The Flower in the Sepulcher
Grand Bailiff Livia Rylaeon
“The people think me an unconcerned, cold, aloof, obsessive old bitch, and they’re right. I really can’t care less if the cheesemongers and spice-hawkers nail some smuggler to a post. That’s human evil, and human evil is for the gods to punish in their own time. I remember a greater evil, one that almost any sacrifice is worth destroying. Against the cause, I am as insignificant as any of them.” —Grand Bailiff of the Order of the Moss-Covered Sword, Livia Rylaeon
Livia Rylaeon was raised Order like other kids were raised Pelorian or Trinitarian or Ehlonnan. Her father was Bailiff before her, and he impressed on her the importance, the paramountcy, of duty to the cause of the fight against the evils of the swamp. She grew up with one hell of a big pair of shoes to fill; Armand Rylaeon was a hero of the Order, the rare soul beloved by Treffmen and the knights alike. Livia never quite got the knack for working with the common people, but her willingness to do whatever was necessary to expunge the last vestiges of the Mosquito Empire from the face of reality made her feared and respected.
Her finest hour was her leadership of a strike force against a Mosquito noble lich, a member of House of Anophelius, no less. One member died, another was crippled almost beyond healing, but Livia pressed on through a dungeon full of shades, zombies and eldritch horrors until the gore dripped off her lance and sword and puddled ankle deep. Not until she had hacked the mad abomination to pieces and crushed its phylactery into dust did she call a rest. And then she volunteered for first watch.
Although she is, in her own words, willing to own up to her reputation as a stone-cold bitch when she needs to, the women and men (and elves, dwarves etc.) of the Order of the Moss Covered Sword take a certain fierce pride in their tough-as-adamant old spinster of a leader. They call her the Iron Lady when she’s not looking, and Old Liv. And when she leads a corps on expedition a certain green fire flickers on their armor and dances in their eyes, and they fight like righteous crusaders from the planes beyond. She’s the real thing, the lads say to each other around the campfires, you can see it in her eyes. Old Liv remembers.