Junior' Renderra, Alexis Renderra.
 * Arthfael proposes to Alexis, whom accepts his proposal - they are now engaged to be married.
 * Some time after seceding from the unstable Kingdom of Kandarin, King Arthfael of Paixholm and Queen Alexis have married.

Family

 * Sarah Olivriar - Daughter - Twenty-one
 * Taylor Olivriar - Daughter - Eleven
 * Velos Olivriar - Cousin - Twenty-nine
 * Arthfael 'Junior' Olivriar - Son - Five
 * Alexis 'Lexi' Olivriar - Wife - Twenty-five
 * Anthony Aravis Olivriar - Son - Infant
 * Clara Olivriar - Daughter - Infant

Friends

 * Nolfavrell Reliqua - Friend -  ???

Other

 * Cailee - One-Time Fling/Lost Friend - ???
 * Sophia Duphrane - Ex-Lover - ???

Trivia

 * Arthfael became Zamorakian solely based on his background and his father's allegiance to the God.
 * Arthfael has slain a black dragon, alongside other fighters. As loot, he obtained its head and some of its hide, for armor.