Jensis

The following is a very detailed, and very long description of Keegan's character.

As written by the player. . .

The Last War, more than a 100 years ago. . . Nations sent their kin against the shields and swords of their enemies to no avail. Each side growing desperate in their goals of victory over the other, not showing signs of weakness or submission. They scrape the bottom of the barrel for every last resource, even the lives of men. Despair is sensed by everyone and everything. A grey tint in the sky--the plague of death felt by all. As the elders tell to others their tales of greener and brighter times, they are soon forgotten to the purgatory paths of war laid before them. The Age of War.

Some say it a myth. Unshaven peasants covered in mud tell it to others over cheap mead. The night the sky fell. Some whisper the Gods themselves weeped over what they had watched below. It is told as a clear cold night in the Fall. The stars shinned bright in the sky as the horizon bore distant smoke from burnt villages and remnants of war. The high moon lit the landscape below. The soldiers awaited the next siege still clad in blood encrusted armor, their breath condensing on the cold night air. An all too common silence was upon the different Kingdoms.

That same silence upon the ever proud Kingdom of Scorlanthe as it barely stands as a symbol of courage against the enemy, Vector. Within the kingdom's walls, a native boy lay awake in his bed of hay thinking about his brothers and father at war. Gazing up at the stars through a window, he wondered about his family. A sudden glimmer in the sky caught his attention. It was as a star brighter than all the others, dancing in there as it seemed almost winking at the unknown boy. Unsure if he had just imagine the sparkle whilst in a half dreaming slumber, he shook his head in disbelief. Now focusing on the object, squinting to reaffirm the actuality of his sight, the boy was surprised to realize that he was not dreaming. In his excitement, he got out of bed and stood on top of a wooden crate near by, just tall enough to stick his head out of the window. Watching the star, it occurred to him that the sparkle was getting brighter and brighter. Standing stretched upon his toes, he could see that it was in fact no star at all. His heart started to race.

"Look!" screamed an armor-clad soldier as he pointed at the now apparent, fiery object in the sky. Other soldiers awoke and scrambled about thinking that it was another attack on their Kingdom. It only took moments before many had gathered together, all gazing and pointing up. Their memorization caused them to ignore their captain as he came late to see what the commotion was about. He soon saw what had brought the dead of night alive.

"No," he thought to himself, "a catapult from that distance? . . . It cannot be."

"Men! Get ready!" screamed the captain as he hastened back to his tent to arm himself for the unknown. Every solider of his platoon now ran about, gathering themselves and their belongings. Flinging open the flap of his tent, a loud screech drew his attention from behind. The sky lit up as if noon day in a flash as a deafening boom shattered the landscape. The captain and every soldier ran to the edge of the wall to witness a fiery explosion, casting a cloud of dust into the air, all of which about 5 miles in the distance. Several seconds later, a shock wave woke the rest of the kingdom. Peasants opened their wooden shutters to see if it was another enemy; they were surprised to see no army at their gate. The Kingdom came alive with conversation and torches, everyone wondering what had fallen out of the sky.

It was only a matter of time before the captain received orders to go investigate the meteor.

"Men! We leave in 10 minutes!" he yelled as he suited himself with heavy Scorlanthian armor. The platoon of 40 men left the city's gate eastward toward the billow of smoke in the distance. Lighted by the pale moon light they marched on, whispering to one another about what horrors or wonders lay before them. As they marched closer, some tripped over debris of earth and rock upheaved by the blast, and their eyes adjusted to the smoldering burnt hole in the ground. As the army's march slowed to a cautious walk, the only thing that filled the air was a cracking noise like that normally heard over a campfire and a smell of burnt wood and earth. Each soldier's heart started beating from excitement or fear as they hiked the top of the crater. One by one upon reaching the crest of the mound, they stopped to look down the hole. Their countenances soon changed to confusion. The captain pushed aside the others as he reached the top to see what had silenced his army.

A man?

A pale looking male was laying at the center of the crater, not rock or a beast, but a person. A deva, an almost-nude individual laid there with no apparent injury, unconscious but breathing.

Everyone there second guessed the sight before them. There was no more whispering, just silence as each soldier looked up to their leader for his reaction and synopsis of the situation.

"Be on your most careful guard" warned the captain as he motioned his men to start the descent into the crater. Each following after the other, some sliding down a few feet just before catching themselves.

Closer and deeper the armored men descended into the crackling earth until the Deva lay but a few yards from their feet. As they wondered what they were to do with him, the motionless Deva sprang to its feet in an instant, before they could eve, react with drawn swords. It floated inches above the ground before them, erect and dignified, floating just inches above the ground, peering at each one with hollow grey eyes. The Deva was just under 7 feet tall had a dull grey aura eminating about him as he rotated around, looking. Wings suddenly materialized from a different plane from his back, ethereal wings, insubstantial and transparent. Oddly, only one of the wings appeared to be full size while the other only protruded only a foot or two as if it had been ripped off. The gimp wing was rotten, crumbling as ethereal feathers fell to the ground and faded away like a flower sapped of life that was losing its petals. The wings seemed more symbolic than anything as they would not be able to grant his unnatural levitation.

The soldiers tried backing away slowly only to bump into those ranks behind them. The captain, still standing at the crest of the crater echoed through his helm, yelling to the creature.

"You there! Surrender and identify yourself!" Catching his attention, the angel jutted his expressionless face towards the captain and glared a with piercing grey eyes, as if he were searching. The pause of silence continued as the angel floated on. Each soldier slowly unsheathed their blades uncertain of the creature's intentions. They gave each other worried looks. "Submitted to the will of Scorlanthe, or die. . ."

The tension was at it's pinnacle as each soldier gripped their weapons tighter. The angelic thing did not seem to care; his focus remained on the soul of the captain.

"Scorlanthians, take him down!" shouted the captain, his helmet echoing the battle cry. He unsheathed him weapon as he ran down towards the grey figure. The soldiers gave their all too common battle cry and each charged towards the center with pointed swords. The deva maintained his stare forward until the last possible moment.

The first blade came speeding towards his throat. The angel, as fast as he had stood to his feet, vanished then reappeared in a different spot. The soldier's strike fell into the chest of his fellow comrade. The unarmed Deva used the own soldier's weapon to kill another attacker. Dodging steel from every direction, he continued to redirect attacks to unattended targets, moving faster than the trained soldiers could follow. After a few moments, a pile of armored men started filling up the crater creating mud with their blood. Each time a blade was swung, it lodged into another victims body as the creature vanished and reappeared in an instant.

Soon only a few men remained, 5 soldiers including the captain. Keeping their distance, they waded in their dead comrades floating in the pool of blood. The angel, covered in blood, stopped and retuned to his erected, dignified stance, staring again at the captain with those same grey eyes.

"I am known to some as Jensis," he calmly explained to the survivors in a deep booming voice.


Jensis, the Deva Avenger. Armed with his fullblade, he now resides with the crumbles of men in Scorlanthe. His former celestial glory has been worn to dull grey. Only a god could have cut off his other wing. Why was he cast down here to Rasa? Jensis doesn't seem to remember, but he needs to find some answers soon.