"Not long," he grins. "I have everything I need here," he pats a belt pouch, and then takes a packet of incense and a pair of dice out of it, and a flint-and-steel firestarter and a small metal tray - which doesn't seem like it should fit in a pouch that small - out of the one next to it. "All of my magic is divine, granted by my god; there are principles we can understand, but understanding isn't what makes it work; for that you want wizard magic." He moves to a table by the wall with a bit of free space, where he sets the incense to burn in the tray, chants for a minute, and then rolls the dice. "Weal," he pronounces, on inspecting them. "It'll go fine."
(Ertan asks him something, and he answers, still incomprehensible to anyone who doesn't speak Common.)