Kellus' Background
Hi all. First time poster, long time reader.
I play Kellus in Destan's campaign. I don't have any of his early character sheets, but I do have his background. It'll give you some insight as to why he currently lacks faith. I can tell you that Kellus is a cleric of Helm, with strength and protection domains. Good Wisdom, Intelligence and Strength. Average on the other stats. The below mentioned 'Covenguard' is a home-brewed prestige class that Destan created for this campaign. Perhaps if you bug him, he'll post that too. I built Kellus' with the intention of eventually taking the prestige class. I'm not the writer Destan is so please, go easy on me. It was written as if the group was seated around the campfire talking. Anyway, without further ado here it is...
Physical Description: Kellus stands about 6’ tall and approximately 200 lbs. He is of medium build. His head is shaved bald and he appears to be about 30 years of age. He wears a beaten, obviously old breastplate that bears the markings of Helm, a clenched gauntlet. For its age, the armor is in remarkable condition, though it is obviously not all too well cared for as the edges show the faintest signs of rust. He also bears a small, steel shield with Helm’s insignia. In his hand he wields a massive heavy mace of obvious superior quality. His look is serious and stern. He often appears to stare intensely at people and at the same time, you fully believe he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. To see his eyes, you would be sure this man has never known a happy day in his life.
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“You want to know more about me? What is there to say? I am my father’s son… with a few notable exceptions. I’m even named after him: Kellus Varn II. He was a great man. Well known too. You may have heard of him…(Looks around at the group)… or perhaps not. No matter, he was a fool. Not worth remembering anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I loved him. Nevertheless, he was a fool.”
“He was a 7th order priest of Helm in the mighty city of Tarn Cal. Not just any priest, mind you. He was a Covenguard. Ah, my father doing battle with evil forces in the name of his God and church. Almost sounds noble, doesn’t it? Of course, few knew him as a Covenguard. I didn’t know until after his death, and only because a church elder felt some obligation to me to let me know how much my father sacrificed in his service to his God. I guess he thought it would help me see my father as a hero. Heh, pitiful old man.”
“He didn’t understand. I already thought my father was a hero. But then, who doesn’t as a child? He was a good father. A good priest. A model citizen. He chose his words carefully, and when he spoke, the words seemed to take on an etherealness that somehow gave them added meaning. When I walked through the marketplace with my father, I was walking with a hero, whether others realized it or not.”
“My first memories of him were his sermons in the church. He brought warmth to the place, despite the cold stone walls and rigid pews. He couldn’t have been more than a first or second order priest at the time. He had quite a following. His sermons filled the aisles. He was born for this life. As I got older, he spent less time in the church, and more time doing missionary work. He was away more than he was home. He told me of the places he had been, of the world outside the walls of Tarn Cal. Over the years he rose rather quickly through the ranks of the church. I think he may have been fifth order by the time I was ten. I remember he went away for many months. During this time I started my affiliation with the church. You see, I was going to be just like him one day, just like him. I too was a quick student, and my motivation was to make my father proud. With much prayer, meditation, and study of the ancient scrolls, I learned what it was to be a priest of Helm. Helm is the protector, did you know that? He protects us all! (Laughs heartily).”
“When my father came back from his latest ‘missionary work’, he was a changed man. My father was always a serious man, but now it seemed more like a solemnity. It was almost as if he was… how do I explain it?… lifeless. No, not lifeless, but as if he had lost hope. Yes, that’s it. He seemed hopeless. Not only that, his hair had turned an ashen hue. And his stare was by far the worst. He looked at everyone with an unmistakable sorrow in his eyes. I suppose that may have been around the time he became Covenguard, but I’m only supposing.”
“He never, of course admitted anything was wrong. In fact, it was admirable the degree to which he did hide the horrors he must have seen. He went on like that for several years. I tell you, to look at him, you’d be sure he aged thirty years if it was a day. Yet it couldn’t have been more than a handful. He never realized that his service to the church was killing him. Or if he did, he no longer cared. I tried reasoning with him. By now, I was a first order priest myself. I told him to come back to the church and spend his days with me, preaching to the congregations, healing the sick, providing guidance to the lost. He told me that it was Helm’s will for him to do the work he did. I proposed that I go with him on his next trip. He looked at me with fearful, wide eyes and said that wasn’t possible. Seeing the look on his face, I decided not to press the issue.”
“Of course, it all makes sense now. He was Covenguard. He saw things men weren’t supposed to see. And it was killing him. Helm, The Protector, for all his power, couldn’t protect my father from the horrors he fought. And he sure as hell couldn’t protect my father from himself. They ought to call him Helm, The Liar, or Helm, The Duplicitous. The church sold my father the lie, and my father, thus to me.”
“Finally, too old, too broken to go on with his ‘missionary work’, my father retired to the church, now a 7th order priest. Seeing what my father’s ‘life or servitude’ had brought him, my faith was understandably a little shaken. Had I then known the truth, I would have walked away. But my father’s spirits slowly began to turn. He began to resemble at least the shell of the great man I once knew. We spent a lot of time together in those last years. By the time he died, he almost seemed the man he once was, though there was always the haunted look in his eyes. “
“The proverbial straw that shown the light on Helm’s Great Lie happened one afternoon while my father and I enjoyed dinner at a local tavern, The Public Square Inn, located oddly enough, at the city square. If you’ve never been, you simply must go. The food is divine, no pun intended. We sat talking about politics, the church, and the gossip of the day. Unbeknownst to us, in the square, two men were arguing the fact that one had pilfered the purse off of the other. A scuffle ensued. As the cutpurse fled, he turned and fired a bolt off of a hand crossbow at his assailant. The man, obviously a mercenary of some sort by his dress, was adept in battle. He swung his shield around, deflecting the bolt from him. I don’t think my father ever knew what hit him. The bolt screamed though the glass of the window we supped by and lodged squarely in my father’s throat. I reacted quickly. I used the minor curative arts I had learned. And had it not been for the venom on the tip of the bolt, my father may indeed have lived. But instead, he died there, a half-chewed piece of mutton still dangling from his mouth.”
“You see, the man who devoted his life to protecting the word of The Protector, died a laughable, most preposterous death. Helm must have been far too busy to protect him that day. But then, my father always said that service in the name of Helm was it’s own reward. Still, the look on his face as he died there on the tavern floor was one of shocked amazement. I think that if he had been able to speak some words between the convulsions and through his mangled throat, he would have thrown some curses at the Great Protector. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking on my part.”
“That very evening, I gathered up some of my things, my father’s armor, weapons, and holy symbol, and left the city without a word. I took the holy symbol to remind me. It is the embodiment of all false prophets. I sulked for a while. Taking up refuge at a monastery. There I meditated and learned to trust myself. I learned to put faith in myself. And do you know what? My powers were still there. I could still heal the injured. I could purge a body of disease. And all without the assistance of some supposed God. I came to learn that the power came from within, and not from the Planes, not from the Heavens. Just like the sorcerers who weave magic from seemingly thin air, I could invoke the so-called powers of the Gods. I’ve come to realize that man is his own God. I am my own God.”
“I digress. I spend my time now trying spread the word of my own religion. That which says man defines himself and shapes the world around him. Don’t mistake what I say. There are unspeakable evils in the world. But man is the root in which they maintain a hold over us. They owe their existence to our perpetual belief in the fact they exist. Without that belief, their hold over us vanishes. Man has within him, the power of gods. My hope is to help all men realize this. We will cast the Gods from their heavens.”
“Since I left the monks, I have traveled in the region helping those who would be helped, those who would listen. It would appear that my absence from Tarn Cal has not gone unnoticed, however. I have word from a friend at the monastery that someone, presumably from the church, came looking for me not long after I left. I would just as soon not be found. I no longer wish to play the church’s games. I may be my father’s son, but I am no fool. I will be all that my father could not. I will not be clouded by mandates of the church and have antiquated rites binding my hands.”
“I know, I know. I sound like any other religious zealot. But I am not crazy, just stout in my belief. But that is how I have come to find you. I think we all have something to gain from one another. And apparently, some seem to think it was preordained. I think you all know what I think of that. Nonetheless, while we travel together, I can spread the word. And I can help our cause, what ever it may be.”
