Sam was born the only son of a mid-ranking priest and priestess within the Occult of Sirothelle. The first and last of their line, his parents raised him with the expectation of greatness placed on his shoulders. He was to be their golden ticket to status, wealth, and respect. He was to accomplish all that they could not; to be the golden child of their great faith. So, they lauded him with the finest tutors of sword and scroll, three square meals each trial when many suffered without, and ensured he had every opportunity afforded to him when he came of age. Despite their meager means, Sam lacked for nothing as a child.
Except ambition.
He did not burn brightly as his parents intended. He barely burned at all. Sam was not of the cruel, capricious, or cunning temperament required to rise through the ranks of the Sirothellen Education system. He did not have the maker's mark of an assassin within him, nor the strength of the soldier bolstering his arm. And while he did have silver tongue, the extent of his use of it was to get him of trouble of his own making. Trouble was really the only thing that Sam had a knack for, that and disappointing his parents. This disappointment spiked to new levels when his Occult educators deemed him unfit for their ranks, ending his formal training and releasing him into the Sirothellen workforce at 17 arcs old.
Sam wasn't trained in much, but he had a clever tongue and his parents ensured that he knew his verses well. He found a local parish with a priest that was willing to take him on as an apprentice. While he was unmarked by their Immortal, he was a helpful acolyte to the practitioners of the faith. His own beliefs in their Lord were unstable at the best of times, but he kept that opinion squared neatly away. For eleven years he served his community dutifully, if perhaps unorthodoxly. Sam focused more on the "strength from turmoil" and less on the "fear of our angry god" in spreading the faith, but his parish was small enough, and poor enough, to avoid scrutiny by the more radical elements of the occult. He kept the faith, kept his own opinion quiet, kept his community afloat, and that was all he really needed out of life.
Then their god died. His mentor followed soon after, charred to a crisp by self-immolation.
Now, Sam struggles to keep together a rapidly fracturing community with an irrevocably shattered faith. Unprepared, and at times unwilling, Sam is desperate to keep his little section of Sirothelle from tearing at the seams.
