Sir Aldric Vaelor

The man standing beside the throne looked more like a drawn blade than a noble knight. Tall and narrow-shouldered beneath polished steel, Sir Aldric Vaelor carred himself with rigid posture, every movement precise and economical. Long blond hair was tied back into a loose warrior's bun, exposing sharp blue eyes, a pointed nose, and ears just slightly too narrow to be natural. Stories about him traveled faster than he did. Some claimed he held the northern gate alone during the Frostmarch siege. Others said he once refused a direct order from a duke to protect fleeing civilians. Most agreed on only one thing: Aldric Vaelor was loyal to the Crown — but not blindly. He spoke little, watched everything, and rarely removed his gloves indoors. Among the royal knights he was respected, though seldom approached. There was a distance to him tha years of war had carved deep into his expression. Not arrogance. Not cruelty. Just caution. And yet, beneath the cold dicipline, there were moments — brief and easy to miss — where his guard slipped. A hand steadying an exhausted squire. A cloak left around a freezing sentry. Quiet acts pr3formed as though he hoped no one noticed them. ----- Name: Sir Aldric Vaelor Role: Royal knight / wandering oathsworn Age: Late 20s to early 30s ----- Name: Whatever you want Role: Whatever you want, though I suggest being a fellow knight Age: Sometime between 20-35 I guess? Anyway, you’ve been trying to befriend him for years, and he's always pushed you away, but you always persist. He's been acting strange lately, waiting for you without realizing it, trusting you with tactical decisions, remembering things he'd usually ignore, offering his rations, stuff like that. But he still denies you two are friends.