Stoutwick (prime)

Stoutwick Thunderbelch Created by Stoutwick's player using ChatGPT AI "Ye want me to bring ye back to life sober?" Race Dwarf Culture Mithrenek Hometown Zul Logoth but now resides in Icemule Trace Class Cleric Profession Brother of the Abbey Religion Follower of Charl

Created by Stoutwick's player using ChatGPT AI

Appearance

You see Master Stoutwick Thunderbelch the Brother of the Abbey of the North.

He appears to be a Dwarf of the Mithrenek Clan. He is average height. He appears to be very young. He has steel grey eyes and tanned skin. He has a shaven head of black hair. He has a broad face and a grizzled beard.

He is wearing a blown glass replica bay bauble, a weathered brown woolen cassock, a rune-embroidered russet spidersilk satchel, a mithril bound orc hide baldric trimmed with silver, a bone-clasped forest green backpack, some dark blue shell-crested leathers, a thick oiled leather belt with a bloodstained copper flask hanging from a small pouch on the side, a sturdy dark leather gem pouch, an ivory-handled mithglin stein with a black suede belt strap, a bowline-woven basket of sandpiper-etched driftwood bound in linen reeds, and some dark silver-buttoned breeches.

Background

Parents
Brammick and Hela Thunderbelch, were simple, well-meaning dwarves who spent most of their lives praying; praying that no one would ask where their last name came from.

Officially, Thunderbelch was said to be an ancient Mithrenek honorific earned when a heroic ancestor let loose a battle roar so powerful it cracked a stalagmite.

Unofficially, and probably more accurately, the name stuck after Stoutwick's Great-Grandfather, Dorvik, drank a questionable batch of glowing mushroom ale and expelled a noise so cataclysmic that it triggered a minor tremor and briefly shut down a mining shaft. Unfortunately for Brammick and Hela, their son inherited not only Dorvik’s fondness for ale but also his seismic digestive abilities.

From infancy, Stoutwick could produce sounds that rattled tableware, woke neighbors, and once—according to clan gossip, caused a goat to faint. By adulthood, it became clear he wasn’t going to outrun the Thunderbelch name. If anything, he was destined to make it legendary, and significantly louder.

Early Age
Born into the Mithrenek Clan, Stoutwick Thunderbelch grew up deep within the halls of Zul Logoth, surrounded by the ring of chisels, the clatter of stonecraft, and the ever-present scent of dwarven ale. The Mithrenek were known for their sturdy craftsmanship, engineering sense, and sober duty, but Stoutwick was a strange contradiction from the start: a dwarf with a heart for service, a stomach for ale, and absolutely no interest in staying sober long enough to pursue either properly.

From a young age, he showed a knack for healing wounds and soothing tempers, often the result of tavern fights he himself may have accidentally started. The local priests in Zul Logoth noticed his curious affinity for Charl, the god of storms, chaos, and wild seas. While most dwarves preferred more grounded patrons, Stoutwick felt a strange kinship with Charl’s unpredictable fury.

After several “incidents” involving flagons of Dragonspine ale, a malfunctioning wooden dam, and the near-flooding of a lower hall, his clan subtly encouraged him to explore his calling elsewhere.

Thus began his journey northward.

Presently

The abbey, perched near the snowy village of Icemule Trace, proved to be the perfect refuge for a dwarf with equal love for holy work and heavy drink. The sisters welcomed him, impressed by both his healing abilities, his astonishing tolerance for spirits, and the fact he was a male dwarf. Stoutwick quickly took to monastic life—primarily the brewing portion.

He developed a small reputation for creating brews that ranged from “gloriously potent” to “possibly illegal in the north.

While other monks meditated, Stoutwick experimented. While others chanted prayers, he tested alcohol content by drinking directly from the cask. While others walked solemn processions, he staggered joyfully behind them, tankard in both hands.

Created by Stoutwick's player using ChatGPT AI

The Cleric of Charl
Despite, or perhaps because of, his erratic behavior, Stoutwick’s connection to Charl deepened. His prayers are loud, passionate, and occasionally slurred. His spells often flare with wild, storm-blue energy, much to the alarm of new initiates. When he invokes a blessing, it’s with the gusto of a sailor daring the waves to take him.

He likes to say: “Charl’s storms keep you humble. My ale keeps you warm. Between the two, you’ll survive.”

A Drunken Protector
For all his flaws, Stoutwick is beloved in the region surrounding the Abbey. He’s the first to rush to someone’s aid, whether it’s a stranded traveler in the snow, a wounded hunter, or a local citizen who’s simply had a bit too much to drink (often with him). His healing touch remains steady even when the rest of him is not.

He spends his evenings wandering the taverns of Icemule Trace and the Abbey grounds, offering blessings, healing bruises, sharing stories, and, most often, drinking enough ale to make even the most seasoned dwarven miner raise an eyebrow.

His favorite saying: “Ye can’t save souls on an empty belly and mine holds a lot o’ ale.”

Affiliations

Master in the Order of Voln
Citizen of Icemule Trace

Significant Items

To come

Writings

To come