Priest of Oghma
Human Cleric 6
Region: The Sword Coast / Baldur’s Gate
XP 20138 / 21000
Masterwork Dwarven Banded Mail / Heavy Steel Shield
Primary Weapon: Heavy Mace 5 FOR, immune desease)
Riding Horse & Saddle
Masterwork Climbers Kit
Bag of Holding (carrying for the group…)
2 potion CLW, 1 scroll CLW
PP 39, GP 551 and change
Joseph is a man in his mid 20s. He is of average height but of pretty bulky build, sporting both a respectable belly and wide shoulders.
His hair is dark blonde with a slightly receding hairline, which is accentuated by the fact that he likes to tie his hair back into a rather flimsy pigtail. He has a beard on his chin – kind of a goatee – and gives all in all a rather friendly, handsome appearance. It’s easy to feel comfortable around him, his demeanor is very sociable and non-threatening.
His normal outfit is white pants and shirt, which he likes to wear a little open to reveal some chest hair, and a black vest with intricate patterns.
But recently, heavy armor is more his thing.
Joseph is a sophisticated scholar, soldier and diplomat from Baldur’s Gate. He set out adventuring to avoid a mediocre career and to discover the truth of Oghma in the greater world. He wears armor and fights with a morningstar as do many questing clerics, but also carries the ultimate gentleman’s weapon, an ornate pistol.
Joseph was travelling with a merchant caravan to Mirabar; they had barely left Longsaddle when they were ambushed and waylaid by huge, well-armed orcs. Joseph managed to escape with his life and made his way to the shelter of the Crags, where he stumbled upon the Rumblegut mine.
You want to know how I got here? Yeah… I sometimes wonder about that myself. Must be my restless nature I guess… at least I don’t come from a village burned down by orcs, my family is fine – last time I saw them, and I never was enslaved and chained to a huge wheel in the desert which I had to turn for years and years until my muscles bulged and I got ready to go take revenge… I guess I was just a normal guy. That is, until those markings appeared. But what would life be without a little surprise.
I was born as the third son to Thore Olson – a well-to-do merchant who is fairly established in Baldurs Gate. Good relationship with the Silvershield family, selling weapons and potions to the Fist, we even had our own ship back then.
Now, the Gate is really one of the finer places in the Realms for a boy to grow up. With all the sailors, travelers, huge markets and taverns and temples there was just so much to explore… but I wasn’t content to just see stuff, I always wanted to get to the bottom of it. This curiosity started early on, and it led me into a variety of episodes my mother is still not tired of chatting about. Just like this one time when me and my friend Lissa hid in the Hall of Wonders after hours and let them lock us in. Mom never knew exactly what Lissa showed me that night in the airship, though… but she did know that the Flaming Fist brought me back in the morning with a severe warning.
But time waits for no man, and I had to make some choices in life… now, as the third son of a merchant, you know what choice you definitely don’t want to take, which is to stay in your fathers business forever as an employee of your own older brother. We all went to learn reading and writing, literature and mathematics in the temple of Oghma, which is serving as the primary school for the upper echelon of Baldurs Gate society. But I really liked the place, the library and the reading halls, and decided to become a priest. After making sure that this does not include any vows of chastity or poverty, of course.
Priests of Oghma strive forever to collect knowledge and understand, solve riddles, find hidden facts… it fascinated me. I studied for many years, both in the temple and library in Baldurs Gate and in the Great Library of Waterdeep, where I tried to wrap my brain (and tongue!) around the intricacies of the Elven language.
But then, there is this restless streak I have. After becoming a Seeker and spending a year mostly handing out books to people and just reading about all the strange and exciting places elsewhere in the world, I found myself looking for something else. It may also have had to do with Elsie back then, I needed something new after she left – anyway, I did the other thing third sons of merchants normally do, I joined the military.
Now that was a change of pace. The Flaming Fist is not a holiday camp, in fact they didn’t even want to take me on because of my weight. Come on! You try being a monk for 6 years, sitting on your butt reading all day and drinking home-brew ale in the evening, and still keeping in good shape. I could, thankfully, convince them – I am, after all, quite strong, if not athletic.
I do have a way with words, and which army in the Known World would seriously turn away a recruit who can cast healing spells. So there I was with a two-year gig, sweating my way trough basic training, learning to fight with a variety of the more simple weapons and all kinds of armor, and finally patrolling my very hometown. That was not too bad, we had some close encounters with smugglers and burglars, but all in all it was not the excitement I hoped for. Granted, they made me Corporal pretty quickly (I never knew if it was due to my way with words or my healing spells) but there is only so much excitement to be had during a graveyard shift watch at the docks.
The best thing that happened was when I volunteered – and got chosen! – to accompany Duke Eltan on his diplomatic mission down to Amn. Those are some lying and cheating bastards, but I could not help to admire them. I never learned as much about diplomacy and the subtle art of deception as during this half-year trip.
Yes. I still didn’t get to why I am here now, did I. Well, the military – even a really elite and prestige unit like the Flaming Fist – really bogs down your creativity. There is just too much daily routine and repetition, I found myself slowly drifting away into a self-content stupor. I mean, it was not a bad time. The ladies really went for the uniform; we had lots of beer and were pretty popular around town, all things concerned. But one particularly bad morning
I pictured myself 10 years later, some fat old Sergeant, with a wife whose beauty slowly starts to fade and … no, I wasn’t ready for that.
So I served out my time, left in good terms, and spend my severance pay (or what was left of it after saying goodbye to about every tavern in the Gate) on some shoddy equipment, and went my way.
Does this all make sense now? Was I always this curious, slightly restless person, because I was just preparing myself for the role which Oghma seems to have decided for me? Do all the unrelated pieces suddenly fall into place now? I guess there is only one way to find out.