Converting Xanthorn_Hammerfeld_(Dwarven_Cleric)

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Editing Xanthorn Hammerfeld (Dwarven Cleric)


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Well, you wanted to here about the tail of Xanthorn Holyfield..Helenfield..hammerfelddd… Yeah that’s it Xanthorn Hammerfeld. I have a tail. I have a tail? I’m not a dragon am I, No, good, thank Pelor. Here it goes, again. A tale of two dwarfs; why does that sound familiar. I’m not a twin am I? Yawn, I can’t remember thougggghhhhh…….snore…..snore. . . It’s been a few hours and a few cups of “Red Eye” later. That Stuff is GOOD! Word to the wise, don’t try to write a story after a good night of drinking.

So you want to know about me, Xanthorn Hammerfeld. My family was once known as great makers and users of hammers and many still do, but others have moved on to greater things like mercantile and mining; all great things to some dwarves, but not to me. I find a good tankard or two of mead suits me best. OK, maybe a game of chance, at least when I was in my 20’s….

I grew up in the area known as Homepath. Many of the other races use it as a pathway to traverse the great mountains with as little effort as possible. My family stayed away from the path and kept to mining but I being a curious type as I grew up ventured forth to learn as much as possible. I learned to gamble, and became quit good at it; even being able to earn a small amount of spending money from the inept merchants that passed through. I also began to drink. I drank enough to get into a few scraps along the way, usually coming out on top. And with a family history immersed in hammers, I’m pretty good with them too.

During a fight after a good night of drinking and gambling, a bystander, a human merchant from Klintzgarten, had ended up in the middle of the brawl and was nearly killed. No one knows who struck the blow but I felt responsible. I tried to help the unlucky fellow and felt a flow of power that I had never felt before. The human survived and was grateful. His name was Nickolis Pennyworth and we became very good friends.

Is it time for a drink, yet. I could use a pint of Mona’s best or Millie’s finest brew. Oh, sorry, back to the tale. While Nick returned to his trade; I sought out anyone I could find to tell me more about this feeling. The clerics and priests of the dwarves described a similar internal feeling but very different, so I ended up nowhere. Three months later I was gambling with a group of humans traveling through Homepath, one was a cleric of Pelor. Not ever meeting a cleric outside of Moradin, I ventured to investigate my feelings with him. Long into the night we discussed the feelings and what he believed them to be. He encouraged me to seek out the tutelage of his order and become a follower of Pelor. I could not leave. I loved adventure but was too afraid to leave my family and my home.

My family did not like my desire to leave the mines and encouraged me to stay. I was a lousy miner and a happy drunk but my family still wanted me to stay; I was still a dwarf. Being a dwarf I should not pursue the god of men or pursue adventure. My father was the most adamant. He hated humans, he hated pretty much any “land wanderer”. Well that’s what he called any non Dwarf, mostly due to the travelers through Homepath. He said I would be back and crawling on my knees to accept his apology for leaving the family. I hope to return to my family someday and disprove my father’s beliefs.

Another year had passed and I could feel the tug of Pelor. I met up with Nick again during his travels. I told him of my discovery and my desire to leave and follow Pelor. He suggested me joining his group. They would bring me to Klintzgarten where a temple to Pelor existed. Even though Nick was not a follower of Pelor he knew some of the priests. I asked them to stay an extra day and I would join them on my new adventure.

Most compassionate Pelor isn’t the Inn opened yet? I could really use a drink. I would even settle for some of Jone’s Jungle Juice.

Fast forward six years and I am beginning another adventure. I kind of earned a reputation of being a drunkard, a brawler and a gambler, go figure. But I was also a damn good priest of Pelor. The other priests say I’m just a good priest for a dwarf but I’ll fight to the last one standing that I am good, no matter the race. What can I say I have the knack to heal, or as I like to think, if they get belligerent I’ll beat them down then heal their wounds and show them there misguided ways. This day I leave the Temple to further my adventures as a Cleric of Pelor. I will take his teachings of kindness, mercy and compassion to anyone and everyone whether they like it or not.

By the way, in my possessions, next to my Holy Symbol in order of importance is my tankard followed by some lucky gambling tokens. If I could somehow combine two of these then I would be a most happy Dwarf.

So that is my story as best as I can remember it. For making me to have to remember this story I think it would be in your best interest to by me a drink at Georgina’s tavern. She has some great ale and the bar wenches are pretty good too. By the way did you know that Georgina’s is a dwarf bar! My kinda place! A bar is open somewhere so I’m off for a drink.

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