Age: 23

Appearance: The Duelist is not an imposing figure. Standing at only 5'10" and tipping the scales at a lean 160 pounds, his size betrays his
ferocity. In traditional fashion, Aiden wears what could be called a swashbuckler's uniform, flowing white shirt, black tights, flamboyant yet comfortable leather boots, and a black mask tied around his piercing blue eyes, curly black hair just beggining to grow out from his military cut. His flintlocks sit in twin shoulder holsters, his rapier hanging from his left side. In civilian clothes he fits right in with the crowd, donning jeans, casual button downs, and work boots that he grew used to working on his aunt's farm.

Background: Again thunder cracked as in the distance the wizards summoned their lightning to fight off the American heroes who were heading the main assault. Ireland launched her final defense against the invaders, pitting men and heroes against the terrifying Fir Bolg legions and their unholy commanders. Aiden knew that most of the attention was set where the Americans and the Morrigan were wading through the enemy like ships through a calm sea. Aiden knew there would be no help for his platoon which was cornered and faced certain slaughter.
    The Fir Bolg had forced them into a ravine, no place to retreat, and numbers too great to defend against. The Fir Bolg were huge, powerful
apelike creatures who demanded thrice the firepower a normal man would to fall. Aiden had fired his last round an incredibly long two minutes
before. The Fir Bolg that fell on him was wounded, but it still took all of his effort to finish the monster with his combat knife. With the last of
his strength he pushed the creature off of himself, ignoring the voice in his head that roared for him to hide beneath the carcass. His friends were
still fighting. Still dieing. He might very well die, too, but not a coward.
    Two dozen Fir Bolg surrounded the last ten of his brothers. They didn't see him. Fine, maybe he'd at least get one of the invaders before his
heart could beat no longer. "Going to just dive in with a knife and hope for the best, Aiden? Not much of a plan, now, would it be?"
    Aiden rubbed his eyes with bloodied hands trying to clear his vision. Before him was...a wraith? A ghost? It was a man, a man with features
not unlike his own, yet transparent as a glass of that weak American Coors draught. "Who..."
    "Times a tad short, lad, no time to sit and share a long tale. Let it be known that you are Aiden Patrick Ryan, son of Donald, son of Patrick,
who was my own boy. I am Aiden Johnathan Ryan, and I ask of ya just one thing, lad. If'n ya could save yer friends, would it stop there? If'n ya had
the strength, would ya turn yer back upon those in need, or resolve day after day ta lay down yer own life fer the sakes o' those who stare fate in
the face but lack the tools ta save themselves?"
    "I..I" Aiden was confused. Was this a dream, an ancestor come to claim him? Was he dead himself? Something inside him bubbled up,"If someone were in need, and I could help, then that's what I'd HAVE to do. It's a moot question, the answer always being the same."
    "Well enough, lad. Save yer friends, an keep yer word. The day ye turn yer back on the needful will be the day ye see yer last sunset an join
us, lest ya find another way round. But that's always painful, yes?"
    The image faded, and in his hands Aiden found a pair of beautifully crafted flintlocks. Were they from the dead Fir Bolg? Those creatures
used such weapons. But the 'Bolg's weapons were oversized and bulky. These were sleek and perfectly balanced. At his side hung a sword, one of those thin french ones used for fencing. The confusion cleared, and the rest of the gift came to Aiden.
    In moments the Fir Bolg were defeated. Along with the weapons came the knowledge of how to use them, how to use his own body in ways he never dreamed. Generation upon generation of discipline and skill were at his disposal, along with these powerful mystical tools. When the battle was done, he swore his fellows to secrecy, a warrior's vow he had no fear they would break. His great great grandfather didn't lie. For the rest of
his days Aiden Ryan had a role to fill. Like generations of men before him, he would stand as a defender for the defensless, be a force of reckoning for the malicious to fear.
    For the first time in over a century, the Duelist had returned.
    While he worked with both Storm Guard and the Dragon Slayers, Aiden works mostly alone these days, operating mostly in Ireland taking on mostly magical threats.

Powers: The Duelist's powers stem from his mystical weapons and the skills passed on to him from generations of Duelists before him. The
flintlocks never require loading, the only neccesity being to cock their heavy hammers back before firing. Their blasts are dramatic, thunderous booms followed by hellfire rounds which impact like sledgehammers. The sword, like the guns, is indestructable by earthly means, and every bit as functional as a mundane weapon of it's ilk. But when the ghost blade connects with living flesh, it fades into the spiritual world, piercing not the body but the soul. It chills the victem's soul and sends their body into shock.
    Aiden's ancestors bestowed upon him more knowledge in swordsmanship, gunfighting, and combat than most normal men could ever hope to learn in a lifetime. His aim is unnerving, his swordsmanship superhuman, and his fighting skills on par with nearly anyones. His abilities are limited to his human strength, though. His battle with the Fir Bolg taught him that knowledge is one thing, having the physical ability to use it was
another. His friends claimed he was KIA, giving Aiden time to go underground, training his body to match his skills. His reactions are so acute now, aided by his supernatural skills, that he can use his indestructable blade to even defend against whizzing bullets.
    Adien is a part time member of Storm Guard, helping out on more supernatural cases.

Personality: Raised American, Aiden moved 'home' at the age of 18 after a major conflict with his parents. His mother's sister let him live and
work on her farm, and when he gained citizenship he joined the Irish  military, feeling a need to do more for his new country.
    Aiden had always been the defender of the underdog, ever since he was in elementary school. He couldn't stand to see bullies pick on smaller
kids, no more than he could bear watching his father work his many schemes in an attempt to avoid an honest day's work. In the army, he quickly became platoon leader, his ability to find the best qualities in his comrads and accentuate them overcame the fact that he'd been raised in the States.
    As the Duelist, Aiden's own traits are magnified. He stands in a world that is black and white. People are good until proven otherwise. Once
they cross that line, they had best not practice their wares in front of him, or they'll be instructed in proper etiquette by the back of his hand or
the chilling bite of his sword. But he doesn't believe killing solves anything, save in times of war. Everyone should be given a chance to see their
errors and make amends, even his father.