A knight of unimpeachable honor and incredible skill, Chevalier was among the most feared sidhe when the battles of the Accordance War raged. A brilliant tactician and shrewd strategist, he was responsible for many of the nobles' most lopsided victories during the course of the fighting. He was a warrior of innate honor, though, and refrained from the wholesale slaughter of commoners that some of the other sidhe deemed appropriate. Alas for Chevalier that his life was saved by one of his own kind, a Sir Damion, on the battlefield. Sir Damion was one of those who ruined the nocker Waylon, and he called on his debt from Chevalier to use his prestige to force through some proclamations aimed directly at the smith. Caught between conflicting poles of his honor, Chevalier fulfilled his debt and then quietly went mad.
It was then that he joined the Dauntain. Fae existence had become intolerable to him because of the demands it placed on his honor; ergo, he imagined himself as removed from fae existence. All that remained was a lingering memory of pain, and a conviction that something evil was afoot in the work of these "changelings." Now, unaware of his true self, he hunts his former friends and foes. No one believes that it is a coincidence that he specializes in hunting sidhe.
The most astonishing things about Ryder are his eyes. They're a clear grey, burning with the fires of fanaticism. His face is long and thin, clean-shaven when he remembers. Almost six and a half feet tall, he usually wears a long black trench coat with plenty of room for concealed weapons. His clothes are loose and not stylish, but they give him freedom of movement in combat. incongruously, he wears John Lennon-style granny glasses, which tend to make him look even more inscrutable than normal. His complexion is extremely pale, and while he's thin, he's also muscular. There's not an ounce of fat on his frame, and no movement he makes is wasted.
As Chevalier, he dressed in rich, flowing robes of red and gold. Under Glamour, he is garbed in glistening scale armor the color of his abandoned robes, and the light dancing off of this display can be dazzling. His hands remember what his mind has forgotten, and he is equally proficient with a sword or a 9mm pistol.
As of the second installment of the Immortal Eyes Chronicle, Ryder has the Waystone embedded in his left palm.
Blasted into Banality with unimaginable fury, Ryder has lost all sense of who he once was. All that he has is a the memory of pain and of those who were responsible. He's going to make every last one pay, and sine they're not human, it's not really murder, now is it? The small fry are beneath his attention, as they tend to burn out on their own, but the so-called nobles, well, they're targets worthy of his attention.