Kettle Blackpot

Elf Paladin of Tempest with a Temper


Kettle Sebastion Blackpot was on the verge of retiring from a hard life of sailing. A composed, seasoned veteran of the sea, he’s seen shit that would turn a landwalker’s beard green and eyes tear. Nar’y a soul can compare to the actual horrors of the sea, nor the splendor. From luminescent fish that fly through the waves to shadows larger than ships which follow in a ships wake, many an adventure has been survived by Kettle and the crew he served. From the sword coast itself, spawning in Waterdeep to the heart of the Great Sea, they sought fame, wealth, and purpose. Sounds romantic, eh?


Wrong, you fockin’ abhorrent churlish son of a griff’n! It was dang’rous as shit in a bears britches. Think on that.

Upon returning to Waterdeep, for one of his latest voyages, he was called. A calling so deep that it wasn’t just him, but his entire crew that heard the words. Power resounded, and every man, woman, and child on the dock looked at Kettle. Kettle was hardened, the feel and touch of a ship’s wheel in his hands and the salty air of the sea in his soul. But the call still came. It wasn’t flashy or colorful, demanding or commanding. No, it was a request, a question that hung in the air.

Not a soul moved on the docks for an entire minute, all eyes upon him. A weathered man who cared about those around him but has a fire in his gut that can never be quenched.

Kettle looked towards the sky, gray and overcast with a slight drizzle, and smiled.

“Aye.” He said, nodding to the clouds. And that was that. Both purpose and power were bestowed upon him. The docks spurred into motion, smiled and awed stares looking at him. His crew took it as a blessing straight true and swore by bloods and bonds by all the gods that he would always be welcome. Few days later they bought a guildhall with their riches and set up shop in the outskirts of Waterdeep itself. There would always be those who would wait to watch and lend aid. Kettle wasn’t the only man who earned divine favor and attentions, so the Order of the Oathbringers began. True, not a typical order, it took in all who swore oaths before the gods, working together to better the world. Are ya’ surprised? No? Good. Yer’ not scrubwatch.

A message came to them all in the form of a vision: Kettle walking down a cobblestone pathway with one of the order’s members named Gin, heading towards a misty horizon. All of the sailors and order cheered them on, and awaits their return. They grow stronger, and pray that their brothers will return safely.

Heftin’ his trusty blades, Hamza (a greatsword with wavelike ridges on one side, straight blade on the other) and Terhi (a worn and notched hardened steel longsword), Kettle set forth to meet whatever task he needed to do. Justice and good, his own (and gods) way. Welcome t’ tha’ unorthadox paladin. Heav’ns know how this’ll play out.

Kettle Blackpot

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