Elder Paladin Yorin

Real Name: Yorin Elstire
Hero Name: N/A
Title: Elder Paladin of the Pyrecoat Order
Alignment: Lawful Good
Age: ???
Gender: Male, He/Him
Race: Eugenian
Hair: N/A
Eyes: N/A
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 320lb
Blood type: N/A


Yorin does not have a physical body beneath his armor. The metal suit of red and gold is the only solid part of him. Beneath the towering exterior he exudes is an endless, churning pool of magic fire that was once flesh and bone. This fire flows outwards from specially crafted vents and gaps in the armor, designed to allow Yorin the ability to conduct the heat how he requires. A cape made from black, ashen fur hangs from his shoulders, and wherever Yorin goes, one can’t help but smell burning pine in his wake.





Gentle, wise, stoic, and compassionate. These are the words many used to describe Yorin in a different time. He cares deeply for the world around him, and longs to protect it for as long and as best as he can. His patience knows very few limits, and anyone who has tried to upset Yorin is only met with disappointment. He is determined to see his endless crusade through to his dying breath. Not because he clings to something he can’t ever get back, but because he feels a great debt to everyone he outlived. They say history is written by the survivors, but Yorin would rather be the future of those tales than let them be forgotten.



Legends that date back to the early days of Eugenia tell of a lightless void. In this void, everything danced as one abstract force of will. The void was a conscious, ever-moving thing that never stopped changing shape. With a thought, it created mountains. With a breath, it created oceans. With each passing moment of its imagination, existence itself slowly formed into a solid presence. The absence of nothing, the material world.

The void lacked grasp on the material world. When something came into existence, it had no control. It could not reshape mountains or drain the oceans. It could only make them. This confused the void, and it created creatures to bring the small universe it had created back into nothing. These creatures did not understand anything but the need to destroy things. The void lost its influence on its children as they came into being, but they razed valleys to the ground. Planets shattered to dust, and stars fell into themselves.

But even as the void’s children destroyed the world around them, they could not erase it. Even mountains leave behind dust when they crumble, and oceans become rain when burned away. What was brought into this world and made part of it could not be undone, only reshaped. The void, however, remained insistent. It sacrificed more and more of itself to eat away at reality. Countless beings were made in all manners of shape. Planets were formed out of a thought and populated with whatever cosmic iota of semblance the void saw fit to leave behind. In the beginning of this universe, there was only violence.

What was seconds to the void was eons to the myriad civilizations raised from nothing. Wars were waged, ideas came into being, all to find the antithesis. The “is not” to the “is” in hope that the void might regain its lost control over its own self. One such collective of beings born out of this primordial chaos was given the power to raise fire from their fingertips. Whatever they touched would burn away into ash. In a place now called Eugenia, they gathered. They found each other, and spoke of war and ruin across all corners of the land. Theirs was a gift more destructive than most, and so they stayed together.

When armies swept the land to pillage, they wreathed themselves in fire and charged into battle. All in unison, they survived even the most grim of battles. Those who were spared their power called them the Pyrecoats. They were but another grain of sand in the chaos of the universe, another cell in a cosmic body made from the void’s decaying mind. The Pyrecoats learned to wield their flame in greater ways. Some developed the power to heal wounds, and others could fly like the birds. Like any creature born of the void, they were feared. But they were not as violent or war-like as the void wanted. They were gentle. They appreciated life, for their gifts taught them how easy life could be taken away.

Centuries passed. Less than the blink of an eye for the void, and it lost all patience.

The void was dying. The nonexistent cannot live in a world where there is existence. Where there is substance, there is not the lack of it. As the universe expands, the negative space recedes into itself. The void, a consciousness without form, grew desperate. In its desperation, it grew enraged. In a final, childlike act of rage, the void created one last creature. A lifeform that mirrored its hate for life. Why should everything that ever existed be allowed to exist and not it? That bitterness filled its new creation. These creatures could devour anything they touched, and spread that malevolent, blackened disdain to anything they infected like a plague.

They would eventually be known as the Durlighs.

The void’s final act was to spread them all across Eugenia, with the intent to live on through darkness made manifest. All throughout the world, Durlighs consumed and assimilated everything they came across. Plains of once-beautiful grass and flowers were turned to dead breeding ground for the monsters. Innocent people became twisted simulacrums of themselves, and killed their own families.

The only ones who were safe from this corruption were the Pyrecoats. Their control over flame gave them the power to beat the living plague back. They burned away the corruption, and within their own time, they organized into a martial order that trained themselves into soldiers. Their children would be raised as warriors of fire, as they were taught to respect all life as though it were their own. In a few years, the Pyrecoat Order established sanctuaries in which life could survive untouched by darkness. They struck out and waged war against the void’s remnants, restored safety and sanctity to the world around them.

Yorin was one of the Pyrecoats. His great grandparents were both among the first generation to walk the land. In a city called Nakarel, he underwent a ritual to bring his mastery over the flame to its greatest potential. Yorin’s body was set ablaze under the light of the sun, enchanted by a dozen of his elders. The flames did not burn him, but they became his skin. Underneath his armor, he began to feel lighter. Within minutes, he had fully embraced the flame. His mortal body was given to fire, and he would serve the Order for as long as the universe existed.

Yorin was given the rank of Elder Paladin, the highest honor one could receive. In the next few minutes, a horde of Durlighs raided the sanctum. Emboldened by their thirst for life and the magic that flowed through the land after the ritual, they attacked in numbers so great that an army could not stop them. There were too many, and no amount of fire or defense could stem the tide. Even the other Elder Paladins among his rank fell. Yorin fought back as best he could, and carved his way into the deeper part of the stronghold, where he learned that the Durlighs had come from the very bottom. This was no unprompted attack, they had been nesting right under their noses for what could’ve been years. And Yorin’s ceremony woke them up.

Yorin burned his way through wave after wave, and felt his body grow heavy as he did. The sound of a distant heartbeat filled his ears. Wet, growling noises shook the walls. And yet he pressed on.

When he reached the darkest, most untouched section of the Order’s stronghold, he found a Great Mother. The very strongest a Durligh could possibly grow. It was an endless source of the horde that wouldn’t stop producing monsters unless it was killed. But killing it was a task that only a dozen Elder Paladins could even have a chance of accomplishing. The ritual that infused Yorin’s body had fed the Great Mother, making it into this horror. Yorin could hear the other Elder Paladins following him, and tried to warn them. They didn’t listen, and they attacked like fools.

The ceiling rumbled as the Pyrecoats all fought in unison. The Great Mother howled in agony as the flames kicked its abyssal flesh, but it never died. The beast swung an arm at one of Yorin’s comrades, and shattered his arm, metal and all. Dark fluids washed over him, and Yorin watched the light slowly fade behind his helmet. If they didn’t finish this soon, they would all die. But they didn’t stop. They pressed on. As they prepared to take its head, the Great Mother’s chest split open like a gate, and another army filled the room. Rubble from the ceiling fell onto Yorin, trapping him under. He couldn’t see what happened, but the air ignited. Everything in the room became a golden haze of blinding light.

When he freed himself, he was the only person left standing. Suit of smoking armor lay shattered before him, and the Great Mother was gravely wounded. Yorin summoned a spear of flame and finished the job. He then ascended to see the damage, and found that no one else had survived. There were still thousands of Durlighs, and yet he was the only one alive. Yorin searched for hours, but not a single Pyrecoat could be found. Even Lord Ralanos, a man who had outlived the worst any of them had ever seen, was now a smoking pile of chattering ,infected sludge. He gave his taken comrades their final mercies, and searched for anyone else who might’ve survived.

But no one did.

No one except Yorin.

Somehow, in a single attack, so much life was lost. The Great Mother had burrowed in long ago and fed on every scrap of power it could get. It waited for years to enact this violence upon them. For all their training, their power, and their might, it only took one move to eradicate them. Yorin was now the very last Pyrecoat.

No one else today remembers them. The Durlighs are so few and far between that the Pyrecoat Order’s absence is never felt. And yet they still dwell in the darkest recesses of Eugenia. They still exist where the void does not. And so, Yorin had spent the last countless lifetimes hunting them in an eternal war against the darkness. Wherever they lie, he will carry the flame. Day after day, night after night, Yorin stands against that which detests all life. As long as even a single Pyrecoat still lives on, the end will never have a chance to come. The darkness will never reign.

The sun will never set for the last time.


Holy Flame
Embraced by the warmth that creates life, Yorin wields fire like a knight wields his sword. With a wave of his hand, he could conjure a roaring bonfire to warm a cold night, extinguish a burning building or heat food to a perfect temperature. This fire can burn at a temperature hot enough to echo the fusion of distant stars if Yorin desires, reaching temperatures in the range of 30,000,000 Fahrenheit. For Yorin, the Flame is quite literally an extension of his body, so he could render exposure to this incredible heat completely harmless- One could touch a fireball burning hotter than the surface of a star, and feel a cool breeze. This facet of Yorin’s abilities, however, only works with fire produced by him.

Radiant Hands
Yorin’s fire can take on an unnaturally yellow color to heal the wounds of those who come into contact with it. When a broken bone is set, it will heal back to full strength in minutes. Potentially fatal bleeding can be stopped without a single stitch. Regardless of the target’s physiology, their wounds can be healed. This ability requires a target to be considered living, meaning undead or machines will not benefit from it.

There are certain things the Radiant Hands can’t heal, such as diseases or poison that ravages the body. Yorin can heal the damage such afflictions cause to the body, but he cannot simply burn it out of them like an antivenom. Illnesses or infections of a supernatural origin, such as a poison spell or exposure to Durligh blood, render Yorin’s healing powerless.


Sacred Vessel
Yorin’s body is essentially a container in the form of armor. The inside is full of cosmic fire that never grows cold. The ancient techniques used to create this armor are not known to the worlds of today. As such, any damage to the armor cannot simply be healed or repaired overnight. Yorin would need to travel to a far-off place in Eugenia to access the resources to repair his armor, making damage during a fight functionally permanent.

For this same reason, healers of any kind are unable to heal him. His body is not flesh, and neither is its container.

Beacon of Light
Under the cover of darkness, anyone can see Yorin from miles away. Against the night sky, he glows brighter than most stars. Stealthy tactics are virtually impossible for him as a result of this. You’ll see him long before he sees you.


Wings of Sunlight
The cape pinned to Yorin’s armor is enchanted to erupt into fire. When this happens, it spreads outwards in a way that resembles the feathers of a bird, allowing Yorin to fly through the air.


See: Stareater