Dwarf Barbarian 1/Cleric 13
"There is no need to send another poor creature off to his death Simo. Wait a moment." Morgan begins casting, an a small eye appears, hovering over his left shoulder. He points at the first crawlspace and it flies inside. Going to send my arcane eye down each of the crawlways to see what is there.
Dwarf Barbarian 1/Cleric 13
"Shoddy human work." mutters Morgan as he moves up to the location in the wall where the beams of fire are shooting from and begins beating the wall with his Warhammer. Damage Roll: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9 Strength Check (If you'd rather go that way): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Dwarf Barbarian 1/Cleric 13
Morgan will reach into the pouch at his side and pull out smithing tools and then take the pot from Simo. The sound of metal beating metal echoes through the halls for several minutes, and then he hands Simo back a tube, having made a hole in the middle of the bottom and then pushed the sides out while simultaneously narrowing the pot into something more resembling a tube than a pot. He then stows his smithing gear and re-equips his weapon and shield. Smithing Tools: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15 "That do for ya?"
Dwarf Barbarian 1/Cleric 13
Morgan is the image of a Dwarven warrior, barrel-chested and stout beyond belief. His Arms were the size of many a barbarian's legs, and he walked with the sort of confidence that comes from knowing you're the biggest predator in the area. All of this, and yet he stood barely an inch over five and a half feet. Both his hair and facial hair were braided with ornaments made of gold, silver, and rarer metals, yet they made no noise as he moved. Other than his shield, he wore no obvious armor, but he carried both a warhammer and a battleaxe, one on each hip and each made of the purest silver. His steel shield he wore on his right arm, indicating that he was left handed. His hands were shod in gauntlets from two different sets of fullplate, each of dwarven make. A diadem of beaten platinum rest snugly upon his brow, and leather pants and steel boots made up the bulk of his clothing. a pair of belt pouches rounded out his accoutrements. During the travel to the tomb, You all would have come to know Morgan as a stout warrior, and one of the high priests of an unnamed deity of Dwarven magic. Should anyone attempt to name a god they believed to be his, Morgan would adamantly refuse to name his deity, stating that it's name was not for the ears of unbelievers. His mystic power, however, was not in doubt. As one of the high priests of his faith, Morgan had repeatedly displayed his ability to judiciously apply his divine magic to help overcome foes. "So," Morgan remarked, "We've arrived at last. Time to see what the legends are all about."
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