Reft

Played by Jess in the Affairs of State campaign, Reft Taliborn is an old soldier and leader who has lost his faith in almost everything. At 6'1" he's an echo of the leader of men and skilled strategist he once was. 59 years of age and 20lbs overweight, his scarred countenance reflects the gloom weighing upon his soul. Reft is now often found sleeping late or drinking until the sun rises.

History

He's battle-hardened and has lost his faith for some reason. Probably crippled and/or blind in one eye, cranky, scarred and ugly. He has turned to drink to fill the void left by his god. However, this dour fellow is still held in high regard by many as his "tour of duty" was extensive. Some of that respect has likely started to turn to pity. He'll have a boat-load of contacts and allies. Probably a few enemies. That's someone that has been floating around in my head for a while. Do you think he'll fit?

When he was younger Reft sought the great sword of Nuada. He believed that through faith to Nuada he was granted great luck and success because he lived as he believed the ancient god would have wanted. He became a skilled hunter in times of peace and warrior, leader and champion in times of war.

He led men into battle not only physically, by being on the front lines and battering down his foes, but mentally and spiritually as well. He would prepare them for upcoming bloodshed by chatting in small groups with them around camp fires, or individually as they took watch throughout the night, as well as on horseback moments before charging them into soaring arrows and slashing blades.

He was a skilled strategist and leader. He would get to know his troops well enough that they would trust him and such that many would trust his faith in this Nuada, so that they might adopt it. Perhaps he was a priest or a cleric, but he wore no visible vestments other than the silver hand of Nuada on his shield. He was never ordained by the grand poombah of any cloister, church or temple. Reft just did what he felt was right in the eyes of a higher power he used to believe aided him and balanced the evils in the world.

That was before. That was over a quarter century ago. That was before he was pulled from his current engagement, assisting the King of Drannor’s own army against invaders from the eastern sea. Reft had been appointed as the head of a battalion from St. Cuthbert sent to aid the army of Drannor. The invaders were striking inland somewhere south of Farscape and were rumored to be led by a blue dragon. Reft barely had the opportunity to see any of this invading force in their strange blue armor before being called home upon urgent business.

Reft was summoned because his fiance, Saleem, had taken ill some time after he rode to Nottingham to join the King’s men. The duke respected Reft enough to send him word, despite his being days away. Reft invigorated his men, left them in the care of the king’s general and asked Nuada to help them all through their trials. Reft made a hasty return to find his fiance locked in a room in the Dukes manor, sought to by priests and healers. Her clammy pale flesh was not of the supple glowing woman he left only a few weeks prior. She did not speak much, and when she did it was mostly incoherent babble. She had to be restrained or she would claw at the eyes of her care-takers and try to bite them. Some said she was possessed. Reft, did what he could from her bed-side for over two weeks. He was never one to pray, but throughout his life he did what he thought Nuada would smile upon him for. This he did not understand. There was no beast to be smitten. No nefarious captain to be talked down. Feeling at his wits end and powerless, Reft prayed to Nuada. He had priests advise him on doing so and on making donations to their churches so they could aid his prayers.

Spirit broken and fatigued beyond sense, Reft sat beside Saleem’s in the smothering darkness of a moonless night, counting his last few coins by candle-light and fretting that they wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the priests and continue the prayers. Slowly, the light of realization lit a glowing ember inside of Reft. As he thought of all of his wealth being squandered on unanswered prayers to save Saleem, the ember lit into a flame. As he realized his own health had been sacrificed in his struggle to reach his fiance through whatever rift of conscious and intelligent thought separated them, the flame grew ablaze. His last few coins clattered against the far wall as his rage overtook him. What good was it all? He roared at Nuada and all gods men thought holy. Where were they now? Not saving his beloved Saleem. He challenged them, screaming in to the night from the balcony outside Saleem’s room.

Having yelled himself hoarse, he turned to stagger back inside and resume his post upon the chair beside his fiance’s bed, when his dreary dripping eyes brought him an image he could not make sense of in his fatigued state. It seemed Saleem had broken her bonds. Her lithe frame and taught skin now stood in the balcony aperture staring at Reft with eyes not full of love, but hunger. Reft was dumb-stricken when she attacked. Her bony hands went for his face, one struck home down his forehead and across his right eye and cheek as he fell over his own feet beneath her. Her teeth were tearing at his neck as he threw her waif-like body from him clear back into the room. He crawled in after her, blood pouring from his face. He apologized and said the gods must have heard and granted his prayers, she must have been healed. In her haste to embrace him in the darkness, she scratched him. He understood. She’s been sick a long while and the power of the gods is great. His blubbering was interrupted as she again latched onto him like a rabid animal, from behind she clawed at his head and biting at his neck, taking the better part of his left ear in the struggle. Instinct took over as Reft’s mind reeled. His body reacted as it had in so many desperate battles before. He rolled his back into the wall, momentarily crushing and pinning the she-devil on his back. He reached out and grasped the chair he’d spent so many hours day and night upon recently. As what was his fiance again lashed at him, holding two legs of the chair, he swung it over his head, like a hammer into her head and shoulder. She did not fall, but staggered back as he rose to his feet holding the splintered chair in his hands. Straining to see through the blood and tears in the flickering candle-light, Reft saw again the insatiable hunger in the eyes behind his fiance’s crushed dead face as her body was again launched at him. Again the chair met her before she reached him. The splintered wood connected with her chest where wood and bone cracked and splintered, gown and flesh were rent. The hunger left Saleem’s eyes. Reft swears her torn, thin lips grew supple again and her face smiled and thanked him before he too collapsed.

Reft took to heavy drinking after the funeral. When he had spent what little wealth he’d had and burnt out many favors and all charity he worked occasionally as a mercenary. Never again did he lead men for the Duke and it was only a short time before the Duke stopped asking. Reft had lost his faith. He had lost his self-respect.

Many still honor who he once was. Many still treat him well, whether it is respect or pity is sometimes hard to tell.