War Bishop

Bishop Alexandre Delorme once bore a blade before he carried the Word. Long ago, he marched beneath the banners of the Ivory Court, a soldier forged in the fires of countless battles. His sword struck down the enemies of the realm, and his name echoed through barracks and war camps—Delorme, the steadfast. But amidst the carnage, something in him broke. Or perhaps, something awoke. On a battlefield strewn with the dying, Delorme knelt beside a fallen comrade, cradling his hand as he whispered prayers he barely knew. That night, under bloodstained skies, he laid down his blade and vowed never to take another life. He returned to King’s Reach not as a war hero, but as a humble man seeking absolution. Years passed. The scars on his body faded, but the ones within did not. Delorme took up the cloth, joining the clergy of the Ivory Court, and through quiet devotion, he rose to the rank of White War Bishop. In a realm that revered hierarchy, he was a rare voice of compassion. Though he preaches peace, he knows the rhythm of war. On the front lines, he walks among the wounded, binding their flesh with balm and their spirits with prayer. He whispers the Lord’s mercy to the dying, and weeps in silence where others cheer victory. He does not preach against the war—he knows such defiance could cost him his robes—but his very presence reminds soldiers that even in Caïssa, where every soul is born into a role, there is room for grace. And when danger finds him, and his staff is not enough, he remembers his old training. He fights not to kill, but to protect those who still have a future. “The Lord does not always call us to strike,” he tells young knights. “Sometimes, He calls us to kneel beside the broken.” Bishop Delorme remains a contradiction—a man of war turned vessel of peace, wrapped in white robes, carrying both scripture and scars.