1st level Paladin (Lyan) of St. Cuthbert
All his life, Irving never once entertained the idea of becoming a warrior—let alone a paladin of St. Cuthbert.
Born on 18 Reaping 558 CY on his parents' farm, he was the youngest of ten siblings and considered the runt of the family. Not particularly strong or hardy, he was, however, sharp of mind and wit. Once he was old enough, his parents sent him to the nearby Church of St. Cuthbert to become a cleric—both to aid their village and to have one less mouth to feed. Here, Irving excelled in his studies.
The years passed quickly, and Irving was set to receive his assignment as a cleric of St. Cuthbert. He hoped to remain at the shrine, where he would have access to books of knowledge, perhaps becoming an instructor or at least a scribe. Alternatively, he would have been satisfied returning to his village to serve as its cleric.
On the day of graduation, those students who had successfully completed their studies lined up for the ceremony—the culmination of which required each of them to grasp the hilt of the Mace of St. Cuthbert and pledge their service. It was at that moment they would receive their assignments.
Each student was nervous, having all heard the rumor that those unworthy to serve would be destroyed upon touching the mace. There was some truth to the tale, though in reality, it merely delivered a shock to those deemed unready, encouraging them to strive harder toward the shrine’s ideals.
Eventually, it was Irving’s turn. He entered the Chamber of the Mace, where his instructors and the shrine's staff stood in solemn anticipation. Among them was the Abbot, who had traveled from afar for this occasion. In the center of the chamber, bathed in golden sunlight and suspended in midair, was the Mace of St. Cuthbert. Under normal circumstances, it might have appeared to be a simple horseman’s mace, like those wielded by many warriors.
The Abbot directed Irving to stand upon a stone block before the mace. Reaching out, he grasped the handle, swore his Oath, and held the weapon before him—then, without hesitation, turned to hand it to one of the staff.
It was only when he noticed the stunned expressions on everyone’s faces that he paused.
“What?” Irving asked, confused.
For every student before him, the mace had remained immovable, unyielding to their grasp. But Irving had drawn it from the light with ease.
The Abbot’s expression shifted from shock to acceptance as he declared Irving the Holy Paladin of St. Cuthbert for this dispensation.
In ages past, the Holy Paladins of St. Cuthbert had wielded the Mace in righteous battle, waxing strong alongside it to defend the innocent against the forces of chaos. Each had been hale and hearty—strong of body as well as soul. They were not always the brightest of warriors, but they were valiant nonetheless. And now, the mace had chosen a stringy young man named Irving.
When the wielder of the Mace perished—whether in battle or old age—their soul merged with the weapon, guiding and training the next bearer in the ways of war. At the time of Irving’s ascension, six such souls inhabited the mace, each speaking to his mind.
Still reeling from the shock of this twist of fate, Irving was swiftly outfitted with gear and sent into the world to bring justice and goodness to it. He frequently found himself in lengthy discussions (and occasional arguments) with the spirits bound to the Mace.
Eventually, he arrived at the village of Hommlet, where he was to meet a cleric of St. Cuthbert and serve as his bodyguard.
Secretly, the shrine’s staff expected the Mace to be back in
its rightful place within a fortnight.
