Dwarven cleric of Olim
Just shy of 5 ft, solid as a mountain.
Dresses very spartan in gray and white.
Short hair with a long beard, kept neatly arranged.
Iomhar McNab grew up in the church. He spent his life among the dwarves in the Malveyan Alps mining and praying to Olim. When he was of age he joined the monastery. As part of his duties he served his time in the military and made his pilgrimages across Anatis. In all ways he was an ordinary cleric except one: he was Ominian. The dwarves of Manscell originally came from Ominia. And while Manscell relies on them for mineral production and golemancy, their ties to their home are strong. At the end of his time of pilgrimage and travel, Iomhar invoked an old right and journeyed north to Niflheim. He met with the dwarves there, but they turned him away from their mountain, citing his god as false and his people as exiles. Refusing to be swayed, he became a mountain on their doorstep and allowed no one in or out. Merchants with gold tried to bribe him, farmers with food for trade tried to sway him with stories of hungry kin down below, soldiers came after him to move him, but he was a mountain and would not be moved.
Finally an old woman came and stood before him. “Will you move?” she asked. But he was a mountain and said nothing. So she took some seeds from her pouch and cast them upon him. “Will you move?” she asked, but he was a mountain and said nothing. So she took her bucket of water and poured it upon his head. “Will you move?” she asked a third time, but he was a mountain and said nothing. At this she shrugged and said, “Very well, mountain, then I will wear you away.” And she left and he stayed.
From then on twice a day she came and tossed water on him. The seeds sprouted and grew across his beard and into his robes. They sent their roots across his skin and the water soaked him. At night it froze his beard and stole his warmth. He never grew thirsty, but hunger began to gnaw at him. Day and night it ate away at him like a miner looking for gold. He grew weak, but he would not be moved. When three weeks had passed the old woman came out and looked upon him. He was gaunt, skinny and hollow. His robes hung from his shoulders, too big for him and only held on by the roots of the seeds she had sown. They had sprouted and covered him in a web of fiber, soaking in the moisture of the water, drinking the sunlight, and breathing in his breath. The woman sat across from him.
“In Manscell you learn the strength of the mountain. The dwarves teach you only about how a mountain is sturdy and resolved and never yields. You are young dwarves. You have young mountains. Time wears mountains down just as it kills people. Water washes the stone away. Ice breaks it and plants grow in the cracks, turning the stone to dirt. Creatures burrow and mine, eating away the stone from inside. In Manscell they teach you about rock, but here we teach you about time. You are a mountain? We will eat you from within through starvation and wear you down with rain and wind. Go home, little mountain. Go back to your rocks and think not on the time before you.”
“Time…wears all….things…” Iomhar rasped, “but I…am…still….here.”
She nodded and stood. “So what? You are a mountain. You are a rock. What can we teach a rock?” She turned away to go back inside. His training had taught him to control his temper. His masters had never praised him unduly and had always challenged him to do more. But now he had come to claim his right and the dwarves of Ominia mocked him for what he had achieved? Within him he felt a heat slow come forth to the surface. Anger. Rage. Lava.
“I am no rock,” he muttered. Aching, weak from hunger, he stood slowly, planting his feet to either side. “I am a Dwarf! I claim my right to visit the halls of Niflheim and learn!”
The woman turned around and smiled. “A dwarf? Then the halls of Niflheim welcome you, cousin.” She reached out a hand and took him by the arm and together they descended into the depths of the mountain. Iomhar stayed for a year and a day, learning the history of the dwarves and their faith. How the dwarves of Manscell split over their faith and how the dwarves of Ominia kept some of the old ways. He learned the history and secrets of Olim and Elohim, of mountains and time, and when he returned he was far wiser than he had been before.
He served for some time as a mediator between the dwarves and humans of Manscell. Eventually King Aberdeen, on recommendations of the church elders, recognized the value of a dwarf that understood the interactions between Manscell and Ominia, between Humans and Dwarves, and appointed Iomhar as priest to the palace and Royal Advisor. He worked with the generals during Zerstorung and the occupation afterward to protect the royal family and the dwarves. But with the failure of Ur-Lord Severus’ ritual, the King figured it would be safest for Iomhar to hide elsewhere so that the faith might be protected and remembered. And thus it is that he came to the Resistance of Manny.