Description: For a tall man, this fellow seems remarkably grounded. He plants his feet solidly when he walks and has a deliberate, careful manner to his movement that speaks of awareness of his size and musculature, which are both considerable. His hair, chestnut and wavy, is bleached here and there by the sun, and he frequently wears it combed away from his face to keep his bright blue eyes clear. His beard is a touch lighter than the color of his hair, short and carefully - if not stylishly - groomed, worn more as a concession to the fact that he doesn't have time to keep shaving it off all the bloody time than an ode to fashion. He has very large hands, even for a man of his height, and the story their condition tells is one of hard work, warfare, and time; here a broken finger, healed slightly out of joint; there, heavy callouses from gripping a weapon's haft. Square jawed, with a bump in the nose from a long-healed break, he has a habit of regarding any room as though the potential existed for violence to erupt, keeping a wary eye toward the windows and doors.

Personality: It isn't that Roland is stubborn, exactly. It's just that once he sets his mind on something, it takes an almighty lever to move him. He readily admits when he is wrong, if he /is/ wrong, because he is most certainly not proud. But if he thinks he is right and has enough faith or knowledge to back it up, it is nearly impossible to budge him. He plants his feet and grips his mace and simply stays put. He's very uncertain about anything that he doesn't know well (which is most things other than whalloping stuff and sheep) and is horribly tongue-tied around most people, including but most especially ladies and gentlemen who are attractive. At heart, he's a farmboy and a shepherd, and is most happy with a nice beverage, a roaring fire, and stars to look at - but on the opposite end of that is his absolutely resolute dedication to protecting people who cannot protect themselves. He has been entrusted with the ability to guard others and keep them safe so that they may enjoy the lives that the gods have given them, and he takes that as seriously as it can be taken.

Background: Roland Bergere is the son of shepherds, born to sit on a lonely hillside with a dog and a pipe keeping wolves away from the flock -- or so he thought. He rather liked it, when he was young; the quiet, the tending of them, hoisting sheep up on his shoulders and pulling them out of the pits of mud into which they inevitably flung themselves. It was, however, a lonely life, and when he was about fourteen his father clapped a hand on his shoulder and sent him in to 'town', the village of a few dozen people down the mountain from their little house, to make his fortune or at the least get a bit of socialization and find himself a wife or husband to get along with.

It didn't quite work out that way.

Roland found work of all sorts, lifting things, hauling hay. He was a bit shy among all those dozens of people, but there was a girl with nice dimples that smiled at him and a roof over his head, both improvements over sleeping near sheep. Until the day the bandits came, that is. The local lord was half a day's ride away, the nearest sword to be had, save for an old rusty one the innkeeper kept above the bar -- there was nothing to do but cower and pray, and pay what they could pay. Except these bandits weren't interested solely in money or goods, and when they began to beat the villagers, Roland stood up. He ripped a wooden shutter from its hinges and stood at the little foot bridge at the edge of town, gripping a heavy table leg in the other hand, and he beat the shite out of the bandits as they came at him. He stood, enduring, clumsy with his makeshift mace but stubbornly refusing to fall as he fought one bandit at a time, until some yahoo got the bright idea to shoot at him with arrows. He took three, by Lagoma's mercy not fatal, before the local lord's guards finally came up to finish the job. The lord saw his courage and hauled him back to be tended to by a healer, recruiting him into his service not long after, and eventually, Roland the shepherd's son became Sir Roland. His liege, though, was older and very settled, and after a time suggested that Roland might be well-suited to going to the Capital to seek admittance to another lord's service, one where he might get to do more than guarding the woodpile. Reluctantly -- for he is nothing if not loyal -- Roland tucked his small number of belongings and his mace up and headed east toward Arx, seeking to do his spurs proud and perhaps find service with a good and honorable cause, or to bend the knee to a lord or lady that he would be proud to serve.

Relationship Summary

Acquaintance:

Edain - Liege Lord

Fortunato - Interesting Artist

Gisele - Lovely Learned Lady

Friend:

Esera - The Lady

Aureth - Death's Chosen & Pretty Good Guy

Zhayla - Pocket Tornado of Steel

Tristan - Master of Horse & Pretty Good Guy

Ferrando - Macebro & Pretty Good Guy