Savoth the Ilmatari
Posted: Sat Jun 22, 2013 5:58 pm
First Name: Savoth
Last Name: ((Unknown))
Appearance:
Race: Human
Age: 30
Height 6'0''
Weight: 225 lbs
Eyes: Green (singular)
Hair: Has none (but Blond)
Facial Hair Style: None (Unless scars count)
Personality Profile:
General Health: Good.
Deity: Ilmater
Initial Alignment: Lawful Good
Profession: Healer
Base Class & Proposed Development: Cleric (Sacred Fist)
Habits/Hobbies: Wandering around, likes a good beer, finding people to heal (and raise eventually)
Languages: Common
Weapon of Choice: Unarmed
Background: (First person)
Poverty is a romantic concept. I've read, now that I can read, quite a few stories about a hero born of “modest means” rising above his station to answer the call for a hero. They are all wonderful stories, and perhaps some of them are even true. Unfortunately, not everyone who's poor becomes a hero, and for every story told there exists a thousand untold ones. In a way, my story is the synthesis of victory and tragedy; because, it cost me a lot to no longer live in crippling poverty and its hard to call it a victory.
I was born in Athkatla before the Amnish Trade War. That alone should tell you that I am not a young man, not old, but not young. I could not tell you what my surname is because I don't know who my parents were, or are if they're still alive, and I doubt they know who I am or that I'm still alive. In my younger days, I would imagine my parents as various people that had been forced to abandon me for heroic reasons, but the reality is that I am probably the son of a street-walker. That concept most likely offends a few senses, but sometimes that's what the truth does. I lived in the sewers most of my youth, and had different people taking care of me at different times. Poverty has a weird way of making things communal, even children, when times are relatively “good.” But, when things become scarce it's everyone for themselves. I don't blame any of the families that threw me out. They had their own problems and caring for a additional child added to them. They gave me a place for a little bit, and that was worth a whole lot at the time. I met Adam after one such occasion. We were both being throw out because of a food shortage. The merchants and guards were cracking down on gleaning and theft which put us a food pinch. I took it rather well when they told me to leave, but one of the older boys made a fuse about it. He fought, cursing and kicking, screaming at the men until they hit him with a club and dragged him, unconscious, to one of the water ways and pushed him in. The boy flowed down the water way until he got stuck on a grate, where he probably would have drown if I hadn't pulled him out. That was Adam.
It didn't take long for us to start thinking of each other as brothers. I want to say we depended on each other, but that wasn't the case with us. Adam was good at surviving, and he was older and naturally talented. On the other hand, I was not very good at anything, and usually messed up all but the most basic of tasks. Adam never minded though, and I suspect he kept me around to feel like he had a family. Thinking back, I have a doubt that Adam was born in the sewers. He was too skilled on the surface, and could spin quite a lie when he got caught. He understood the streets, the guards, the merchants, and the culture of Athkatla better than anyone I knew. The most foreign thing about Adam was that he was smart, which is rare in a sewer; however, if he wasn't from the sewers he never talked about it, and I never thought to ask him.
A few years passed with little change in our lives. The adventures of day-to-day survival were as mundane in the sewers of Athkatla as they are in the streets of Baldur's Gate. We would steal food when we could, starve when we couldn't, and occasionally the Ilmatari would bring food around for the poor. I'm sure there were bad days, and I'm sure there were more hardships than simple food supply. But, as I get older the trials of my youth seem more and more like pleasant and carefree memories.
Our lives in the sewers ended when the Trade War began. War is good for the poor. Because, in war no one ever has enough soldiers, and soldiers get food, clothing, a place to sleep, and a bit of gold. To a couple kids living in a sewer it's a golden opportunity to vacation from the problems of poverty. So, we joined up eagerly, and in an instant we were soldiers and citizens of Athkatla.
The first year of our grand military career was a happy one. We marched around, did some drills, made some friends, and Adam even got recognized and promoted. The entire thing was pretty casual. I don't think the idea of actual battle had even occurred to us. I ended up working with the Quartermaster due to my age, and Adam got promoted to sergeant and given a small squad. The battle came shortly after Adam's promotion.
I will spare you the details of our first, and only, battle. I did not directly participate, instead I spent the battle with the supply train and the priests. You never read about it in books, but what comes after the battle is an extremely tedious clean up. It takes days to salvage all the equipment, clean and repair it, and ship it off to be reused. The only things wasted are the soldier's lives. You've likely guessed it by this point, but Adam did not survive the battle.
I was thirteen when Adam died, and I become belligerent, angry, and filled with grief. I hated everyone, and started picking fights with anyone who crossed my path. I wasn't exactly a good fighter to begin with, and since the only people who crossed my path were veteran soldiers... Well, that's where I got most of my scars, and how my right eye got mashed up. It was right after my eye got crushed that the battalion commander kicked me out of the army. He didn't need some worthless kid picking fights all the time. It didn't bother me, they were just another group throwing me out when times got tough. I left the encampment with the next supply wagon heading back to Athkatla. Going back to the sewers, and back to what I knew. But, I never made it back to the sewers or Athkatla.
Traveling with the supply wagon was a group of priest. I tried picking fights with them on occasion, but they never took the bait and simply smiled at me. They would tell me about Ilmater whenever they could get in a word, and would just stand a silent vigil to my stream of insults about their god and beliefs. I grew to like them. I think I just needed someone to scream at, someone to yell at for how unfair I felt the world had been, someone who would listen to my tantrums. So when they invited me to go with them to their monastery I gladly accepted.
It took years for Ilmater to accept me as one of his clerics. Not just because completing the required formal education was difficult for me, but because for a few years after after I was done preparing he just wouldn't answer my prayers. I suppose it could be argued that he just didn't like me, but I have a feeling he wanted to give me time to rest and grieve before shouldering me with more responsibility. But, perhaps he just wanted to make sure I could move passed my previous ego and learn some patience. That last one seems pretty likely...
Goals: Savoth wants to live by the three Ilmatari vows: Purity, Poverty, Pacifism. Living by the first two is easy for an ugly, poor man, but the last one he isn't ready to do yet. He wants to get strong enough to cast some of the more major heal spells, raise, and be strong enough to delve into the harshest conditions to heal/raise others.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts: He's a priest of Ilmater who wants to wonder around healing everyone who's hurt. He won't discriminate unless healing/raising the person will cause obvious suffering to others.
Last Name: ((Unknown))
Appearance:
Race: Human
Age: 30
Height 6'0''
Weight: 225 lbs
Eyes: Green (singular)
Hair: Has none (but Blond)
Facial Hair Style: None (Unless scars count)
Personality Profile:
General Health: Good.
Deity: Ilmater
Initial Alignment: Lawful Good
Profession: Healer
Base Class & Proposed Development: Cleric (Sacred Fist)
Habits/Hobbies: Wandering around, likes a good beer, finding people to heal (and raise eventually)
Languages: Common
Weapon of Choice: Unarmed
Background: (First person)
Poverty is a romantic concept. I've read, now that I can read, quite a few stories about a hero born of “modest means” rising above his station to answer the call for a hero. They are all wonderful stories, and perhaps some of them are even true. Unfortunately, not everyone who's poor becomes a hero, and for every story told there exists a thousand untold ones. In a way, my story is the synthesis of victory and tragedy; because, it cost me a lot to no longer live in crippling poverty and its hard to call it a victory.
I was born in Athkatla before the Amnish Trade War. That alone should tell you that I am not a young man, not old, but not young. I could not tell you what my surname is because I don't know who my parents were, or are if they're still alive, and I doubt they know who I am or that I'm still alive. In my younger days, I would imagine my parents as various people that had been forced to abandon me for heroic reasons, but the reality is that I am probably the son of a street-walker. That concept most likely offends a few senses, but sometimes that's what the truth does. I lived in the sewers most of my youth, and had different people taking care of me at different times. Poverty has a weird way of making things communal, even children, when times are relatively “good.” But, when things become scarce it's everyone for themselves. I don't blame any of the families that threw me out. They had their own problems and caring for a additional child added to them. They gave me a place for a little bit, and that was worth a whole lot at the time. I met Adam after one such occasion. We were both being throw out because of a food shortage. The merchants and guards were cracking down on gleaning and theft which put us a food pinch. I took it rather well when they told me to leave, but one of the older boys made a fuse about it. He fought, cursing and kicking, screaming at the men until they hit him with a club and dragged him, unconscious, to one of the water ways and pushed him in. The boy flowed down the water way until he got stuck on a grate, where he probably would have drown if I hadn't pulled him out. That was Adam.
It didn't take long for us to start thinking of each other as brothers. I want to say we depended on each other, but that wasn't the case with us. Adam was good at surviving, and he was older and naturally talented. On the other hand, I was not very good at anything, and usually messed up all but the most basic of tasks. Adam never minded though, and I suspect he kept me around to feel like he had a family. Thinking back, I have a doubt that Adam was born in the sewers. He was too skilled on the surface, and could spin quite a lie when he got caught. He understood the streets, the guards, the merchants, and the culture of Athkatla better than anyone I knew. The most foreign thing about Adam was that he was smart, which is rare in a sewer; however, if he wasn't from the sewers he never talked about it, and I never thought to ask him.
A few years passed with little change in our lives. The adventures of day-to-day survival were as mundane in the sewers of Athkatla as they are in the streets of Baldur's Gate. We would steal food when we could, starve when we couldn't, and occasionally the Ilmatari would bring food around for the poor. I'm sure there were bad days, and I'm sure there were more hardships than simple food supply. But, as I get older the trials of my youth seem more and more like pleasant and carefree memories.
Our lives in the sewers ended when the Trade War began. War is good for the poor. Because, in war no one ever has enough soldiers, and soldiers get food, clothing, a place to sleep, and a bit of gold. To a couple kids living in a sewer it's a golden opportunity to vacation from the problems of poverty. So, we joined up eagerly, and in an instant we were soldiers and citizens of Athkatla.
The first year of our grand military career was a happy one. We marched around, did some drills, made some friends, and Adam even got recognized and promoted. The entire thing was pretty casual. I don't think the idea of actual battle had even occurred to us. I ended up working with the Quartermaster due to my age, and Adam got promoted to sergeant and given a small squad. The battle came shortly after Adam's promotion.
I will spare you the details of our first, and only, battle. I did not directly participate, instead I spent the battle with the supply train and the priests. You never read about it in books, but what comes after the battle is an extremely tedious clean up. It takes days to salvage all the equipment, clean and repair it, and ship it off to be reused. The only things wasted are the soldier's lives. You've likely guessed it by this point, but Adam did not survive the battle.
I was thirteen when Adam died, and I become belligerent, angry, and filled with grief. I hated everyone, and started picking fights with anyone who crossed my path. I wasn't exactly a good fighter to begin with, and since the only people who crossed my path were veteran soldiers... Well, that's where I got most of my scars, and how my right eye got mashed up. It was right after my eye got crushed that the battalion commander kicked me out of the army. He didn't need some worthless kid picking fights all the time. It didn't bother me, they were just another group throwing me out when times got tough. I left the encampment with the next supply wagon heading back to Athkatla. Going back to the sewers, and back to what I knew. But, I never made it back to the sewers or Athkatla.
Traveling with the supply wagon was a group of priest. I tried picking fights with them on occasion, but they never took the bait and simply smiled at me. They would tell me about Ilmater whenever they could get in a word, and would just stand a silent vigil to my stream of insults about their god and beliefs. I grew to like them. I think I just needed someone to scream at, someone to yell at for how unfair I felt the world had been, someone who would listen to my tantrums. So when they invited me to go with them to their monastery I gladly accepted.
It took years for Ilmater to accept me as one of his clerics. Not just because completing the required formal education was difficult for me, but because for a few years after after I was done preparing he just wouldn't answer my prayers. I suppose it could be argued that he just didn't like me, but I have a feeling he wanted to give me time to rest and grieve before shouldering me with more responsibility. But, perhaps he just wanted to make sure I could move passed my previous ego and learn some patience. That last one seems pretty likely...
Goals: Savoth wants to live by the three Ilmatari vows: Purity, Poverty, Pacifism. Living by the first two is easy for an ugly, poor man, but the last one he isn't ready to do yet. He wants to get strong enough to cast some of the more major heal spells, raise, and be strong enough to delve into the harshest conditions to heal/raise others.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts: He's a priest of Ilmater who wants to wonder around healing everyone who's hurt. He won't discriminate unless healing/raising the person will cause obvious suffering to others.