Sophia Lauviger

Baron Pyotr Lauviger was the longtime companion of Duke Borril, a trusted friend and advisor. In his youth, he would venture with the young Lord Borril on dangerous and foolhardy escapades, ever defending his friend against the dangers and terrors of the Weald--and worse, of politics. As they aged, they remained close, with Pyotr ever serving as his most trusted servant. Baron Lauviger spent most of his adult life at Winterkeep, leaving his lands in the care of his son and trusted stewards.

His wife, Mara von Tyrell, was a kind and proper woman, far removed from her home in the heartlands, but well-adapted to life on the frontier. She brought class and style to the uncouth lands of Lauviger, ensuring a proper education for all her children, including her beloved daughters.

Pyotr's eldest son, Stanislav, was a bright and handsome youth, who in his lifetime became an accomplished knight in the Duke's service. With his mother's good breeding and his father's stout heart, he was a fine sight for the next Baron Lauviger. However, tragically, he died in service to the Duke, in defense of the realm, mere days after his father's passing, hours before word from Lauviger could reach him.

With the peaceful, if sudden death of Pyotr in his home, and the stunning and tragic loss of his heir, the Duke's court was aflame with the important matter of succession.

Pyotr's younger son, Sacha, was away in the High Tower. He had been promised to the mages, and had already taken his oaths; he belonged to them now, and could not legally own land or title. Besides, he was unwilling to take up his father's mantle, as he felt his rightful place was among the mages of the tower.

Pyotr's brother Alexei once headed the lesser branch of the family. Their grandfather had been an honored knight in service to the Duke of the Reach, and his symbol was the proper rose. Alexei had recently died, but his son, Vitaly, patron of the Sarschel Lauvigers, could make a reasonable claim on his uncle's desirable title, bringing an undesirable connection to the Duke's rival with him.

But there was another option. Pyotr's eldest daughter, Sophia, held a valid claim to his title. But there were many challenges to overcome to secure her place at the Duke's side.

Sophia was the jewel of her father's eye. Bestowed every gift and fancy her mother could not prevent, she was the warmth in Pyotr's heart, that which softened him from a brash and somewhat violent youth into a noble and kind, if distant father. It was she, no other, who made him ache to return home while he served dutifully at Winterkeep. It was for her that, more and more, he found excuses to visit the homestead in Lauviger.

Her mother saw to her education, insisting she elevate herself beyond the role of fatted calf, to be sold off for marriage. Her father wouldn't countenance the idea, unable to imagine her leaving his house, leaving Mara solely to see to her prospects.

Entertained by tales of her grandfather, a noble Paladin of the Knights of Imphras II, young Sophia took to the roughhousing and swordplay of boys. She found her elder brother, before he left Lauviger, to be a willing and worthy foe; when her father was gone, which was often, he continued her "training" in his stead.

As she began to blossom into womanhood, much to her mother's dismay, she began to entertain a ridiculous fancy: to cast away her noble duties and seek the glorious life of a Paladin. While her sword-fighting skills had moved beyond mere jest, her mother would hear none of it, trying desperately to rescue her womanhood from the clutches of foolish fancy.

But her father was made of less stern stuff. On a long riding trip, she caught his ear, away from the prying influence of her keeper. She entreated him to let her journey to the Abbey of the Sacred Shrike and petition them for training in the order. It took many hours to convince him that this was her true and deepest desire; in the end, he relented, unable to deny her most heartfelt dream.

And so they journeyed forth to the far-flung Abbey, where she was made to stand outside in the driving raid for three days and three nights, reciting the Chant of the Making a hundred times without error. The thin rail of a girl would be passed over by all, save the respected voice of Shrikelord Grigor Torvald, who would prove a rough but fair master during her training and proving.

Shortly into her training, she received word that her mother had passed away. She had been deeply sequestered, and hadn't heard the news for months; in fact, if not for the efforts of her brother Sacha, she may not have for a long time to come. She broke from duties to journey home, only to find her father had remarried. Her father explained all he could, but she could not forgive him immediately. She left after less than a month, disgusted with the changes her new "mother" had wrought upon her childhood home.

Livia Dorakos, a Chess beauty unaccustomed to life in the north, seemed hardly older than Sophia, and yet was already with child when her stepdaughter arrived. She would soon give birth to Yulia, twelve years Sophia's younger, and later to Cyrus, three years Yulia's younger. Their Chess heritage was plain in their appearance, though at least they could speak Damaran, unlike their mother.

Sophia's correspondence with her father was terse and strained for years to come, though she remained quite cordial with her elder brother, and exchanged regularly with Sacha. Soon, by happy coincidence, they were both stationed in Ilmwatch, and were able to visit one another frequently. For much of her late teenage years, Sacha was her only real family.

When the time came, ten years after she was first accepted into training, she faced the Trials of Courage, Wisdom, and Strength. Much to her dismay, during her preparations, she came mysteriously ill, for the first time in her memory. She insisted that she should face the trials, and though she gave her best effort, she was near death with fever, and could not meet the challenge of Strength.

With her failure, she fell into deep despondency. To her surprise, her master insisted that only the will of the gods could have stopped her; her strange and sudden fever vanished almost overnight after her failure, and, to him, it was a clear sign that it was not meant to be. Despite his assertion that she would be allowed to try the challenges again in a year's time, she was inconsolable for weeks.

When she did emerge, it was at the behest of her father, who had written often, eager to hear of her triumph, with no response. He made the journey in person, invoking the name of his father to gain access to his daughter, where he told her how her grandfather had failed the tests not once, not twice, but over five times, and had still went on to become a knight of great renown. He convinced her that they had rigged the test to make her fail, and would make it doubly hard the next time; that the gods had stricken her with sickness knowing she would not be satisfied with a test so easy as the first had been.

That was the last she saw of her father. He came ill months later, far too late to have contracted something from her, but she was not without the capacity to wonder. She was well on her way to reattempting the trials and claiming her rightful title as a Paladin, when her master, Lord Ser Torvald, personally delivered the news, and offered her his prize horse, Borealis, a celestial steed who could run as the wind.

And so she did. The journey was 360 miles; she took it in less than a week, barely stopping for water, and sleeping only as long as the horse insisted it rest. Even so, she nearly missed her father's funeral; her mother seemed surprised that she had arrived in time.

For a few days hence, the Lauviger household was a tomb; Livia allowed several days with her father lying in state in the home, as he had so many distant relatives. The house was no longer recognizeable; the Chess woman had transformed it into a bizarre anachronism, a classical monstrosity of marble collonades and expensive statuary imported from the south, no doubt at her father's great expense.

It was assumed that Stanislav would soon return to claim his title and put things to rights. Livia seemed satisfied that she was in good standing with the boy; Sophia knew not what relationship they'd built in these long years. Young Yulia was already at the doorstep of womanhood, and had inherited her mother's caustic personality, but with twice the wit and cleverness. Cyrus looked like a fatted pig, his curly blond hair the only hint of his proper parentage, the rest of him the spitting image of an overindulged Chess merchant princeling.

For days, they waited, and for days, Stanislav did not return. Finally, on a night far too cold for the harvest season, the Duke arrived with his knights, and told the sad tale of Stanislav's last ride. The boy had disobeyed orders, leading his men to intercept a column of Damaran irregulars who threatened Blasingdell. Outnumbered five to one, he nonetheless routed the bandits, but died soon after of wounds sustained. The Damaran monsters had already laid waste to two small villages, and sought fatter prey; his actions likely saved the two thousand souls of Blasingdell from murder, rape, and wretched defilement.

Still, the blow was hard, and the weighty matter of succession was an unwelcome burden atop the misery of the matter.

In the coming days, much was discussed; Livia sent word to her cousin Vitaly, entreating him to come forth and rescue the Lauviger name from oblivion, even as she preened and dressed her little boy for his eventual rise. Sophia had resigned herself to the ruin of the family, and wondered what to what purpose she could possibly put herself now.

By the Duke's command, she was summoned to the Carberg. Astride Borealis, she entered his castle, taking no joy in her task. She had never liked the Duke; in her childhood, he was the villain who ever robbed her of the presence of her beloved father. In her adulthood, she learned of his many excesses, his bendable philosophy toward law, and his blind amibitions toward the throne. She would blame him for her father's death if she could find reason for it.

He asked her the worst thing she could imagine. She would claim her father's title, and the Duke would back up her claim, making it quite clear that none were to trifle with her family name. Her father's legacy would be preserved, and in return, she would take her father's place at his side, as trusted advisor and agent.

She would be forever giving up her dream of joining the Order. She would be compromising her ideals to fulfill his orders, which she must do without question, as his loyal servant. She would do this to save a family she no longer knew, to keep fat a wretch of a woman who never showed her any kindness.

But she couldn't abandon her duty.

As she rode back to Lauviger, newly created Baroness, she was struck by the love and admiration in the eyes of the people. This was her city, her land, and the people loved her, depended on her, and would live or die by her. As they loved the late Baron, so they seemed to take to his daughter.

She visited the Towers of the Gates, which she hadn't seen since her childhood, and was greeted with ovations of great joy and praise by the soldiers there assembled. She had never quite grasped how well loved her father was, and indeed the Duke; they had brought safety and prosperity to the people of Ithfell, and the people were truly grateful.

This was her family now. But so, too, had the Duke become almost as husband or father, a master who would soon make her long for the harsh disciplines of Lord Ser Torvald.

As Agent Privy of the Duke, Sophia's duties are many and varied. Her role as Defender of the Gates is largely managed by the Duke as Warden of the West. Lauviger itself is a well-oiled machine, rich from the tariffs and customs collected from trade caravans in both directions. In exchange for the conveniences of the Duke's many favors, she serves as a personal errand-runner for His Grace, often standing in for him in meetings with lesser nobles, mayors, and the like, or as captain of his armies in one region or another.

To date, he has not yet untrusted her with any matter of great import; instead, he tries her patience with menial tasks, testing her loyalty thoroughly to ensure she is capable of filling her father's shoes. Recalling her finishing at her true mother's hand, her court manner is impeccable, but she does not shy away from the occasional adage or Chant, extolling virtues of the Order which the Duke's court so blatantly flaunts. It is not uncommon for such plays at righteousness to be met with cutting remarks about her failure to achieve the title, and questions of her worthiness to claim such a righteous stance.

Though she feels acutely the love of her people, and would never abandon her duty, she languishes under the Duke's command, and wonders what life might have been like if she had just done as she was supposed to do. Surely she would have many fat children, and would be lavished with every gift. Would so wistfully look upon the Earthspur mountains, wondering what glories the gods may have meant for her in her foolish, imagined life as an honored Paladin of the Order?

• The Knights of Imphras II
• Piotr Lauviger
• Grigor Torvald
• Gabriel Renault
• Borealis