[D&D-5e] Northlands: The Dwarven Watch continues

[Gath]

Revised. If you have any comments or suggestions, I am grateful to have the input!

[penbeast0]

Made a couple of quick adjustments to add his patron Goddess and fix the Fieldset title.

How does an Elegant Elven Lass end up running an dwarf-centric campaign anyway? ;-)

[DebiRedHair]

The world of Eregold has been the setting for all my FantasyGMing for over 30 years. Lots of things in it from lots of books I love.

I love playing Elves, bur the Folk are something I have used as a storyline for a long long time. The first Lightbringer type character strode AD&D2 in 1980

[Seekr34]

Sounds cool! My cousin was my first DM. Made up his own world and we played in that word once a week, each Saturday between 1pm and 11pm. Played non stop weekly from 1978 until 1985 when I ad to work on some weekends, then, time to time because he also had to work on some weekends. Then 1994, we stopped completely do to life. Started with D&D, then went to AD&D. He used different things from different books as well. I still miss those days.

[BarrowB]

Hero Name: Lufrael Goldennail Race: Mountain DwarfDurlini Class: Paladin 2/ Probably College of Swords after first level up.Bard 2 Deity: Zircona Trait 1: I get bitter if I’m not the center of attention. Trait 2: I love a good insult, even one directed at me. Ideal: Tradition. The stories, legends, and songs of the past must never be forgotten, for they teach us who we are. Bond: I want to be famous, whatever it takes. Flaw: I’ll do anything to win fame and renown. Personality: Lufrael is extremely full of himself, yet a complete coward. He always tries to show his best side, even if it's fake. The dwarf has to constantly force himself to do the right things. When no one sees him, he lets the mask fall, showing his complete clumsiness and misery. Background: Entertainer (Writer) As long as he can remember, Lurafel was always passionate to listen about the great heroes of the past, hoping to also become one of them one day. During his education, he paid little to no mind about the important parts of the religion or history, focusing only on the parts that involved the great people like Balen, the Fist of Dwarves. Lurafel never was the brightest or the fastest or the strongest. His parents had little to no hope that he would achieve anything, so they forced him to at least devout himself to a god. He opened one of the tomes, to find a bit more about their Pantheon, and his sight instantly fell on Zircona, the Goddess of Beauty of Nature and Joy of Life. What was there to life, if not joy? After reaching the adulthood. Lufarel, like many others, had to join the war. Only a few years after joining the unending battle, he had witnessed enough of the horrors to turn his tail and run, abandoning his post. His cowardly escape didn't allow him to return home, so instead he ventured further, to Eregold, where he was welcomed as if he was one of the heroes. Seeing the opportunity, Lufarel decided to roll with it, becoming a storyteller, spreading the great tales about his made up achievements during his service. A few years went by and his fame grew, but with every lie told, the risk of being found out was getting bigger. Link to Saria: Eventually, a young investigator decided to dig deeper, trying to build her own success on bringing Lufarel's demise. The dwarf knew that his comfortable life was coming to an end and decided to confront Saria with an offer. She would shadow him on him on his next adventure and see herself, that he really is a hero. Led by his guilt, the dwarf decided to resume the Watch of Korgal, that he abandoned 3 years ago.

Sidekick Name: Saria Kelvarin Race: Human Artificer Initiate feat(Variant) Class: Wizard 2 (Divination) Trait 1: I can stare down a hell hound without flinching. Trait 2: I’m always polite and respectful. Ideal: Nation. My city, nation, or people are all that matter. Bond: My honor is my life. Flaw: I have little respect for anyone who is not a proven warrior. Personality: Saria is stern and heavily lawful. Her face is almost unable to show emotions, though she doesn't even feel them often. The woman is dedicated to her work and wants to discover and document the truth about everything around her. Background: Investigator Saria always was the seeker of the truth. Growing up as a noble's daughter, she was able to learn a lot about the history but it wasn't enough for her. Eventually, she managed to convince her parents to let her join a wizard school. As expected, she was a diligent student, managing to not only understand the past and present but also see glimpses of the future. During her second year at the university, her family was found guilty of many years of fraud. Almost all of their possessions were confiscated and the head of the house was locked away in prison. With a sudden lack of funding, Saria was forced to leave the school and search for work to support herself and her mother. She tried many things but the fate eventually led her to becoming an investigator. However, it wasn't what she expected. All she received were some small, meaningless cases. She wanted more. Searching for a fitting mystery, she overheard that Lufrael, one of local stars, lied about his exploits more than once. Saria decided, that she had to find the truth.

[DebiRedHair]

Some really good applications so far but there are still weeks to go. Their are no Clan positions to choose from, no Artificers or Gunslingers. It would be nice to have some to choose from. A Folk party without a technological character would be 'different'

[PapaHuck]

Hello Dwarf fans! Here is my character concept/application for this here campaign:

Rotten Bhargda

Type: Hero
Race: Dwarf - Khamuli
Alignment: Neutral Good
Class: Druid - Circle of Spores
Role: Battlefield Control, Healing, Aura Damage, Pet Summons, Alt. Tank, Utility Magic, Cryptic Mutterings
Background: Hermit
Trait 1: I'm oblivious to etiquette and social expectations.
Trait 2: I connect everything that happens to me to a grand, cosmic plan.
Ideal: My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bond: Nothing is more important to me than the survival of the Folk.
Flaw: I let my need to win arguments overshadow friendships and harmony.

Draft Character Sheet

Philosophy:

 

Old Bhargda has spent a lot of time listening to the earthy musk of mushrooms, tasting the merry chirp of crickets, and feeling the aching beauty of a sunset on her skin. Life is a circle. A circle within a coil amongst many rolling spheres. So she's largely given up on most of the formalities of verbal communication. Only one dwarf in twenty ever even listens anyway - on a good day.

The task given them by the gods is nigh impossible, and death creeps to find them from every crevice. But the dwarves shall live, by thunder! Of that, Bhargda is sure.

The Unusual Life of a Dwarven Druid

 

One hundred and ninety-nine years ago, on the first day of spring, in a small but longstanding Dwarven settlement in the Northlands (perhaps its name was Thorhast, but only the DM remembers what it was truly called), a girl dwarven babe was born. She was rosy-cheeked and full of life, and her parents named her Bhargdalena Hammerbell - their pride and joy.

Reinforcing the Watch was a part of life for Bhargdalena's community, and she came of age as an auxiliary to the skirmishes, cooking for and healing wounded soldiers. Her healing efforts often were successful beyond all expectations. Noting her talent for tapping into the healing power of nature, old lady Karendahl took her under her wing to learn the wise ways of a Druid.

It was on the campaign trail that she met her first love, Bjornhelm. They had three boys together, Farin, Temble, and Portchley. In these years, Bhargdelana was more often at home, looking after the young ones.

Bjornhelm fell in battle and, with children now old enough to watch themselves, Bhargdalena returned to her role as a healer for Dwarven warriors on the front. The skirmishes has certainly increased in intensity, and she saw many good dwarves pass.

Not all was gloom however. Love kindled between Bhargdalena and Germendle, a fierce but mirthful artillerist. They too had three sons, Homer, Devin, and Fargost, and there was much laughter and celebration amongst the family.

The increase in skirmishing they had so far seen only appeared to be a small foretaste of what was to come. Uncountable hordes of goblins and orcs poured over the mountains. Whole Dwarven communities were surrounded and overrun, Bhargda's home amongst them. Though they fought valiantly the great majority of those dwarves perished, remembered now only in stories.

Of her family, only herself, her eldest Farin (now a capable and respected fighter), and her youngest Fargost (still a babe-in-arms) survived as refugees. Of the pitiful band of survivors, half managed to outlast the winter and stagger into Reginhold, half mad with hunger.

Her new home was renowned as a stubborn fortress, standing as a clenched fist of resolve for decades, even as the orc hordes swarmed about, turning the hills black with their numbers. It was in this crucible of desperation that she met her last love, Thorind, a quiet but indomitable squad commander. Their love was fierce and gave forth a miracle: twins - a boy (Tommen) and a girl (Debba)!

Gathering herbs for healing and spells, Bhargda became aware of something quite spectacular: beneath the entire forest of the surrounding hills and valleys grew one colossal fungal organism, masterfully orchestrating the life and death of the entire forest. Amazed at the scope of this lifeform, Bhargda began to study and communicate with the being she came to know as the Father of Trees. She was fascinated with its power to turn death into life and back again. Eventually she took some of its essence into herself.

Her power grew. The spores of the Father of Trees lived within her and around her, and she could deal out life or death at her whim. No longer content to play the part of a healer, Bhargda now dished out death and ruin on the front lines. But her power came at a cost: she could no longer bear.

This added extra strain to her and Thorind, and darkness entered their souls. They thought of nothing but killing orcs, and that they did.

The orcs, trolls, and goblins were a mystery to Bhargda. What did they want? Why did they behave as they did? Besides frequent combat, Bhargda also took passionately to torture and interrogation of captives, and to vivisection and other grisly scientific inquiries. Because of her ferocity on the battlefield, her macabre studies, and her altered appearance from her mycological symbiosis, dwarves started calling her "Rotten Bhargda" behind her back - half in admiration and half in disgust.

Bhargda began to contemplate a pilgrimage to the lands of the Elven druids to further her studies of the origins and nature of the greenskins. Farin had become an accomplished warrior and respected leader. Fargost was a valued scout and spy, and the twins, Tommen and Debba, though young, were already making a name for themselves as promising alchemists.

Thorind fell in battle with a troll horde. Bhargda was there, but could not save him. She grieved for a year. Then she packed her belongings, said her goodbyes, and headed south for the elven lands in pursuit of knowledge and power over the Folk's great adversary.

She traveled from one community to the next, seeking out elders, sages, and ancient texts. Some were friendly and some hostile, regarding her as a troublesome meddler. Her pilgrimage eventually took her to the Greenwood. Power and knowledge she did find there. . . , but though unsought, what she found there in even larger measure was peace and balance in her soul - as she finally faced and accepted her pain and grew in perspective.

She attended that sacred grove for five years, deepening her connection to the powers of the earth and learning much from the ancient druids. A kestrel, unknown in those parts but a symbol of Dwarven stubbornness in her old home, alighted in the grove, serving as an omen that she was to return north - but not to her people. She left the wildwood to meet a world that had aged eighty years as she had only lived five with the druids. And what change too - new hope for the Folk!

Bhargda settled in a no-man's land, north of the protection of the Folk. It was a dangerous and inhospitable peat bog known as The Moss. The monstrous inhabitants and the very terrain itself there were so dangerous that orcs and goblins rarely ventured in - which was exactly what Bhargda wanted: privacy to study.

Every now and then a band of greenskins might wander in - but it always spelled their doom. Every so many years, Bhargda might catch wind of a goblin tribe moving on the war path near her territory. Somehow or another Bhargda would find a means to make them lose their way or suffer some other calamity. Once in a great, great rare while, a wild mushroom-capped old dwarf woman would suddenly appear in the middle of a pitched battlefield between orcs and dwarves, changing the earth beneath the orcs' feet to razor blades and raising their fallen to fight against them. Somehow or another, over all the miles and intervening years, some dwarf remembered the name "Rotten Bhargda". Now and then it would be whispered in reference to the mysterious crone that lived in the wilds and worked secretly against the enemy.

It's now been forty-two years that Bhargda has lived in isolation. All the time she has been reading signs in the earth and pouring over her collection of ancient texts. Just this Tuesday something fell into place. Something so revelatory and earth-shaking that Bhargda sat dumbfounded for three hours when it first struck her. In fact, it's so plot-relevant that it would be completely irresponsible of me to post it here and now!

Coming out of her stupor, Bhargda snapped into action, gathering necessary supplies into her cart, she set out immediately for the nearest Dwarven settlement, which might be Lighthold, or it might be somewhere else, depending on where the DM decides to start the campaign!

On the Road to Lighthold:

 

A bent old dwarf woman struggles with an overloaded hand cart on the road to Lighthold. The eye is drawn immediately to her very large brimmed hat, made to look like a toadstool cap. Or is that actually an enormous mushroom cap that she is wearing on her head?

Her cart is piled high to spilling over with the oddest cargo: rotting wood, profusions of gorgeous flowers, all manner of herbs rammed in nooks and crannies, and what appears to be several types of wild animal dung.

Grunting, she raises her head and sniffs the air lustily. Feathery grey gills hanging from her mushroom hat shake with her motion, matching exactly the look of the hair about her neck and shoulders. Wait, is that a hat?

Grunting again, the old dwarf woman struggles forward in sing-song rhyme:

"Smell the weak, on the wind
Smell the weak, growing thin

Smell the strong, on the track
Watch your back! Too proud to talk."

Just then, a spirited pair of black stallions pull a stout cart around the bend behind and rapidly gain on the old crone. A heavily armed Durlini teamster drives the beasts, and his equally fiercely appointed partner trots along beside.

Bhargda turns up to the approaching wagon, watery eyes appealing above a scantily toothed smile. "Hitch up?" Her gray eyebrows bounce imploringly.

"Out of the way, old woman!"

Bhargda scrambles to avoid being crushed as the team and wagon thunder by.

"Och! Keep your axes sharp then!"

Dust from the wagon surrounds Bhargda in a cloud, as the teamsters pull out of sight around the next bend in the path. Suddenly, she snaps to attention. "No! They must be fresh!"

With frightening intensity, the old dwarf woman pushes on her hand cart. She and the cart are now moving at nearly a full run.

The screams of horses, dwarves, and something else vie for sonic supremacy with the sharp ringing of steel on steel up around the bend. Bhargda can see none of this. She curses and breaths heavily as she pushes the cart like one possessed.

Yelling with the effort, she clears the bend to see the carnage before her. The dwarf driver is kneeling to inspect the horses, both on the ground, with arrows sticking from their necks. Bhargda can already sense they're both dead. The other dwarf warrior inspects the bodies of two goblin assailants, also both dead.

"Oh, good, just in time," Bhargda muttered to no one in particular as her cart skidded to a stop in the middle of the battlefield.

Grabbing a particularly mushroom-encrusted branch from her cart, the strange old lady fairly skipped across the grass to bop with the old tree limb the chest of the goblin the dwarf was currently inspecting, a small cloud of spores puffing out as she did so.

"You won't find anything in those pockets, friend. So poor, and so alone."

She skipped over to the other dead goblin and repeated the process.

"Behind enemy lines for long. So skinny, so desperate. Are we the wood? Were the elves the spore? The goblins the rot, and the humans the fruiting mushroom?"

"What are you taking about, crazy old woman? Goblins are a pestilence to be burned from the earth!"

"Oh, well, since you know everything about everything, I suppose Duradonus can retire now?"

Bhargda struck both dead horses with her staff. The other dwarf burst out laughing. "Haven't you heard? That's no use! We have no beasts now to carry our burden."

"Ha! Perhaps there's hope for you yet, young rowdy. Here is your beast of burden: Arise!" The witch struck her staff straight into the ground, releasing a surprisingly copious cloud of spores.

The two dead horses and two dead goblins bounced up to standing, like rotten eggs popping up to the top of a pot of water. Still lifeless, but somehow animated, where their eyes had been now covered over with a white weave of mycelium.

"Gods! Our enemies rise again to attack us!"

"Belay Those Axes!" Bhargda's voice rang out with unquestionable authority. "They have risen not to harm, but to render aid. Their work is not quite done. To the reins!"

The warriors stood slack-jawed as the reanimated horses pulled the slack from the reins and the two fungal zombie goblins scrambled to join the horses at their task.

Bhargda growled and did an angry dance. "No, not you two idiots. You pull my cart for me." The white-eyed goblins lifelessly complied.

Bhargda sprang up into the driver's seat of the wagon. "Now what are you two youngsters standing there for, flapping your gums about? I thought you were in a hurry? Lighthold Ho!"

And with that, the two vehicles lurched forward, the teamsters jogging behind to catch.

[DebiRedHair]

@PapaHuck. Thanks for your application. If chosen we will need to agree on your 'Hermit Discovery'. Lighthold is in rolling hills but otherwise the application is strong. Which of the 14 is she particularly following?

[PapaHuck]

Originally Posted by DebiRedHair

@PapaHuck. Thanks for your application. If chosen we will need to agree on your 'Hermit Discovery'. Lighthold is in rolling hills but otherwise the application is strong. Which of the 14 is she particularly following?

Sounds dope. Bhargda reveres Duradonus above all others (of course), although she identifies personally most with the Earth Mother Boruna. Also close to her heart are Korgal/Eldaron (as the Father of Dwarves), Renchar (Bhargda works intimately with death), and Somonol (as well as birth/rebirth).

[Seekr34]

You need Artificers & Gunslingers in this game? I wouldn't know what to do with an artificer, never played one, don't think I could. Gunslingers, well, I never did like having guns in a fantasy genre.

[Talissen70]

Telorin the Damned Name: Telorin Stormbrow Race: Durlini Alignment: Lawful Neutral Class: Barbarian5/Rogue1 Path of the Berserker Background: Artisan Leatherworker Deity: Duradonus (The wise one) and Destuvar (God of Dark Air and Storms) Role: Battlefield DPS. Stealth, Quiet brooding and extreme violence. And bagpipes. Appearance/Personality: Telorin stands just shy of 5ft tall, heavily muscled and bald with a long red beard filled with leather and metal charms and runes. He rarely wears much in the way of clothing except for a leather and hide kilt with a chaos banner hanging down the front. His arms are strewn with tattoos and two symmetrical tribal images grace his bald pate. He has a huge, fur cloak which he wears when weather or propriety requires it but can be shed when entering combat. The first thing people would notice when meeting Telorin is his calm demeanour and menacing, rasping voice. He is often quiet and attentive and seems to consider his words carefully. He is rarely found at the front end of conversations but rather on the periphery. He carry’s a great sword, in an elaborate leather scabbard, which he can often be seen adding detail to as a leather working artisan.   He was born and raised Telorin Stormbrow to a loving but sickly mother and violent and abusive father. He was the Artisan leather worker of some local renown and his faults were tolerated by the town. His excesses in alcohol and attitude to family discipline weighed heavily on his wife and child. When she passed through wasting fever following a particularly bad winter, his treatment towards his son, by now a promising leather worker himself, worsened. After a particularly savage beating, Telorin’s father suffered a fatal seizure, likely due to his poor lifestyle. And when his body was found the next day, Telorin was missing. Telorin travelled to Eregold hoping to rebuild his life but due to a degree of inherent racial tension and the lack of any sponsor he quickly found himself in debt and under the influence of a local crime syndicate. After some time trying our roles he settled into that of a pit-fighter and enforcer utilising the rage and lax attitude to physical violence he had inherited from his father. In a short career he accomplished many milestones, each weighing heavier on his heart and sole and distancing him from his true Dwarven history. Then came the day he was told to lose. Some suggest what came next was due to a righteous indignation but in truth, this had robbed Telorin of the only value he had and he sought to end it all. He wandered the wilderness for two weeks seeking the end before his path was changed. One night, an old blind woman, vaguely Elvish, wandered into his camp. His first thoughts moved to anger and he ushered her away harshly but she merely sat by his fire in silence. Eventually he fell asleep and she visited him in his dreams. He has never discussed the content of their conversation with either of the three people who know of its existence but he had taken the Oath of the Slayer and was filled with a new destiny. He revisited the pit boss who had controlled him and agreed to his demands but this was a ruse to attract all those with a hold over him into the same place. All seven died that night and the only witness left alive was his opponent to whom he whispered “you win” as he strode past as he left. He returned to the mountains the next day. After a less than civil return to his village to encourage a better community attitude known since as the night of screams, he has sworn his life to the cause of The Folk and his clan chief. Returning his name to the book in the process. He also plays the bagpipes. Personality Traits: I have been isolated for so long that i rarely speak, thinking carefully about my words and my meaning. If I draw my sword, it must taste blood, either from an opponent worthy to my cause, or myself. Ideal: Emotions must not cloud my sense of what in right and true Bond: I am guilty of terrible crimes and to make up for this I must protect those who cannot protect themselves Flaw: I am inflexible in my thinking   So what about that one, the youngster asked pointing over at a dark corner table where a lone Dwarven figure sat, swathed in an oversized fur cloak, staring deeply into his clay tankard. "Well, he's a strange one" Sten chirped, happy this stranger continued to ask questions and more happy he continued to buy him drinks. Times were hard for Sten, he blamed economics and fate and such, but the truth was, he was only really adept at spreading rumours and most of the regulars had grown tired of this. The stranger though, he was new. "Yes, very strange indeed, used to be a fighter, in the pits, was a good one or so i heard. But got in with a bad crowd from the start. Word is he did some jobs on the side, roughing folk up or worse, but all that did was get him in deeper. They got their claws in him good, and then came the time for him to lose and.." his voice hushed to a whisper and he leaned conspiratorially at the stranger "he said no. I heard they killed his wife, or lover, or maybe his kids, its all a bit sketchy there cause no one talks about it" The stranger glanced over again and caught the dwarf looking straight back in his direction, he quickly adjusted his now unsettled gaze back to the old man infront. "Anyways, this ruined him and and he wasn't seen for weeks, until he stepped back into the pit" Sten motioned to his empty glass and the stranger signalled waitress to refill on his tab. "Ah thankyou boy, peole round her are not as generous as they once were. Anyway, he came back, a private affair i heard just the pit boss and some high paying folks, anyway, the story goes, he walks out into the pit carrying a sword. And these are fist fights mind, he walks straight past his opponent and kills the pit boss, four, no eight guards and two of the crowd like the abyss itself had taken him. It was all hushed up of course...." Sten felt the strangers gaze rise above his head, behind his seated position and stiffened sharply. "He's behind me isn't he" he swallowed with eyes widening. The stranger nodded quietly. "Your tongue seems to have come loose again Sten, would you like me to tighten it for you" the voice was low, quiet and calm but with an unmistakable undercurrent of threat. The stranger saw the figure fully for the first time, a greatsword sheathed but carried like a staff in one hand, a full red beard numerous runic charms sat below a tattooed and bald head. The eyes dark with dread and perhaps a touch of sadness "Do not believe everything you hear from old men, boy" he rasped calmly and patted Sten on the shoulder before moving to the door and leaving the inn. "Ooh look at the time" said Sten nervously as he swallowed time and time again as if to calm his nerves "i best be going now, thanks for the company" As he left, the stranger noticed much of the room avoiding his glance.   “I said, buy me a drink” The figure towered over Telorin’s seared form, spittle thankfully flying wide of the dwarf as the young human turned his head to smile at his four companions at the bar whose laughter filled the room. This was a practised routine by the group of loggers, several hours of drinking and then as the Inn emptied, bullying further drinks out of the stragglers left behind. The couple in the corner regressed further into their silence, trying to disappear. “Bran! Make him buy us all a drink” came the shout and Bran looked back at Telorin, his attention drawn to the scabbarded greatsword lying on the table, hilt towards him. He laid his hand lightly on the hilt, feeling it’s plain leather strapping “this might cover our bill if you won’t pay” Telorin’s rasping voice whispered “careful boy, if that sword is drawn, it must taste blood and I am in no mood for restraint, take your friends and see the morning, this is all I will say on the matter” his gaze never leaving his cup. Bran’s face darkened with alcohol induced indignation and his hand suddenly gripped the sword hilt moving to draw it, but Telorin was quicker, and stronger. He grabbed the base of the scabbard and pushed towards Bran catching him in the balls with the sword hilt. Rising from the table he continued to push the logger’s body backwards and his back hit the bar as Telorin’s heavy fur cloak dropped too reaves a heavily muscled and tattoo’d torso. Bran made an inhuman squeal and collapsed, sword, still largely sheathed landing beside him. For a moment, everyone was still and silent, judging their next move. The loggers on Telorin’s left then backed away slowly but the bearded, heavyset man on his right made a different call. He grabbed his axe from the bar and stepped in towards Telorin raised the axe overhead. Telorin lowered his head and barrelled into the large man’s gut, knocking the wind out of him, before standing tall and connecting with the underside of his jaw. This toppled him over like a bloated, drunk oak and he struck the wooden floor significantly while his axe was left imbedded in the ground behind the dwarf. Telorin stood and rounded on the remaining three who continued to back away, arms extended, distancing themselves from the fight. He fought to control his breathing, his vision seeming to come alive. He stood for a full thirty seconds, a minute before kneeling to retrieve the sword and noticing several inches of the blade free from the scabbard. His eyes rose and met Bran’s frozen in pain and fear from the sudden change in fortune. Telorin let a low guttural growl escape his throat as he reached forward gripping the sheath with his left hand and drawing the unsheathed portion of his sword across his own forearm before sheathing it fully. He stood and looked at the barman, who shrugged “boys eh?” before returning to his table and retrieving his cloak.

[Anea]

 

"I GOT DA BEAST IN ME SIGHTS!"
Withdrawn

Howdy there! I love dwarves and this seems like a fantastic setting to dip my toe into with an application, gonna do some research quick and build out a Hero for ya!

The Obsessive Tinkerer Name: Bovur Fellhand Race: Dwarf - Durlini Class: Level 6 Artificer (Artillerist) Background: Sailor (goes with a bit of fun homebrew if we can add to the world) Appearance & History: Bovur hails from the Goldwind clan, a subset of the Durlini tribe, who were forced to flee their home of Kugh Toduhr during the Second Age as a horde of greenskins overran the mountainside. These industrious and technological minded dwarves escaped their home using a fleet of airships that have been scattered to the far reaches of the southern lands. Each ship maintains its own crewed population as it ranges for sorties in the north, gathers resources in the south, or act as massive trading vessels for the different cities that dot the landscape though all have a loose connection to Lawton as their current base of operations. Fellhand himself stands at a lanky 4' 8" with narrow shoulders and dexterous limbs accustomed to climbing the rigging of his home frigate, The Sky's Vengeance. Clad in the characteristic coveralls and hardened scale mail of the Goldwinds, Bovur covers his face as well with a stylized dwarven helmet that doubles as a air scrubber in case of caustic gases or low oxygen at higher altitudes. He wields his trusty arcane firearm and boarding axe while a dagger is secured in a shoulder sheath. RP Sample & Traits: The early morning air was cool and crisp as the sky vessel slowly lowered below the cloud cover to reveal the still darkened plains surrounding Dol Borath mountain, ancestral home of the Goldwind and the seat of Kugh Toduhr. The frigate was manned just by a single company, twenty-two arkanauts, and their dirigible rigger escorts. Its only a smash and grab, we aren't staying long. Bovur Fellhand stood with his comrades at the gunwale, heavy cannon and individual rifles scanning the skies for interceptors as the ship neared its anchor point on a rusted airdock several hundred feet above the mountaintop. Bovur lovingly tapped the hull as he hauled himself onto the gangplank and prepared to descend into the ruins below. "Be back soon Bond: The ship comes first, captains and crewmates come and godarling..." Hendrik was the one that gave away their presence as the team neared a vault next to a crumbling temple. A trap, meant for whatever massive rodents plagued the orcs and goblins that had invaded their home, was sprung and lifted the fool dwarf high into the air while his equipment clattered about the place. "Grab what you can and cut him down, we are leaving marines!" Kurbrac gave the artillerist a defiant glance before puffing up his chest. "We should stand and fight lest ye all be cowards! Our home has been sullied enough." The younger dwarf was hot-blooded, spoiling for a fight ever since he came of age and joined the ship's crew. "Flaw: Once someone questions my courage, I never back down regardless of how dangerous the situation is.Follow orders, boy. You aren't taking back our home with these paltry few, unless you suddenly became good enough to kill a thousand to one." Kurbrac was a good enough shot from the relative safety of The Sky's Vengeance, but struggled with the thought of getting up close an personal with any greenskin. "Besides, I am the one who Trait: My friends know they can rely on me, no matter what.gets to draw them off while your laggy rear takes forever and a day to haul what we got back to the ship." Bovur's playful banter seemed to get the rest of the company to focus on their task as he headed off to an adjoining tower that overlooked the main entrance to their courtyard. The crackle of arcane blasts and an turret flamethrower funneled the horde towards the lone arkanaut with one goblin managing to get past the fusillade of shots to leap onto his back. A quick struggle ensued but the dwarf managed to get the upper hand and hurled the nasty bugger from a battlement. "Twelve. I'm never gonna beat Ozumel's Trait: I never pass up a friendly wagercount at this pace." He saw that his crew had safely retrieved what they came for and started a fighting retreat to the top of the tower, grabbing what other trinkets he could along the way before finally making his way back aboard the ship. He was greeted with a loud cheer as the ship slipped its moorings and gained altitude to hide in the clouds. A small group surrounded Bovur until he broke away and slapped a small bag of coin into Kurbrac's Ideal: Fairness, we all do the work so we should all share in the rewardslap. "Keep your chin up lad, we will be home permanently some day."

[DebiRedHair]

A little something to add to the Lore, and allow you to build some more of it into your applications

Lore Update 1:

The Book of the Folk: When a Dwarf is born, the proud parents take it to the local temple of Korgal to be registered. The name, and the lineage are recorded in the volume of the Book of the Folk for the current year. At this point, the child becomes one of the Folk. As they live, their lives are recorded by the priests and the Book updated. This allows the exploits of any Dwarf to be checked and it is believed that there is a link between the Book and the Folk. One thing that creates the Folk is the Book. Any Dwarf who disgraces the Race has their name removed from the Book and their name is never spoken again.

By some miracle of Korgal's making, every copy of the volume, in every temple, is updated simultaneously providing the Priests of Korgal with a full genealogy of every Dwarf who has ever lived. The Book is complete for the whole of the First Age, and for the Third, but there is a gap of some 1500 years in the record in the Second Age as many copies were destroyed when the Holds fell to Chaos during the Decline. Recently, adventurers have been entering ruins to search for copies of the Book, and the gaps are being closed.

The Book is currently being used to identify the descendents of the 7 Founding Fathers so that the Kings can be identified. Relin Relindorn reigns in Reginhold, and Islanne Balendorn lives, but left the Northlands 10 years ago to journey to the islands of the Eastern Sea. The heirs of the other 5 Kingdoms are still to be identified, and until they are, a High King cannot be elected.

[Talissen70]

Telorin will definately be stricken from the book

[penbeast0]

Identifying a new goal for Bran. To get his name installed in The Book as a member of the Folk without giving up his family and heritage.