Signs and portents
Serolan Barald Palgen
Abbot of Selvos
A balding man, standing 5’8" tall and carrying more weight than he should. He has greying black hair and deep-set brown eyes.
KMSelvosPeople © 2003 Kerry Mould. Derivative work. Art by Richard Luschek.
Barald Palgen, aged 53, was born the middle son of a minor noble family. Without hope an inheritance, he sought position and status within the Laranian Church. He was trained at Shreve Abbey and spent time his early years as a Matakea in Ubar. A literate and well-spoken young man, he rose quickly through the ranks. Along the way to his career goals, he discovered a deep and previous unknown love of his goddess. While still pursuing advancement, his motivation has changed from one of personal glory to glory for Larani, Lady of Paladins. Transferred to Dureve Hundred in 702, he helped clean up the last remnants of hte Agrikan church. Barald was appointed Serolan (High Priest) of the Selvos Temple following the death of his predecessor in 705. This coincided with the end of the Laranian Inquisition in Dureve Hundred.
He is seen as a builder and has been charged with expanding and guarding his flock. He travels a great deal, visiting outlying manors and checking on the well being of his parishioners. Because of this, he is well known and generally well liked, through some find him a bit too pushy when it comes to soliciting tithes for the church.
He is still a proficient swordsman and trains daily with the other clerics under the direction of the Menoran. He secretly hates the routine, as he is by nature lazy, but he ordered it instituted and made it mandatory for all, including the masters and himself. He has put on a few pounds over the years and finds that regular exercise is the only way to keep his weight in check. Lacking thee personal drive to train daily, he made it a group activity so that no matter how much he might want to stay in bed, it would force him to get up and set a good example. There has been more than one day where he has regretted his own orders. The Master of the Fighting Order is too damn cheerful for that time of the morning and Barald’s bones ache.
In his early fifties, age is beginning to catch up with him and arthritis and a bad chest cough have been plaguing him of late. Slightly vain, he has recently taken to dying his receding black hair even though it has been salt and pepper for years. A brilliant speaker, his sermons are split between the ideals of reluctant warrior and feudalism and the fury of the “Terrible Lady of the Flowing Red.”