<div class="floatleft">(https://36.media.tumblr.com/a09b70f2dd60f7810f597a90b761c57d/tumblr_nuswz8kTdZ1tk4029o1_1280.png)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Timo Zoltikampa (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=546620)</span><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Stuff</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong> HP:</strong> 13/13 | <strong>AC:</strong> 17 (<em>T:</em> 12, <em>FF:</em> 15<br/><strong>Init:</strong> +4 | <strong>Speed:</strong> 40' | <strong>Melee:</strong> +2 | <strong>Ranged:</strong> +2<br/><strong>CMD:</strong> 14 | <strong>Fort:</strong> +3 | <strong>Ref:</strong> +3 | <strong>Will:</strong> +5<br/><strong>Channel Positive Energy:</strong> 1d6, 5/5<br/><strong>Travel Domain:</strong> <em>Door Sight</em> 6/6<br/><strong>Freedom Domain:</strong> <em>Liberty's Blessing</em> 6/6<br/><strong>Prepared Spells:</strong> 0 - <em>Detect magic, Guidance, Light</em> | 1 - <em>Bless, Bane, Sanctuary<sup>D</sup></em></div></div><hr/><br/>Timo's journey to Ravengro had been enjoyable, for its brevity; every step had been one more foot north than he had ventured yet in Ustulav, and the company of fellow travelers was a welcome boon. The closer to Ravengro, though, the fewer companions found around him. When old Xantes broke off a half-league from the village, the young Varisian priest found himself alone. And so it was that foot-weary, the cuffs of his trousers trailing dust from the road, he stood in front of the Pharasman temple. His thick shawl looped over his head, around his neck, keeping out the chill that persisted despite the low-lying sun, and with his road-beaten pack, he could have been any other wandering vagabond. That's how he wanted it to be while he took brief stock of the town and its gathering.<br/><br/>There, amid the small gathering on the church grounds. Timo's feet felt leaden; he'd encountered Ustulav Pharasmism before, and the experience was... Well. He gave a quick look at the many-times folded sheet of cloth paper in his hand, and with a nod, started forward.<br/><br/>"Ms. Lorrimor?" the youth inquired, drawing his shawl back so that she could see his face. He pulled his lips together into a polite smile. "Our fathers met on the road one day. They journey together again." He gave a glance towards Aelys and Quentan, also making their introductions and condolences to the grieving daughter, then back to her, his liquid brown eyes offering a quiet sympathy. He can relate, intimately.