Both men were surprised by the interruption and slightly taken aback, not certain what to make of her. The puzzled look was quickly replaced by an amused smile on Sendor's face, where as Haelion's was still hidden underneath the mask he wore. "We are good lady. It pleases us that you finally can grace us with your presence." He offered cordially. "I had not taken the sun's presence to be a reason for your confinement. I should have researched your people more. I apologize in advance for the potential miscommunications and misunderstandings we might have in the future." Sendor bowed lightly to her before allowing his gaze to be drawn back to the horizon upon her question. He smiled mysteriously, bringing a hand up to his chin as he pondered the question. "We can only speculate of course, but if the word that reached us was truthful than tis would be larger than any of the Isles we have discovered so far. If rich in rescources it could very well be inhabited or have remnants of habitation." Haelion had kept quiet, regarding the two before turning his eyes to the horizon as well. "Regardless of our speculations we will discover them soon enough. The question should be, if we find out that there is life on the island, which will take presedence? Or will we fall back to conquering nations? It seems to me that here lies the opportune moment waitig for us to explore and see the world for what it is, without the constraints of structure or hierarchy or societal pressure." He pointed out.
Dag'Tyr followed him in and allowed his eyes to take in the scenery, before focussing again on the young man. He listened carefully allowing the proposal to sink in, mulling it over. "I expected no less, you being a man of business and such. The 'balance' must be maintained after all." He regarded his own hands for a moment, the stains the plague had left him with and frowned. The plague had been much of a mystery as of yet, if the elderly lady's journal contained even the smallest of hints...it could lead him to a more permanent cure. All in all worth the potential risks. Plus, didn't the old saying go two heads know more than one? Maybe the both of them would be able to make more sense of the damned thing, he'd welcome a new and fresh perspective. Of course there was also the fact that a town with a healer with no supplies would lead to misery and unnecessary deaths. Veratul didn't spare him to put his own life above those of others, nay if his contribution could have prevent deaths by trying to find a way to supply the man then that would be what Veratul expected him to do. He nodded to the shopkeeper offering him a warm smile. "Ne'ertheless Jerald, I will gladly accept the terms of thy offer." He said offering him an outstretched hand. "So let us shake on it to seal our agreement." Awaiting the man's actions before adding. "You would have to fill me in on what it looks like though, as I tend to heal through other means and also where I could reasonably and potentially come across this Heartroot?" But before allowed Jerald to explain it he also gestured to the window. "Also Jerald, could you please explain and help me understand..." He allowed the shopkeepers eyes to find the particular thing he was pointing to. "How it can be that those little tykes are out, risking illness in this type of weather? Do you happen to know them? Where's their mother?" Dag'Tyr stated having noticed the little ones the moment he had entered the plaza, but knowing his appearance could be intimidating had decided to shake Jerald for some extra information. The girl broke his heart wearing barely more than a potato sack for a dress, she reminded him of his youngest sister when she was a good deal younger.
Dag’Tyr raised an easy hand. “Good day to you good sir. I sympathise with thy plight, the Kin too know all too well the wretchedness the Shadow brings and to see another fall victim to its elusive claws is truly a miserable sight to behold. Unfortunately, as of yet I am not in need of any thy mixes or potions but rather of thy experience and knowledge.”Dag’Tyr spoke calmly though with a certain resolution in his tone of voice. “Though I beg you to not discuss such matters so out in the open.” Dag’Tyr again raised a hand in an attempt to strengthen his words. “Fear not the request I make is not of ill nature, but I must confess I prefer the small comfort of a roof o’er my head when conversing. Would you allow me to enter thy humble shop?” He asked as he awaited confirmation from the man first. Amongst the Kin proper courtesy and manners were always held in high regard. To force one’s entrance or show impatience was a faux pas that was tightly scrutinized by the Kin. Best to avoid it and show common sense and proper manners.
As Dag’Tyr made his way up towards the Western Gate, he kept a steady pace and a steady gentle hum. The day had been nothing but gloomy and grey since he left earlier that morning and the cold and unforgiving rain was bone chilling. A child of warm barrow halls and burning forges this kind of wet cold seeped into the bones of the soul if one was not careful. Thus in order to keep up his spirits the young man had mumbled and hummed songs of old. Tales of days long past, of the glory days of Du’Eld and others like him. Seeing the current destination within easy reach lightened his heart and hurried his step. He readjusted his father’s shield upon its back, it depicted a large wolf biting down on a man’s arm. The image holding special significance as it depicted their ancestor and the sacrifice he suffered when he slew the dreaded beast Haralon a particular menace of a monster. As he reached the first tents of the Noctem he glanced around curiously. He had not yet seen their folk often during his travels, so to be able to observe them in amongst one another was an unexpected pleasure, though Dag’Tyr inwardly sighed at the unfortunate weather. From the look of the place it could very well hold work for him, as the rain often brought out illness in the weaker folk. Children and particularly the elderly fell prey to nasty infections of the respiratory variety, best to move on and find the nearest apothecary whose supplies would undoubtedly be depended upon. He moved on passing through the gate nodding kindly to the lady near it and entering Fenhall itself, making his way to the apothecary only stopping when he noticed the empty shelves through the window.
Proficient Weapons: Simple Weapons Proficient Armor: Heavy Armor Languages: Common, (Plus a dialect the Kin Delves use for Spellcasting and the reciting of their old songs and tales) You wanna hear what that sounds like: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2lOJ21LmDlg
Weapons/Armour:
A Mace named Gul’Da: 5 gp, 4 lb. 1d6 bludgeoning (Named after one of the fabled battlemaidens Gul’Da is the one that wields the mighty forgefires in her fury her name meaning the Golden One in the Alde Tonge.)
Chainmail Heavy armor 75 gp, 55 lb. AC 16
Shield Armor (shield) 10 gp, 6 lb. AC +2 (A shield is made from wood or metal and is carried in one hand. Wielding a shield increases your Armor Class by 2. You can benefit from only one shield at a time.)
The shield bears the mark of his family, one of the most prized pieces his father forged before they were forced to uproot and undertake the dangerous journey. To Dag’Tyr that shield represents his father, in spirit, still watching over him, still guarding him and guiding him on his journey. Pity to those that mock it. Whilst normally against his beliefs of harming others, those that mock his father’s make discover its density and durability up close, usually by busted nose and the wrath of a grieving son.
Cantrips: Sacred Flame, Word of Radiance, Toll of the Dead
Prepared: 1st: Shield of Faith, Detect Poison & Disease & Bane 2nd: Aid, Prayer of Healing & Protection from Poison
Domain Profiencies:
Bonus: When you choose this domain at 1st level, you gain proficiency with heavy armor.
Disciple of Life
Also starting at 1st level, your healing spells are more effective. Whenever you use a spell of 1st level or higher to restore hit points to a creature, the creature regains additional hit points equal to 2 + the spell's level.
Channel Divinity
At 2nd level, you gain the ability to channel divine energy directly from your deity, using that energy to fuel magical effects. You start with two such effects: Turn Undead and an effect determined by your domain. Some domains grant you additional effects as you advance in levels, as noted in the domain description. When you use your Channel Divinity, you choose which effect to create. You must then finish a short or long rest to use your Channel Divinity again. Some Channel Divinity effects require saving throws. When you use such an effect from this class, the DC equals your cleric spell save DC. Channel Divinity: Turn Undead As an action, you present your holy symbol and speak a prayer censuring the undead. Each undead that can see or hear you within 30 feet of you must make a Wisdom saving throw. If the creature fails its saving throw, it is turned for 1 minute or until it takes any damage. A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can't willingly move to a space within 30 feet of you. It also can't take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there's nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action. Channel Divinity: Harness Divine Power 2nd-level cleric optional feature You can expend a use of your Channel Divinity to fuel your spells. As a bonus action, you touch your holy symbol, utter a prayer, and regain one expended spell slot, the level of which can be no higher than half your proficiency bonus (rounded up). The number of times you can use this feature is based on the level you've reached in this class: 2nd level, once; 6th level, twice; and 18th level, thrice. You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
Divine Domain feature At 2nd level, you gain a feature from your Divine Domain.
Channel Divinity: Preserve Life Starting at 2nd level, you can use your Channel Divinity to heal the badly injured. As an action, you present your holy symbol and evoke healing energy that can restore a number of hit points equal to five times your cleric level. Choose any creatures within 30 feet of you, and divide those hit points among them. This feature can restore a creature to no more than half of its hit point maximum. You can't use this feature on an undead or a construct.
Race Profiencies:
The Legacy of Du'Eld - Proficiency with Blacksmithing Tools.
'The Form of Du’Eld' - Advantage on saving throws against any magics that would alter your shape. Cannot voluntarily be polymorphed or altered in any way, such as from an Alter Self spell.
‘The Bane of Du’Eld’ - You are vulnerable to Poison Damage and have disadvantage on saving throws against Poison.
'The Shield of Du’Eld' - Once per long rest as a Reaction, gain damage reduction equal to your proficiency modifier for 1 minute against all damage types.
Feat Not Acquired (yet)
- 'The Might of Du’Eld': This Character has become a paragon of Du’Eld’s Legacy; the world shakes at their steps and their foes struggle to withstand their might. Prerequisite - Complete the Journey of Du’Eld. SPECIAL: Granted immediately upon completion as a special feat. Once per long rest, For one minute as a bonus action, Enlarge yourself to one size category larger than you currently are. While enlarged in this way, deal additional damage on your melee attacks equal to your constitution modifier.
Background Hermit: (Though I would prefer the term Wanderer in this case, but couldn’t find a proper background in the PHB)
Skill Proficiencies: Investigation, Religion Tool Proficiencies: Herbalism kit Languages: Common Feature: Discovery The quiet seclusion of your extended hermitage gave you access to a unique and powerful discovery. The exact nature of this revelation depends on the nature of your seclusion. It might be a great truth about the cosmos, the deities, the powerful beings of the outer planes, or the forces of nature. It could be a site that no one else has ever seen. You might have uncovered a fact that has long been forgotten, or unearthed some relic of the past that could rewrite history. It might be information that would be damaging to the people who or consigned you to exile, and hence the reason for your return to society. My Discovery: During self-imposed exile and after the words of Veratul he discovered the plague in its state has taken hold of his people despite his careful seclusion. Understanding that he needs more knowledge to find a cure and stop this plague he decides to leave his exile and travels on from village to village, listening for gossip, trying to speak to the learned men there for their information and helping those in need of a healing hand for bread and board. He quickly gains the nicknames ‘the wandering healer’ or ‘Bluefinger’ regardless it eases his travels somewhat.
Free Feat: Healer
You are an able physician, allowing you to mend wounds quickly and get your allies back in the fight. You gain the following benefits: • When you use a healer's kit to stabilize a dying creature, that creature also regains 1 hit point. • As an action, you can spend one use of a healer's kit to tend to a creature and restore 1d6 + 4 hit points to it, plus additional hit points equal to the creature's maximum number of Hit Dice. The creature can't regain hit points from this feat again until it finishes a short or long rest.
Equipment:
Dag’Tyr carries with him; - A scroll case stuffed full of notes from his studies & prayers - A winter blanket - A set of common clothes - A Herbalism kit - A Healer’s kit - A bar of soap - A vial of perfume (but instead of perfume they are smelling salts) - A Waterskin - Rations (1 week) & A pouch of money: 5 gp
Dag’Tyr’s Backstory:
Life within the Shield Mountains could be seen as monotonous by some, but to the Kin Delves it is their life. Traditions, Ceremonies and Rituals are quite common, from simple toasting traditions to the ceremonial casting of the first steel, a rite of adulthood to those that are blessed by the Forge. Amongst the warm smoldering fires and the haunting enchanting ballads of old Dag’Tyr was born. He was a son to a Magyck caster’s apprentice; one of the greatest honours when it came to Smithing. Magyckers were Elders, Old Master Smiths who were the one’s tasked with setting the magical enchantments upon the metal or runes of protection upon the tools and Forge that forged them. It was they who infusing them with a magic that was as old as the Kin Delves themselves; part ritual and part experience. Each Magyck caster or Magycker, brought their own flavour to the steel. They have passed on their knowledge and wisdom regarding the sacred fires and knowledge on the forges themselves when they felt it was time for them to step down. As it usually would take years before A Magycker took an apprentice it would take years more before the apprentice would be deemed worthy to be tested with a proving. In the barrow halls of Waldwyk which was Dag’Tyr’s old home, Mor’Skud was the Master Magycker. He was one of great age and renown amongst the Kin. And at the time he was teaching three pupils simultaneously, extremely unusual. As a Magycker would usually handpick only one apprentice. But things had gone different with old Mor’Skud. Dag’Tyr had never really bothered to ask his father about it as it did not occur to him at the time. But it was known that one of them had been send there from another city. This apprentice had come to receive additional teachings ultimately to hopefully be deemed worthy.
Now the unusualness started around Dag’Tyr’s tenth year. The year of the Proving. It was a celebration in which the new pupils (not just the Magyck apprentices but many young smiths aswell) would demonstrate their works to the old masters and afterwards it would be celebrated with a grand feast and many festivities.
This was also the case for the Dag’Tyr’s father and the other two pupils. This would determine who old Mor’Skud would pick as his heir and inheritor of the title: Magycker. They all would work 3 full days and nights, each receiving as much time as the other, each capable for it to be done in secret. Unseen from curious eyes. Whilst Dag’Tyr remembers the great feast and the ritualistic chanting when the pupils set to work, the glowing red amber embers of the forge and the happy laughter of a relatively easy life his young eyes observing an unusual event. He remembered his father’s nervousness and weak smile as he went into the challenge and the look of utter satisfaction and exhaustion when he came out of it proudly holding his work for the master to be scrutinized. The sheen on it had been something else, the shield’s metal polished to a reflective shine and one could practically hear the metal sing out to them. It was truly marvellous. Dag’Tyr also never forgot the look of fear and devastation when his father wasn’t chosen. One of haunting dejection. The brave smile he cast his way, in an attempt to soothe his worries, but those eyes never lied no matter how brilliant the smile attempted to be. He remembered his father explaining he would remain a pupil for a little while longer, but from what Dag’Tyr understood of his mother’s anger this ‘little while longer’ would be far longer than she or he would like. Still, they had the labour of their father’s work. A sturdy and nice shield, carrying the family’s crest. Dag’Tyr always felt drawn to it, it was almost as if it was calling out to him. Still it hung above their hearth for quite some years more.
It wouldn’t be for another ten years that it would be pulled from the wall again. In this particular year the metal had grown weaker, the fires generated less heat and gritty smoke at times escaped the Forge, staining both lung and skin. The old geezers stated the Forge was groaning in pain and when air filled its bellows it was wheezing in misery. Something had to be done. After a year of trying the simple remedies and patch jobs, old Mor’Skud had enough of speculating and suggested to the Guilds that he should take a closer look. He would take his apprentice and pupils with him believing that an extra pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. They would cleanse it at the start of the new year. The murmer that went through the halls that night was foreboding. They were going to put the forge out and rekindle it. Unheard of! The sheer hubris! But Old Mor’Skud silenced them all. At the final hours of the last they would smother its fires and wait until the heat had faded so they could enter the Forge itself. And so at the earliest of mornings 4 figures entered the now silent great forge. Dag’Tyr followed the men into the great Forge and got a foreboding feeling as he entered behind them, keeping his distance as he was not initiated, but merely there to stand guard and potentially fix a burn or two. It was almost as if he could sense something was observing them, following them. He kept close to the entrance, watching his father and the others move towards the firepit, the chimneys and ‘the lungs’. He could tell they were investigating and from the looks of concern on their faces it was nothing good. What followed was a haze of chaos and confusion. Something was there. Something that wasn’t too eager with them being there. They didn’t need much encouragement to leave, especially not when Mor’Skud’s apprentice was grabbed and flung about like a weak ragdoll. Dag’Tyr only saw flashes receiving a splash of something sticky and wet onto his face and in his eyes when he looked their way. Before he could see again, his father was yelling instructions to him. Telling him to run and close the grate. As the other pupil cried out with an agonizing bone chilling scream somewhere in the back only Mor’Skud and his father remained. His father reached him first, as Mor’Skud had fallen behind, telling them to start closing the grate, so they could close off the Forge and trap whatever was there inside it. However outside the grate was stuck and could only be closed properly when done from the inside. Dag’Tyr never forgot the face of relief and resignation when Mor’Skud pulled the failsafe from the chains within, locking himself in with whatever was there. He ordered Dag’Tyr’s father to flee and head towards Prathe. They needed to be warned. With those words they watched as Mor’ Skud was dragged off by something. Naturally hell broke loose afterwards… It broke the Kin, some wanted to go in and kill whatever was there. Others believed them and prepared themselves for the long arduous journey to Prathe. A couple of influential ones laid the blame at Dag’Tyr and his father, after all it had been convenient only they survived this ordeal. Still as a pupil of Mor’Skud he held some sway over people, thus most of them chose to follow his wisdom and they send word out, telling Prathe of their coming.
During the dangerous trip however Dag’Tyr and his father grew ill, fearing more exclusion or hate against their family they split up. Dag’Tyr and his father would remain behind and his mother and sisters would move on, set things up and be admitted into the capital before they potentially be deemed infected too. They promised they would follow as soon as they were recovered only… Dag’Tyr and his father never did. Dag’Tyr watched his father slip away from him as the plague worsened. Hallucinating and Delirious he did his best to properly bury his father, before exhaustion claimed him and the miraculous rescue followed. Veratul took pity on the young man, seeing in him great potential and thus saved his life. Dag’Tyr’s symptoms however never fully disappeared. His eyes still held a strange different colour and the tips of his fingers remained stained, with a blue that was neither close to die or ink. Worried he still might be contagious he decided to not travel after his mother and sisters and instead chose a self-imposed exile, determined to discover what had killed his father and what it was that had made a home in their forge.
Haelion stood calmly at the bow of the ship, gazing out to the first hints of land before him. The salty sea spray filled the air as the Windprowler cut its way through the dark blue waters easily, as today was blessed with fair sailing weather. Hailing from a nation that prided itself on understanding and controlling the very element Haelion couldn’t be more at ease. In fact he considered himself fortunate to be chosen by the Grand Augur, His Holiness had bestowed upon him this important task and for it to be concluded swiftly and successfully. The cool metal of his mask blinked in the sun, their engravings and decorations drawing the attention from a curious fellow on the other side of the ship. As Haelion watched him approach from the corner of his eye he noted the heavy fabric the person was wearing, they were of a deep rich crimson of such a quality that it almost appeared as if they had been dipped in blood. Other than that he wore more obvious leather armour and a heavy red hood covered his hairless head. Haelion recognized the facial markings of the Creshinni easily enough. The tattoos of Traghar if he was not mistaken. The Cities were always at odds with one another, so much so that they marked their Citizens as they grew up, gifting them Full allegiance when they turned 14 the unofficial age of adulthood and where the most powerful cult got its name from. The 14. Haelion nodded as he turned himself towards the man, offering him the small inclination of his head as a courteous greeting. “Wrohatan Seksho.”* He spoke greeting him in Kresh, watching the man’s face light up with surprise, before Haelion watched him bow more revered, with the left arm over the chest bending forwards. “Kyskennia Gealid, Varso.”* The man offered in return, before attempting to speak the more common Mejori tongue. “I fear my Mejorii is not as particularly eloquent as your commandment of our Kresh.” He started. Haelion laughed heartily responding easily. “Well enough to be understood and appreciated, though I must confess my commandment of that language of a similar range as yours, yet it shall have to do if we are to converse with the other emissary.” “I take it then you have not seen the person in question as of yet? That is good, neither have I. Perhaps they distrust our nature and keep the emissary hidden away so as to ensure their arrival.” Haelion shook his head. “I doubt there be malice behind the secrecy, for all we know their particular emissary has a bad case of seasickness. But where are my manners, allow me to introduce myself: I am Haelion Magnameara, Fyrst Mece of his holiness Grand Augur Aldegisl of Uiscean.” Sendor inclined his head in greeting before introducing himself aswell. “Well met, Lord Magnameara, I am Sendor Xercysq, 8th of the 14th of Traghar and the chosen emissary for Creshinibon.” He offered watching the Uisge intently. “What exactly does the Grand Augur expect we’ll find?” He asked the warrior, noticing the intricate armour and the mystical imagery set into it. Well, the Uisge were known for their prowess with such things. These ‘Waterfairies’ were particularly gifted when it came to crafting proper armour and kept their craft and lore pretty much to themselves, turning their goods into highly desirable commodities and luxuries. Sendor watched the man lift a gloved and gauntleted hand bringing it to his face and chin in particular in thought. “Well, he’s not certain, but he did sense something significant. But I suppose such things could easily be said and be considered meaningless when one discovers a completely unknown place. Since all of the discoveries would be considered significant.” Haelion reasoned.
Single Malt
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