Clive Doubletree

"The wolves will have you...."
User: Mark
Campaign: Ruins of Arth
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Role: Other
Class: Cleric/Druid
A thin willowy man some have called Clive the runt of the Doubletree litter. His father serves as a petty castillian and has tasked his one remaining son to find the cash to keep the small parcel from being lost now that the families brightest hope of a "Ser" title has died in a folly Clive could not steer him from.
Born the third son of four Clive was the quite reflective one. He kept quite to avoid being beaten by his younger brother and reflected upon exactly what his role in life. After the unfortunate death of his other three brothers he now seeks a way to keep the small parcel of family land.

Taught by his Grandmother in the bush healing and the ways of the mother and nature he is discovering the power of his faith.
Being the third son of a fairly well to do tenant farmer can’t be called the worst of fates and you’re seldom the one all of your families hopes are cast on.
Content to spend his days behind a plow and tending to the animals on the farm he lacked the brawn of his eldest brother, the initiative and guile of the second son and the combination of the best of the other two coupled with stunning good looks of his younger brother. “Reliable” might have been the characteristic that most set him apart from his brothers in his family and communities eyes. Then came the fateful day when his youngest brother Dirk convinced the lot of them to pursue fame and fortune traveling through a portal in a nearby glen. Alas only Clive, and the Ralph the wonder dog, emerged from the horrors within.
While the share of the fortune might have been enough to pay for hired hands to keep their corner of Old Man Robert’s estate in good order the wealth came in a form of little use on the farm or the broader estate. Abel to get by with his sisters and younger brothers his father charged Clive to “accompany the other fools” and bring back enough gold to buy hired men until the little ones could take their place.
Clive knew how to use the bow and sling to keep varmints at bay. He never really considered all of the things grandmother taught him to be particularly special. When Dirk was born grandma always found time for him; that in itself was special to a boy who always seemed to come last or after the word “and”.
Her lessons did help with the occasional need to mend the knee of the nanny goat after she jumped the stile to get to the greener grass. And while others took grandma’s banter as proof of her departure from her better senses he found the pearls in her “wisdom.” He would quietly give her credit for building an appreciation of the little things around him that he felt made him a better farmer.