Lord-Marcher Samuel Bridwell is the current Magister of the Illustrious Order of the Dragon and the ruling lord of the March of Tamwych. The one lifelong friend and companion to His Majesty the Steward, King Camaron Thagor, Samuel's position at court has won him fame, glory, allies, enemies and imitators in equal measure; all taken in what amounts to a manner of reluctant stride. Grudgingly or not, however, the Lord-Marcher has done an admirable job of shouldering and balancing a whole kingdom's expectations and a monarch's whims, all at once, and his role as one of the architects of Daggerfall's recent ascendancy is beyond question.
| Samuel Bridwell | |
|---|---|
|
Title |
Lord-Marcher of Tamwych, Magister of the Order of the Dragon |
|
Age |
41 (born 3E 420) |
|
Gender |
Male |
|
Race |
Breton (Daggerfallian) |
|
Height |
5'9 |
Appearance[]
Pale and black-haired, the Lord-Marcher cuts a gloomy figure through the winding hallways of the Tower of Raven - not least because he seems perpetually in a bad mood, thick eyebrows frowned in worry, weariness, or simple irritation. Everything about him is simple, with just as much attention and fuss as duty to the Stewards, and to courtly etiquette, mandates: his hair is short and tidy, but only just, his beard is unfashionably full, and his bows always rigid and lacking in flourishes. One look at the gaunt, angular features of a trueborn Bridwell, and it can be conclusively said that the vagaries of court are simply not him.
Instead, Samuel's life is his martial bearing, and the taut, unyielding frame that walks it. Though his best years are no doubt already past, the Lord-Marcher shows no sign of relenting; his training regimen remains harsh as ever, and while it has never given him a bruiser's imposing bulk, he can still more than handle himself against most any opponent, should it come to that.
The Lord-Marcher's wardrobe mirrors his poise, and he eschews the robes of Nibenese silk currently so popular in the western capital in favour of a collection of outfits that hold the honourable rank of timeless classics in Daggerfall's spectrum of fashion - which is to say, whatever the current trends might be, these are always considered equally boring and unimaginative, with an almost Colovian austerity to their cut. The only real piece of finery that Samuel allows himself is a small silver shield-pin, etched with the heraldry of House Thagor - a dragon rampant, - which serves as a sign of his connection to His Majesty the Steward, and to the royal house of Daggerfall.
Biography[]
Samuel Bridwell was born into heaped expectations, and the looming certainty of responsibility. He was not his parents' first, but the first to survive infancy, with only a bitter memory of an older brother who never was; and though he wasn't alone for long, and the three brothers Bridwell all shouldered much the same expectations - though shouldered them differently, - it was Samuel who was eldest, and Samuel who would one day be Lord-Marcher. Set apart by the circumstance of birth, their father's affections would drive a wedge between him and his brothers that, in the end, meant that the future Hero of Cathwood always felt just a little alone.
Of course, the halls of Castle Tamwych did not remain the whole of his world for long. Soon enough, the famous Lord-Marcher Robert Bridwell could scarcely make an appearance at court without his eldest son on his coattails; and it was here, in the forbidding corridors that bound all the Stewards' towers together, that little Lord Samuel met little Prince Camaron, and the two became fastest friends. Wherever the Crownprince went, he was accompanied - more or less reluctantly - by "His Bridwell", and the adventures they had then, when Daggerfall still felt to them a city, not a prison, still serve to drive any self-respecting, responsible aristocratic parents to uncomfortable squirming and awkward half-smiles.
Times changed; attitudes changed; friendships remained. When the young Lord Bridwell came to the capital on his eighteenth year, to serve the Order of the Dragon as a squire, he could feel the city's weight around his neck like a collar; and Camaron, too, was different, and seemed to find less and less joy in anything but clinging to his last, his only childhood friend for their next grand scheme. It was largely by his doing that, within the year, Samuel had become quite well acquainted with an exciting (if a little unruly) young lady of Glennish descent - Anna Laterley, heiress to Rippford. And if one were to suspect the prince's hand also in their first true moment alone, when the Lord-Marcher to be dragged his paramour atop the tallest spire of the southern Kynaran Palaces, well - one would be right.
It was perhaps more chance than Camaron's ingenuity that the two of them hit it off quite so well. With time, and though he never quite realized this, the prince's attempts at help became more burdensome meddling than anything, and it wasn't he who inspired the long string of letters that connected first Daggerfall and Rippford, and then - on the tenth year of the Fourth Era, when Robert Bridwell finally passed and Samuel left the western capital to claim his birthright as Lord-Marcher - Rippford and Tamwych. It was Samuel alone who rode to Glenpoint, too, to ask for Anna's hand in marriage - though, naturally, the then-King did manage to insinuate himself into their wedding, and to blow up what had once been a private little occasion into a grand ceremony spanning the borders of Glenpoint and Daggerfall's royal heartland.
Alas, happiness did not seem to like to linger over the Bridwell household for long. The Bone-Wheel tipped, and with the birth of a daughter, Arkay traded young life for old - as he so often does. For the next seven years, without fail or interruption, Samuel devoted himself entirely to raising his only child, Kathel Bridwell.
But if his heart was content to rest, then the whims of kings seldom are, and it was Camaron's designs alone that pulled him back to court, and then soon after also into an arranged marriage. He gave Samuel all of a year to dutifully give of himself to his new wife before a new summons came - this time, to matters rather more grave. And Tulune burned; and Glenpoint burned; and the Lord-Marcher wouldn't see home for two long years of service.
Even when the War of Tulunese Succession finally came to an end, and when Glenumbra was appeased and bound to the Twin Thrones of the Stewards - both matters in which he had his part to play - Samuel wasn't to rest. His reward? More duties, more responsibilities, more excuses for the King to retain him at court: he was to assume the mantle once borne by his father, and then by his mentor, and for his outstanding deeds in war and in peace, to serve as the Magister of the Order of the Dragon.
And here we find him, five years later, living the motto his house had taken so many generations ago: "Duty before Honour"; duty before all.
Talents[]
Samuel Bridwell is not the finest sweet-talker that the courts of High Rock have ever known; not even close. Nor is he the most devious mind in the kingdom - in fact, his own meagre web of informants is built more on mutual bonds of friendship and respect, rather than any real application of cunning. (And that, it must be said, the Lord-Marcher does excel at, in his own special way - inspiring and befriending, but only with others of his ilk.)
His fame, however, was not built on honeyed words or subterfuge; and while he hopes quite dearly he'll never end up on one again, it's no use denying that the Lord-Marcher is at his best on a battlefield. While not by any means an avant-garde military genius, what Samuel lacks for in flair, he makes up for in experience and dogged determination - persevering where others might flinch away, and keeping a clear head even under the greatest duress. Much the same might be said of his skills in personal combat; not at all the finest sword of the realm, but perhaps one of the most reliable - and that has proved enough.