Father Conall MacLeod

Firebrand of Dol Arrah


Conall stands an austere 5’11" and weighs 185 lbs. His bald head and white beard make him the very image of a pious man.


For most, worship of the gods is done out of tradition. Most are content to pray to the same gods as their father or mother, because it is all that they have known. They freely give up their prayers, never once hearing the voice of those they offer up their mock piety to. This was not the case for Conall. If anything, he had spent much of his life in spite of the gods, paying no heed to the “divine tenets” that the law was based off of. It was probably the main reason he now found himself on the cultist’s slab, awaiting sacrifice.

It had been a simple job, steal a book from a wealthy noble’s library. The locks had been easy enough for Duncan to pick. Neither of them had suspected that the buyer, noble, and apparently cultist were all the same person. Now Duncan was a pile of bone and meat goop in the corner and Conall was about to have his heart cut out. “The gods be damned,” he thought to himself. “Or praised,” a voice popped into his head. “If you ask for mercy in these your last moments, ye wretched soul, perhaps you will find salvation.” Conall’s mind raced, trying to remember the names of those men and women in the sky that he had forsaken for all these years. He blurted out the first name that came to his mind. “DOL ARRAH! FORGIVE ME FOR MY LIFE OF SIN AND VILLAINY!” And in that moment, the cultist was surrounded in a corona of light and reduced to naught but ash. Conall found his bonds burned away and a golden sun manifested on the back of his right hand.

That night, he went to the church of Dol Arrah and confessed all his sins. He asked to be taught more of the ways of the goddess who had given him a second chance. And so it was that Conall turned his life around, shedding himself of the vestiges of the corrupt, sinful man that he was. He preached the goodness of the light with more fire and passion than some priests who had spent their entire lives in devotion to their lady. He went to the places that her light would not reach and illuminated them so that all would know his faith, gleaming like the midday sun. And so it was that from doubt piety had bloomed, like a lily in a barren field.

Father Conall MacLeod

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