Cillian the Lucky Champion Lore
Some are born to privilege, some earn it. Some attain greatness by force of arms, others by wisdom. Certain heroes were simply in the right place at the right time. Sometimes all it takes to achieve renown is luck, and then to parlay that good fortune into a long and successful career. But it is rare for good luck alone to be the force driving one’s greatness, consistently, throughout many perils and trials. After all, luck is fickle… for most.
Cillian was a squire in service to a knight of Kaerok called Guelgach. His master was loved and respected, and Cillian hoped to one day match the knight’s chivalric greatness. But he was not suited for the role. More at home feasting and carousing than jousting and warring, he tried and tried to master the disciplines of knighthood, but fell short with every attempt. His swordplay was lackluster, his archery a menace to friend and foe alike, and his horsemanship was that of a drunkard even when he was sober. He never gave up, even though his master and the rest of his entourage would rather he did.
One day, while visiting the port city of Delanos, Cillian attended a banquet with his lord, but was ordered to leave when he accidentally spilled wine on a noted patrician. He wandered broodingly through the docklands, wondering if it was finally time to give up his dreams of knighthood. After a while he came upon a ‘ship’ the likes of which he had never seen: it was a living creature, a massive turtle, and on its back was a patch of forest growing on a crust of turf adhered to the ancient reptile. Asking the attendants at the gangplank, he learned it was a beast-craft of the Sylvan Watchers. Aflame with curiosity but denied a tour by the insular Sylvans, he experienced a rare alignment of strong desire and momentary competence, and managed to sneak aboard anyway. He entered the cultivated glade on the turtle’s back, marveling at the strange and beautiful foliage that only the Sylvan could produce.
In the center of the wood, a Fae, a spirit guardian of the vessel, appeared before Cillian. He had never heard of the Fae, nor their general mischievous nature. Guileless, Cillian greeted the creature, and the Fae asked Cillian why he had come and what he sought. It quickly became apparent that Cillian was a simple soul. He readily confessed his failures and bad luck. He told the Fae of his dreams of glory, and the glowing, tittering being simply chuckled. It promised Cillian a blessing for being so honest, and then leapt into the tree canopy and vanished amid the foliage. Cillian stumbled off the turtle-ship amazed, keeping the encounter a secret.
Cillian rapidly became one of Guelgach’s greatest assets. When sent to do mundane paperwork, Cillian always seemed to find the documents and tools he needed in the first place he looked. While Cillian accompanied the knight, misfortunes would strike others nearby, but always avoided Cillian and his master. Wild coincidences converged whenever Cillian attempted a feat he was previously incapable of. A sudden bit of pollen up his nose caused him to sneeze while holding a bow at full draw, and he let go only for the arrow to strike true and hit the bullseye. When he sparred, his swordplay little less clumsy than ever, but his opponents would stumble and trip so that his blows landed regardless. In a joust, his opponent’s lance would splinter or their horse would throw a shoe, letting even Cillian’s mediocre skill prevail. Gradually Cillian realized that the Fae’s blessing was real: his newfound luck was truly supernatural.
Cillian’s growing number of successes made him a sensation of the court, and was given more responsibility. But the more he benefited from this power, the more he realized its drawbacks. His good fortune was not manifesting within him, it was being hoarded, drained from others around. What counted as a stroke of good luck for himself amounted to disastrously bad luck for someone else — usually a foe or rival, but sometimes innocent strangers nearby. Though Cillian was now respected and entrusted with importantjobs, just as he had always dreamed, his triumphs felt hollow and he was pricked by guilt knowing his success came at the expense of others.
More responsibilities led to greater scrutiny of Cillian, Guelgach and his advisors suspecting something strange was afoot. So the blessed man confessed what had happened. Cillian testified that luck alone was not enough to be worthy of service. He then departed on a self-imposed quest, staying away from others to avoid stealing their luck, attempting to reach the Mistwood where the Sylvan dwelt so he could give the Fae its luck back.
Cillian the Lucky Storyline
The lands of Teleria are never short of Champions, albeit not all of them fit the idealized tales of stalwart heroes or dreaded villains. Just like some warriors forge their legends in battle with peerless talent, so too some stumble into the spotlight through sheer dumb luck. This is one such tale. Sir Cillian was never blessed with an impressive stature or any particular grace. He ever was, as he is now, portly and cheerful, far more interested in attending the next feast than winning glory on the field of battle.
As a page in the service of Sir Fadrique – an exalted Knight of Kaerok – Cillian was the least talented student of all arts martial. He was awkward and clumsy with the sword, could not hit a target with a bow if it was set more than ten paces away from him, and could barely ride a horse without falling over his head. He was ridiculed by his peers and mercilessly berated by his tutors, though no amount of beating could awaken the talents that were simply not there.
One fateful day, Cillian’s impressive display of ineptitude made him the target of the Lord’s ire and he was forced to flee the castle. He sought to hide in the woods that surrounded Fadrique’s ancestral estate and, true to his nature, lost his way mere minutes after entering the forest thicket. Hapless, he roamed the overgrown paths for hours upon hours until finally coming across a hidden glade. There were voices coming from the glade, pure and clear, elated as they sang the songs of joy. Mesmerized by the beautiful music, Cillian made his way to the glade, and what he saw there would change his life forever. Dancing ‘round a mighty oak that grew in the very middle of the glade and clad in clothes of bright colours were the forest faes, their voices joining together to praise the rebirth of nature that spring brought.
Cillian was dumbfounded and froze on the spot, observing the jubilant spirits for what seemed like an eternity before a drowse overtook him and he fell into a deep slumber. When he woke up, the faes were gone as if they never existed and, at first, Cillian assumed he had dreamt it all up. But, as he got up to his feet, something slipped off his chest and onto the ground beneath. The young page leaned over to find a four-leaf clover of such a vibrant green it stood out immediately in the fresh grass that covered the forest floor. Not one to let a bit of luck go to waste, he gathered the leaf and hurried away from the glade.
From that day onward, Cillian’s every undertaking was blessed with uncanny fortune. He found his way back home without stumbling off the correct path even once, and in the days that followed he somehow managed to pass every single test he had failed before. His opponents would stumble and fall, his arrows would find their mark no matter how laughable his technique was, and he eventually lucked his way to Knighthood.
As a Knight of Kaerok, Sir Cillian won many a joust when the horses of his rivals veered off course or rose to their haunches inexplicably a second before his lance dislodged their rider to the cheerful applause of the observing crowds. So too did many foes find their end in the most undignified way, such as Xensor the Grim – an infamous necromancer – tripping over his own cloak and stumbling off the edge of his tower moments before unleashing a deadly spell upon Sir Cillian. Or the Orc chieftain Arzhak the Bloodthirsty, whose band of raiders terrorized an entire Duchy for years, falling victim to a swarm of angry hornets when Sir Cillian accidentally dislodged their nest upon Arzhak’s head. Of course, the commoners care little what force ensures their hero’s success, and over the years Cillian’s tale grew and spread far and wide. To this day he remains a beloved and famed Knight, whose deeds are eclipsed only by his love for ale and song.