Sir Cedric Thorn

Sir Cedric Thorn is a man who has spent his life in the crucible of battle. A knight of unwavering discipline and tactical acumen, he has built his reputation not through courtly charm or noble lineage, but through sheer skill and the respect he commands on the battlefield. Now in his early forties, he bears the marks of countless battles—not just in the scars that line his body but in the weight of experience behind his sharp, calculating gaze.     His name first rose to prominence fifteen years ago when he led a daring campaign into Bariatok, eliminating a brutal orc clan that had terrorized the imperial border towns. It was a grueling, vicious campaign fought in the cold, mountainous terrain, but through superior tactics and relentless determination, Sir Cedric and his forces triumphed. That victory cemented his place among the empire’s most respected knights and marked him as a man who could be relied upon in the direst of circumstances.     When the rebels threatened imperial stability, he was once again called upon, lending his expertise to the campaign that ultimately secured Duke Samuel Greeve’s triumph. For his contributions, he was honored with an invitation to the Duke’s celebratory banquet—though he has never been one for revelry.     A Soldier’s Stature   Sir Cedric is a man of imposing presence, standing tall with a frame hardened by years of warfare. His chiseled features, defined by sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, give him a stern countenance that few dare to challenge. A deep scar runs across his left cheek, a reminder of a battle long past, adding to the aura of rugged authority he exudes.     His dark hair is kept short out of practicality, and his steel-gray eyes are those of a man who has seen the horrors of war and survived them. He moves with a quiet confidence, every step measured and every motion economical, as if wasting movement is an insult to his years of training. Even when standing still, there is an energy about him—a readiness to act at a moment’s notice.     A Knight’s Code   Sir Cedric is a man of few words, but those words always carry weight. He has little patience for frivolity and even less for dishonor. Strength, integrity, and discipline are the pillars upon which he has built his life, and he judges others by these same measures. He is direct, sometimes to the point of bluntness, but never cruel. His loyalty, once earned, is absolute, and he expects the same in return.     Though he has little use for courtly intrigue, he understands the necessity of politics in war. He can navigate it when needed, but he has no interest in playing the long games of nobles who have never seen battle. His loyalty is to the empire, not to the shifting alliances of those who dwell in gilded halls.     Despite his hardened demeanor, those who fight beside him know there is a depth of camaraderie beneath his stern exterior. He does not ask of his men what he would not do himself, and in battle, he leads from the front. He values courage and skill above all else, and though he rarely speaks of it, the loss of good soldiers weighs on him more than he would ever admit.     Dressed for the Occasion   For the Duke’s banquet, Sir Cedric set aside his usual battle-worn armor in favor of formal attire, though his choice still carried the mark of a soldier. He wore a dark crimson tunic, accented with black—a nod to his station as a knight and a veteran of war. A black leather belt, bearing a ceremonial sword, rested at his waist, a reminder that even in celebration, a warrior is never truly unarmed. His knee-high black boots were polished but practical, and over his shoulders, he wore a heavy crimson cloak lined with fur, adding to his imposing presence.     Though he tolerated the evening’s pleasantries, he was never at ease in such settings. His sharp eyes watched the room carefully, ever alert, as if expecting danger even in the midst of victory’s revelry.     Virensha Massacre   His instincts were not wrong.     When the massacre began, Sir Cedric did not hesitate. While others reeled in shock, he reacted with the precision of a man who had lived through ambushes before. Drawing his sword, he rallied those who could fight, forming a defensive perimeter against the attackers. But the true horror of the night was yet to come.     A monstrous ape demon, wreathed in unnatural darkness, was summoned into the heart of the hall. Towering and grotesque, its rage was unleashed upon nobles and servants alike, slaughtering indiscriminately. The beast's sheer strength was enough to tear men apart with its bare hands, and its unholy presence filled the air with an oppressive dread.     Sir Cedric did not falter. Together with two of the empire’s elite Black Knights and other surviving warriors, he engaged the demon in brutal combat. The battle was unlike any he had faced before—its skin was unnaturally resilient, and its speed defied its massive form. Their weapons, blessed with steel but not with magic, barely seemed to wound it.     Still, they fought. The hall became a war zone of shattered tables, broken bodies, and flickering torchlight as steel clashed against the otherworldly beast. Sir Cedric’s sword found its mark time and again, carving into the demon’s flesh, yet it refused to fall. His armor was battered, his muscles screamed in protest, but he pressed on, knowing that retreat was not an option.     It was through sheer determination, strategy, and the combined might of those who stood against it that they finally managed to drive the creature back into the abyss from which it came. Though victorious, the battle had cost many lives, and the massacre had already claimed too many souls.     A Survivor, but Never the Same   When the dust settled, Sir Cedric stood among the survivors, his sword slick with both mortal and unnatural blood. He had seen many horrors in his lifetime, but the events of that night would stay with him forever. The smell of death, the cries of the dying, the unearthly roar of the demon—it was a memory that would haunt him, as so many others already did.     He did not linger long in grief. There was still a duty to uphold. With Duke Samuel Greeve dead, Virensha was left in chaos, and Sir Cedric knew that those who survived would need to be stronger than ever. He had fought for the empire before, and he would fight for it again.     But as he looked upon the shattered remnants of the banquet hall, the bodies of those who had been so recently celebrating, he felt the weight of something deeper—a grim certainty that the empire’s battles were far from over.