|Relatives||Synamon, Arkarm Crime Family|
You see Ice Road Baron Uthgaar Arkarm, a Dwarf. He has a square-jawed face and black eyes. His grey hair is short and thick, and is worn arranged in a mohawk. He has tanned skin and a burly build. He is very tall for a Dwarf. He appears to be an adult. He has a thick bushy mustache that droops heavily on his upper lip and a long beard twisted into two braids.
He is wearing a polished steel helm circled by a crown of blackened moonsilver, a glossy lapis lazuli earring inset with a cabochon-cut sapphire, a dull serpent earcuff, an austere grey cassock clasped at the shoulder with a Hounds of Rutilor pin, a round golden bag shaped like a crisp waffle, a white canvas satchel stamped with bold red block letters, a steel-tipped cured leather backsheath tooled with the visage of a roaring lion, a supple leather rucksack tooled with a faded crest, some darkstone elbow spikes, a triple-reinforced vardite pavise shield, some darkstone spiked knuckles, some polished steel gauntlets inlaid with blackened moonsilver, an onyx ring, an albredine crystal ring, a braided platinum wedding band cradling a pair of brilliant carved emeralds, a lead ring inlaid with topazes in the pattern of a temple, an Elven silver hip-chain inset at the center with an iheaneu'a runestone, a scarred leather weapons belt with a dragonwood buckle, some steel-toed marching boots and a parry stick.
A Meeting of Great Helms
The sounds of clanging armor and scraping chairs fill the room, as somber looking paladins file in and take their seats around a heavy oak table laden with platters of pastries and steins of mead. The men and women shift uncomfortably in their seats as they gaze at one another, waiting from some one to begin.
“You all know why we are here, I suppose we should just get to it.” With a look of grim determination, a man stands and addresses his fellow guild members. “It is becoming a problem, and gives us all a bad name. Now, he has taken on a squire. Something must be done.”
“You would have him removed from the guild for forgetting to cover his mouth when he coughed,” a striking woman, dressed an elegant gown, begins. “Perhaps you are not the one to lead this meeting.”
“And you are? Where is your armor? You are barely a paladin.”
Laughing, the woman shakes her head and smoothes the bodice of her gown. “Armor does not make the paladin, heart does. You will never learn that lesson, which is another reason for someone else to lead.”
“I will do it.” A human man rises from his seat and makes his way to the front of the room. “We are not here to remove anyone, anyway. I thought this was about putting together a report for the Guildleaders.”
“So they can remove him,” mutters the grim faced man as he settles himself back into his seat.
Shaking his head, Samsaren gazes at his fellow paladins. “From what I understand, we are here simply to discuss and create a report for the guild leaders regarding the activities of Uthgaar Arkarm. We are not here to pass judgement.”
A general murmur of agreement rises up from the gathered men and women.
A dwarven paladin stands and walks to the front of the room. “Uthgaar is my brother, by blood. I am Ianuilleam MacUlrik, our father was Uilleam MacUlrik, son of Ulric MacUlrik. We have a brother Gorkhan, who is lazy, and our father adopted an orphaned Kaldaran boy name Raagnar. Uilleam was a paladin in the baron of Therengia’s army, and fought bravely in the Outcast War.
“It was the dirty, baby eating Outcasts that sent our father to walk the Starry Road.” Squinting at the Therengian paladins, Ianuilleam pauses for a moment before continuing, “Then, it was the Baron’s betrayal of our father’s memory by marrying that Outcast woman that sent our family out of Therengia.
“Uthgaar married Synamon in a bank in Ratha at the point of my axe, and they have journeyed on together from there.” Glancing toward the door, the dwarf begins to walk out of the room before turning back to face the others. “Many of my clan have chosen a life of solitude, away from the hypocrisy that is Elanthia. My brother no longer carries my family’s name, but I am not ashamed of him.
“My wife calls me home now.” Nodding politely, the stoic dwarf walks out the door, without a second glance.
Fidgeting with his helm, an older man stands and adjusts his armor. “I knew Uthgaar as a member of the Iron Circle and then the Apostles. He always seemed to be there because of that Elf woman, but, he would join in any fight and stood his ground with the best of them.”
As the man sits back down, Kattena rises to her feet to address the group, “I was asked to speak to his history in Shard. He had been part of the militia and fought bravely for Her Grace. He has also been part of the Inquisition under Ventuul, with Liurilias and Sendithu. He stood fast against necromancy and served the province well. Changes in the militia pushed him away, and while he still defended the city, he seemed to grow tired of the politics. His wife served as Ambassador for a time, and was constantly under assault, he saw the darker side of politics and it did not sit well with him.”
The muffled sound of raised voices drift through the door as Kattena settles herself back into her seat. Glancing towards the door she stifles a laugh as she recognizes one of the voices. “This is going to get interesting,” she murmurs as she watches her fellow paladins shift uncomfortably in their seats.
Apparently oblivious to the ruckus, a young man calls out from the back of the room, “Does anyone know how he got involved in the Arkarms?”
Shifting from one foot to the other, Samsaren shakes his head as the noise in the hall seems to die down. “He sort of befriended the necrolord Zerreck, working with him on redemption…”
Suddenly the door bursts open and an elven woman crashes into the room, landing in a sprawling heap at Samaren’s feet. Blushing furiously, she jumps up and runs to the door, pushing it closed and fastening the lock.
“They don’t stay asleep very long, do they,” she asks breathlessly leaning against the door. The sound of fists pounding against the door fills the room as she breaks into a fit of giggles.
“Sammy, please tell them to stop it. Like I can hurt a room full of you guys,” she says with a grin as she motions to the armor and weapon heavy paladins
Laughing, Samarsen walks over to the door and shouts, “It is fine, we can handle the empath.”
The noise subsides as Synamon turns to face the room, her grin fading as she takes in the faces of the gathered men and women. “I heard you were all gathering to discuss my husband, it seems only fair that I get to speak on his behalf as well.”
Glaring at the tiny elf, the Therengian paladins rise to their feet in protest. Each with a hand on their weapon and a scowl on their face.
“There is not going to be any violence,” Samsaren states gazing at the men and women branded with the Baron’s insignia.
“We are not even supposed to be in the same room as her!” One of the men shouts, looking to his companions for support.
“We aren’t, and she is dangerous,” says another, his voice trailing off as he looks at the young woman. Shaking his head, he almost laughs as he realizes the ridiculousness of his statement.
Waggling her fingers at the glaring group, Synamon gives a little smirk as she rolls her eyes. Several of the men and women stomp to the door, being careful to give her a wide berth, while the rest, still looking slightly out of sorts, settle back into their seats.
“This is a paladin meeting, and you are not a paladin,” a grumpy voice rings out from somewhere beneath a heavy helm.
“I am not,” Synamon says, nodding in agreement. “However, you came here to discuss my husband and his history and present, and who better to do that, than me?”
“I was just pointing it out, you can say whatever you want,” the man mutters grumpily, raising the visor on his helm slightly.
A slow grin creeps across the elven womans face as she meets the eyes of the man under the helm. “Thank you.”
“Does anyone else have an issue with Synamon speaking on her husband’s behalf,” Samsaren asks as he looks over the group.
Moments pass as the paladins whisper to each other, until finally, an exasperated Kattena speaks, “Syn, it is fine, go ahead.”
“Thank you,” Synamon responds, flashing a quick smile. “You probably want to know how he became an Arkarm, right?
“Not everything is simple. Uthgaar has fought in many battles in support of every province in Elanthia. His blood has been shed for all of you, with all of you, more times that I care to count.” Shuddering at some not so distant memory, she continues, “He has been accused of bringing trouble, for fighting the fight some of you refused to join in. He has been slandered and called dishonorable, when he has simply stood for the ideals of your guild.”
A snort of disgust is heard from the corner, and, in the blink of an eye, the visored paladin flies across the table, and strikes the offensive noise maker in the throat. “Respect,” he says grumpily, as he settles himself back into his seat.
Covering her mouth with her hand, Synamon tries to hide a smile as she waits for the room to settle back down before she continues. “My husband began working with Zerreck Arkarm, at first to garner knowledge about necromancy, but they quickly found a mutual respect. You all want to see things as either right or wrong, but there is truly much more to it than that. Necromancy is evil, but Zerreck, is not. His story is his own to tell, but I can honestly say, his heart is good, not pure, but good.
“Uthgaar saw that in him, he looked beyond the deeds and at the person. He became friends with the family, and we found home with them. All of them. Missing the good in a crime family is no surprise, but you all want to sit in judgement of people that are frankly better than most of you, because they are all honest about who they are. Can you say that?”
Closing her eyes for a moment, Synamon gathers her thoughts. “You all gathered here to talk about the things he has done wrong, joining the family, being part of the assassination of some defunct militia guy that many of you did not even bother to defend, those things are his crimes. Standing up and fighting, when you all would rather sit and complain.”
“Not you, Sammy,” she says with a grin at Samsaren’s heavy sigh . Glancing at the plate clad men and women, now sitting in silence, she begins to say more, but shakes her head instead. Walking over to the table she smooches Kattena gently on the cheek with a grin, “Or you.”
Removing his visored helm, Zamn Arkarm rises from his seat, chuckling at the surprised looks on the faces of the paladins around him. “Good job, Syn,” he says grumpily as the Therengians rise, weapons in hand.
“Guards! You let an Ark…”
“Old man,” interrupts Samsaren with a chuckle, shaking his head as the guards charge into the room.
“He’s a criminal!”
The paladins all begin to clamber to their feet, some grabbing weapons, others laughing at the commotion around them.
“They are all on my lawn again,” Zamn mutters grumpily as the guards charge towards him. Ducking behind the nearest paladin he blends into the group and slips through the advancing guards grabbing Synamon around the waist.
“Come on then,” he mutters dragging her toward the exit as she breaks into a fit of giggles, stopping just short when she points at something on the table. Leaving her near the door, he slips back between the flustered guards as they spin and stumble trying to track his movements, stopping only to grab a cupcake from the platter on the table. Chuckling to himself, he maneuvers his way back to Synamon and deposits the pastry in her hand. Pulling her out the door, he slams it in faces of the flustered guards, the sound of laughter trailing as they make their escape.
Portrait of a Paladin By: Crayzeke Arkarm
Tin Can Shield Slam: Uthgaar Arkarm
Page brought to you by the player of Synamon who is completely unbiased in her belief that Uthgaar is the greatest paladin ever typed.