Ulftor Bareln

Our Dear and Fluffy Cleric



  • Strength: 14
  • Dexterity: 8 (10)
  • Constitution: 14
  • Intelligence: 8
  • Wisdom: 17 (21)
  • Charisma: 12

Armor Class: 25

  • 10
  • Armor Bonus: 10
  • Shield Bonus: 3
  • Deflection Bonus: 2
    • Touch AC: 12
    • Flat Footed AC: 25

Hit Points: 93


  • Fortitude: 11
  • Reflex: 6
  • Will: 14

Base Attack: +10/+5

Weapon: Heavy Mace +1 (Attack +13/+8, Damage 1d8+3, Critical x2)



  • Full Plate +2
  • Tunic of Steady Spell (MIC Pg 144)
  • Holy Symbol (Silver)
  • Heavy Steel Shield +1
  • Heavy Mace +1
  • Periapt of Wisdom +4
  • Ring of Protection +2
  • Gloves of Dexterity +2
  • Cape of the Montebanc (Dimension Door, CL 9)
  • Hat of Disguise
  • Pearl of Power (level 5)

Bag of Holding (Type II):

  • Cleric Vestments
  • Rations – 7 days
  • Silk Rope
  • 400 gp worth of Diamond Dust
  • Potion of Invisibility (x2)
  • Holy Water (x2)
  • Spyglass

With strange magic woman, theoretically to be returned:

  • Holy Symbol (wood)

Even as he had a knack for communing with the divine from an early age, Ulftor Bareln knew he was different than the rest of his family, specifically his grandfather, who ruled Mountain Town, an enclave of the dwarves, with an iron fist justified by his faith as a cleric of Moradin. Ulftor chafed under the theocratic patriarchy, but it reached a breaking point when a wandering group of merchants staggered just outside of town after a terrible accident. Rurik Bareln denied them entry and barred any of the townsfolk from helping, exclaiming that outsiders were just too much trouble to deal with. In a fit of defiance, young, beardless Ulftor snuck out of town and rendered aid as best he could: stabilizing wounds, donating potions which he procured from the local alchemist, and the like. He was spotted returning into town by a cousin, who quickly let Rurik know. As the ruling clan did not wish to suffer such embarrassment as stripping one of their own of his name, he was effectively exiled from the town, while giving the pleasant lie that he was going to visit distant family. For a very long time.

It was the first time he had ever been more than a few miles from town. He walked on his own, having declined the offer to join the caravan to its next destination. He had no set goal in mind and no real idea where he was, but he let his feet take him down the roads of Eldar. One night, Ulftor had a vision of a figure with a quarterstaff and traveler’s cloak, in which he was told to seek out the “protectors of the road”, where he might find a path he may wish to take. Confused, he continued his journey for a few more days until he happened upon a roadside shrine with an elven cleric sitting beside it. Offering Ulftor food, water, and restorative spells, the elf told him something of Fharlanghn, the god of roads.

Asking why he would be willing to help an admittedly starving dwarf who had never heard of such a deity (left unsaid was an ingrained Dwarven wariness of elves), the cleric’s response was, “Fharlanghn cares not for whom you worship or your physical appearance; only that you keep the roads safe and help travelers who need aid. Defend the road from those who would disturb its sanctity, help those who may have strayed from the path, and strive to find the right path for yourself – do this, and you have the blessing of Fharlanghn.”

Ulftor then had a purpose for his wandering. He walked with the elven cleric on the circuit of the roadside shrines for months, and quickly became an acolyte (to the extent that there is such an official position in a highly decentralized church). He carved his first holy symbol out of wood over this time and began to learn how to channel the divine power of the god of roads. About this time, the elven cleric sent Ulftor literally to the other fork of a path, exclaiming that he had taught the young dwarf all he could and to keep an open mind about those he may meet on the road.

Through many trials along the roads of Eldar, including learning that being encased in steel was probably a good thing for one who was not otherwise difficult to hit, he found himself on the outskirts of Andjun before a festival. The rest, as they say, is history.

Ulftor Bareln

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