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Once upon a time, among other cliches, a young elf boy was dropped upon the doorstep of a little chapel named for St. M'gug the Foul-Smelling but Otherwise Quite Pleasant, a legendary Orcish priest who was well known for his equal measure in stench and kindheartedness. The baby sat upon the doorstep to the chapel for exactly forty-seven minutes when he was noticed by the cook who had come out to toss the usual offering of spoiled leftovers to the neighborhood cats. The aforementioned cats had, incidentally, taken an interest in the wiggling bundle and seemed to be discussing among themselves on whether or not "Raised by cats" would be a proper backstory for the future main character of a literary work. The cook, a portly bearded Orc of unquestionable hygiene, but rather lackluster work ethics, managed to work up the drive to shoo away the cats and pick up the little child that graced the doorstep of his place of employment and carried it inside.

Once they had made it through the doorway, the orc deposited the bundle rather unceremoniously onto the desk of Father Fenson, who looked quizzically down at the bundle before looking back up at the cook in front of him. "Why did you bring this to me, G'reg?" He asked, trying his best to sound polite despite his obvious confusion on the nature of the bundle in front of him. "This is the lost and found, isn't it?" G'reg grumbled, pointing to the small sign that sat upon the Father's desk. "Well, I found this on the step and I delivered it to the proper place." The orc grumbled as he walked out of the office and down the hall toward his own quarters.

Fahter Fenson, a human priest who was dedicated if nothing else, simply shrugged and unwrapped the bundle that sat on top of his papers that he was attempting to finish sorting before bed. He picked up the baby boy and held it in front of his face, looking over its features to make sure that it was healthy despite its meager wrapping and abandonment. He noted that the baby had amber eyes, a color not entirely dissimilar to that of the rays of the rising sun. "Solis." The Priest said as he looked upon the child. "That's a recognizably elvish name, and it suits you eyes too." He remarked as he placed the child back into his cloth and picked him up. The name would suit the adoption papers just fine, all he had to do was walk him across the hall to Father Garza's office to have him admitted into the clergy's orphanage.

The next thirty years were relatively uneventful, Solis grew tall and strong and was admitted into the program to learn the art of healing from the priests of the chapel when he was only ten years old. He was fairly talented at the craft, and he advanced swiftly to the rank of Cleric. The rank was an honor that most would have to train day and night for twenty years to attain, but he managed to achieve his rank in ten, attributing his success to his devout following of M'gug's teachings and only sleeping three hours in a night on weekdays. It was almost thirty years on the day when Solis was called away to train to be a field Cleric in King Ulrich of Desia's army. As the chapel was located in the country of Desia he was in no place to refuse, so Solis packed his things and made his way down the road to the army garrison where he was to receive his training.

Solis abhorred violence with a passion that was almost to the point of being overzealous. He found it difficult to bring himself to even commit to swinging his staff against the practice dummies that were placed in front of him. He looked rather comical standing among all of the heavily armored soldier training with their swords and shields in his light chain-mail and wooden staff. At the end of his third day in the training camp his commander, a snarling, beast of a dwarf, told him that if he was not able to properly fight a mannequin by the morning that he was no longer welcome in the army and he would be discharged. At noon of Solis's fourth day in the compound he was kicked out of the army and forced to walk back home with nothing but his armor and staff, all other personal belongings sold to fund the growing army.

Solis sighed as he sat on the dirt beside the road considering his options. One the one hand he could go back to the Chapel and suffer the shame that failure would bring upon both himself and the priests, or he could go back and beg to be readmitted to the king's army. Neither of the options seemed attractive at all to the young elf... But then suddenly, "I've got it!" He yelled slamming his gloved fist into his open left palm. "I'll take on the rite of pilgrimage to cleanse my shame. I'll roam the land until I've helped five hundred people in need, just like M'gug did in the legends!"

Satisfied with his choice, Solis made his way into Porton, the city of mercenaries that was just outside of the fort. Surely there would be news of people needing help in an adventurers' town. Little did he know that he was well on his way to an adventure not at all like the one that M'gug had taken on back in the time of legend. No, this would be an adventure most epic, just because of a few Clerical Errors.