Alton Kanri, Human Cloistered Cleric/Battle Sorcerer of the Light
As he cuts into the duck with his fork, Alton pauses to listen to his new comrades as they discuss building and the expansion of cultures. For him, such discussions were common and all too were often ended with someone invoking the current teachings of the Light, so the true free flow of ideas was refreshing. The last 30-some-odd days had been a delightful change from the near-imprisonment the cloistered cleric of the Light had grown accustomed to. The Light did not look that much more favorably on Alton’s sorcerery than it did Ederin’s druidic powers. Although they were from different abbeys, they both understood the rigidity of the doctrine of the Light.
Alton had previously met the dwarves Pandak and Conrad at church functions. The gatherings were purportedly to facilitate more understanding between the races. Alton knew better, but there were some church teachings that were better left unrepeated. Alton thought it strange that, except for Ederin—a fellow less-than-well-regarded cleric of the Light—he knew more about the dwarves in the room that the other humans. The last month had provided only a brief glimpse into their minds. Whatever the reasons for bringing the group together, Alton was perhaps the most surprised to be invited. He knew little about business. And he had spent almost his entire life in study of religion and magic in a small, isolated abbey, only leaving for short trips.
Alton stands about 6 foot-2 inches tall, his weight hard to judge in his omnipresent flowing clerical robes. While some of the others carry their weapons everywhere, Alton does not. His silver holy symbol of seven stars on his chest is rare among the Light. Mystra’s sphere of magic makes her an unpopular saint among the church hierarchy. For a man living in an “ivory tower,” Alton’s curly brown hair, mustache, and beard are remarkably well-groomed. His light brown eyes always watching those around him, as if he was out in public for the first time.
One thing is for certain, Alton never seems to be alone. Wherever he goes, a man in a steel breastplate with a long sword at his side follows him closely. Marc Jonason, who is about Alton’s size and shape with a younger, more muscular build, talks even less than Alton. Marc does not seem to be interested in conversation. He just observes everything around him and seems to take it all in.
The talk about war perks up Marc's ears and face. Was there finally something that attracted his interest? Alton continues to eat his duck.