[hider=Brother Alfwin]
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[h3][b][i]Male

Human

Fourteen[/I][/b]
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[i][b]Standing at a slight meter and a half tall, Alfwin is on the smaller side, thin and with a gaunt face and stick like arms. His hair is a dark brown, cropped evenly across his head, with only the sides allowed to grow out. He dons the simple brown habit of the order's monks, with a cloth belt around his waist and sandals upon his feet. Altogether his pale features and slight frame gives him a frail appearance, as if a strong breeze would be able to push him over.[/b][/i]

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 [color=gold]*Pious*Trusting*Optimistic*[/color] - [color=9e0039]*Meek*Cloistered*Rash*
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[color=black]*Despair*[/color]

	A cheery and optimistic soul, Alfwin is a high spirited young fellow, apt to be lost in his own little world rather than fixated on the present. When and if he is drawn down from the heavens in order to focus on a necessary task he proves to be an excellent student, quick to learn and eager to experiment and try new things. The only challenge being to successfully direct his energies towards more refined obligation. Alfwin’s upbringing in the order fashioned him to be a pious child, trusting greatly in the lonely goddess and her teachings. His power after all is drawn from her. The lonely goddess instructs her faithful to remain charitable and passive, diplomatic and understanding in all their endeavors and trials. Alfwin embodies this attitude to an extent. He is meek in the face of true violence, having never even seen a proper fight, though he can be sharp of tongue and wit when allowance for nonphysical self-defense is acceptable; never in earshot of the brothers of course. Alfwin abhors it when folk are in poor spirits, doing almost everything in his power to cheer them up again. He draws a great deal of joy from people being happy, and can be infected quite easily by the negativity that poor attitudes bring with them. He is terrified of the despair death brings with it, and seeks to counter his feelings of hopelessness by becoming overly optimistic, encouraging the impossible to be within reach, just to see a smile on a dying man’s face.
	
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Upon the holy hill, then untouched by the black curse that swept the lands, rested a serene monastery of the lonely goddess so pure. Here her monks and clerics sang their hymns and chants, toiled in their fields, and inscribed in their great tomes in peace and without want. Healers and scholars all, they were a charitable community, content to worship their goddess and treat those who requested her blessing. Without question nor demand they fed the hungry, healed the broken, sheltered the weary, and welcomed the unwanted stranger into the warmth of their home. For centuries it had been this way, ever since the lonely goddess first taught her faithful to create remedies for the ill of body and spirit, and by her powerful magic perform miracles of healing. For this reason the monastery saw many needy pass through its gates seeking healing for the sick and dying, pleading that the monks aid them in their suffering. No one but the violent and evil was refused at their gates, and even though the monks would give everything they had to those who asked, they always seemed to have just enough. So they worshiped, and healed, and lived happily. 

	One day a young foreign lord, a man of wealth and power arrived at their gates, and though the monks, with their trained eyes looked they could see no ailment nor curse upon him other than fear and crippling grief. Once admitted he cast himself upon the floor before the Abbot’s feet, his handsome face marred by tears and ash, his feet and head bare, and his clothes torn by his own hands. There he begged the Abbot ride with him at once back to his home, where his young wife lay stricken by a terrible infection with their first child, yet unborn. She remained too ill to travel, and by his physician’s mournful estimate lay close to death's door. The Abbot felt pity for the young lord, and though he wished dearly to help he could not abandon his beloved monastery to accompany him. He was an elderly man after all, frail and of weak health himself, unable to go galloping across the world at great speeds without serious risk. Instead he suggested the service of a youthful novice to attend the lord’s wife in his place. The lord implored of the Abbot to supply his services directly, promising to dedicate his child to their order, if only he would save their lives. He trusted only the most powerful of the order, and when he looked upon the novice the Abbot offered, he felt his wife would surely perish. Moved by his devotion to his loved one the Abbot placed his hand upon the man’s ashen brow, and swore upon the lonely goddess herself, that no blessing, nor power would be bestowed by him, that wouldn’t be gifted to another. Naught else but the prayers to the lonely goddess, and great hope and acceptance could restore the health to one so stricken.

	Dejected the man departed the monastery to return to his homelands, wracked by misery and hopelessness. His new companion seemed unsure of himself, and could make no promises of his expertise in healing unrecognizable ailments by magic or otherwise. Nevertheless they pressed on for three days until they arrived at his estate, to the welcome of mournful song and black banners draped across the walls. Wailing the lord prepared to rush to his wife’s bedside when the novice grasped him by the shoulder, hushing him. “Fear not,” he cried, “For I know she is not dead, but sleeping. Your servants have been fooled.” The lord was unconvinced and struck the novice upon the cheek, crying out in anger that he was a fool and a worshiper of a false god. Humbled the novice walked behind in silence as they were escorted into the wife’s chambers. Already her face was veiled, and pale as in death. And yet upon seeing her the novice cried out again, exclaiming joyously, “See, did I not say it was so? Praise be to the lonely goddess; awake her.” Thus declared the novice offered a prayer in thanks and stepped forward, lifting the veil and casting an ethereal light over the woman, shocking all present. In a moment the women’s face cleared, her disease healed. The lord fell to his knees and praised the lonely goddess, and the novice whose magic brought back his beloved from the very brink of death.

	For several months after the novice returned to his monastery the monks heard nothing from the lord again. They went about their lives as usual until the sound of hooves announced the arrival of a great entourage. There the lord sat, high upon his proud horse, beside him his wife now in full health and in her arms a tiny bundle. Descending from his place of power the lord sank to his knees, taking the bundle from his wife and laying it down at the Abbot’s feet, giving praise to the lonely goddess and dedicating his firstborn to her service, a promise at last upheld.

	Little Brother Alfwin, as the baby became known was at once indoctrinated into the order’s ways. Learning their methods, their hymns, and their prayers and growing up under their care and guidance. His parents traveled often to come visit, and were pleased with his education and upbringing, eager to see their child learn the ways of healing and restoration they now held so sacrosanct. Although he was something of a trouble maker, Alfwin still made a good novice, studious and intelligent and with promising magical talent. His love of fun, and his high energy made him well liked throughout the monastery, and the brothers would often find him sitting in the infirmary telling jokes and funny stories to the sick and injured, trying to raise their broken spirits.

	Alfwin spent much of his time at his studies, memorizing the vast array of plants and oils that could be brewed into different healing drafts. Scribbling them down again, and again into great tomes in order to drill the information into his head. Besides his writing and reading Alfwin was taught the chants of the lonely goddess, songs infused with powerful words that mend the unamendable, all while praising her glory and her great mercy. Every so often Alfwin would lose interest, and become restless, pulling pranks or speaking crassly as a child might. Should he go too far in his personal amusement, he would be humbled and chastised by the brothers, set to sweeping out the library or some other such extracurricular chore. To avoid these instances, when Alfwin he felt fit to burst from youthful energy and boredom the monks would allow him to take their donkey to buy good from the small hamlets dotting the countryside, and play with the children there for a day or so before he would have to return to his education.

Life seemed good to Alfwin, and though it seemed there were its ups and downs he appreciated his upbringing and life, right up to the moment when everything changed. Alfwin wasn't quite sure when it happened, or even where it started. He was on the road, riding swiftly to Lesser Hamenshire to purchase a new spade for brother Cal when the sign of smoke above the trees alerted him to trouble on the horizon. Everything seemed to spiral into disaster from that moment on. His arrival into Lesser Hamenshire revealed the corpses and burned dwellings which left a hole in young Alfwin's heart. He knew most of these people well, and to see their lives having been violently wrested away by some unknown evil shocked him to his core. Turning about he made great haste back towards the monastery, wishing to warn the Abbot of a terrible army ravaging the land, until he saw upon the hill, the smoke and flame rising from his home.

It seemed to Alfwin as if a great weight rested in the pit of his stomach, and he knew, that no brother remained alive. The family he'd come to love were gone, and whatever had taken them did so without mercy nor consideration to those who'd never done harm in their lives.

The sight of figures coming from the hill, rapidly approaching broke Alfwin from his grief. In an instant he knew those few were not brothers from the order, but some race of orc, uncommon creatures here. Abandoning his donkey Alfwin fled into the local woodland, hiding amongst the shrubbery. Perhaps fate itself guided his feet, or some other force of nature set him on his true path. But somehow Alfwin found himself wandering into an ancient legend, even the order's once great library knew little about.



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[u]Medical Knowledge[/u]

	Not all the monks’ teachings are that of magic and worship. They are proficient healers in their own right, knowing how to create and use a vast array of medicines, healing potions, salves, and poultices. In fact for a healer to be skilled in the realm of medical arcane he must know how the body of his patient operates in detail. Alfwin was given these lessons first, as all the order’s brother are, and was required to learn the art of medicine before even starting his training in magic.

[u]Restoration[/u]

Alfwin was just beginning to acquire knowledge on how to use his magical talents to their fullest potential. He knows the words of the songs, which contain the magical words quite well at this point, and can identify the cause and cure of ailments, however he can only slightly tap into his abilities. Healing bruises and cuts, or clearing colds are all well and good, but further intensive studying would be required for him to fully master and control the restorative magic at his fingertips.

[u]Scribe[/u]

From the moment he could be taught to hold a pen, and scribble his letters Alfwin has been instructed to write almost constantly. Even at fourteen his script is perfect, and his capacity to understand many written languages and runes are masterful. He even keeps a journal within which he writes any and all useful information.

[u]Agriculture[/u]

The order always grew their own food, or hunted it in the local forests, being largely independent of the nearby hamlets. Many of the professional botanists within their ranks had developed a branch of magic entirely devoted to increasing the bounty of their labors. Alfwin never learned these techniques, being far to young, however like all the brothers he was required to toil in the fields on the regular, familiarizing himself with the concepts of agriculture and farming.

[u]Trade[/u]

Perhaps the least refined of Alfwin's skills is that in trade and bartering. Due to his frequent forays into the local towns, under orders to purchase the occasional item he has developed a knack for haggling that most of his order does not possess.

[u]Quarterstaff[/u]

The order does not teach its novices to fight, even with the sturdy walking staves all its members own. However anyone with a lick of sense can swing the staff to drive away an rabid dog or menace a ruffian. Alfwin of course hasn't the build to menace even a stray cat, but he carries his staff anyway as instructed.

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