Sandy haired Viore Lucan was born in Baslwief, in the foothills of the Fenwall Mountains, which, as the joke goes, is a very beautiful place to be from. As is the case with many of the those born in that area, however, he has not lived an easy life. While his mother did not tragically die in birth, and his father was not enslaved by an evil Runelord, neither did Viore find fame by discovering a long lost treasure or a new but rare spice. Instead he simply had a hard childhood. His mother did take a long time to recover from childbirth, but sadly, that was not all that unusual. Medical care, whether it was for a splinter or for a childbirth, took money that many villagers simply did not have. In addition, physicians were not easy to find without a journey to Korvosa. “Rub a little dirt on it” was the semi-serious refrain for most injuries.
But why should good health only be available to the wealthy?
His father worked to earn money here and there but in a town of ~400, there weren’t a lot of opportunities. He was unskilled and tried to avoid the mines, but unskilled and mines were something of a matched set. His mother, of course, had the kids to take care of, and the family got by as families in small towns do.
Maybe it was due to the general squalor that was Baslwief, but inequity about good health gnawed at him. It became much more personal when his mother did actually fall seriously ill. In fact, she quickly became too ill to travel, and finding any meaningful care became nothing more than a wish. So Viore was surprised when, after his mother had been ill for five days, an older man came to the village. He specifically came to see if he could help fulfil that wish. Rather than bandages and tinctures, he seemed to have some sort of magic about him. He tried to use his magic to help her, but he shook his head sadly and said she was already closer to his god than even he was. She passed after one more intense, fever-fueled nights, but it gave Viore a chance to talk at greater length with the man while they held their vigil.
Dorin was a priest of Sarenrae. Although Sarenrae had some beautiful temples in Korvosa, Dorin preferred to “take it to the people” as he smilingly said. Sarenrae is more than just temples, tithing, and praying, he said, and Dorin preferred to demonstrate Sarenrae’s glory rather than talk about it. His life now was roaming the foothills and mountains, and doing what service Sarenrae indicated was needed.
Viore was both impressed and inspired. This man embodied Viore’s philosophy. Spending one’s life bringing solace and life to any person in need of it, persons who might otherwise have neither, struck a chord.
“I want to do that,” said Viore, with surprising conviction.
Dorin looked serious a moment, and warned him that he may be impressed today, but life on the road was not an easy one, especially when compared to life in an opulent temple within a city’s walls. Although Sarenrae’s grace could be found throughout Varisia, the temples tended to attract all the donations. Dorin himself received a small and irregular stipend from Korvosa for his work, it was barely enough to cover basic needs, especially for someone constantly on the move. But he steadfastly refused to accept contributions that he knew his grateful patients couldn’t afford.
Then he peered closely at Viore and said, “Perhaps, however, Sarenrae has seen fit to give me a new task this day.”
It’s not like he was a child. Viore was 15 when he left with Dorin to try to do Sarenrae’s work. The first two years were entirely focused on the mundane: bandaging, basic cleanliness, and recognizing which symptoms (and herbs) went with which illnesses. Viore was frustrated that there was no magic involved with these tasks, but Dorin told him that much about healing had to do with knowledge, not godly intervention. “Before I manifest Sarenrae,” he said, “I manifest all I can as simply a wise man.”
Dorin taught him that being a “fellow human” should not limit his efforts to humans. Gnomes, halflings, dwarves (rare though they might be in this area) also needed healing and, often, understanding. Sarenrae’s grace, he told Viore, was blind to their physical appearance and more attuned to their morals and intentions. Even half orcs, of which there were many in the mountains, should not be kept from Sarenrae’s grace if they were in need of it and were willing to receive it.
Viore spent almost 5 more years with Dorin, learning the art of healing as well as the ways of Sarenrae. Due to the highwaymen and brigands that tended to frequent the only road between Korvosa and Magnimar, he acquired a chain shirt and under Dorin’s surprising tutelage, became adept using a scimitar. This culminated in a brief trip to Korvosa’s magnificent temple for a formal ceremony where Viore was accepted by the priests of Sarenrae, and Viore accepted Sarenrae. He augmented Dorin’s route, effectively providing twice the care for those peoples. But after two more years of that, he was drawn to the town of Diamond Lake.
A cleric of Iomedae, one Jierian Wierus, had managed to slowly increase his flock over the years. While Viore wasn’t normally one to track local events in the towns he visited, he got word that one of the apparent perks of being in Jierian’s congregation was half price medical care. However he charged full price or made it unavailable entirely for “unbelievers”. This inequity is what caught Viore’s attention. Jierian also held some fairly strident ideas about the world and Diamond Lake in particular, but it wasn’t clear if that was due to his relationship with Iomedae or more of a personal quirk.
Nevertheless, Viore felt a need to “settle down” for a bit in Diamond Lake. While he wasn’t opposed to Jierian’s faith, he was opposed to his philosophy. He quietly made it known around town that if you needed care, and couldn’t get it elsewhere, Viore was an option. He charged only what the patient could afford, and for some that was nothing at all. Grateful residents allowed him to bed down on the floor in their place, and he kept moving around to avoid exposing any one person to possible retribution. He imagined that eventually there would be a scene with Jierian, and he wasn’t looking forward to that. But it was not his intent to start a local holy war and he certainly didn’t want anyone else pulled into it.
One early morning, not too long after he he started his extended stay in Diamond Lake, Viore had just finished helping an injured woman and was stilll wearing his white tunic with a sunburst on it. There was another quick knock at the door. Viore glanced at his host, who shrugged – nobody else was expected. Viore cautiously opened the door to find a scruffy looking but largish person standing there. Viore recognized him as a worker from the Rusty Bucket. The man looked the cleric up and down, smiled, and said, “Huh. I know what you’re doing.”
“Do you now?” replied Viore evenly.
“I was watching you. Some woman just came in here with a bad limp and left without it.”
Viore tensed a bit, but said “I don’t consider it to be a secret.”
“Don’t much care one way or the other,” said the man. “I’m just glad you’re offering an alternative to Julian Weirdo, and wanted to tell you that. Hey, now that you’re not in a darkened doorway, you look kind of familiar.”
“I might,” said Viore. “I’ve been in this town probably a dozen times over the last couple of years and have been here this time for the last couple of weeks.”
“Snagsby,” said the man holding out his hand. “I work at -”
“- the Rusty Bucket. Yes , I remember. I’m Viore,” he replied, extending his hand.
Snagsby shook it and glanced at Viore’s tunic, and said, “Nice bullseye on your chest there.”
Viore looked down at the sunburst and smiled slightly. “Sarenrae isn’t done with me yet.”
“Sun for you, moon for me. Practically twins!”
“Moon?” mused Viore and it was Viore’s turn to look Snagsby up and down. “Your aura is strong. Nocticula, perhaps? Not the first choice of many.”
Snagsby allowed himself a bit of surprise, but responded, “Got it in one. Look, if you’re busy …”
“Not at all,” replied Viore. “Have a seat. I’m intrigued.”