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| - Born: 559 ATA Spouse: None Children: None legitimately recorded Occupation: Lifelong servitude to Mikin family holdings, namely the secret Order of the Flame’s ancestral keep, the ancient castle of Sheltered Flame. He has resided at and kept up the Sheltered Flame keep for the past forty years. A ruddy old man, skin and eyes weathered by time and countless brawls with man and beast alike. He is toothless. It's evident that he was once tall in his younger years and despite his age, much of the muscle tone remains in tact as he is very lean and sinewy. The joints and bones, however, are beginning to bend to the will of time and he suffers from mild arthritis – more severe during the colder seasons. He possesses a grizzled beard – mostly stubble now with some straggling, longer hairs, but a full head of hair on his head – gray in color – coarsely cut off just above his shoulders and typically bound in a leather band. Armond generally wears bits and pieces of older armor – mainly leather – with his clothes, and keeps his head held tall with pride of his personal service. It’s not unusual to see him accompanied by a spear or other piece of weaponry in his hand without apparent reason. They are a common accessory. Contrary to what his surname may suggest, Armond – and the line of fathers before him – were a sturdy batch of lads. Each had served the Mikin family in some shape or form throughout their various territories. Armond was born and raised in Light’s Reach and frequently tasked himself with catching game for the noble family and patrolling their wood for signs of poaching and trespassing. Once in his late twenties, Armond’s service was focused on the ancestral Sheltered Flame Keep and the upkeep thereof. Armond has been a lifelong bachelor, wooing women of all ages but never “buying the cow” so to speak. At one point in time, a rumor existed that nearly ended his dedicated career within Mikin lands. Word spread about the taverns and eventually towards higher ears that he had seduced – or been seduced by – the slightly older woman and then recently widowed, Athara Mikin – Rowena’s great-Aunt. There’s not much to substantiate that claim, however, besides the long-ago gossip that spread the rumor. Athara and Armond would likewise deny it furiously with perhaps too-equal a fiery sense of urgency in their voice. When the plight of the Ravager sent Light’s Reach and much of the surrounding Mikin Wood into flames, Armond’s heart did not sway in its steadfastness. He remained bravely within the edifice, surviving on stored grains and remains of his latest kills and keeping a sharp eye over the few bodies that stayed with him. The shadowed flames licked closely to the once-secret castle, devouring most of the precious foliage that had kept it well-hidden in the past. When the ashes had cooled, the tedious old man put his boots back on and set to work on cleaning up the grounds as though a mere storm had passed through. Quite a few weeks passed before the Lady of the Flame, Rowena Mikin, could return to the condemned Light’s Reach – or what remained of it. The Duchess had ridden frantically to Sheltered Flame, expecting to see it, too, in ruin. Her discovery of not only a sound building but a sound soul guarding it furiously against wandering scavengers of men warmed her heart in ways untold. Armond was honored greatly by the remnants of the Order of the Flame and was officially dubbed as “head” of its scant household staff. A fine wine cask from the keep’s cellar was then handed (or rolled) into his hands as a gift – one the man enjoyed quite thoroughly. Armond is feisty, always has been. His vigorous spirit of twenty years is still yet very alive in his elderly frame today. Despite his lowly freelander status, he’ll not shy away from staring down any visitor, be it noble or peasant, when they enter the premises for the first, second, and sometimes even third time. He isn’t above eavesdropping on conversations if he suspects that the visitors have unworthy intentions and has been caught by the Duchess herself on more than one occasion lurking in the halls and even walls between secret passageways. To make a somewhat “real life” comparison, you could compare his habits to that of the character “Filch” in the Harry Potter series – only minus the ill-intentions and particular fondness of cats. In addition to considering himself as the guardian of all things Sheltered Flame, Armond also loves a good party. A bad party. Or any sort of in-between party. During said festivities of drunken splendor, his hardened, militaristic shell is cast aside and the jovial, womanizing man emerges, dancing on tables, singing horrendously, and slurping ale between his gums. His toothlessness is a story worthy of its own telling, but Armond's favorite version of the tale is that "Muh teef wuh kicked o'by a horf." And don't you dare laugh at him for it. If you think you may be interested in playing this wily old fart, please contact Rowena Valoria! She'll be happy to assist you. ;)
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