Quentan met the kobald's eyes, "Tis nay sure, but th' tome Meself studyin', gives me some pause ta think tis so."<br/><br/>He held up the book in question, "Tis implied hare th' Whisperin' Way do kill them's who kno' ta much 'n ah particular way ta keeps they's secrets even aft'r death." He scwled, "Tis ah greavous injury ta th' face... th' low'r face be crushed so's if'n raised, theys cannay speak."<br/><br/>He waited, wondering if the proported visions would confirm or deny the idea.<br/><br/>He took a deep breath and spoke again, "Tis a priest o' Torag Meself be. Nay ah palidin, but a holy warior nay the less wit' me hammer 'n His glory 'gainst eval an' spreadin' His teachin's as meself travels." He scratched his quite large nose for a moment, "Torag has given his blessin ta meself ta  strike hard 'gainst eval bein's 'n His name. Me's able ta cast sum spells ta, includin' curin' spells... Tis me callin' ta, in His name, ta craft weapons an' armor an' in time, ta enchant such items ta continue His will." He thought for a moment, "Meself speaks und'rcommon an' celestral an' meself's can open locked doors ta."<br/><br/>He grinned then, "An's if'n ye willin' ta give me a wit bit o' silver, can make Dwarven holy-water ta use."