Lord Rowan Greenmarch
Forefathers, stand at my back. Grant me the strength of ages. Fire, burn in my gut and keep me hungry. Wind, carry fear far from me. Earth, be steady beneath my feet. Rain...Rain, wash the blood from my hands when I am through.
Description: Hard to miss, that's what Rowan is. It's not his height or lean cut build - in an era of warriors and hard labor that is common enough. It's the primal energy about him, like he'd been wrought from weathered stone and brought to life on the breath of the Green Wood, and carried the elements in his blood. His head is shorn down the sides, and what remains is left long to a perpetually wind-blown and sun-bleached state. His beard grows like a thicket on the hard lines of his face. Shades of green and gold like canopy filtered forest light fill his lively eyes. Earth and salt scent his skin, while the stories of his years are inked onto it from throat to fingertips.
Personality: Every man has a code, whether they are aware of it or not; the things they weigh their choices by and how they justify their actions. Some hinge on honor, some on personal gain. Rowan's code is that of the Natural Order. Between morality and conscience, he is a man who rarely seems troubled, and when he is, it does not last for long. He is much like the wilds, rough around the edges, unexpected changes in terrain, with much to be found and foraged. His temperament can be unpredictable, a mirror of the weather, as capable of calm tranquility as it is raging violence. For all it is hoped he will one day be a wise old shaman, he hasn't yet become as sagacious as his family would no doubt like.
Background: Rowan was born under a caul, and it was taken by his parents as a sign that he was a child of the spirits. When he was five years of age, he was taken to an old crone living in the thick of the forest to be taught the ways of his fated path. He proved an apt student and quick study, eager to conquer the sometimes brutal trials and tests she put in his way.
Growing up, his time was spent between his family's home and the crone's grove, setting him up early to move between the two worlds. However, the older he got, the more he found he prefered the untamed wilds and by the time he was a young man he only turned up to see his family once or twice a month. Somehow, he was never hard to find. His family and their people found that simply by walking out into the woods, he would find his way to them when he was needed or sought. He would always be a Greenmarch.
Not long after that, Greenmarch bent the knee, and came into the fold with the Compact. Rowan might have stayed in the wood forever if not for that. Bending the knee has never sat right with him. It drew him back to civilization, to try and bolster the old traditions and ensure that they are not lost to the influence of the Compact. The irony that this personal mission has brought him to the heart of civilization in Arvum is not lost on him.