A god of War: but not one of blood-thirsty slaughter, but a virtuous warrior-god who draw followers that will worship Tempus with zeal and generosity; as Shield of the Defenseless and Sword of War.
“Uncle, who is that warrior with the horned-helm?” the inquisitive Santis asked of his uncle Vastarr Roaringhorn. Having failed at getting his attention over the din of the crowd, Santis prodded his uncle and repeated himself to no avail.
Swords clashed followed by pugnacious taunts that brought on another round of cheers that forbad any chance for palaver. Alyssa stepped up on the benches to peer over the large dark man standing in the row below them; she noted his black wide-brimmed hat. She bid her brother to do the same, and climbed up on the bench.
After joining her she continued, “He has a checkered past, some say it was Marten—some say it was Krazen who brought the end to the tet, but Krazen has never betrayed the church.”
“He looks absolutely mad.” Santis observed.
“Their whole tet came back… changed.” She concluded, nodding in agreement. “I am not sure of the other two.”
Santis for a wonder knew one of the others. Santis Roaringhorn was for the sword and the warrior’s way; and idolized many of the cities noble warriors, but before he could say before more—jeers and vigorous arm pumps to the sky cut him off to the spectacle. A cry of triumph cut through the crowed, and that brought goose-flesh to rise on his arms. Up one more step, they were now shoulder level with the large man who Alyssa thought looked like a mortician.
“The man with the black and gold breastplate…” Santis pointed out.
“The one with the eagle?”
“Yes, that is Ramsey Eagleshield—he was the first to bring an aspect of good to Waterdeep.”
Ramsey was well liked, without a selfish bone in his body—the man knew no limits when it came to generosity. Furthermore he was a hero in the eyes of ambitious young warriors, always taking the time to show aspiring fighters a quick parry or… the “eagle’s-slash”.
“Ok then,” Vastarr remarked at last. “Who is the third warrior?”
It was then the man in black turned to regard the Roaringhorns, “That’s Kelemvor Lionsbane, slayer of King Graul—the Ice Mountains orc king; recently he protected hundreds against the West gate dragon. That is who I’d see win.”