Dame Emeline Penlan is a chevalier of Daggerfall holding the privilege of the Royal Pledge. Raised from the chaos of the western kingdom's baronial host to serve as the aide and bodyguard of Her Majesty the Steward, Queen Kelmena Thagor, Emeline has become something of an icon in spite of herself - a paragon of the social mobility that royal patronage can afford even the lowliest of chevaliers. However, the Queenguard remains, by all accounts, a simple woman, and her role in Daggerfall's politics is, and always has been, entirely what her lords and masters dictate it to be.
| Emeline Penlan | |
|---|---|
|
Title |
Dame |
|
Age |
28 (born 3E 433) |
|
Gender |
Female |
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Race |
Breton (Daggerfallian) |
|
Height |
5'4 |
Appearance[]
Dame Emeline is not at all an imposing figure - somewhat peculiar for a chevalier of her status - and, at 5'4, is perhaps best described as scrawny. Nonetheless, what she lacks for in bulk, the Queenguard makes up for with the tight-wound nature of her physique: she is clearly a woman of action, musculature lending her frame more severe, almost squared angles, and her curves (or more accurately, lack thereof) make it easy to stereotype her as a member of Daggerfall's military aristocracy.
The same themes are evident in her facial structure and features, and the only way in which she might truly stand out in a crowd of her comrades-in-arms might be the brash redness of her hair - a colour more often found among the Dunmer of Morrowind than Bretons. Steel-blue eyes stare out from below thick, stern eyebrows, and the sharp pointedness of her nose does little to take the edge off. A large gash draws onlookers eyes uncomfortably to her left cheek, the parting gift from a Glennish knight.
Insofar as outfits are concerned, Dame Emeline's sense of style is not lacking - it is nonexistent. All but grown into her suit of armour, the only luxuries she (reluctantly) allows herself are various pieces of parade gear should the situation demand it; some spit-polish, the rich green cape of House Thagor's attendants and retainers, and a chance to wear her hair loose (at which point it unfurls, not unlike some kind of warbanner, all the way to the middle of her back).
Biography[]
The daughter of destitute baronial chevaliers, Emeline had little to look forward to in life apart from an endless trudge through the great farming estates of the Southweald. There were hundreds upon hundreds like them in the West - bound in service to a petty baron with little more than a castle and a stone bridge to his name, the Penlans were one of the Arkbridge barony's three chevalier families; and even in this company, they were far from the richest. More - the very fact of Emeline's birth threatened one of the few things they still had, their name; unless she were to have a brother, or - oh highest ignominy! - marry a commoner, the Penlans seemed doomed to end with her.
But the Queenguard-to-be didn't seem overly bothered by any of this. Days, months, whole years flew by with her running roughshod over her parents' village and countryside. She didn't even seem to mind overmuch - peculiar child that she was - when the stresses of life claimed her mother; perhaps the young dame was a little more thoughtful now, and spent more time looking after her father's cows than frightening them, but little else appeared to have changed.
Soon childhood games of sticks and wooden swords became a chevalier's training, and she took to it with gusto, spending hours on end whacking on practice dummies, fenceposts and village kids stupid (or unfortunate) enough to agree to help her. Her father never quite came to approve, or even forgive her for being a daughter, but she did at least earn some respect; and on the day she turned seventeen, and he took her aside, old Gisard Penlan didn't even openly swear when he showed her their spittle of land, and told her to hang onto it tooth and nail - "because, Kynereth's tempestuous breath, you're not likely getting anything to add to what you see here and now."
In 4E 17, banner age came; her father's life went. She buried him in the Kynaran grove behind their house, and turned herself entirely to training, fighting, and all the things expected of those worst sorts of chevaliers, the penniless lot chomping at the bit for a chance at plunder and a better life - at least for a fleeting moment. There was a suitor, and then a scandal when the suitor returned home with more bruises than when he'd left; and then there were no more suitors.
And then there was war. 4E 20, Tulune burned; 4E 21, the banners were called for King Camaron's grand march into Glenpoint. The Archdukes Acquet answered, their counts thumped their chests bravely from behind castle walls, their barons grumbled at the expenses, and Emeline slung a bag over her shoulder and stomped off to muster. In faraway Cathwood, she was shoved on top a foreign wall with a banner she didn't rightly know; in faraway Cathwood, she saved her own life by ending four knights, and knocking one down.
Dame Emeline of Arkbridge never returned home.
Dame Emeline of Tamwych, thrust so suddenly into royal service, felt a little lost for a time. Then, a monarch remembered, a Lord-Marcher recommended; and a summons came calling her to the capital, to the blinding honour of serving at a queen's side, where she would stay for the four years to come.
Talents[]
It is so much easier to list what Dame Emeline can do than what she can't - and that is to say, she can fight. With stubborn determination and a cheerful recklessness, she's not been known to back away from a fight, sword in hand or not; if anything, she almost prefers the latter. Her temperament is still that of those worst sorts of her ilk, and she views battle with a hunger and a yearning that polite society would find unsettling at best, if it didn't rely so much on pawns to bloody the water while it remained safely polite.
Away from combat, however, there is little to arouse the Queenguard's curiosity or interest. Even other facets of battle - command, responsibility for others - set her hairs on end, and are consciously avoided inasmuch as is possible. It is hence not surprising that her reputation at court is as the Queen's hound: singleminded and unflinching - but only good for so much.