The Memoirs of Father Shiron
Part 1 - The Birth of a Legend
Father Shiron was born to an unsuspecting world sometime during March
1985. The exact date is unknown as the records of that period (Wham! 'Make It
Big', Shalamar 'Friends') to mention but a few, are incomplete.
Some say these records have been lost purposely so as to lose the
knowledge kept in them, dark as it is. Others however, more likely
correctly, have suggested that the author just can't remember.
Shiron's birth was, shall we say, a little unusual.
Instead of being found in his Father's pint of beer or being delivered
by a white stork like normal folk he was born out of the pages of a
book. But this was no ordinary book. It was a rather large
hardback book hereafter referred to as THE BOOK owned (should I really disclose this sensitive
information?) by a certain Mr. Hems. Shiron's first view of
the world was of the dingy interior of a study bedroom in Marlborough
Hall, Nottingham, Middle Earth. From the very first moment
Mr. Hems knew the young Shiron (not yet decided on a career in the Church) would
achieve great things. The author remembers Mr. Hems first comments
at the birth with reverence. "This will be a very good
character. A cleric, I predict, with a Wisdom of 16 points on the
D20 dice, Constitution of 16 and Intelligence of 14, he is destined for
great things." Thus the master had spoken and the young
Shiron, as if he had himself heard those very words, grew to be a man of
the cloth.
And grow he did, with truly astounding speed, for within minutes and a few more
throws of the dice he was 20 years old and fully kitted out. He
had a very deprived childhood. So deprived in fact that he didn't
have one at all, growing up to young clerichood and then into Robinhood (sorry!) Yes indeed the young Shiron grew fast and strong, a fine
figure of a man. Of course he was human - what else? The
author will tolerate no form of biological deviation unless it is of a
very close demihuman race such as Elves or Half Elves. Dwarves are
OK but are always grumpy and moody but anything with Orc blood is
treated with absolute mistrust and disgust, the horrible, dirty, smelly
creatures. Now we are getting away from the point and delving into
the rather murky recesses of the authors mind. To continue....
Shiron could be described quite simply as tall, dark and handsome, strangely enough not at all
unlike the author, funny that. He is 6 ft tall with a beautiful
crop of dark brown hair ((No grey yet, this was 16 yeas ago -
Ed)). Weighing in at 175lbs Shiron is a perfect physical specimen
but with only 11 points of Strength, he lacks behind some of his friends
in sheer brute force. What he lacks in strength, he makes up for
in wisdom (16 remember)? He loses out on certain charms however as
he only has a Charisma of 12. This is probably due to his annoying habit
of picking his nose and wiping his fingers on the nearest mage ,a
potentially terminal act. Many times in his younger days Shiron
came close to being turned into something very unpleasant because of
this but somehow he always got away with it. His favourite counter
reaction to an unfriendly mage was to withhold badly needed 'Cure
Lights'. Ah yes, the Cure Light Wounds spell, a Cleric's most
sought after requisite when party members, especially mages who don't
have many hit points to start with, have been injured in battle.
Always an excellent resource and bargaining tool for the Cleric's own
protection, to be held back or administered as the user sees fit -
alignment allowing of course. But wait, the author is streaking
ahead of himself, such is his enthusiasm. Let us slow down and go
back from whence we have strayed....
The young Shiron soon developed a taste for adventure, along with Marmite, Peanut Butter,
bikes and Sian Adey Jones, a poster of whom is on the author's wall
and being fondly gazed at as we speak. Shiron turned to THE
BOOK and found what he had been searching for - his socks. While
putting them on he decided what he was going to do with his life.
He didn't want to be a Marmiter or a Peanut Butterer. He didn't
really fancy being a biker and a Sian Adey Joneser just sounded
silly. No, he would be an adventurer. After making this
momentous decision, of which the great Mr. Hems and the author were
immensely proud (and relieved, as all this would have been a complete
waste of time and effort otherwise) Shiron began at once to prepare for
his chosen career. He began training there and then to become a
cleric in the time honoured tradition of throwing a dice and taking pot
luck.
Although he wanted to be a man of the cloth, he knew he would have to do his share of fighting and
so he adopted the mace as his chosen weapon. Actually he really
wanted an M60 machine gun like Rambo but Mr. Hems shook his head to this
highly illegal suggestion. He was told that clerics were not
allowed to use bladed or piercing weapons. This caused the young
man to suffer from regular concussions trying to shave with this mace
but he later realized the rules could be bent slightly to at least allow
clerics to get a decent shave. He went straight out and bought a 5
pack of swivel head double bladed Wilkinson disposable razors.
These however he had to keep hidden during any affray as the temptation
to use them on an enemy would incur grave penalties.
After some really pathetic dice rolls, the kind Mr. Hems, in true trainee accountant fashion,
donated some extra funds to Shiron on the understanding that they would
be used to buy equipment, otherwise the penalty interest would be
crippling. Shiron immediately purchased a fine suit of chain mail
and an impressively large helmet (no sniggers please). Even in
those formative moments the signs of a joker were evident as he also
bought a traveling cape and painted a big 'S' on the breastplate of his
armour. He hoped that when his heroic exploits became known,
people throughout the land would hail - "Is it a wizard? Is
it a cleric? No it's S*****man"! But instead he earned
the less than prestigious name of 'El Pointy' from a cheeky blue armed
rat called Isilmar, but that's another story....
It was at this early time of training and preparation for adventurehood that Shiron displayed an
unusual alternative approach to the divine clerical duty of
Spiritualism. A cleric is invested not only with the Woolwich
Building Society but more importantly with the power of God. A
cleric, if properly trained and equipped, can teach many a fair maiden a
thing or two - Sorry couldn't resist that one. Start again - A
cleric, if properly trained and equipped, can instill fear into unholy
beings, causing them to flee in horror or drop undead where they
stand. Shiron carried two symbols to allow him to perform his
clerical duties. A holy symbol (cross) and a phallic symbol, but
we won't go into that here. It was with one of these that the
imaginative young lad decided to do something altogether unusual.
The recognized way of wearing a holy symbol is around the neck on a
chain but to be different Shiron hung his cross from a ring on his left
ear. This caused something of a sensation in clerical circles and
set a new trend in holy symbol awareness. Shiron had turned a
basic tool of the trade into a fashion statement and from then on
clerics have been symbol conscious, not wishing to be outdone in the now
highly competitive fashion stakes.
It was at this time also that Shiron's questioning mind turned its attention to his own
creation. He had a rudimentary knowledge of such matters and so
was therefore obviously puzzled by the fact that the only two people in
the room at the time of his 'birth' were the author and Mr. Hems.
Shiron grew rather worried until Mr. Hems told him some things were
better left unexplained. To ease his mind somewhat he was told
that he was discovered jointly by both of them in the pages of THE BOOK.
Here endeth the first part of this gripping epic.
Don't miss the next episode - 'The First Friend'
It's here now. Click on Next.
Copyright © John Angus Walker 1986, 2003. All rights reserved