Ichabod Gainsborough
Character Name: Ichabod Gainsborough
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Cleric (Life)
Background: Acolyte
Personality:
Ichabod prefers to be left alone with his thoughts when possible, as it gives him more time to further contemplate the wonders of Chauntea's gifts during his gardening or crop growing, the only activities which truly makes him feel fulfilled. Whether it be flowers, fruits, or vegetables, toiling in the dirt and watching his efforts bring new life fills Ichabod with glee, and allows him time to push any negative thoughts and feelings to the wayside which he could not otherwise properly process. It is because he has a tendency to dwell on his failures, and finds himself unable to move past them no matter how much he prays for guidance in resolving his feelings, so he seeks to distract with the tasks of his faith which he has grown to love, even if it is a crutch for he uses to set aside any negative feelings he would most likely be better off dealing with.
Despite the nature of his obsession, he truly believes that there are a great number of worthwhile life lessons one can glean from the nurturing of all things that grow from the soil, the most respected among them in his eyes being an appreciation for life. This ethos also means that despite Ichabod's preference of solitude, he will not turn away any individual who comes to him seeking either medical aid or the advice of a Chauntean acolyte in ensuring a bountiful harvest. The healing he does as a physician is something he considers akin to the growing he does in the temple gardens, and does feel rewarding, but it still does not fully compare to the fulfillment he feels with true horticulture.
He also makes it a point not to pry into the affairs of those who the priests sends to him for aid, as Ichabod values his own privacy greatly and returns that courtesy in kind, hoping that he can keep his life as simple as possible, fulfilling what duties he must and returning to his own private affairs. He acknowledges this bit of selfishness, but cannot deny that it is most certainly his preference after many years of pontificating the glories of Chauntea to the eager folk who toiled the land and fed the masses. This can make Ichabod come across as rude, as his need to finish interactions as quickly as possible and with as little conversation as possible above what is necessary makes itself apparent to every person he meets, and though he does not mean to seem dismissive, he cannot truly be asked to find the strength to change this aspect of his personality. This unwillingness ultimately comes from the understanding that he will most likely never desire popularity, and though it may hurt to know that he has given a negative impression to others, he knows he does not need to think about it overmuch as long as he keeps to his service to Chauntea by tending to the land. He does not expect others to understand him, so he does not make too much effort to understand others. In his mind, that is entirely fair.
Without the opportunity to toil the land with his own hands, Ichabod becomes anxious and morose, as he is forced to confront what he sees as his own failings and his unwillingness to work past them. He needs the focus of his toil in order to feel complete in his day to day life, though he will substitute this need with meditation if need be, focusing on the aspects of growth, renewal and life which he has dedicated himself to in Chauntea's service. It is not enough to keep the shadows in his mind entirely at bay, but it allows him to function in society, albeit begrudgingly.
Appearance: An older man looking to be just above 40 years of age with a short brown beard and a full head of shoulder length, messy brown hair, Ichabod is of average height and wiry in build, his skin sun tanned as a testament to the years of work he has done under the open sky on many farming fields in service to his goddess and his family. The wrinkles around his green eyes and across his face speak of a life of hard living, and a smile can seldom be seen on his face outside of the times he is working the land in some form or another, and his gaze always seems to wander all about him to take in his surroundings. He is most often seen wearing simple browns when going about his business as well as his holy symbol of Chauntea around his neck, but never anything which could be considered flashy. If one were to take a good look at his hands, they would notice how they are quite callused, the skin hardened from the work Ichabod has done.
Backstory:
Ichabod's early life had been that of endless toil, working the land and healing the sick as he had been instructed by his faith. He had known no family but the Chauntean priests who had raised him, most especially the woman who had taken him in, Matilda Gainsborough, and had no desire to know of anything beyond the walls of the temple except the fields upon which civilization had made its mark on the natural world. Ichabod had always had issue connecting with the people outside of the confines of his faith growing up, having little opportunity to interact with them outside of holy ceremonies and accompanying priests on consultation to outlying farms around Ilispar. The boy was content with working the land as the years went by, something simple, something uncomplicated, something that did not force him to deal overmuch with people or with the question which seemed to always plague his mind; why was he abandoned? It should not have mattered. He had been raised instead by loving folk who truly did wish the best for him, the goddess he served gave him purpose beyond anything he would otherwise experience, and the work he did to maintain the gardens and help with the farm crops filled his life with meaning, yet the question lingered, and as the years went by Ichabod took to filing away a great number of his greater missteps and failures, both learning from them but also using them as an excuse to keep away from unnecessary situations so that he would not have the chance to disappoint others.
The Chauntean priests noticed the reclusive nature of their young acolyte, and so decided to put him on a path which would allow him to better relate to others. The Chauntean temple in Ilispar had been known not only as a center for agriculture within the city, but also as a place of healing for those in need. Ichabod was amenable to this at first, he had no particular objection to helping people, and it felt good to know that he had contributed to the well being of the needy, but his bedside manner left quite a bit to be desired. He respected the craft of nurturing renewal in people, and so his skills improved as he related his healing skills to his greater interests, but the priests did notice that despite his commendable progress in practical skill, he could not relate particularly well to his patients, his respect for life seeming genuine but decoupled from the actual lives he was safeguarding with his healing abilities. Ichabod knew that it was wrong to feel this way, that every life also had a story beyond the broken vessel he was treating at any given moment, but would it not be more wrong to deal with people dishonestly? As long as he served Chauntea with all his heart, closing said heart to other people did not feel so bad. Especially when dealing with others meant welcoming more pain to be shunted aside in prayer. Even as the pull of his goddess strengthened and his connection to the divine became all the more tangible, even as he was able to make Her will be done in this beautiful world and bless those who would come for succor, the abyss which he felt separate him from other mortals did not seem to lessen. Ichabod sometimes wondered if a man such as he could truly be a worthy servant of Chauntea, but through his faith he had been blessed with Her gift, and he was not about to doubt the will of the Great Mother. All that could be done was to move forward, and ignore that hollowness he felt away from the soil.
As the years went by, Ichabod did his duty as a priest of Chauntea, helping the farmers better care for their land, holding service for the faithful, healing the sick and wounded who came to the temple for aid. He was a model priest, but also a solitary one, as besides moments of necessary communion Ichabod kept himself to the gardens on the temple grounds, working in silence for as long as he was allowed to do so day in and day out. He was content, and he did not shirk his duties to Chauntea, so eventually the older priests let him be, at least appreciating that his rather zealous single minded focus to agriculture made him an excellent executor of Chauntea's will, and ensured that the priests would always have a surplus of fruits and vegetables to feed themselves and any poor soul coming to them for relief. Even still, as Matilda passed away, she regretted that she could not do more for the reclusive boy she had raised. She never said the words exactly to Ichabod, but seeing the look in her eyes as she lay on her deathbed, full of pity for a man who had grown up feeling so isolated and haunted by the smallest of failures, he knew.
As Chauntea took another loyal servant into her embrace, Ichabod could do nothing but go back to his duties and his crops. He needed to remember the lessons of new growth and nurture, and not dwell on the death and decay which was an inevitability of life. He had to. It was his only shield against the memory of lost hopes placed upon him by others.
RP Sample:
Ichabod did his best to ignore the unbidden thoughts which came welling up from the depths of his mind, his eyes focused on the bleeding leg of the soldier seated before him, whose whimpers within the tent competed with the noises of the encampment outside. Hardly much of a soldier, really, more like a boy who had been thrown into some leathers and been given glorious purpose , as their new overlord referred to it. Some of these conscripts would never have been fit for any sort of duty outside the most desperate of circumstances, but by Mistbourne's decree all who could serve must serve, regardless of station or creed. This was unfortunate for Ichabod however, because that also meant a great number of training accidents from the less than stellar new recruits, who would be sent to the medical tents for healing, which meant that Ichabod and anybody else with medical training or healing abilities would need to sort them out. It would not have been so bad, if it were not for the fact that between his duties as a healer and the training he himself had to undergo as part of this new army, there left absolutely no time for Ichabod to properly sort out his thoughts. Although considering his current circumstances, perhaps being alone with his thoughts was not the best thing for him.
O, Chauntea, please give me the strength to not succumb in this trial. The healer prayed once again for a strength which he had always found lacking within himself, but immediately felt the familiar pangs of guilt rack his mind. The Grain Goddess had already given him all the tools he could have ever needed in life to weather this changing tide. Apart from his holy rites and medical background having ensured the acolyte would not be taken away like the many less fortunate citizens of Ilispar, there were the the memories he could have made if he had just given that little bit of effort, sharing in the exultation of Chauntea's bounty with others instead of alone. Rather than wallowing in the moment, Ichabod could instead have steeled himself with the memory of those pleasant days. But those pleasant days had been lost to him, a road not traveled despite the best efforts of everybody around him, and so there was only the gardens, and the fields, and their memory. It was not enough. Not for him.
Now even more disgruntled than when he had started, Ichabod uttered a small prayer, calling on the Great Mother's blessing to staunch the bleeding. After looking the wound over to make sure it had properly closed up, the priest informed the lad that as long as he rested the leg up for a few hours, it would be as good as new. Before his patient could acknowledge this advice in any way, Ichabod promptly got up and left the wounded conscript's side, not sparing him a second glance after the job was done. As he walked over to the next would be patient, Ichabod wondered if there was a way he could convince his new superiors to let him keep a potted plant of some kind. It would not be much, but it would do more for his peace of mind than this constant misery.
Last edited by Crocodile; Dec 21st, 2017 at 04:07 PM .