Duthayer Coalhammer - dwarf paladin of Clangeddin Silverbeard
Duthayer had considered the half-mug of ale in his mug with sorrow when the summons had come. There's never a good time to interrupt a mug, went one dwarven saying, one Duthayer had found more and more true with every passing year. Ambushes, bar-fights, holy quests, noble summonings, even sleep were all unwelcome interruptions to finishing a good mug... Sighing, he had downed it in a single swallow and went to gather his things. It was a truism that when nobles called for one's presence in the middle of dinner, it was not for idle chit-chat, but for something of dire importance to their realm. Or to their gold, but Duthayer did not deal with those that held gold above their sacred vows of rulership.
He had been teased about his massive armor from time to time, called a "beet in a boiler" when he had it on, but luckily his magical haversack made it simple to carry, even in a noble's carriage. Climbing up the too-tall human-made steps to the carriage, he regarded his comrades-in-arms during their ride. That they had been summoned to deal with some danger, Duthayer didn't doubt in the least.
My father, may the heroes of old welcome him in Moradin's halls, would have gawked at the lot of them. A stranger bunch I doubt I could have made up. Someday I shall have a great bard compose a worthy epic of the lot of us, so that the Coalhammers will know that even the strange folk of the Wide World have some worth and merit, he muses.
The slender Absalom and his armored companion Lord Rath were perhaps the easiest for Duthayer to accept. The others would have surely thought him mad for saying so, but it was the truth. The necromancer had an unswerving code of honor and deep respect for his chosen god that rang true within the dwarf. The fact that his warrior friend was willing to serve beyond death was actually reminiscent of a dwarven legend. The two had had several deep theological discussions during their time together, with Absalom explaining his reasons and beliefs for raising the dead, and what his church had to say on the matter. With logic, honor, and faith, the necromancer had won the paladin's trust.
The pale and wild-eyed Arthur, on the other hand, was a chaotic a man as Duthayer had met. His unusual magics and wild fighting style were undisciplined, wild, unpredictable… and effective. The fact that Arthur had been at one with the Underdark meant that the two had been able to trade some lore on a place near to Duthayer’s heart. Few could understand the strange beauty of the lands underground unless they had lived there, and Arthur, despite the reason he had been driven there, did understand. Also he fought solidly on the side of righteousness, and had a perfectly healthy vendetta against the hated drow. Duthayer looked forward to being able to aid the young whirlwind against his foes someday.
Kuma was a particularly strange companion, man struggling to awaken the dragon blood within. He also carried a quest within him, a quest to free his people against draconic tyranny. How he could reconcile that with allowing himself to become what he might be leading his people to hate was a true paradox. The boy was a fearsome fighter, given to wild rages spiced with magic and dragon power, but Duthayer worried about him. He thought the boy would find his people unwilling or even unable to accept the uncomfortable truth he was bringing to them. The idealism he carried about would take a hard bruising, and could turn the lad to cynicism. Perhaps it was best that he remain away from them until he could learn a bit more about the reality of people’s hearts.
Brother Odis… was a frustrating friend! He had often attempted to get Duthayer to “lighten up,” as he put it, much to the dwarf’s frustration. But after a while he could see there was no malice in Odis’ humor, and he had often sweetened the dwarf’s temper after a difficult night, or been able to help him find forgiveness far sooner than if had brooded his way through it, dwarven-style. Despite his relentlessly cheerful manner, Duthayer could see Tymora in his own Sharindlar, the dwarven goddess of love, and in Haela Brightaxe, goddess of luck and joy in battle. The faces were different, perhaps, but the spirit remained the same. Here was a man who embodied his god, which was the truest form of devotion.
“So lads, do you think it’s war, theft, a terrible beast, or some threat from beyond? I can’t think of any other reason to haul us away in the middle of dinner,” Duthayer asks the others, his red, caterpilliar-like brows furrowed in thought.