Artym Arisov

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Artym Arisov is a member of the ancient order of The Red Cloaks, an order which serves the God of the Old Kingdom in his struggle against Thytoth. In the years after the Age of Undead the order lost many of its younger houses to heir- less fathers and deserting sons, which has happened many times throughout the orders history, people forget about just how much the order is needed, but when the wailing if thousands of dead echo across desolate landscapes, families always begin to pledge their support again. Arisov was not one of these houses however, but not one of the honourable selfless ones either, Arisov joined for the hope of future power, Arisov, a once noble house of The Arm, but over the course of a few decades between lesser and higher Lords the family chose many wrong sides and too few right ones, before they really understood their predicament and their new social status their last holding was already being divided among three other lords. Like every boy born to a family pledged to the order, he was trained by his father and various tutors throughout his life. Artym went through the stages of training like any initiate of the order, his body and mind were trained to fight and protect, hate and love, serve and die, by the time he was a Squire for his father the Commanders of the order had begun grooming him for the rights of being a warrior for the faith, and hopefully a Paladin of the Order, he was wiped of all sin, taught honour before life, taught others before self, taught that dying for another was the greatest honour one could achieve in his life, but most importantly he was taught to kill, and and excelled at it. In his career as a Red Cloak, Artym slowly climbed the ranks of dead old men that previously pretended to do their holy rites in whatever ranks they shuffled about in, and eventually was granted the illustrious title of Dosvona, or Defender, but sadly he was more so used as a recruiter than as a stalwart defender of the faith like his father before him, and has been sent to various corners of the world to sway local farmers into donning red and being converted. No one in any of these settlements, large or small has taken his rank or cloak seriously, no one seems to remember the horrors they purged, the cities they saved and the men they lost nearly fifty years ago, and those they do do not seem to care, seems they did such a good job no one thinks there is any need for them, but the cold winds are rising once again, and soon the Order will not be able to arm and feed the thousands flocking to their ancient gates, and donning a red cloak, as they always have.