A stocky hill dwarf with a braided copper beard threaded with white beads, calm gray eyes, and weathered hands that never stop moving. He wears polished scale mail over a waxed travel tabard marked with a simple lantern sigil, and keeps a small brass censer hanging from his belt. His voice is warm, low, and reassuring, though his expression turns iron-hard when the helpless are threatened.

Patient, severe about promises, and unexpectedly tender with children, the sick, and anyone too proud to admit fear. She likes orderly plans, clean records, and prayers said at the proper time, but she is not rigid about how mercy gets delivered.

Born in a mountain hold where every family kept a ledger of debts, prayers, and ancestors, Brunna Stonevein was the youngest daughter expected to spend her life copying names into stone. Instead, she found meaning in the temple archives, where records of births, burials, and blessings showed her that memory itself could be a sacred act. She learned to tend the sick, soothe grief with scripture, and patch broken village life with the quiet, stubborn mercy of her god. When miners died in a collapse that should have been prevented, Brunna publicly challenged the priest who had ignored the warning signs, and she was sent away with a blessing that sounded uncomfortably like an exile. Since then, she has wandered the roads as a cleric of the Dawnforge, serving wherever faith is more than ceremony. She heals soldiers after the banners are folded, blesses farmers before the first frost, and records the names of the dead so they are not lost to hunger, war, or bureaucracy. Brunna believes every life is a debt that can only be repaid by protection, remembrance, and honest labor. She travels with adventurers because they are often the only people standing between the world and the kind of ruin no prayer alone can stop.