Fenlen

Fenlen Ellar has no home, not since he has answered the call of Illmater to aid those in need. Be it in a different town, or isles. For his whole life, Fenlen was afflicted with a terrible physical debilitating wound that prevented a life in his village of Heartstead isolated in the thick wilderness of southern Galirec. Fenlen lived a simple life in the confines of his bed, with his mother Larrel; who spent most of her time tending to her garden and caring for her bedridden son. His Father Erris; a talented druid in the arts of healing magic, no matter how talented he could not help his crippled son. The Ellars didn't have much money with most of it going to aid Fenlen's quality of life, but they had each other and that was enough.

Fenlen's parents tried everything they could for healers across the realm to try an cure his affliction to no avail. Until an unnamed priestess of Illmater visited the village. she offered her aid to the family and channeled divine magic from Illmater into his being. Fenlen became well, and—for perhaps the first time in his life—whole. Erris never became heartbroken and bitter that he couldn't cure his son with the power of mother earth. Fenlen began training to become his father's prodigy to pass on the healing ways of their kind. Fenlen knew this wasn't the life he wanted for himself so in the dead of night Fenlen tracked down the priestess that opened his eyes and trained under her. Now Fenlen lives his life in tribute to Illmater traveling wherever his god calls, leaving behind his home and family. In hope to bestow similar gifts unto those in need of aid.

**"We all could use a helping hand sometime!"**

## Final Hour

As the Red Hand Army marched to North Stand, Fenlen stood on guard watching for any sign of attack. With the help of six brave, possibly foolish guards, Fenlen's group managed to create enough space for the villagers to completely escape from their ancestral homes.. Casting a barrage of spells against the encroaching enemy, Fenlen struck down an unknown armount of drow, orcs and other monstrous units. Knowing this may be his last day, Fenlen placed his hopes on two fallen children, reviving and selflessly placing the two onto his own horse allowing them to indirectly continue his legacy of martyrdom. Just then the Red Hand's White Dragon landed between Fenlen's escape route, cutting him off from the group.  Knowing he had to act fast or watch as the people he saved be burned away by a frozen flame, he quickly readied and threw a javelin at the Orc riding the beast, canceling the dragons attack by what could be called a stroke of luck. The commanding Orc dismounted,the remaining guards charging to strike him down before the Orc could draw his weapon, in a blink the guards were felled by a mighty swing of the Orc's weapon, they had not even seen it had been drawn. The Orc would turn his attention to Fenlen, making two of the fastest strikes he would ever see, one barely glancing off his armour and the last connecting for mighty damage. With his strength failing, Fenlen would pray to Ilmare, the god who he had been nothing but faithful to, asking for the power needed to slay the Orc. Ilmare accepting his pleas, Ilmare dropped the power of a holy god onto the unholy foe, causing an explosion sages would attempt to recreate in vain. The Orcs sword granted to him by his commander, imbued with the power of the spider, cracked, it's owner being obscured by the radiant light. That was the last image Fenlen would see as his eyes were blinded by the god's unknowable power, followed by his body being drawn into the light, never to be seen again. As the rest of the party rode on with the villagers, all would see the splendor of Fenlen's faith for miles and miles, however as he never returned his traveling compaigns would assume the worst. Moving on without him but forever remembering his last show of cleric might.