CS' Rage of Demons
Human Cleric of Lathander.
A man with brown hair, a short, trimmed beard and steely grey eyes. Neither tall nor heavy, he doesn’t seem to possess much physical strength. Still, his eyes speak of confidence and strength, which seems at odds with his build. Usually seen with a warm and friendly smile, he’s polite, if informal in his speech.
His vestments is of ordinary quality. As he is now travelling around, he doesn’t need all the splendor of gold ornamented robes. He prefers white and light colours in his clothing,. When dressed for the road though, he dons his scale armour and shield. His only weapons seem to be dagger that hangs from his belt and one that is worn in the boot. Around his neck hangs a golden amulet with the holy symbol of Lathander.
After the capture, and subsequent escape from the drows, all his belongings are now gone. His hair and beard is longer and wilder. Dark circles have formed under his eyes, as nightmares have plagued him. Gone are his vestments and ordinary clothing. Now he only have some leathers meant for battle, complimenting the chain shirt he scavenged off of a dead drow. Gone are his shield adorned with the splendor of Lathander, in its stead he found a drow shield to replace it. He now also wears a large assortment of daggers strapped around his body, thinking every piece of gear might mean the difference between death and survival in the depths of the Underdark. Gone are his finely crafted, and valuable, golden holy symbol of Lathander. A single golden coin he managed to pocket away during his imprisonment is now its replacement, after spending nights to carve and etch the markings of Lathander unto it. It might not be pretty, but as long as his faith is strong and true, it will suffice.
Born in the outskirts of Dagger Falls, Durwyn was raised in a loving family. His parents, who owned a small strip of land, had a little farm where they lived. They were not rich, in material wealth at least, as this was a small farm. Just a few animals and no enormous fields. Just a few plots of different vegetables and a field of wheat. His early days were filled with chores on the farm (which he would avoid to go out and play with the neighbouring children), playing with the neighbouring children (which he would do as often as possible) and being given twice the amount of chores and having to work late in the evening (for skipping most of his chores).
This peaceful life wouldn’t last. One day in his twelfth year, the village was raided. The events of that night remained a haze for him. As he had been caught skipping his chores, he was sent out to care for the animals while the others had supper. This proved to be his salvation. When the raid happened, young Durwyn fled out in the field of wheat and hid there until the morning. A travelling merchant stopping by, found the young boy walking in the village, clinging to an empty bowl. His clothes were dirty, stained with blood. Some of the houses were smoking ruins. Charred remains could be spotted through the windows. Bodies lay everywhere, some cruelly cut, others pierced by bolts.
The merchant brought him to an orphanage supported by the Church of Lathander. His first days there were only half-remembered. What he had seen in the aftermath of the raid had traumatized him. He would never speak of the events of that night to anyone, hardly remembering anything of what had happened. It was only when night came, that he would remember something. The cries of alarm. The screams of pain. A mother crying. Fire crackling. Harsh laughter. Never feeling safe inside at night, he would wander outside every night. Not until the sun brought its light to banish the darkness, would he return inside.
One priest, Harndarr Oryn, noticed how the sun broguht at least some measure of reassurance to Durwyn. So he taught Durwyn the teachings of Lathander. He would tell tales of bravery. Stories of heroes that defied death itself. Stories of men that conquered their fears. Harndarr saved Durwyn’s life. Or at least made it possible for Durwyn to actually live. Taking the Words of Lathander to heart, Durwyn found a measure of comfort there. A way for him to step into the darkness calmly. He would bring his own light within him. Harndarr, sensing his resolve, took him to Lathander’s Light, where Durwyn would take the role of an acolyte. He would immerse himself in the Texts of Lathander. He performed every rite, every chore perfectly. He began to work in the orphanage as well. Their kindness, and the Light of Lathander, had sparked something within him.
One day, at the request of Harndarr, a Morninglord tested Durwyn’s aptitude as a cleric. He had been told of the strength of the young man’s faith, that there was great potential there. Sensing great strength in Durwyn, he not only requested, but insisted that the boy was to be trained as a cleric. As with his duties in Lathander’s Light, Durwyn put his whole soul into the training. It could be tough at times, dangerous even, but he never flinched. How could he refuse to become one of Lathander’s agents? To be doing Lathander’s will? He progressed through his training quickly. The only aspect of his training he didn’t care for, was the weapon drills. He much rather preferred to wield his faith as a weapon. After all, when he cast his spells he could feel Lathander’s light pour through him. So proud was Harndarr of Durwyn’s achievements, that he granted him his Holy Symbol. A large, golden, highly ornamented amulet.
He still had nightmares at times. The distant memories of the raid haunted him from time to time, but he was a changed man now and so the nightmares changed with him. From paralyzing terror to heartrending sorrow to silent lament to grim resolve. For never again would he run into the darkness and hide while there was people in need of aid. He would become a beacon of light instead, instilling hope and banishing the darkness, if only for a little while. He had purpose now. But still the raid would come into his dreams from time to time. It was not until he neared the end of his training that something came to him. Ignoring his father’s pleading to spare his family, his mother’s crying, their death cries. There was something else there. And then he heard it; weak shouts and crying. Danilo, his little brother.
Suddenly bolt awake in his bed, all his repressed memories came back! Sobbing and sniffling in the wheat field alone in the darkness. Walking into the house to find his father and mother dead. Grabbing the bowl of food his mother always would have ready for him when they “punished” him. Walking through the village. Seeing all the ones he loved dead, or gone. And then it hit him. Gone! They were gone! Not everyone was accounted for. Most of the children weren’t among the dead, including his brother! Could they have been kidnapped? They couldn’t still be alive. Surely not. Could they?
Now a man, a cleric granted a small measure of Lathander’s divinity. Taking to the road in search of people to aid. He would spread the light into people’s life. It’s not all who aks for aid who need it, and it’s not all who needs aid that asks for it. His resolve is to help as many people as he can. To protect those he can. He has accepted he can’t save all, but, by the light be damned, he will save as many as he can before his light burns out! But still there is one thing weighing him down. The unknown fate of his brother and the children of the village.
Once a boy consumed by fear, hiding from it. Then a young man trying to face his fear. Now a man who conquered his fear, trying his damn best to banish everyone else’s!
By the light!