Wells Delmore
Storm War Cleric
Wells Delmore
Species
Human
Appearance
Wells Delmore is a broad-shouldered human man with the weathered steadiness of a siege veteran and the clean, precise hands of a surgeon. His skin is sun-browned and crossed with pale lightning scars that look like veins of silver under the wrong light. He wears his dark copper hair in a practical knot at the nape of his neck, but a single white streak at his temple falls loose whenever he is worried. His eyes are a striking storm-gray, often calm in the middle of chaos, and his left iris has a faint ring of gold like a halo trapped in cloud cover. He stands a little over six feet tall, moves with a healer's careful economy, then suddenly snaps into a fighter's brutal speed when danger appears. His arena robes are tailored from rain-dark velvet over layered mail, with ceremonial cloud-white strips that flutter like prayer flags. The unexpected detail is that he always smells faintly of lavender tea and clean linen, even after a brutal bout or a battlefield triage.
“Low, steady, and precise, with the habit of sounding like he is issuing orders even when he is offering comfort. He uses plain words over flowery ones, but every now and then a hymn phrase slips through like lightning in the distance.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A healed crack across his collarbone that glows faintly during storms.
A ring of gold in one storm-gray eye.
Hands that are scarred on the knuckles but impeccably steady.
A prayer cord tied with six knots, one for each comrade he could not save.
A thunder-split dent in his breastplate from the battle that changed his life.
Voice
“A resonant baritone with the grit of old campaigns and the careful cadence of a man who learned to calm panic one breath at a time.”
Clothing
Layered storm-gray cleric robes over fitted chainmail, a leather healer's harness filled with bandages and tinctures, silver prayer cords around the wrists, and a cloak whose inside lining resembles a night sky after rain
Body Language
Still and upright at rest, with hands folded behind his back or hovering near a satchel of charms, but in motion he leans forward like a man listening to distant thunder. He touches wounded people with a surgeon's certainty and steps between threats without hesitation.
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