Clement Orantez

The Crescam Forest is hailed by the few who know it as enchanted by mischievious fae — once entered, few return to tell the tale. For one man, the forest is home — deep in the wood, a cottage sits hale and hearty, protected by the fae for it's sole resident's respect and offerings. Clement Orantez regards the forest as his trusted protector, offering his aid in upholding it's beauty and providing what protection he can. Beloved by the forest, he resides in solitude for not only his own safety, but for the safety of mankind itself.

Cursed – in his own words – as a mortal vessel to a singular godling, Clement fights against his inevitable fates as he struggles to maintain his autonomy and sanity. Each mortal vessel is a singular branch of Clement's core, suspended in a higher plane as {{ GOD }} twists the strings of fate for it's own entertainment and enigmatic goals. As a result, Clement is quick to limit his bonds with other mortals — the sole exception being Caspar, his familiar, who was cursed for her spite and cruelty as a faerie to the mortal coil as a fragile hummingbird.

Clement and Caspar reside peacefully in the Crescam Forest, hesitantly but mercifully providing shelter and safety for the innocent souls found wandering the wood. While on the rare occasion, Clement departs the forest for the nearest village, he is always sure to return to his quaint little home tucked away in solitude and isolation — for while the kingdom's tomb lies in rubble, who could possibly forgive the king for his crimes?

Clement's upbringing is not that of a standard human's; it all begins with a faint glimmer on a higher plane.

Once, there was a godling borne of light and wonder who zipped and glowed with curiosity and a child's ignorance. In a realm where infinity was a promise, this glimmer was quickly dimmed as other gods, grown and wise, deemed it too dull, too restless, and too unremarkable. This glimmer was once named Ocello, and it was steeped in a realm that did not care to behold it.

In its naivety, it opted to make a decision it believed could matter; it was tired of waiting for a world that was beautiful, good, and kind; if it could not be part of this one, it would weave its way into another.

Thus, Clement was cast into the world—a mortal replica of his god—to live vicariously through. Born in adolescence, he recalls little but the frigid cold and blizzards he wandered through aimlessly and numb. He could not tell you what he thought, felt, or saw at this time, but his first moments of independent sentience are forever etched into his memory.

Upon the call of another human, as it believed them to be alone in their own world, Ocello relinquished control of Clement; his first feelings were those of fear, cold, and pain as he ran from the call, lungs burning in frigid snow and ice before collapsing from the exertion.

The call was that of a man Clement would come to grow close to: Salem Sykes, who retrieved the boy's small and frail body from the snow to save him and returned to his village—a growing faction of traders named Zinnia. As Clement recalls it now, the details are muddy—he was accepted by the citizens with looks of pity for a time. He worked hard with Salem to carry his own weight despite his frailty. Working in agriculture and with livestock, he became familiar and friendly with citizens who took kindly to the boy who had survived.

As the faction grew, the council believed it only right to establish themselves as a small kingdom to open trade with higher nobility. What few legends remain from what few survivors live claim the kingdom was built with magicks under the blanket of a single night—and as they recall, it was felled in one similar night, many years after its rise.

The council could not choose one of their own to rule; thus, it was decided a citizen known and cared for by all would serve as the face, and there was one such citizen.

Clement was thrust into the pampered life of nobility, and how could anybody deny the call to be deemed important, necessary, and needed? He recalls this now with shame, but his position soon came with its caveats. Within the years he spent behind ivory walls, he soon learned how to best avoid his advisors and lock himself away from what few duties he had as a kingling. He had little time to spend with Salem, now head of the guard and keen to manage his own responsibilities; their time together then became limited to swordfighting lessons. Any excuse to be with Salem was an opportunity Clement gladly took, greatly honing his swordfighting ability.

Not yet a decade old, the kingdom's wizards and warlocks could not foresee the fall. As crop died and famine wrought the streets, the kingdom was struck by a neighboring faction; unable to provide for its citizens in their time of need, there was demand to hold somebody, anybody, responsible. This would fall to the puppet, strings cut.

Before he could be judged for his alleged tyrannical negligence as the crown, the kingdom was once again struck, finally succumbing to its adversaries. Under the cover of night, Salem seized Clement in the confusion before fleeing the fire and brimstone.

The burning in his lungs was a sensation all-too-familiar, but there was no snow or frost to be seen. Instead, the pair came to a clearing in a forest. Defeated, broken, and without their home, Salem lashed out at his formerly beloved, blinded by his rage and sorrow.

Clement's strongest memories are still those of pain. Despite the burning heat of his blood and the searing agony of his loss, he was unable to thrash around when his consciousness returned, weak and defeated; he cannot explain how he survived but for the forest's and fae's mercy. Guided to shelter in the wood, in a cottage abandoned and barely standing, he recovered slowly on his own.

His recovery required years of adjusting to the loss of an eye and the near severing of his dominant hand. Slowly, he repaired the cottage the forest gifted him and survived on the food he grew for himself and the forest, utilizing what few skills he had learned from people he once loved and was loved by.

Upon watching its creation's suffering, Ocello continued to grow and develop. Steeped deeply in a rage it could not stifle, its form grew wicked and twisted. Upon nearly losing its creation, it opted for a solution that would inevitably result in naught but turmoil: in that instant of near death, Ocello suspended Clement's form in stasis, where it could pluck alternate lives for Clement and the events of those lives from that point on could be 'adjusted.'

Thoroughly entertained by its creation's suffering and woes, Ocello was inspired—upon building its agony, it would unleash the sorrow Clement endured upon the inhabitants of its own realm. This "true" Clement dwells in a void of light, unable to fight the will of his god as his body is plucked from it, enduring the joys and pains of every version of himself in order to live.