Noah Mourningblade

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"I'm used to betrayal... vengeance... death... hate... murder. All of it's insignificant in the end. You. Me. This world. All of it."

Not all monsters are born. Some are made, and none are more tragic than a fallen paladin.

Noah was once a proud member of the Rune-Midgardian Chivalry, destined to bring pride to his family. A paladin... that's what he once was, and he wielded his blade for the security of others. He had everything, a loving girlfriend, a small band of followers and even a small keep that he and his friends pooled money to pay for. Then, the night that he planned to propose, Lenore, his girlfriend revealed that she was leaving him to become a priestess, he never proposed. Upon returning to the keep he discovered that a fire had broken out due to a poor cleanup job in the kitchen, his friends died in that fire. When he believed things could not get worse, he lost his sponsorship and they went as far as making him turn in the armor he received as a gift for his paladinship. Whispers were abound that he was cursed, and he left his home.

Blackness. He turned his back on the light of the gods and began to consort with evil spirits to gain power, becoming a quintessential black knight clad in armor as dark as the shadows that surrounded him, his skin taking on an alabaster hue and his eyes glowing with a ghostly blue light. Despite consorting with these creatures, he himself merely fought other blackguards to dull his pain, murdering them to eliminate greater evils than himself. This was nothing but vengeance, turning him into the very monster he dedicated himself to destroying. It was lost... his cause... his home... his family...

But not his hope...

Not yet...

Physical Description
The lightly armored figure moves with an unholy grace and confidence. Fiery blue eyes glare out from the depths of a tortured corpse with pale alabaster skin well-kept against the ravages of time. His hair is long and black as the shadows starkly contrasting his skin tone and seeming to ripple and slightly waver even with no wind. He wears a black shawl and surcoat of a long forgotten chivalry as well as a noble house long since collapsed to ruin. He carries a long, thin blade of onyx with unholy runes carved into them symbolizing power and endurance glowing with the same blue light as his eyes. His voice carries an echo of the netherworld, leaving a disturbing echo, in places where the damned reign supreme-such as a necropolis-the echoes continue, giving him a disconcerting effect as his voice carries long after his mouth has stopped moving.

Personality
The Mourning Blade is the reason that even the dead have learned to fear Hel. The former Paladin, once dedicated to aiding the wounded, has turned his back on the light of dawn to a more devious end—torturing a captured subject without allowing the prisoner the luxury of death via the means of necromancy. For this reason, he is feared by his own people (the undead with thought processes) as much as the necromancers he hunts. In spite of his title, as the Hand of Hel, he does not always eliminate enemies simply to fulfill his duty — he quite enjoys watching the spirits fly from the undead he releases, and that quality makes him dangerous in combat.

The Mourning Blade is an austere and driven soldier. He simultaneously fears and despises arcane necromancy (divine Necromancy such as the undead created by evil priests and Blackguards have an allegedly different aura and prescence to him), and shows his apathy (and sometimes antipathy) openly to its users. He is aloof and often enveloped with his latest assignment. He does not particularly care for the company of others, refusing to let interpersonal relationships interfere with his job. Moving with a fluid, deadly grace belying his state as a husk. His voice is silk-covered cold iron: cold; his only warmth comes from the burning hatred when he thinks of the undead's release and his past sins, his is an achingly lonely existence.

Thoughts on Others
This section is reserved for Noah's thoughts on the people he comes in contact with.

Abilities and Traits
A twisted reflection of what he once was, Noah's weapon of choice is a black thin-blade aptly nicknamed Mourning Blade, for the way it's devoured his essence with every kill he's made with it. The blade has a cobalt core with an onyx overlay, the onyx is etched with runes allowing the cobalt to 'bleed through' and glow due to its enchantments to make the blade sturdy, and after combat the blade is said to drip water, as if in mourning (in reality, the weapon is dripping blood but the reddish black blade is indistinguishable), hence Mourning Blade but due to His armor is ironically the same sanctified splint vambraces and greaves he wore as a Paladin, long since since desecrated as his armor faced the same corruption he did. He's comparatively agile and fragile for most Paladins, but mentally and emotionally honed.

Undying: Bearing in mind Noah is an advanced form of the typical zombie, necrosis has stalled to a near halt and shows semblances of life physically (being able to force breathing) as well as having free will. He is for all intents and purposes undead, however, though quicker than a normal zombie he's still lightly armored and thus capable of movement akin to a human with slightly slower reflexes. He's capable of running, but not sprinting, he has the mental capacity to continue moving while engaged in combat and through sheer force of will can avoid breaking off combat to feed on flesh. While he has no real physiology (he has no functional digestive tract) he still has to feed, though he does know his limits and induces vomiting to purge the undigested matter up. Unlike most zombies, he can be beaten to death as well as incapacitated, since instabilities in his link to his body can cause him to fall out of it. Positive energy harms him, negative energy hurts him. He's dabbled in divine necromancy's power over undeath enough to keep his body stable, but this cure is only temporary, as every day the repairs drain him more and more.

The Fallen: For all intents and purposes, Noah's abilities are treated as negative energy.

Childhood
I am the Mourning Blade, the eternal understudy. Second of thirteen, preceded only by my twin, I am denied the right to be called a force to be reckoned with. I was not always this way. My brother was spoiled, given formal swordplay lessons while I simply wanted little more than to play games with the local children. I began to realize it was I who was spoiled, a chance to actually experience childhood, innocence. Love. I got my first taste of swordplay one day when I'd been challenged to a duel for Lenore's heart at sixteen. The other one challenging me had weight, but I had agility. I managed to outmaneuver him and poke him to break enough skin to slow him down. The duel was settled without any mortal cost on either side. For this, I earned the first sword I owned as a gift from my elder brother, his paladinhood gift.

My father, impressed my my resolve had me enlisted in the chivalry, and I rose quickly with a makeshift sword technique that my partners could not anticipate. I lost fights, but won more, until I forgot my place. I grew complacent, my technique refined with each battle, and then I dueled my instructor. I was quick, but she had a superior reach due to her weapon. After an hour of fighting with neither fighter refusing to go down, the clerics on standby declared it a draw and patched us up. Anara, my instructor admitted me her equal and granted me a chance to prove my worth as a Paladin.

Adulthood
I did not choose this path, Hel picked this path for me long ago. I was a tool to my father, a member of the chivalry and a valued military asset because of my specialization with the light granted to me by Odin to bring me to my destiny. My father used me, and through me the bloodline. I had everything, the adoration of the people, a small keep on the borders, and a cherished friend who I loved deeply. When I was twenty, she left me to join the church as a priestess, I couldn't propose as planned and I decided to just be friends. Life returned as normal and my father went on a mission to quell an Orc uprising with my brother, leaving me as acting patriarch of the house. Everything went according to plan until I discovered that a human blackguard had stirred up the Orcs. I moved immediately on horseback and cleaved my way to my father.

The place was a slaughter, the small force I'd faced was nothing compared to the horde they faced. Wounded, I dragged myself among the corpses hoping that I would not find my father... but hope was not with me this day, as I'd seen his nearly dead body. My faith shook, and I could not muster the power to heal him as he gasped for air, trying frantically to tell me something. It broke my heart that for the longest time I still will never know what he was trying to tell me. I looked up, my eyes burning before I saw a shape, a knight of darkness. I rushed at him, but he disappeared.

The Fall From Grace
I returned home to find my twin brother gone looking for me, my sisters and brothers dead and my mother slain, that knight was there clutching my mother. I fought him with everything I had, and it proved insufficient. My battlegear had failed me for the first time, now fighting without my powers. I had lost. This battle. My home... all hope. But for some reason... I was spared.

I gave chase with all I had, the wounds warped my flesh. I thought for a moment, where would a Blackguard go? I immediately realized he would despoil the church. I dragged myself there, footsteps marked with blood. The Templars there were slain, but I saw that their blades were bloodied... he was wounded. Summoning what was left of my strength, I kicked the doors open and faced off with the Blackguard. "Touching. Their souls are mine now." His haunting voice sounded like it came from beyond, as he cradled the dead body of Lenore, only then did I realize why she left me... this man was her kindred. She wanted to save him, and in turn he killed her. I turned my sword on him, he destroyed my blade rather easily, shards of silver burying themselves in my chest. I immediately punched him in the throat, causing him to drop his weapon, which landed flat against my foot. I kicked it into the air and grabbed it, running him through. I felt a surge of dark energy tear through me, and I could see my own twisted reflection in the black blade.

Death and Undeath
The blood around me washed away in the area directly around me, reminiscent of a broken summoning circle. I heard voices from the sword... my beloved kin. Their souls were lost... or were they? Without thinking I spun the blade around and ran myself through, my blood completing the circle. My soul was lost. I was lost. To the light... to this world... to everything. I had precious seconds of consciousness left, that crucial time was spent with the ground rushing up at me.

I will admit... my story is sympathetic on the surface but it ends all sympathetic glances there. When Glast Heim fell, my blade's power was disrupted which caused me to forcefully possess my fresh body, after that incident, I'd devoured the other sentience in the blade. Like many undead, I held onto a hatred for those who had damned me, be it a necromancer or Loki. I wanted only to be free from control of masters, and went on to free many other necromantic slaves.

I don't remember fully breaking free. I don't remember much of anything. For the last... I don't know how long... I've traveled, freeing the undead servants of necromancers, freeing others like me from control, or this world. For lifetimes I have acted as a liberator of the lost and damned and a spectral avatar of vengeance, helping out those who were tragically wronged with the elimination of their offenders. I am already damned, what's another stain on my corrupted soul?

Quotes
Even in death, Noah has been a visionary and passionate demagogue. A few things he has said.

"May I rise to the occasion and leave only ashes and misery in my destructive wake..." - As a living Blackguard

"When I clawed my way out of the wreckage of the cathedral, eyes ablaze with a sinister blue light, I thought what was left of my family would welcome me home, but my twin brother instead attempted to kill me, screaming prayers and other ritualistic words at me in a language I could no longer understand." - Recollection of his 'rebirth.'

"Evil? Death is just like mercy. Mercy is feeding a starving prisoner, mercy is taking in an orphan who cannot fend for themselves. Mercy is delivering quick death to the dying and suffering... there are two sides to every story. I pray that one day you can read both."

Trivia

 * Apparently, Noah's eyes were green when he was still alive, evidenced by his body when left alone. Oddly, he actively has to give off the glow in bodies that aren't dead.


 * Noah cannot fully remember the details of his life, but does remember crucial moments, unfortunately because of how badly he snapped he tends to go into trance and recite what's on his mind if thinking too hard on it. He has a eidetic and synesthetic memory.


 * In life Noah was right handed, in death, left handed. This is both a nod to Lawful characters being "Even-Handed" and another nod to left handed being a bringer of natural evil.


 * Noah was heavily inspired by Warcraft's Second Generation Death Knights, breaking free of his master was a nod to Shale of Dragon Age: Origins,