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Arlin is a firbolg war cleric of Bahamut, and as such is dressed in the traditional colors of blue and silver. He has been walking around with an expression like a toothache with personality to match. Arlin has been looking for redemption in all the wrong places. Arlin believed that his redemption would be found in the Rite of Reborn where he would be born again as a gold dragonborn.
About
He wears robes over a full suit of splint armor, a long sword on one hip and the Book of Bahamut on the other. He's always seen carrying his holy symbol, a shield with Bahamut's head as the charge.
Arlin is 7 foot tall, 3.5 foot wide and 300lbs. He has blue skin and eyes, shorter than shoulder length white hair, 2" long full beard and a resting grumpy face.
Anyone who's invested time and effort to get to know Arlin Fiddlehead would learn not a lot more than he's a PITA, that doesn't like thinking (let alone talking) about his past. Yet he still cared deeply about people, even though it is well masked by his irritation and impatience. Oh, he also had preoccupation with dragon killing and if you can broach the subject, sailing.
Arlin is socially and emotionally challenged by the unresolved traumas of his past. He does not evangelize. If he's doing the talking, negotiations have fail or something has gone terribly wrong.
Arlin is practical and straightforward to a fault. He still understands the importance of self-care. If Arlin doesn't do his kata meditation and completely dead exhausted, he will be plaqued with nightmares of his, that he won't remember and won't sleep well. Not sleeping will make him grumpy...er.
Arlin should not drink. He won't stop if he starts. It would be extremely bad. People and things will get broken and he'll probably have, what looks like a mental breakdown. It's not pretty. Unconsciousness is the only thing that can stop him.
Arlin seems to have a bad reputation, especially where alcohol is served. He likes getting into fights. There's some things from his previous life that he hasn't processed that mean he should NOT DRINK!
Arlin has been not on the right path. He believed that his only redemption was by proving himself worthy of the Rite of Rebirth and he thought he was on a mission from the Temple to do. He was wrong.
Arlin's latest adventures and group interactions are slowly eroding a tiny bit of his granite exterior. Even with the turmoil of dragon incursions and other deadly situations, Arlin finds himself building friendships and feeling some security and for the first time in ages. He's near obsession with slaying chromatic dragons has lessened and starting to face his past.
History
Arlin is particularly closed-mouthed about his childhood. On the other hand, he loves sailing and the last captain he served under and talk about either for hours.
There's over half a century of personal history he has yet to talked about.
- The firbolg village he was born in
- The tragedy that drove him away
- The odyssey through the wilderness
- The staggering half dead into a city
- Being pressed into service on a pirate ship
All of the above before his 10th birthday.
After that...
- The "Good" pirate ship (privateers?)
- The learning and climbing the ranks on say ship
- The "rough" night that sent him to the temple
- The start of the fixation on the Rite of Rebirth
- What got him sent on his "1st mission" from the Temple
- The sad end of his first part of adventurers
Arlin's Worst Birthday
Arlin wanted to run. Run as fast as the wind, faster than lighting during a thunderstorm. Young Arlin wanted for this day to be over already and the next one to dawn. Why wouldn’t he be in a hurry? Little Arlin would have his birthday tomorrow. He would turn 8 years old and then he would stop being little Arlin. Then all his cousins would gush about his age and wisdom and stop teasing him for being the youngest. Perhaps, he would even been stronger and able to capture the flag!
However, as his grandpa liked to claim; life was not always fair. He also liked to say to not run while carrying a basket full of eggs. Usually, he was not in a mood to follow that advice, but these eggs were special. They were for his birthday cake. The thought of his grandma’s baking made him slow down even further. Little Arlin could close the eyes and taste the memories of her sweet pies. Unfortunately, they didn’t do justice to her actual baking. Fortunately, he would make new memories of it tomorrow.
A growl. His eyes snapped open; his breath caught in his lungs as he faced a large dire wolf. The tensed body relaxed only a few moments later. He did recognize the white muzzle.
“Mom is a better-looking wolf than you”.
The wolf turned into an older Firbolg, the face of his beloved grandpa. “My daughter was lucky enough to take after her mother”. His warm laugh filled Arlin’s heart and yet there were some extra creases of worry around his eyes. “What do you have there, little Arlin?”
Grandfather and grandson walked towards their home’s garden. It was so close now that Arlin could smell his father’s plants. Their house was so close at the edge of the village that they had as much space as needed for a garden. It was not a coincidence that his cousins preferred to play in his backyard. “Eggs. For my cake.” He responded a bit sourly. “You will not be able to call me little tomorrow, so you better enjoy it till you can!”
“Oho! A grown man!” the old Firbolg ruffled the hair of the young pup. “So, little Arlin, what will we eat tomorrow?”
Arlin did not need much to start talking about their plans. He listed grandma’s cake, his mother’s pies and went on to describe in great detail the games he wanted to play with his friends. His excitement and anticipation for tomorrow kept his words rolling with no end in sight. His happy chatter was not dissuaded by his granddad’s half focused responses. Neither did he notice his father, Roland, coming up to him, nor the silent worried look he exchanged with his grandfather.
"Arlin, you brought the eggs home. Good”. His father ruffled his hair but his eyes were not on him. “And in one piece. Your grandmother will be happy as soon as she sees them. She waits for you in the backyard”.
Little Arlin would have noticed his father’s more curt than usual tone, but today he was too excited to do so. He did not require much prompt to hop inside the house and towards the backyard. His grandfather’s silent whisper followed him inside “Roland, there is something worrisome in the forest, but I cannot place a paw in it…”
His grandmother was sleeping silently in the hammock. Arlin rolled his eyes; it was too often that his oma would just nap in the middle of a random room. He gently placed the basket on the ground and then snuck up to her. Slowly. Silently. Like a panther. He raised a finger, snickering with his own mischief. “You should not laugh if you try to sneak up on me”, she said, opening one of her eyes. “Did you bring the eggs for me, little Arlin?”
“Yes! And tomorrow you will not be able to call me little anymore!” “Good boy” she stretched out, stood up slowly and ruffled his hair, causing him to pout. What was wrong with everyone today and they wished to mess with his hair?
“Will you start the cake today?” he inquired while trying to place some of the errand strands of hair into their proper place.
“Oh, yes, I will. Do you want to help?”
“No”.
“Do you want to watch?”
“Will I get to lick the mixing spoon after?”
“Perhaps”.
Arlin observed his grandma with a critical eye. She picked up the basket of eggs slowly, and then turned around to wait for his response. “I think you will not let me before dinner”, he concluded.
“Clever boy”. She winked at him. “Then go off! Wash yourself!”
Little Arlin wondered if his grandma would relent; it was his birthday eve after all. He looked at her ancient face, kind and sharp as always. Perhaps, if he tried to negotiate…
“Arlin, dear, listen to your oma” his mother voice came from somewhere within the house. “You cannot have snacks right before dinner! Also, are you sure you want to spoil your appetite? I thought you loved pies…”
The young firbolg turned on his heels, his face light up with hunger and excitement. ” Mushroom pies?”, Oh please let it be mushroom pies.
His mother walked up closer to him. She wiped her hands on her apron. “Of course! That is the benefit of living at the edge of the village; the forest is at your doorstep and so…”
“…are the mushrooms!” he finished up for her. Smiling, he went into the house to prepare for dinner. It seemed that he would get that treat a day early.
+++++++
It was not the screams that woke him, they were still faint. Was it the smoke or the smell of burned flesh? No. It was a cold hand on his shoulder. Shaking him
“Arlin” more violent shaking. “Arlin, wake up”.
Arlin’s eyes opened slowly to see his father’s worried face. The full moon illuminated only part of it; the shadows it created were swallowing up the beloved face. “Arlin, you must go”.
His father was dragging him out of bed, but he was still half asleep. Now the screams and the horrid smell were closer to him, but still had not touched him. “No, leave your shoes, look at me. Look at me!” the last three words were clearly a command. His father had grabbed his little Arlin’s face to force him to stare into his eyes. “Listen carefully. You must run”.
“Run where?” his voice was still too sleepy.
“To the forest. Look only down. Get to the forest. Keep going, don’t stop”.
The loud thumb of a building collapsing nearby filled his room. “You? Mom, grandfath…”
“We will catch up with you!” the man answered with too much urgency and fear in his voice. “Run now, RUN!”
With that he pushed him out of the house, into the hot night. His father’s hands were firm in pointing him towards the right way to run. Arlin ran out of the village and into the forest. He almost looked up to see, but he didn’t. But he ran. Arlin ran, ran as fast as the wind. He would run faster than lightning during a thunderstorm if that meant he could escape the screams and the yells that hounded him. As he ran, the sounds and smells slowly faded behind, but not his fear and confusion. His heartbeat was so fast and so loud, that for a few moments it was the main rhythm in his mind.
He ran and he kept running till there was no breath in him, till the fire did not smell, till the yells did not pierce from all around him. Arlin stopped for a moment to look back, to only see the silent trees under the moonlight. “They will catch up with me” he told them, and he kept running.
