Cryptid Experiments

[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“Here do I swear, by mouth and by hand:”

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“To safeguard the helpless; to shelter the stranger ; to clothe the naked; to heal the sick; to visit the prisoner; to comfort the afflicted; to soothe the doubtful; to counsel the suffering; to be generous to the poor and all who need aid.”

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Most who glance at Paladin Soubar in passing first see the warrior: armor gleaming, red shield a sharp contrast against the dark gray and gold highlights of the plate, and twice-armed with hammer and longsword. And a warrior he is, but neither first nor foremost. First he is a man of the country, rougher than his polished edges to those who know him. Foremost, he is a gifted man of healing.
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Anyone who converses with Dorien will find him unfailingly polite. From the wealthiest nobleman to the poorest pauper, he addresses all with respect and gentle patience. And he has been called upon to address both, for he is of an order of healers, and is gifted above many of his brothers in Ilmater in that regard. Upon that deep red shield is a pair of white hands bound with red cord, and the gambeson under the knight’s shining armor is the rough gray wool of a monk’s robe.
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Before his vows of courage and honor, the Knight of the Rack takes a vow of compassion. Before strength, before duty, before skill with the blade or even with the magic arts of mending, the paladin of Ilmater swears to tend to the ill with his own hands, to shield the defenseless with his own body, to never strike unbidden and always have room in his heart for forgiveness. It is this vow that shines out of the soul of Dorien Soubar most clearly. Above all else, he is kind. No creature he faces is beyond salvation if they will accept it, but he will not force any against their will, nor will he judge the decision unless it causes harm to the innocent.
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Dorien can read, speak, and write in Common, Elvish, and Celestial. He is proficient with blacksmith's tools, although he no longer practices the trade, and all kinds of armor and weapon. He is skilled in Insight, and Persuasion, and Medical and Religious study.

[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“Here do I swear to shield the defenseless, to take on their suffering, to persevere in pain, to endure against hardship, for thus is to be brave and upright in the eyes of Our Martyred Father.”

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A child born with golden eyes is a gift among most families. A blessing of the gods, they say, and indeed the eldest son of Karis and Milo Soubar bore the gifts of blessing from a young age. A child born with a golden soul is a comfort to his mother, the beloved among his siblings, the helper of his father. Such a child willingly gives each part of himself where needed, and is never reduced by such sacrifice. He plays teacher, listens raptly when taught, labors without complaint. Dorien was such a child from his earliest years.
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But a child born with golden blood is, even to the most loving parents, a scourge.
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Dorien’s light broke forth for the first time when he discovered an older girl plucking the feathers from a still-living sparrow. An angelic child can be a vessel of wrath as easily as he is a vessel of virtue. Both the girl and the bird lived, but the burns she bore after would never truly heal. Dorien was not unscathed, either, and as he returned home scorched and proud he could not understand his parents’ horror, nor why they would demand he help tend the girl’s injuries himself.
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This, too, was his first crossing with an Order of Ilmater, for a traveling cleric was called upon for his skill. Dorien worked closely with the priest in the next several weeks, and finally asked the question his parents could not answer: why heal someone who so willingly broke? Why render kindness to the unkind? Why help injustice?
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“Is it ever injustice to help?” the cleric answered, “Is it ever wrong to do right? And didn’t you hurt her yourself — yet you yourself have been healed.”
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It was a simple reply, certainly, but a difficult one for a boy with blood that boiled in the face of harm. Surely there was a difference between harm to an enemy and harm to an innocent. Surely there was less value to the life that took than the life that committed no crime save existence.
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But she had shown remorse, not just from the pain but from the thoughts that come with isolation. She was not innocent, but she was alive, and realized now how precious a gift that was. More than that, she forgave Dorien. He did not understand his own soulfire, nor the depths to which his rage could go, but he did understand the forgiveness in her eyes was sincere. And how deep was his own shame that he had not forgiven her, when he claimed moral superiority.
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The cleric passed on when his work was done, but his lessons tempered the rage of Dorien’s soul with wisdom that was perhaps beyond his years. Never again did he lash out without reason, although he did fight as boys becoming men fight. The light of his soul shone as a beacon in the cluster of farms that did not quite constitute a town. He learned the rustic swordplay of men defending land and home from robbers and bandits. He killed once in those years, in defense of his family, but with long introspection and the knowledge of a farmer’s son that life must sometimes be exchanged for life by necessity. There was no shame in killing for meat, nor in defense of self and loved ones. But a great sorrow washed over him as he took that life, one he would not fully understand for a very long time.

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“Here do I swear to strike and to spare, to give mercy to those who ask mercy, to forgive every creature in my heart, that my own mistakes be forgiven; to recall that none are beyond forgiveness that desire it.”

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Something else came to the farming community in his sixteenth year. It wore the shape of a woman, smiled with all her guiles. It would be a long time before Dorien learned the word Goetia, fiendish magic, but her presence was rank to him, and stirred something he had not allowed to show its face since it bled forth from his eyes in a glare that nearly blinded a neighbor’s daughter. This woman was neither a neighbor nor a daughter as he might recognize them. When animals, and then a child, disappeared in the dark of the night, the tight knot in Dorien’s chest said that he knew in his heart what had taken them.
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He brought his blade when he went out alone, after the search parties had found nothing. When his house was dark he took his light to the road, to the forest, to the camp she had made in the deeper forest where most farmers would not tread. He never told a soul what he found there. Despite the nausea it brought him, he spoke first. He called the name she had given, and when she appeared, coy and bloodstained, he extended the hand of friendship, of mercy, of forgiveness.
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She laughed in his face. What was mercy to pain? What was friendship to power? What was forgiveness to immortality?
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Immortality, as Dorien learned that night, is overrated. There’s always a weakness to the magic of the immortal. And he found it, and broke it. He buried the scorched Goetia witch, and returned with what remained of the child.
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The next night, he left again, this time with a bag over his shoulder. He bid his parents loving goodbyes, but would not be convinced to stay. He took his sword, the sparrow, rations, and the clothes on his back, and sought out the Order.
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But Ilmater’s priest did not accept him the first time. Or the second.
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He was welcome, as all are, to the roadside chapel. The only funds members of Ilmater’s orders keep are for their own survival and the maintenance of his temples, with the rest given to those in need. With his humble beginnings, this was no trouble for the itinerant boy. Nor was the question of battle for the sake of righteousness, opposing monsters both human and inhuman alike. The priest questioned him on his motivations, and Dorien answered with fiery sincerity. But there was something that the cleric saw in the boy’s eyes that seemed to trouble him. While he was welcome to stay as a guest, he said, it was not yet time for him to join the Order.
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The first time, Dorien left in a silent fury. Not with the man of Ilmater, not after his kindness — but the anger burned in him, ran hot in his veins like the ichor in place of his blood. Yet he could not go home, either. The call was on every breath of the wind that filled his lungs. It flickered in the lantern and torchlight when he traveled by night, warmed him like the sun in the day and soaked through him like rain in foul weather. He heard it in the whispers of the people who spoke in the taverns where he stopped. Even — no, especially — when those whispers were of violence.
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Upon the road he discovered necromancy and its creations for the first time, in the shape of the untamed feral ghoul. There was no saving the caravan driver nor the horses that the pack had descended upon, but they proved as vulnerable to Dorien’s light and fury as tinder was to a flint-spark.
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Travelers disappeared in a forest near the monastery; investigation was in order. Blights, cursed plants, were not as vulnerable to Dorien’s brand of fire, but they were susceptible as any man to the edge of the blade.
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A local lordling overstepped his boundaries. Dorien always had trouble with maps, with locations, with politics, but taxation that became synonymous with bullying was a language he could understand, and one that stoked the flame in his heart. To oppose injustice, to protect the weak not just from monsters but also men — was this not the whispered vocation that came to him by day and by night?
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A farmhouse on fire, much like his own. The family outside, encircled by guards on horseback, corralled like cattle. Dorien had no horse, only patchwork armor, and his father’s sword. And, of course, his radiance. But a trained guardsman, even one used to picking on the poor and defenseless, is far more skilled than a desperate pillager. The fire-souled boy was soundly beaten for his trouble as the family watched, and left with them on their now houseless plot of land.

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“Here do I swear to challenge injustice wherever I might find it, to resist it in every way, small and great, to be without fear in the face of my enemies, but to by no means be cruel.”

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Dorien sulked, of course, when he came to his senses. The father and sons had helped to carry him to that same roadside chapel where he had already been once rejected. The priest and a stranger were at his side, conversing in low voices so as not to disturb him.
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“Desperate to get his’self killed, maybe,” the stranger was saying from under his sootstained hair, once blonde, and in a voice clouded by smoke. “And what’s them burns from?”
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“I don’t think it matters,” the cleric responded, gently. “But I think he’s suited to your life, Faber. He’s a strong lad and has a kinship with fire.”
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“Fire magic ain’t welcome nowhere.”
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“If it was pyromancy, I would have asked for a wizard to help him control it. This is a different matter, one which, in time, he can be taught to channel. I am not asking for your help with his magic, Faber, but his temper.”
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“He’s trouble,” Faber scoffed.
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“So were you, once.”
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The blacksmith’s reply was a grim chuckle. And a blacksmith he was, as Dorien was introduced to him. Dorien made a weaker attempt to convince the priest to let him stay, to let him learn what sorts of magic he might have that the priest said was not fire but something else. But the same priest spoke the same gentle words, words of assurance and comfort and rejection. An apprenticeship would do him good, would let him see more of the world. Perhaps his soul was drawn to the vocation, but it had not yet been tempered. And he would have more in common with Faber than he realized.
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So it was that Dorien worked for some months under the direction of the blacksmith Faber. Discipline came easily, as did patience, as did strength. But Faber did begin to show Dorien another skill, a warrior’s skill, training not in the blade but in the blunt edge of the hammer and the defensive art of the shield. Dorien would never learn where Faber had learned to use an item of creation as an item of destruction. It was not something to be asked. Nor did he ask how Faber knew how to apply the virtues of a smith to the life of a combatant, how the patience of beating a horseshoe mirrored the patience of waiting for an enemy, how the rough courtesy shown to a customer was an echo of a soldier’s manners to an officer. He learned how to roughly bind the burns of fire, what salves to make to cool them and heal over time.
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The lord’s men came near the anniversary of Dorien’s apprenticeship. His temper flared as he saw them from afar, nearing the town where Faber had made his shop. Faber himself just watched them come with almost a bored vacancy, and ordered Dorien to bring his hammer out. Despite the fear in the young man’s heart he obeyed as he had in all things.
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By the time the apprentice returned, the lord’s captain had been convinced to dismount from his horse and face Faber alone. Whether his ego or his courage had been insulted was anyone’s guess, but Faber had folded his burly arms as if he was haggling with a cheapskate customer. He took up his hammer and breastplate when they were given as the Captain and guard muttered insults into the dark, but told Dorien to hold his shield.
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“Be on my back, boy,” he commanded in his gruff, smoky voice. Dorien did not understand, but there was no room for questions when Faber ordered him like that. All he could do was stand back and watch with rage burning in his chest.
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To Faber’s credit, in his day he had been a warrior beyond compare. His strength had never left him, and the hours of training the strange farmboy given to him by a stranger priest had revived some skill that had been lost over time. Had it not been for a stray arrow from the captain’s men — treacherous or careless was impossible to say — he would have soundly whipped the guardsman. But the arrow struck the smith’s knee, and with an unnecessary flourish the hammer was ripped from his hands and thrown aside.
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The captain was merciless to the downed enemy. With hand and the flat of his blade he struck Faber in harsh vengeance for the near-humiliation he’d suffered. Within Dorien a struggle began. The lessons of patience, the peace of the priest, that kind priest who had turned him twice away for his fits of violence, he’d come to be sure. And not once did Faber cry out under the onslaught. But Dorien’s eyes were on the hammer, fallen to the ground, and on his own arm he held Faber’s shield. Now it was not mere anger, nor any thought of vengeance, nor any selfish thought that inspired him to step forward.
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There is a time, and a place, for mercy. And there is a time, and a place, for violence.
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The captain was so engrossed with his bloody work that he did not even seem to notice the shouted warning from the archer, who planted an arrow into the center of the shield but did not touch the man bearing it. The shield was then met with metal, a gauntleted hand, and then the sword after. The captain hardly had time to understand what now stood between him and his target when around came the hammer with all the precision of the blacksmith’s craft, and caught him in a blow that in a single hit left him breathless and knocked him back. A moment had passed, and he had gone from victorious bully to the mercy of an apprentice with golden eyes.
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And Dorien had a choice. Before him was an enemy who had insulted him, slain and derided innocents, and nearly killed his master and teacher. He had struck down in a single precise blow a man who he had not been able to defeat in direct combat a year before. Behind him was the teacher who had taught him how to do so, bloodied, on death’s door. Something in Dorien stirred, a gentle hand pushing him toward the fallen smith. Some knowledge, a lesson forgotten from long ago. Dorien looked from the hammer to the hand that held it, the hand that bled gold from its own scar, the searing light that had done nothing in his life but harm. There was fear in the man’s eyes, real fear, the kind of fear he had once seen in the scorched face of a girl whose crimes had been far less.
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There was a time, and a place, for violence. And there was a time, and a place, for mercy.
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He raised the hammer, and let its weight carry it down to the soft earth between himself and the fallen enemy. He still held the shield in one arm and there was a warning in the yellow glow of his eyes.
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He turned back to Faber. When the light flowed from the hands that pressed against his chest, it came out in a gentle stream, not a burning flood as it had every time before. The old smith’s wounds sealed like melted metal, and his eyes flicked open.
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“I told Jaleb you’re trouble,” Faber said in a voice even hoarser than usual, as Dorien pulled him to his feet. Once he’d regained his balance, Dorien turned back to the Captain, who had staggered back to his own feet but had not lost that fear. The apprentice stepped away from his master for a moment, and reached down for the hammer. Faber didn’t stop him, though whether it was because he didn’t have the energy or was merely curious he would never say.
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“I might be trouble,” Dorien admitted, “and I’ll be trouble to anyone who treads on another creature like dirt on the road. I know I’m tempted to do the same to them. To you.”
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His voice was tight as he said the next words, but he felt some thing in his chest long since hardened crack open.
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“Instead, I bless you, captain. I bless your lord and your land and your men, your sword and your duties. Tell him that I forgive him as well, though he doesn’t know who I am. Someday I’ll meet him, when we are both better men. On that day I will come in peace.”
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He turned his back to the confused and silent captain on the road, who was no fool and knew he would not find what he sought here. When Dorien looked back from the shop's door, the men were gone.

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“Here do I swear that if it be my fate, to accept death bravely, for death with meaning is death without shame.”

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Dorien did not leave Faber’s smithy until after his master’s wounds had truly healed, when the old man had regained his strength. Even then he waited until the town had become quiet again. Until the customers stopped looking nervous when he, in Faber’s place, answered their questions and shoed their horses and repaired their tools and showed their children how he twisted rough metal into familiar shapes. Not until they knew that this was still Dorien, the smith’s apprentice. The impatience that had once pervaded him had been burned and hammered loose, perhaps in a single night, or perhaps that was just the culmination. Dorien could speculate as much as he wanted, but it would never bring him to a conclusion, so instead he worked until the time came to leave.
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This time, the priest came to the smithy. Dorien was surprised as the door opened to the little man in a grey hooded robe, a woman in plate armor behind him. Faber welcomed them inside, rough as ever, and they sat together with the blacksmith’s apprentice. While Dorien had never lost his enthusiasm, he answered with less certainty than he had the first time the priest questioned his motives and his intent. During the questions, the paladin was silent, but fixed Dorien in the gaze of a single green eye. The other was patched. Dorien did not stare, just met the look when it seemed appropriate. When she finally spoke, her voice rattled him. It was not the harsh, rough voice he’d come to expect in traveling warriors. It was soft and gentle. Her words, however, startled him more.
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“What would you kill for, Dorien?”
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Dorien looked to Faber, but the man’s face was a mask of iron. A glance at the priest only found soft encouragement, without any hint. This test was his, and his alone. He looked down at his hands, at his scorched hands that had now both broken and healed. Hands that had twice killed human creatures, and more often killed monsters.
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“I… I used to be more willing to answer that question,” he admitted. “But now I’m not sure. I don’t think I’d want to kill for any reason except if there wasn’t any other choice.”
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The paladin nodded, slowly, and then she asked in the same gentle tone: “And for what would you die?”
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Dorien swallowed as his mind skimmed over the obvious. Faber, he would die for Faber. For the shop. For this town. And the priest Jaleb, who’d made sure he went someplace where he’d learned what a warrior really could be. And his family, somewhere around here. And his neighbors. And that girl he’d scorched, and the captain whose fear he’d seen so evident. The mangled remains of a child came to his mind, of a caravan, of a farmhouse. He took a deep breath, and then answered in honesty.
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“I’d die if I was asked to. If it was the only way. I’d never go looking for death, the way I’ve heard some soldiers passing through talk about it — but if my life could save one other life… I think that’d be enough, ma’am.”
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The paladin looked to the cleric, and then nodded.
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“You were right, Jaleb. He is ready.”

[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“Here do I swear to redress wrongs, to be an example to others through deeds of honor, to never do outrage nor murder; never to judge another, offering only aid.”

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“Here do I swear to uphold justice in fairness to all, never to battle in lawless quarrel, nor for the goods of the world. Here do I swear to place character above riches, concern for others above personal wealth, nor ever to succumb to envy.”

[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Radiant Protector

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Darkvision: Blessed with a radiant soul, Dorien's vision can easily cut through darkness, although he can only see in shades of grey.
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Celestial Radiance: Neither necrotic nor radiant damage has full effect on Dorien.
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Healing Hands: Once per day, Dorien may use his natural light to heal a creature he touches.
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Light Bearer: Dorien touches one object that is no larger than 10 feet in any dimension. For one hour, the object sheds bright, golden light. Completely covering the object with something opaque blocks the light.
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Radiant Consumption: Once per day, Dorien may choose to unleash the divine energy within himself, causing a searing light to radiate from him, pour out of his eyes and mouth, and threaten to char him. For one minute, he sheds bright light, and all creatures within that light — including himself — are scorched by radiant energy. He may also channel this energy into his attacks.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Oathsworn

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Divine Sense: The presence of strong evil registers on Dorien’s senses like a noxious odor, and powerful good rings like heavenly music in his ears. If he chooses to open his awareness to detect such forces, he may learn the location of any celestial, fiend, or undead near him, and can also detect the presence of any place or object that has been consecrated or desecrated.
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Lay on Hands: In addition to his natural radiance, Dorien’s oath-blessed touch can heal wounds. He has a pool of healing power that replenishes daily. He may heal wounds with this touch, or cure someone of one disease or neutralize one poison affecting it.
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Divine Smite: When Dorien strikes with his weapon, he may choose to use energy he would otherwise expend on a spell to deal radiant damage to a target as well as the weapon's damage.
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Interception Fighting Style: If someone within Dorien's reach would be struck by an attack, he can react and reduce the damage done to them. He must be carrying either a martial weapon or a shield to do so.
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Divine Health: The divine magic flowing through Dorien makes him immune to disease.
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Aura of Protection: Dorien and the creatures in his surrounding area are resistant to the casting of spells.
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Aura of Courage: Dorien and the creatures immediately surrounding him cannot be frightened while he is conscious.
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Cleansing Touch: Once per day, Dorien may freely end the effect of one spell on himself or another creature he touches.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Tenets of Devotion

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Channel Divinity: Sacred Weapon: Dorien may call upon Ilmater to imbue his weapon attacks with radiant energy, improving the aim of his strikes and casting light over the weapon. Any weapon Dorien casts this on becomes a magical weapon if it is not already so.
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Channel Divinity: Turn the Unholy: Dorien may present his holy symbol (the bound hands of Ilmater) and speak a prayer censuring fiends and undead. Each creature of this type that can see or hear him must make an effort of will not to be driven back away from Dorien, and cannot willingly enter within a radius of thirty feet of him for one minute.
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Aura of Devotion: Neither Dorien nor the creatures in his immediate vicinity can be charmed while he is conscious.
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Purity of Spirit: Dorien is mostly unaffected by monstrous or otherworldly creatures — aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Creatures of these types have difficulty attacking him head-on, and he is immune to being charmed, frightened, or possessed by such creatures.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Divine Spellcaster

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Dorien’s training as a paladin of Ilmater has granted him a number of abilities through his oath, as seen above, and access to every spell available to all Paladins, so long as he upholds his oaths. However, he may only prepare a certain number of these spells each day, and each costs a different degree of energy, which may also be spent to cast his Divine Smite. Listed below are the spells he typically has prepared — mostly healing spells, in addition to two unique variations of the paladin’s Smite. He has the ability to cast four level [1] spells, three level [2] spells, three level [3] spells, and two level [4] spells each day. Energy required for higher spells may be expended on lower spells.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Spells

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Cure Wounds [1]: A creature Dorien touches regains a small amount of health. If he expends a higher spell slot, the amount of health increases in increments.
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Detect Poison and Disease [1]: For up to ten minutes within casting, Dorien can sense the presence and location of poisons, poisonous creatures, and diseases within a certain radius. He also identifies the kind of poison, poisonous creature, or disease in each case. The spell’s radius can penetrate most barriers, but is blocked by one foot of stone, one inch of common metal, a thin sheet of lead, or three feet of wood or dirt.
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Protection from Evil and Good [1]: As an action, Dorien can protect others from monstrous or otherworldly creatures — aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Creatures of these types have difficulty attacking anyone Dorien blesses with this spell head-on, and the targets of this spell are rendered immune to being charmed, frightened, or possessed by such creatures.
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Sanctuary [1]: Dorien wards a creature within range against attacks or spells, forcing the attacker to choose a different target or lose the attack or spell. If the warded creature makes an attack or casts a spell, this effect ends.
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Shield of Faith [1]: For up to ten minutes while Dorien concentrates on this spell, a shimmering field appears and surrounds a creature of his choice within a certain radius. The field grants the same protection a shield might.
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Thunderous Smite [1]: The first time Dorien hits with a melee weapon attack within one minute of casting, his weapon rings with thunder that is audible within three hundred feet of him. The target of his attack takes damage from this sound, and must contest its strength against the spell or be knocked away from him and prone.
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Gentle Repose [2]: Dorien touches a corpse or other remains. For ten days, the target is protected from decay and can’t become undead. The spell also effectively extends the time limit on raising the target from the dead, since days spent under the influence of this spell don’t count against the time limit of spells such as raise dead. To cast this spell, Dorien must place a copper penny over each of the corpse's eyes, and they must remain there for the duration.
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Lesser Restoration [2]: Dorien touches one creature and ends either one disease or one condition afflicting it. The condition can be blinded, deafened, paralyzed, or poisoned.
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Zone of Truth [2]: Dorien creates a magical zone that wards against deception. Creatures that enter the zone, or are present within it when the spell is cast, must contest against Dorien’s charisma. He knows whether each creature succeeds or fails that contest. If they fail, the creature cannot speak a deliberate lie while within the area. The creature is aware of this effect and can be evasive so long as they remain within the boundaries of the truth
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Aura of Vitality [3]: Healing energy radiates from Dorien in an aura. For up to one minute, the aura follows him, and he may use an additional action in combat to heal any creature within the aura.
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Beacon of Hope [3]: Dorien bestows a spirit of hope and vitality to all creatures he chooses within a certain range of himself. For the duration of the spell, these creatures have advantage on wisdom saving throws, succumb less easily to death, and regain more health from healing spells.
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Dispel Magic [3]: Dorien can choose any creature, object, or magical effect within range. Any spell of third level or lower on the target ends. If the spell is of fourth level or higher, Dorien must contest it with his own spellcasting ability; if he succeeds, the spell ends.
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Remove Curse [3]: At Dorien’s touch, all curses affecting one creature or object end. If the object is a cursed magic item, its curse remains, but the spell breaks its owner’s attunement to the object so it can be removed or discarded.
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Revivify [3]: This spell can only be cast when Dorien possesses the material component of 300 gold sails’ worth of diamonds, which are consumed by the spell. He touches a creature that has died within the last minute. That creature returns to its last moments of life. This spell can’t return to life a creature that has died of old age, nor can it restore any missing body parts.
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Death Ward [4]: Dorien touches a creature and grants it a measure of protection from death for eight hours. The first time the creature would be killed by damage of any kind, the target instead drops to near death and the spell ends. If the spell is still in effect when the target is subjected to an effect that would kill it instantaneously without dealing damage, that effect is instead negated against the target, and the spell ends.
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Freedom of Movement [4]: Dorien touches one willing creature. For one hour, the target’s movement is unaffected by difficult terrain, and spells and other magical effects can neither reduce the target’s speed nor cause the target to be paralyzed or restrained. Being underwater imposes no penalties on the target’s movement or attacks. Finally, the creature may choose to automatically escape from nonmagical restraints, such as manacles or a creature that has it grappled.
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Guardian of Faith [4]: A Large spectral guardian appears and hovers for the duration in an unoccupied space of Dorien’s choice that Dorien can see within range. The guardian occupies that space and is indistinct except for a gleaming sword and shield emblazoned with the symbol of Ilmater, white hands bound in red cords. Any creature hostile to Dorien that moves to a space within reach of the Guardian will be attacked, taking radiant damage.
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Staggering Smite [4]: The next time Dorien hits a creature with a melee attack within one minute of casting the spell, his weapon pierces both body and mind, causing the creature considerably more harm. In addition, the creature must contest its will against Dorien’s, leaving it badly disoriented on a failed save.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“Here do I swear to speak the truth always, even if it led to my death, to forever keep my word as if it were my god’s; to speak no slander, nor listen to it; to abhor gossip, neither partake nor delight in it; to never boast, but cherish humility instead.”

[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Inventory

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Amulet of the Devout. This magic holy symbol gives Dorien an additional use of one Channel Divinity between long rests and increases the difficulty of contests against his spells. The hands of Ilmater are inlaid with ivory, and the red cord between them is crushed red opal. This is easily one of Dorien’s most expensive possessions.
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Dancing Sword. Dorien’s attacks typically lack range, which he has accounted for by coming into the possession of a dancing sword. Dorien typically wields it as a normal longsword in one hand when he is carrying his shield, and may attack twice with it each time he attacks. If he sees fit to draw his warhammer or use ranged attacks in pursuit, however, he will do so. This longsword may be thrown into the air with a command word as an additional action in combat, and can fly a considerable distance to attack a creature of Dorien’s choice using his own strength. After four such attacks, the sword returns to Dorien’s hand, or lands at his feet if his hands are full.
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Explorer's Pack. Includes a backpack, a bedroll, a mess kit, a tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, and a waterskin. The pack also has 50 feet of hempen rope strapped to the side of it. Typically kept with his saddlebags on Holly's back. (He typically has less then ten days' rations on his person when not traveling, as they are among the alms he shares.)
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Plate armor and shield. Standard armor. Maintenance of this armor is one of the few expenses Dorien affords himself in his lifestyle.
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Warhammer. A two-handed, heavy weapon. This item resembles a blacksmith’s hammer and is Dorien’s preferred weapon, although he uses his longsword and shield when he can for the additional protective benefits they afford him. He may attack twice when he makes an attack with this weapon.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 Find Steed: Holly

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With the use of a spell he does not ususally have prepared, Dorien summons a spirit that assumes the form of an unusually intelligent, strong, and loyal steed, creating a long-lasting bond with it. Dorien’s steed, Holly, appears as an ordinary brown warhorse, but is celestial in type, and she clearly understands Common speech. She serves as a mount, both in combat and out, and has an instinctive bond with him that allows them to fight as a seamless unit. Any spell Dorien casts on himself targets Holly as well. If she is killed, Holly’s body disappears, leaving behind no physical form, and Dorien may harmlessly dismiss her with the same effect. Casting this spell summons her back, although Dorien must prepare it (often in the place of Thunderous Smite). While they are within a mile of each other, Dorien and Holly may communicate telepathically.
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Holly is armored with plate barding, and can attack in combat with her hooves whether or not Dorien is on her back. Unarmored, she more closely resembles an older -- if unusually large -- farmhorse. She likes children and will let them ride on her back and play with her mane and tail.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“Here do I swear to bear responsibility for my actions, for their consequences, to protect those entrusted to my care, to obey those who have just authority over me, in need or in plenty, in peace or in war, in living or in dying, death take me, or the world end.”

[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 The Rack-Broken Order

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Dorien made his first vows in his eighteenth year; he made his final ones in his twenty-third. They were, in order: the vow of compassion; the vow of courage; the vow of honesty; the vow of honor; and the vow of duty. These are, in order, the ideals to which Dorien is held by his own conscience and by his brothers in the Knightly Order of the Rack-Broken God, also called the Rack-Broken Order or the Knights of the Rack.
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This particular order of Ilmater, the god of selfless pain and suffering on behalf of others, is sworn to the protection of the innocent, and the relief of suffering through healing and compassionate understanding. Their headquarters are farther in on the continent, but most of their paladins are itinerant Knights, sent to various places to treat the sick and injured, reason with the unreasonable, and on occasion obtain alms from the wealthy for support of charitable works, often at the cost of some service of healing or bodyguard detail. Such clients are always reminded that the Knight is bound first to their oaths, among which is duty and loyalty yet such fall below the vow of compassionate care. In essence, these men and women serve as holy mercenaries, stationed out of the headquarters of other Orders of the Crying God, otherwise called Ilmatari. Dorien himself has only recently arrived in Praach, and is stationed out of the Shrine of Endurance on the Path of Many Gods.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 The Shrine of Endurance

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Most orders on the Path choose to draw the traveler’s eye in Newtown, Praach, eager to draw in new members. If one follows a short street off the main cobblestone road they might be able to see the small stone chapel with its simple stained glass windows and rough inscription: Shrine of Ilmater, and in smaller letters below, Justice Endures. The Order of Endurance is a small charity order of clerics and monks that serves the poor of Praach as equals, seeking neither praise nor compensation for their work but almost unrivaled in their strict medical knowledge. This chapel is also the home of paladins such as Dorien if quarters are not being provided by their current client or employer. Most paladins are far more accustomed to the small wooden beds and quiet shuffle of the church than the grandiose rooms of the port’s palaces, but they only turn down such generosity when it threatens their humility, a decision that is left to the individual paladin’s conscience.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyGridHeader]🜋 The Way of Suffering

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While both paladins and priests of Ilmater may be called to serve the upper houses of the city, their daily duties are to the poor, the oppressed, the worker, the beggar, the old, the young. The majority of donations to the Ilmatari are distributed among those in need, with only enough to maintain the chapel and paladins’ goods and to feed themselves reserved for their own use.
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The typical Ilmatari cleric is recognizable by his or her rough gray robe, hands bound in red cord, and white holy symbol about their necks. While paladins wear such clothes under their armor, they do maintain the external appearance expected of any knight of any order, and are thus more polished than most expect when calling upon a brother or sister in an order devoted to poverty. Even in such attire, most paladins, Dorien included, can be found following the Ilmatari’s routes same as any robed priest, and often draw small crowds out of curiosity. Only rarely does a paladin allow this to affect their work.

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[attr="class",AlchemyContentBodyQuote]“So swear I, Dorien Soubar, on this, the first day of what remains of my life.”