Neverember's New Neverwinter
Spector "Jimbo" Gravequest - (Helm's Heroes)
Dwarven Revenant Ardent / Bard, Ordained Sonnlinor of Moradin
Jimbo is a fanatic of the highest order, converted by his death visions of Moradin and a great destiny awaiting the entire dwarven race. He is a team asset because of his ability to energize the team and keep everyone standing through the toughest challenges. However, the other characters will have to bear in mind that he will not compromise on many of the moral issues which the original team would have fudged.
Mechanically – Jimbo / Spector is of course hard to kill as a revenant. In addition, he has “Unnatural Mantle”, which makes allies within his mantle range not fall unconscious at 0 hp until they fail a death saving throw. He has “Shield the Fallen”, which gives +2 to defences and saving throws for adjacent allies who are dying, bloodied, or unconscious. He has lots of THP granting abilities, including once-a-round Virtue of Valor (via Hybrid Talent) and at-Will Energizing strike, and three per encounter healing surge activations. (including level 6 revitalizing incantation). The aim is to not heal anyone until they actually reach -hp, whereupon the heals are more efficient because we start from 0.
The dwarves gathered in the alleyways rumbled restlessly in the evening, exchanging rumors and speculations in soft voices. Each time new dwarves walked into the central space, the crowd looked up, anticipating the arrival of the one they waited for .. or perhaps looking out for the clubs and steely eyes of the Mintarin enforcers. As the hour drew near, their ranks were swelled by new members drawn to the spot by curiosity, faith, hope, or simply desperation born of crushing despair….
And then suddenly the energy, the atmosphere changed. Like a thunderbolt they felt bright hope kindle in their breasts, courage rise and their hearts beat faster as they felt the presence of Moradin around them. (Aside: This is the effect of the Mantle of Elation kicking in). The experienced ones nodded knowingly – the Sonnlinor was here. And for the many who had come for the first time, this was a confirmation of the half-told stories and rumors which had swirled since the rumble under the flowershop. A new champion of Moradin had risen, one who was touched by the Soul Forger himself. The rumors told of a dwarf who could not be killed, who moved with the speed of the swiftest dwarves (Aside: move 6), who shielded his comrades with the strength of the Creator, who knew no defeat, who could turn back the Raven Queen herself and whose allies would never fall.
‘DHUM! DHUM! DHUM! DHUM!’ A battlescarred dwarf, non-descript in every other physical way, entered the space, smashing his hammer against a shield held by his companion, ringing a chorus of victory. ‘DHUM! DHUM! DHUM! DHUM!’ As he advanced, young and old alike felt the hammer rhythm ring through their bones, calling to mind the great deeds of their forefathers, and the great blessing of Moradin on their race. They saw Moradin’s radiance shine from his face, his armor, his weapons, palpable in the darkness of the ally, pushing away that darkness. As he neared, they felt their confidence rise, and dwarves all around sat straighter, heads held high, eyes brimming with tears for the greatness which they were destined for. When he reached the center, dwarves began to stand unbidden, clanging hammers, axes, boots and mugs together in time with his hammering, until it seemed as if the alleyway were filled with a hundred times the number of dwarves.
“All Praise the All-Father!” Spector shouted out, somehow drowning out even that noise. As one, the dwarves shouted back “All Praise the All-Father”, and even dwarves who had considered themselves of dubious faith shocked themselves with their own fervor. Spector spoke into the sudden silence with words of fervor and zeal.
“My fellow dwarves. We all know that this is a hard city, a city that steals hope, silences praise, and kills faith. We have all struggled here – our vaunted dwarven pride has been bowed under weakness, poverty, and servitude to the evil men and fey creatures that rule the streets here.”
“I too, was weak. Just one week ago, I was serving among the Mintarin forces as a guard. I could have said that I was seeking information on Gauntlegrym. That I was doing my best to stop the oppression of the Mintarin from within their ranks. But Moradin does not tolerate impurities and falsehoods. I was weak, and losing my faith. I was beginning to be just another mercenary. And right in my deepest weakness, I was killed in another pointless encounter in the fetid underrock of this city.”
“Yes, the rumors are right – I died just a week ago. The next thing I knew, I found myself on a majestic stone cavern, its roof glittering with jewels as magnificent as Gauntlegrym’s hoard, and as numerous as the stars in this hated sky. Stretched before me stood an army – rank after rank of dwarves, in full armor, weapons gleaming, each soldier a dwarf who had died in loyal service to Moradin. I hurried to take my place – even as my old weaponsmaster stood with a suit of finemail and a smiting hammer ready for me.”
“But as I leaped forward, I heard HIS voice speak a single, terrible word. ‘NO.’ Moradin himself, with Berronar at his side, was seated on his throne. He lifted his hammer and said:
‘Your time to join this army is not yet. I still have many trials to shape you through – battles of steel and muscle, battles of diplomacy and intrigue, battles of trade and logistics – but they will all be battles, and the hammer is meant to create even more than it is to destroy. Go now – bring my word to your brethen, that they may know not to despair.’”
“My friends – Moradin has given me, has given all of us a task. He has told me that we WILL find Gauntlegrym, and that in Gauntlegrym we will regain the honor of our forefathers. It will not be an easy task, and it will require much sacrifice and pain. These scars on my body – they remind me everyday of the pain which we will face, of losses we will all take, before we reach the destination Moradin intends for us. But the hottest fire shapes the strongest metal, and I intend to be the sharpest truesilver on the day that Moradin calls me back to serve. Until then – until then, know then that if you are of strong faith – you will not fall!”
Cheers erupted from the throng as Spector raised his hammer to the heavens. “All Praise the All Father! All Praise the All Father!”