Captain Darhill Trager, NeverWhere Militia (ret.)

Trager is a grizzled, world-weary veteran. A head of silver hair and a face lined by time show his age, while his gray eyes still pierce with the same ferocity of his youth. A scar across his left cheek is the mark of his former occupation. He towers over most, his brawn evident even as his movement belies a grace unexpected of one his size.

Trager joined the militia at 16, assigned to a support battalion as an apprentice blacksmith, where he learned the trade quickly. At 18 he was finally entered into battle training and placed on the front lines, where he quickly earned himself a reputation as a reliable no-nonsense soldier, and was somewhat notorious for his selection of a warhammer as his personal weapon of choice.

He was promoted through enlisted ranks, and selected for officer training in his late 20s, which included a broad general education training as well. His first battle as a fresh lieutenant earned him a medal as his company made their way through enemy lines to free another company which had become surrounded.

He was then stationed at NeverWhere with one of the wall defense companies, and it was here he fell in love for the first time, with a young Elf maiden named Syrenthina. He used the education he earned at officer school well in wooing her with love poems. They spoke of marriage, Trager giving her his 1st Lieutenant pin as a promise, but when he was reassigned to a border outpost two years later she was angry, and he left on poor terms. His letters went unanswered, and when he returned on a short leave was told she had returned to the Elven homeland.

He returned to the outpost more determined than ever. Defending the nation against Orc incursions, Goblin bandits, and the like became his reason for living, his gravelly voice a constant source of honor and courage for his men. He was eventually promoted to captain and placed in charge of the outpost. His troops became known as some of the best on the border, and even earned the respect of the nearby Orc tribes, successfully opening trade agreements and treaties.

Ten years ago, another outpost was attacked by Orcs, and burned to the ground. Orders came in for Trager's outpost to lead an attack. He protested that the Orcs near his outpost were completely separate from those that attacked, but the militia command was unswayed.

Trager faced his assembled troops, all, himself included, decked for battle, a militia Major nearby to oversee. "We are ordered," he announced, "to attack. With no provocation from these tribes. These orders are not to defend our lands. These orders are to inflict punishment upon a people who are undeserving of it." His gray eyes stared hard into the Major, who gaped nearby.

"I will not do it," he proclaimed. "And I will no longer defend the nation that orders me to do so." He ripped the sash from his armor, bearing the crest of the western border defense. He dropped it to the ground at the Major's feet. "Consider this my resignation," he growled.

He left the outpost, seeking transport in the surrounding town back to NeverWhere.