Cleric (Cloistered) | HP 17/17 | AC 14/16 | Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +9 | Perception +7 | Speed: 25 ft. - Hero Points: 1, Active Conditions: None
About Orlund the Fair
Orlund the Fair | Cleric 1 N, Medium, Human, Half-Orc, Humanoid Perception +7; Low-Light Vision
Languages Common, Sylvan
Skills Acrobatics +1, Athletics +0, Deception +6, Diplomacy +6, Lore: Politics +3, Medicine +7, Religion +7, Stealth +4, Survival +7
Str +0, Dex +1, Con +1, Int +0, Wis +4, Cha +3
Items Unarmored, Backpack, Bedroll, Chalk (10), Flint and Steel, Rope, Rations (2), Torch (5), Waterskin, Soap, Caltrops (2), Healer's Tools, Religious Symbol (Silver), Steel Shield (Hardness 5, HP 20, BT 10)
AC 14 (+16 with shield raised); Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +9
Speed 25 feet
Melee Rapier +4 (Deadly d8, Disarm, Finesse), Damage 1d6 P
Divine Prepared Spells DC 17, attack +7; 1st Heal, Heal, Heal, Heal, Heal (unicorn); Cantrips
Divine Prepared Spells DC 17, attack +7; 1st Magic Weapon, Magic Weapon; Cantrips Divine Lance, Guidance, Detect Magic, Light, Message
Focus Spells (1 points) Agile Feet Duration until the end of the current turn The blessings of your god make your feet faster and your movements more fluid. You gain a +5-foot status bonus to your Speed and ignore difficult terrain. As part of casting agile feet, you can Stride or Step; you can instead Burrow, Climb, Fly, or Swim if you have the appropriate Speed.
Additional Feats Charming Liar, Domain Initiate, Half-Orc, Overlooked Mastermind, Fey Influence (Unicorn)
Additional Specials Anathema, Deity, Divine Font (Healing Font), Divine Spellcasting, Doctrine (Cloistered Cleric), Domain Initiate (Travel)
"Who are you?" Geldrin Surtova asked. He was trembling and sweating as he realized the gravity of his error.
"Why do you ask? You know enough to be frightened" The waifish figure spoke in return. They were slender and graceful, and had a voice that was both as beautiful and terrible to listen to as the creature was to look upon.
"Please," the young noble asked. "I meant no offense. You must understand I cannot simply invite every visitor into my home unannounced. Please," he begged again. "how can I make this Right?
The last word hummed with power in the middle of the air. As if a golden thread had been pulled from his throat.
"'OURS IS THE RIGHT' Is it not said in these halls?" the elfish creature intoned.
"Y-yes, Y-your Grace. Those are our Words." Surtova replied. Again that thrum of power.
"Then I shall take them as payment for the slight." The faerie gleamed like a Goddess as she collected the words from the petulant noble.
"I-I don't understand." He admitted.
"They are Mine now. When you speak them, they will be a curse upon you and your descendants. Fate will conspire around him to be sure he is never Right. But there is always hope. Do not allow your descendants to forget this meeting Surtova. Time has far less meaning to Us than it does you. When I return I expect the same hospitality that your ancestor once offered to me."
The creature's eyes shone with light. Rays of sunbeams extruded as they spoke. But a chorus of voices came out as they did.
YOUR HOUSE WILL BE CURSED BY YOUR OWN ARROGANCE. AND IT WILL BE BY ARROGANCE UNDONE THAT THE CURSE WILL BE UNMADE.
Geldrin Surtova felt his cheeks wet with tears from the beauty displayed before him. And with shame and fear.
Ever since he could remember, Orlund was some combination of absurdly lucky and unlucky.
Born to a noble family, Orlund shouldn't have wanted for much. Indeed he had the best tutelage money could buy in Brevoy, born with a sharp wit and confidence to match.
But he was born terrible to look at.
They called him fair to mock him. But he wears it proudly now. He finds it amusing that those that fancied themselves witty came up with such a dull insult.
His mother and father had terrible arguments when they believed no one was listening. Others whispered that his parentage belonged to barbarians. They said his mother was a whore. Never in such vulgar terms. But they said it all the same.
By his estimation he'd broken nearly every bone in his body, and he was barely old enough to inherit a title. Yes it was hyperbole, but it was still a miracle he could continue to stand, he often thought to himself, much less campaign into the Stolen Lands.
But it was his destiny he supposed. Someone that looked like him could not inherit the Surtova name. At least not without being undeniably worthy. His father made it very clear to him that he wasn't. Yet.
To become worthy, he left the courts, luxury and scholarship behind. Nothing so painful as being exiled by his father, but more of a self-imposed exile. Arming himself with his wits, bravado and the power of a careless God, he foolishly makes his way into the Stolen Lands in search of his own fortune and destiny.
”What is that, Father Banker?” a young boy with a severe underbite and patchy skin points to the margins of a book in front of him. An elderly man stands looking over his shoulder.
The elderly man gave the ugly boy a pointed look. It took all of the boy’s power not to roll his eyes. ”Father Banker Tellus.” The boy corrected himself.
”Everything and everyone requires its proper address, Master Orlund.” Banker Tellus tuts. He narrows his eyes at the book, ”Now what was it again?” ”That.” The boy points to the image of an eye in the tome. A black eye with a teardrop falling from it.
”It's the Eye of Aroden. You know Master Orlund, you’re usually much brighter than this.” He says, apparently confused as to why the boy would ask such a question.
”No, it’s not. Look.” His finger traces the teardrop as he scowls at the old man. ”Aroden’s eye doesn’t have a tear on it. And it's not usually black and silver like this. I think that crescent there is intentional as well.”
The banker priest sighs, ”I don’t particularly care boy, continue with the lesson.”
The young man gives a smug sidelong glance, ”Everything and everyone requires its proper address, no?”
Tellus raises a hand as if to strike Orlund, but the boy never flinches. He was part of the royal family, regardless of how low, it wasn’t allowed. The tutor grumbles something about precocious brats then continues on as if Orlund had never said anything at all.
He had seen the eye many times since that day. Or at least he thought he did. But after a certain number of times, he knew he wasn’t imagining it. He couldn’t just become a banker priest like his father demanded of him. He had to discover the meaning of this eye. He understood he was cursed. But the Eye beckoned him.
Hidden in code in one of Senior Banker Tellus’ old copies of the Tomes of Memory, he found it. He thought he was crazy for a time. He still might be. But once he stopped ignoring the signs, he discovered that the eye belonged to an ancient exile in the court of the First World. Fey. The being who cursed him before he was born. If he could find and outwit the creature who had done this to him, maybe he could undo the curse.
And maybe he would take the words for himself.