Armanz the Magnificent

Armanz the Magnificent, immortal master of ceremonies of Teleria’s Festival of Creation, could be the most famous and talented troubadour in Teleria’s history. Though devotees of the great Dwarf bard Fodbor might disagree, Armanz himself will say so if given half a chance. His stock of stories, songs, wisdom, and wit is seemingly endless. His nimble fingers can perform feats of sleight of hand with the same grace that they move across the fretboard of his lute, and when his sword is in those quick hands, a song of blood is sure to follow. To hear him tell it, there is no exotic locale that he has not visited, no beauty he has not pursued, no pompous fop he has not embarrassed. He has learned his skills and honed his crafts all over the world as a poet, a jeweler, a pirate, a baker, a thief, and anything else a questioner may think to ask. He is a man who has been everywhere, yet comes from nowhere, admired by many but a true friend only to a rare few. Part of Armanz’s mystique comes from his impeccable style, inspired by dozens of cultures across Teleria but unique to himself. Laden with rings, bracelets, and necklaces, he dazzles with bold and brightly-colored garb and a bandana binding his bejeweled braids. His love of luxury and beauty does not transgress into vanity or greed. His wealth is part of the majesty of his performance, displayed to delight the masses, not himself. He readily displays his tattooed skin, making his whole body part of the work of art that is his life. The two most prominent are of the Arbiter and the Undead caricature, Deathknight. The staunchly pious — many of whom already dislike noise and frivolity to begin with — sometimes condemn it, but Armanz has a ready explanation. He immortalized the Deathknight on his flesh alongside the holy Arbiter because the balance of Light and Dark is inherent to all living things. This is something Armanz has marked well during his long journeys and many encounters, whether singing raucous drinking songs with the Dwarves, engaging in feats of strength with Orcs, or dining with Elven nobles. It is natural for an entertainer to appear on days of celebration, but the Festival in its purest form is about the unity of Light and Dark, which is what Armanz’s tattoos symbolize. One cannot exist without the other, and nor can Teleria exist without either. So too for grief and joy, love and loss. Though Armanz has great exuberance, he has also seen great sorrow, just as Teleria itself has witnessed days of glory and days of strife. For Armanz is a witness of Teleria and a teller of its tales, at one with the land and its many peoples. For all his jollity, Armanz is skilled in the battle-arts and war magics of a hundred traditions from across the world, and will fight with steely resolve if tested. He trains stridently, for he serves a high cause: the Arbiter is not just a muse but his direct mistress, and she has given him a Shard to preserve his eternal essence. Armanz does not merely earn his coin performing during the Festival of Creation, he is the spiritual steward of the Festival and charged by the Arbiter to maintain its traditions. For a month before and after the Festival, this eternal bard walks the world. When Armanz ventures forth, he gathers a coterie of like-minded celebrants: dancers, singers, storytellers, fools, sages, seers, and skalds from across the spectrum of Teleria’s people are drawn to him, honored and excited at the thought of performing by his side. They form a caravan that wends across the land, its progress tracked from village to village with growing anticipation and glee. Where they stop, Armanz’s band unpacks and constructs their own stages and stalls. They offer everything from visions conjured within a crystal orb to barter in books and used clothes, along with virtuoso performances. The finale of Armanz’s visits is always a splendid miracle-play depicting Telerian cosmogony and the Dances of Creation, so that the folk of the world are reminded that the Festival of Creation is more than just a period of mindless merry-making. And then, in a flash, he is off to his next destination, leaving behind those he has entertained. Then, he returns to slumber within his Shard. This cycle leaves Armanz in a strange perpetual state of simultaneous detachment and attachment to society and the mortal world. Armanz makes a friendly impression on everyone, but, though few realize it, he keeps them all at an emotional distance. For always must the show go on, and with it Armanz, onward to a new stage.