Sir Veo Alaniz, Knight of Lady Shakaya

EDIT April 1st, 2016:
Oh my goodness! This writing is absolutely wretched! For those of you reading from now on, please don't judge my later works on the quality of this piece. I almost can't believe I used to write like that. 


capumagu.webs.com/role-playing The RPing group this is for ^^. Not my best work, but it works well enough for me and the group.


Sir Veo Talamanca "an Spáinnis’ ", a Poor Fellow Knight of Her Grace the Goddess Shakaya and the House of Capulet, Protector of Abb Neagh

It was a rainy evening in Dunbarton. Night had fallen, and the storms were an unwelcoming return for an unwelcome group of ‘heroes’. The Paladins of Dunbarton, homebound from the Crusade to the Shadow Realm, arrived beaten and broken. Many of them Tuatha de Dananns, their casualties were heavy, and the few that were left were barely able to hold themselves up for the return trip. Among them was a newly-christened convert from the Fomors—the son of a Choir Mother Siren and a foreigner Black Knight, both of whom were notorious for leading various raids from Rundal during the apex of the Human-Fomor war.
Veo’s father, Renato Alaniz, was a noble lord from the far off land of An Spáinn*, as the Uladhians called it. Expelled from his king’s court for unwavering cruelty, his reputation followed him in minor straits even to Erinn. He had pledged himself to Cichol almost immediately, seeking to satisfy his blood thirst by hacking and slashing his way through this strange land. Veo’s mother, Sharry, on the other hand, was a rather gentle-handed leader among the Sirens in Rundal. Having come to terms with being drowned in life, she had become a source of unusually sweet music for her sisters, whom looked up to her. This music was unusually sweet because it was sincere; it was not made for the purpose of hypnotizing humans to their doom. Sir Alaniz, beginning to tire even of his own cruelty, was enthralled by her. When the two came together, Sharry’s personality won out over her husband’s harshness. As this continued, they began to see less and less reason in the destruction of humanity. They likewise taught kindness to their son when he was born
Veo’s birth was an oddity. Expecting a daughter Siren, the couple was given a rare combination of a male human with all of a Siren’s traits. This caused a small stir for a while, until the child was found to have very little in the way of musical talent, and the commanders of the Rundal Fomors listed him purely as a human in race to quiet the clamor. Despite this, growing up he always identified himself with his mother’s race. Not wanting to expose him to the violence of the outside, his parents instead tasked him to work as a bowyer, making weapons for their forces outside. Unfortunately for them, Veo himself began to develop a hatred for the Humans. Only taught what the Fomors would teach him, he often shut out his parent’s input into the situation. He largely thought that they were exaggerating the darkness of their own side, and that he had seen enough humans come in to slay his friends to know what had to be done. To his parents’ dismay, he was dead set on becoming a Dark Knight and sweeping the world of the dastardly humans.
Veo had, for a long time, loved his father’s tales of his old life. Of Chivalry, of Knighthood, of protecting the weak against the machinations of the strong… Of course, at the time, he thought that was what he had been doing when he was working for the Fomors. When he was young, he oft pictured himself striking down hordes of nasty Paladins singlehandedly, saving poor maidens from their ‘righteous’ claws, and sometimes even striking down the dreaded Morrighan herself, allowing Cichol to rule all with a fair and even hand—with him, a Champion of his people, loved by all as a hero.
Unfortunately for him, when he was granted his first taste of war, this view was shattered to pieces.
He was devastated and shaken by what he saw. Even in only a month of fighting for the Fomors, he knew that he didn’t want this. They did nothing but ransack every defenseless village and burn down every crop that they could get their hands on. It was no wonder that the humans hated them when all they were doing was…this! His mother and father were right about this being a senseless war—a war that he wasn’t about to be fighting on this side anymore. No longer able to stomach the heartless slaughter of innocents, he deserted the raiding party he was attached to and fled to the nearest base of the Paladin Order in Emain Macha.
He knew that his parents would understand. They had to.


After gaining the trust of the Paladin Order, Veo was to act as an informant for any major operations into the Shadow Realm. He taught the Paladins the Fomor fighting styles, their battle tactics, and anything that they may hide up their sleeve as the Knights moved about. For a while, this served well the Order well, and soon other Fomor deserters began to turn on their masters by joining the other side.
Veo had become growing proud of his achievements. Belaying the heavy armor normally donned by his brothers, he fashioned himself the mantle of the Old Empire. At least in the stories, this massive force would conquer lands and bring light to them, lands including his own homeland. The symbolism appealed to him, and it also gave a message to any opponent he and his friends were facing: As the Old Empire did, one day, you will become a part of us.
Unfortunately, after years of this, Veo’s knowledge of his former peers grew stale. The newly-christened Dark Knights had also begun to emerge. Taking control of the disheveled and disorganized Fomorian army, they soon found of such informants and prepared thusly. Their armies were no longer a mass of raving monsters and general evil; they were now a formidable fighting force with numbers, magic, and raw power on their side. The Paladins were not used to fighting this. The war’s tables had begun turning.


Veo hung his head shamefully as the returning Knights made their way into the town with him at the head. Some rode atop their now-lame mounts as Veo did, and others came with but their weary legs to hold up their beaten frames. The street was filled with worried loved ones looking desperately among the broken men for their husbands (and wives), but there was no cheering. News of what had happened had reached back home about whose fault this all was, and they made it known.
A teenager in the crowd, having been told of his father’s death by one of the remaining officers, bee lined for the nearest piece of garbage he could pick up off the ground. He knew immediately where his target was—the Blue-haired Siren boy with the armor of the Old Empire and the flute at his side. “Some good you were!!!” he said, hurling his lump straight across Veo’s face. Veo in turn recoiled enough to shake his horse off of track for a minute. It was a rather heavy thing. And it wasn’t the last he would receive.
Veo was about to turn his head to face his attacker when he felt something hit him from the opposite side. He looked down at the piece. Another lump of trash. Soon, the small throws turned into a small crowd of angry townsmen taking their frustration out on the boy. “Fomor traitor!” “Is your Cichol pleased now!” “You will pay for this, you traitorous slime! You will PAY!” He could do little more than shield himself with his arms from the barrage and lower his face. The local Watchmen came in to press the crowd back before it turned into a lynch mob, but the effect on Veo had already taken effect.
As the unit marched into Dunbarton’s armory, Veo was pulled aside by his commanding officer. “We know that you couldn’t have seen this coming.” The man said. Veo stared at him sadly. “No, sir, there was not.” He said. After a short pause, the man continued. “I’m sorry that I have to do this, but we cannot keep you in the Paladin Order.” He said. Veo said nothing. He anticipated this happening. His position had been drawing negative attention from the start. To him, it was only a matter of time until he was chased out of the Order. “It is too controversial for us to continue to incorporate Fomor elements into our ranks anymore, and…unfortunately, this was the straw that pushed the higher ups over the edge.” The officer said. “So it was all on me then, sir?” Veo asked in a monotone. “Don’t think of it that way. You will be transferred to the Neamhanites.” the Paladin said. Veo winced. He knew this news was coming, but he didn’t suspect being traded to another order…let alone that one.
The Free Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Neamhain and the Temple of Light were a chivalric Order very similar to that of the Paladins. Most members of this order were Fomors rebelling against the others. As such, they were not necessarily pro-Human so much as they were anti-Cichol, and so they took Neamhain as their patron as a sort of ‘neutral’ goddess. Because of their rather odd standings on things, they were suspected to turn on Humanity once the mainstream Fomors were dealt with. Until then, the Neamhainites and the Paladin Orders would remain vitriolic allies. It wasn’t the most reputable bunch to be associated with.
“You and several others will be honorably discharged tomorrow. After that, you will be traveling with a supply caravan to their hidden monastery in the Temple of Light.” “Sir-!” “I’ am sorry, Sergeant**, but there’s nothing more we can do for you here. We can’t have riots to contend with alongside a war that we are already struggling to fight.” Veo once again fell silent in compliance with his superior. There was nothing more one of his rank could do.
The ceremony was humiliating. While the knights of the Fomorian disposition were not being openly ridiculed, the air was ripe with the other rank and file in attendance giving their former comrades a chorus of hateful glares as a send-off. Even some of the officers conducting the rites were speaking happy lies through clenched teeth. There was no nobility to be waved off here, merely peasant traitors to both their own kind and to their brothers. Few among the crowd were sad to see them go.


Life with the Neamhainites was dreadfully poor. Outnumbered, undersupplied, and fighting hopeless odds, they were little more than a loose collection of Knights-errant rather than a full Order of Chivalry. What’s more, their help was not always exactly welcome. A poorly-armed Knight of the Temple of Light was likely to be seen as just another enemy to any watchmen of human towns that they rode in trying to assist, and they saw little support from a few Fomor settlements. Yes, they did indeed have a small standing army of regulars—Heaven knows how they managed even that—and it did see its share of battles. Whenever a major conflict arose between them and the mainstream Fomors however, let alone between them and the Dark Knights, they could never do much against them. They would be issued a crusade by whatever nebulous figure was at their lead, a number of the Knights-errant and whatever few members of the commons they could gather up would join with their miniscule army, march, be obliterated, and fall away back to their next pitiful stronghold. Strongholds of which they thankfully seemed to have small ones of hidden everywhere. It was not an easy job, and they were hard-pressed to defend even their precious, decaying Temple of Light.
Veo was placed in the free agents, the Knights-errant. He’d seen his share of wars against the Fomors, half of them failed, half of them barely able to be called successes; never anything better, always worse. When not called to serve and not being recognized and thrown out of towns, he worked as a local bowyer for a small garrison of a human town out in the wilderness of the Abb Neagh, always wearing a large wrap of bandages about his body to cover evidence of his race. He discarded his Old Imperial armor, not only because it would give him away, but also that he didn’t feel that he could help the cause enough to be worthy of such a powerful symbol.
No one questioned his presence. One day, this boy claiming to have burns all over his body had suddenly appeared and suddenly given the guardsmen a number of the finest bows that they had ever seen. All he asked in return was that he be left alone to his cottage by the river and be given food. It was a pleasant agreement. The boy seemed to be good at what he did, and he was always such a happy fellow for someone in so much constant pain.
Outwardly, Veo became as sunny as he could to try and emulate into the Human culture, based around the light rather than the dark. Sadly, this was only a ruse. He was nowhere near such happiness. He lived in shame of his former life. First, as an aid to the cause of such a destructive and evil war, and then second as a bright beacon of hope whose light had fizzled out quickly in the presence of a greater darkness; he felt useless.
He never forgot about his dreams of Chivalry. While a Paladin, he was placed in the back ranks of the regular army, meaning that he could not go out and do heroics on his own as he wanted to. Now as a Knight of the Temple of Light, he is rejected in too many places to be able to fulfill these dreams now that he had the capability to follow them. His chances had come and gone, though. Now he was little more than a peasant in the countryside. His time had come and gone. There would be no more chances for him. Or so he thought…

“Alexandros of Corrib?” The name he chose for himself to keep his cover. He had always liked names from An Ghréig***…they were so foreign sounding and mysterious. The name also meant ‘defender of mankind’, by which that probably means HU-mankind. A fitting name for himself, he thought, even if he couldn’t really live up to it any more. “Is there a man named Alexandros of Corrib here?”
All eyes in the town were drawn to a strange armored man whom had ridden into town. He had a grand sparkling set of armor typical of a Paladin, but the design of it was nothing like any that that Order had, or at least made known that they had. Veo tried his best to blend into the crowd of curious peasants, but with several people pointing him out to the noble-looking visitor and an odd covering of bandages ‘round his self made it difficult to do so. The stranger approached him, and both eyed each other cautiously. “You are Alexandros?” the man asked, stopping his horse and looking down his height at Veo. “…aye, that is me sir.” Veo responded after a split second of pause. “Then I suppose that means that you would know of a Knight of Neamhain that is known as Veo that had disappeared around these parts not years ago?” the figure asked. Veo inwardly flinched. There was no way that this could be good. “There be no one of Neamhain’s men here, sir. If you’re looking for a temple boy of hers, then perhaps it’d be best to check by such a temple.” “…I see.” The stranger said with a bit of disappointment. “Then, perhaps, you would know of such a man known as Señor Veo Alaniz an Spáinnis?”
Veo leaned and took a short step backwards in surprise. “What was that you’ve called him by, sir!” Señor was a title given to lords and other such low nobles of his father’s homeland, and ‘an Spáinnis’ was the name that the Dark Knight Order had given to his father to show both his prominence and his foreignness. However, no one had called him by any of these things. As far as everyone was concerned, he was just a commoner up until this point. Why was it so different now?

“I’ll take it that you do know such nobility.” The stranger said, seeing Veo’s surprise. “Well, deliver him this message: Abb Neagh is now under the control of the House Capulet. This village, officially a vassal of the lords of Abb Neagh, now belong to us.”
House Capulet? Those...guildsmen whose leader was turned into a goddess?
“And what does this have to do with him?”
“Lady Shakaya has been watching you, Señor Alaniz. She knows of your intentions of bringing peace to Erinn and wish to regain your noble past.” The stranger said. “As I was saying, Abb Neagh and all villages including this one have been annexed by our Lady, but she needs a man to hold this Fief.” He handed Veo a map with different markings on it. “If you ever wish to take up arms in the name of a true, active goddess rather than one in an ivory tower, you can find us here.” “True, active goddess? What do you mean?” “I mean one that doesn’t just sit in her throne while her land and all in it rots.” “You imply that the other gods do this? You speak blasphemy!” “I speak what everyone is thinking.” The stranger said, beginning to prod his mount to walk on. “You may reject our offer if you would like. You are not the only nobility interested in holding this land. And of your precious Neamhainite Order…” he turned to face Veo. “The Temple of Light has been sacked and destroyed. A messenger from it will arrive tomorrow at your doorstep, hoping to rally the few remaining loyals to retake and restore the place.” Veo stared silently. This was two pieces of big news that he would have preferred not to have heard… “Consider your options, Señor. Shakaya is the only one who can bring peace back to our land.” The stranger said, riding slowly off.

Veo indeed joined the Capulets’ cause and accepted his fief. He found his purpose restored in his adventures with them and saw the wisdom in Shakaya’s philosophies. He acted as he had before, as an informant for Fomor techniques that would be used against his new comrades, however this time he had had time to carefully watch his targets and re-learn what he had lost. He has his disagreements with the Capulets, and he cannot say that he is entirely comfortable being associated with them or being among their ranks at times, but in his mind, the good outweighs the bad.
He would also work for them as a Bowyer when not called into service. Although, these bows are beginning to become rather archaic things…and there is word that the Giants had made some kind of improved alchemical cylinder that is worth looking at…



*The Irish word for Spain
**A Sergeant in a Medieval army was an armored soldier drawn from the middle-class common folk, as opposed to a knight or a peasant militiaman. Because of their better social standing, and thus better training and education, they were expected to perform better than their peasantry cousins, and supported their knights. In fantasy stories that try to go in depth, most soldiers that you will see carrying polearms and some kind of heavy metal armor are likely sergeants.
*** The Irish word for Greece