| Sir Malekai Ebonblade - Lord Nemesite |
| Born in the year 1085 AF on the continent of Albion, Malekai was fortunate enough to have a relatively uneventful childhood. His father was an incantor of Astalon, well liked by the local farming community for his fair judgements. He never had a chance to know his mother, she died the following winter having suffered from ill health since the birth. His father fulfilled both roles, trying to raise him as he knew his wife would have wanted. Malekai grew in the righteous shadow of his father, tending to the sick and aiding the needy, but part of him longed for adventure beyond the doing the Ancestor's work. So, at the tender age of 14, he joined the ranks of the Legion Primus as a squire. His father was grudging to let him go but his son's happiness had always come first so he released him to the Legion but not before imparting a gift. Within the cloth bundle his father handed him was a carefully kept bastard sword that his father explained was a family heirloom, traced back almost as far as the dark days, the Ebonblade. Respectfully acepting the blade, though he had no idea how to wield it, he set off with the Legion. Months of travel by ship passed, he began to learn how to fight as a man. Eventually, the boats arrived on the desolate lands of Nak'Tar where the Legion had been despatched to protect the priests as they attempted to convert the barbaric peoples who dwelt there. The attacks began on the same night, the ships were burnt by figures that moved like shadows, stranding the Legion. The warriors lost few that terrible night, marching through the abyssal darkness seeking defense from the apparent bandits. Each time they paused to rest, the attackers fell on them slaughtering many before fading away. After days and nights of solid marching, the remaining survivors made their way to the isolated village of Arrakeen. The Arrakeen warned them off, tried to make them leave but the Legion stood their ground and eventually the village relented. That night, the tables turned. As the shadows descended onto the village, the Legion held them off till the sun rose and the enemy retreated. They learnt the following morning that the strangers were Amroth Drow, a noble house, who owned the Arrakeen and took them in the night for slaves and other ...purposes. So it continued, night after night, the Legion growing smaller and smaller through murder, war and disease till less than a dozen remained. Nearly two years had passed and Malekai was now a man, hardened by conflict and forged by hate of the 'Drow' who had besieged them. A decision was reached amongst the soldiers, they could not hold off the Drow forever, so they would escape to the coast and attempt to steal one of the creature's boats. Slipping out of the village was the easy part, the slaves creating a distraction so that the warriors could escape. They ran across the desert, few falling to thirst and fatigue before they reached the sea, but the Drow had tracked them across the arid waste and beset them as they reached their goal. A last desperate fight broke out, Malekai and the others slew many before they were beaten into submission. As he was bound and beaten, he saw a few of the survivors disappearing onto the docked Drow craft,and was content that his sacrifice was not in vain. That was the last time he saw daylight for almost 3 years. He was taken to the city of Amroth where he was subjected to the worst tortures the foul creatures had to offer. He was beaten and whipped almost constantly, forced to serve them in their dark citadels. His skin paled from lack of sustenance, an effect which remains with him to this day. He made an ill-advised escape attempt after the first few months, throttling the guard with his chains and then making a run for it. He was run down by the grotesque driders and returned for suitable punishment, which happened to be having the skin flayed from his right hand, the hand he used to slay his captor. The process was drawn out and agonising, sufficient enough to push whatever was left of reason from his mind. Henceforth, he spent his sentence in the depths of Amroth, roaring in pain and rage as he roamed the catacombs alone. They imprisoned him in the myriad depths of the land, home to only the foulest monsters and most unfortunate prisoners. He lost count of the months he spent in that foul pit, wading through putresence and deformed beasts, surviving on their flesh. They had jokingly provided him with the Ebonblade, whilst chaining his hands so that he could not wield it. But hate drove him onwards, forging through the darkness until, after a year of searching, he found a way out. One night, his fevered dreams showed a passage crafted from water, held aloft by a vast crimson palm. He awoke and thought nothing of it until he came across his salvation. An ancient cataclysm had collapsed a part of the prison into the sea, creating a sunken exit for those desperate enough to use it. He swam till his lungs almost burst until he reached the other side into glorious daylight, he was free. He hid on the coast for three days until a Drow raiding craft came past, crewed only by two Drow. He stole aboard and slew them both, claiming the vessel for his own and sailing back to his home. |
 |
 |
 |
| Recieved a knighthood for conduct above and beyond duty, following events at the Heartland Games |
| Disappeared to Erin after the Gathering of Nations 2004. Contact with the Lord Nemesite shows him to be apathetic to his duties (at best). The Order are now calling for a replacement leader. |