Dels Rainrocks
High Priest of the Triple Temple, Gunabash
Among the forge halls of Gunabash, few names are spoken with both fondness and caution.
Dels Rainrocks is one of them.
He is known today as High Priest of the Triple Temple — a figure of radiant ceremony, impossible clothing, and loudly delivered stories. To most dwarves of the mountain, he is a reassuring presence of divine authority and an ever-visible reminder that the gods of stone and flame still watch their halls.
But Dels did not begin as a priest of Gunabash.
Nor was he ever meant to be only a cleric.
In his youth, Dels was formally trained within the priesthood of the Citadel of Dundalain, long before its fall. There, among rigid doctrine and deeply traditional dwarven orders, he proved a gifted and diligent cleric.
It was also there that his true problem began.
Dels could shape arcane magic.
Not in theory.
Not in accident.
In practice.
The discovery caused immediate unease among the priests of Dundalain. Arcane study was tolerated in the broader world — but among dwarves, it was regarded as unpredictable at best and dangerously prideful at worst. Divine power was granted. Arcane power was taken.
To wield both was considered improper.
To pursue both was considered reckless.
Dels disagreed.
Quietly at first.
Then decisively.
He left Dundalain.
Far from dwarven halls, Dels found a human wizard to train him without fear or dogma. To the surprise of nearly everyone — including himself — Dels excelled. His grasp of spell structure, layered effects, and magical theory developed quickly, driven by a patient mind and a deep instinct for pattern and consequence.
He did not abandon his clerical training.
He simply stopped letting it define the limits of his study.
For a time, he walked both paths.
It was during this period that Dels joined the adventuring company led by Sasha Vaporsteps — a group known to a great many across the realms as Sasha’s Merry Band of Murderers.
With them, he stood in conflicts that reshaped borders, shattered alliances, and redirected the flow of entire regions. He fought in battles remembered long after their banners were burned.
Most notably, he stood at Malmath’s Portal.
There, during the attempted summoning of the demon god from the Abyss, Dels witnessed something that would change his life far more than any battlefield victory.
When arcane magic across the world began to falter — its structures unraveling, its predictable behavior collapsing — and wild sorcerous surges swept through spellcasters everywhere, Dels felt something very different.
His divine power did not weaken.
It grew.
Rapidly.
Violently.
With a clarity he had never known before.
In the days and weeks that followed, there could be no doubt.
Dels Rainrocks had been chosen by the dwarven gods.
Whether he had been marked from birth, or whether the gods had placed their favor upon him because he stood so often at the center of world-shaping events, Dels never cared to speculate.
He accepted the power.
And he delighted in displaying it.
Not quietly.
Not modestly.
But vividly — as only Dels ever could.
In time, the long road finally ended.
He married his beloved wife, Gwen, and chose to leave the wandering life behind.
Gunabash welcomed him without hesitation.
His reputation alone would have opened doors.
His divine authority tore them off their hinges.
He was granted the station of High Priest within the Triple Temple almost immediately, a decision few questioned and none challenged.
Here, at last, Dels Rainrocks became what he is known as now:
A towering presence of divine spectacle.
A voice of ritual and judgment.
A living representative of dwarven gods in stone and fire.
Dels still yearns for adventure.
Not constantly.
But often.
There are days when the temple halls feel far too quiet.
And far too predictable.
Still, he enjoys — deeply — the privileges his position brings.
The deference.
The ceremonial weight.
The way even seasoned captains hesitate before interrupting him mid-story.
Among the dwarves, a long-running joke persists:
Many are convinced Dels Rainrocks is color-blind.
From crown to boots, he dresses in violently clashing colors, mismatched patterns, layered prints, and fabrics that seem selected in open defiance of taste or tradition. Bright silks are worn beside heavy ceremonial cloth. Pattern fights pattern. Color challenges color.
Dels considers this a strength of character.
No one has yet convinced him otherwise.
Near the end of his adventuring career with Sasha Vaporsteps, Dels had grown noticeably more humble. War, loss, and the weight of responsibility tempered the sharpest edges of his pride.
That humility did not survive long in Gunabash.
His ego, comfortably re-housed among reverent congregations and endless requests for blessings, returned in full and flourishing form.
And yet—
For all his bragging, his theatrical retellings, and his endless reminders of personal heroics, Dels remains well liked.
And genuinely respected.
Because when the deep halls tremble…
When disaster reaches the gates…
When the wounded overflow the temple floors…
Dels Rainrocks does not falter.
There is, however, one secret Dels keeps carefully hidden from the dwarven clergy.
Though he can no longer channel arcane magic through his own casting, he can still wield it.
Through tools.
Wands.
Rings.
Talismans.
Focus stones.
And dozens of other carefully curated trinkets.
Dels carries an extensive collection of arcane items at all times — each cataloged, maintained, and quietly tested — all selected to compensate for the power he once shaped directly.
The distinction matters to him.
To the temple…
It would matter far more.
For now, the truth remains tucked away among hidden pockets, layered satchels, and enchanted clasps sewn into those brilliantly offensive robes.
To Raggard Thornbeard, Dels Rainrocks is something simpler than titles or legends.
A dangerous ally.
A loyal friend.
A walking contradiction of faith and ambition.
And a living reminder that sometimes the gods choose their champions not for obedience…
…but because no one else stands quite as stubbornly in the middle of history when it begins to bend.
