The son of Sagulo Helpi, Cleric of Farsk

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Character Background:

To live in another man’s shadow is like living a half-life.  I know this first hand, as I am the son of the famous Sagulo Helpi.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved my father and I honor his legend.  But he has left some mighty large shoes to fill in his absence.  My father died in an epic battle when I was just ten years old.  The temple in Alibar had been sacked, the church burned.  I can still remember the men who came to my mother and I to tell the news.  I had never seen a man cry before that day, and I think I finally understood what Sagulo had meant to these men.  They told us of the battle he had fought, and of all the monsters he had slayed, but none of the men could console my mother, and she began to loose her grip on the world around her.  They brought his armor, and his sword to our home in Dweber, and I was given most of his belongings, but nothing that would really fill the gap that his death left in my life.  I don’t dislike the man, but sometimes I wish I were named ElKoro Smith.  It would have made my life easier to live. There was a big production at the Goddess’ temple in Dweber in my father’s honor.  He was laid to rest in his full armor with the visor pulled down.  Across his chest lay the massive two-handed sword of legend, polished to a shine.  There were stories about his legendary blade.  I know them all by heart, and find myself telling them constantly.  Some say that he fought like an angel possessed by the strength of the Goddess herself.  Some tell of how Sagulo waded into the battles, time and again, only to emerge soaked in blood without a scratch on him.  A hero in his own time, Sagulo earned the respect of his peers, and the terror of his enemies.  I spoke at the funeral service and made an oath to follow in his footsteps.  I can’t count the amount of times I was patted on the back for speaking my oath.  I was just eight years old and had no idea what I had just done. Shortly after the large procession, I kissed my mother goodbye, and moved into the temple of the Goddess to begin my training in Dweber.  The amount of commitment and physical strain to become a paladin only pales in comparison to the amount of mental hardship involved.  My greatest hurdle was the mounted combat.  I was able to lift the mighty two-handed greatsword like my father’s with ease, but when it came to horses, I was made the fool on a number of occasions.  Perhaps I emanate some kind of an anti-equine aura.  Or perhaps it is simply that all horses all over the world remember the number of horses my father went through before he found his final mount and somehow blame me for it.  I truly think it’s the latter, for whenever I get close enough to one of them to saddle it, the beast will bite out at me.  If I am lucky enough to actually manage to get on the horse, it is only a matter of time before he decides that the fun has gone on long enough, and he bucks me off with a vengeance.  All horses hate me, even the old ones that the children ride. Early in my Paladin training, I realized that I was not going to achieve the level my father had.  I was not especially good at anything that the training had to offer, and was shortly dismissed back home.  I expected my mother to be unhappy with my progress, or think me unfit to be my father’s son, but she showed no signs that she had recovered from the time of my father’s death.  She was still distant and seemingly unable to understand what I was telling her.  It broke my heart to see her like that.  I left home again, not much older than ten, to seek a focus for all the anger building up within me. I as approached by a friend of my father’s one day.  He was a clergyman from the temple of Farsk, a lesser known god.  Ba’Luk explained that he knew my father and wanted to help me on behalf of his memory.  I had heard that speech many times and at first was reluctant, but soon began what would become my training into the church of Farsk.

Character Background Continued -->