Bearded Gnome
09-20-06, 08:07 PM
Name: Rathmar Hammerfist
Age: 137
Race: Dwarf
Hair Color: Auburn
Eye Color: Blue-Gray
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 183lbs
Occupation: Rathmar is a captain of a small band of dwarves that answer only to the kings. They are thought of as the elite, though many disapprove of their often "brutal" tactics.
Personality: The burly dwarf has never been good with small talk. Unless he's spouting orders to his soldiers or discussing plans with the kings, he rarely speaks. There have been a select few that he has opened up and spoken with casually, mostly childhood friends, the dwarves under him or Valkas, his second in command, but other than that he is a rather tight-lipped dwarf. He understands deeply that he is not the most respected dwarf outside of his band, and takes that to heart when navigating the halls of Kachuk. Being an outsider both in name and heritage, Rathmar feels as if the entire dwarven community is looking for a reason to be rid of him. Many have thought that is the reason why the dwarf isn't as outspoken as his "kinsmen".
Also, many dwarves think that he is nothing but a mindless brute, finding victory out of sheer numbers and brutality. Though, in truth, he is rather intelligent compared to the other dwarves he has found a home with. He aspires to show the dwarves of Kachuk how much they could benefit from his presence, even if those aspirations lead to his death. Determined and stubborn, he finds solace in the fact that not all the dwarves think of him that way.
Appearance: Rathmar stands at an imposing height of five feet, two inches; rather tall when compared to most dwarves. Upon first glance, Rathmar has a commanding presence, one that most would say is deserving of their respect. Although he is mostly the textbook dwarf (large muscles from years of mining, stout features, etc.), he has a few standout qualities. Unlike most dwarves, he takes great care to his apperance. His beard, which he shaves at the sides, comes down the front of his chest in braids and is clasped with a copper heirloom he believes once belonged to his family. The clasp itself shows the mark of Ronus, a legend among the dwarves, and Rathmar wears it with pride, knowing well the tale of the old dwarf.
He wears steel scale mail armor, a gift from the kings, with large spiked pualdrons. He then has an iron helmet that covers the top half of his head, with protective pieces over the nose and the temples. Rathmar also wears a hardened leather belt with an iron clasp that depicts the Drave, a wolf-like creature that holds family as it's highest priority; an ideal that Rathmar can agree with. They are also very protective of one another, something that the auburn haired dwarf has described to his band as a necessity in any grouping of friends.
History: The dwarven elder stood in his way like an impenetrable bulwark. Although Rathmar was more than a foot taller than him, the old dwarf held his ground. With a stern gaze and a straight jaw he confronted the dwarven behemoth.
"The Kings're meeting with drow representatives from the Queen herself. They asked not to be interrupted, and I'll die before I let ye go breaking that order."
The Elder's dedication was commendable, Rathmar thought, though he knew it was nothing more than a tactic to stall him. There were no drow in Kachuk this day and if they had been, then Rathmar surely would have been notified. The Elders never approved of Rathmar's joining the clan, as did many other dwarves that inhabitied the halls of Kachuk, which lay nestled in the mountains just northwest of Ettermire. The constant insults and abuse that was flung his way started to wear on the dwarf's nerves. But he took it all with a stoic nature, for he deeply believed that he was here to help them, not fight them.
Sadly, Valkas and the other dwarves that served under him did not share that outlook. They fought for their captain whenever the chance arose, no matter who it was or where it was. And because of the rising number of fist fights in the streets and local bars, more and more dwarves were leaning against the captain's presence in the city. So, in an effort to quell the rising tensions of the matter, the kings decided to go to the source: Rathmar.
"They called for me personally." The burly dwarf replied calmly.
"Still," the Elder said, "I'll not be having ye meeting with them. Ye've poisoned their minds enough already." He scoffed and continued, "Speaking of dealing with the orc problem. What problem? Them green-headed bastards haven't shown their ugly faces in over a year. What makes ye think they'll start now?"
Rathmar's eyes narrowed threateningly. He grew tired of the back-and-forth arguments he held with the Elders on a regular basis. Although the dwarf considered himself a patient person, even he had his limits. And that was the first time he seriously considered attacking a fellow kinsmen. But he knew not to underestimate the old dwarf, for to the dwarves, age was but a passing thing.
"An' another thing," the Elder said with a finger in the dwarven captain's face, "you call that a beard? What good is it if ye keep cutting it? I had a better beard than that afore my seventieth--" But he was interrupted as Rathmar shoved him aside and headed into the throne room. The Elder quickly rose to his feet, and after rearranging his scraggly beard, ran in after the outcast dwarf.
Kachuk, the home of the dwarves, was world-renowned for the Twin Thrones, which held the kings Grimbold Anvilbreaker and his brother Kellen. Few had seen the thrones, though word spread of their majestic quality. Made of pure mithril, the thrones held ceremonius carvings all over the metallic surface. Some even said that the mithril seats were enchanted, and anyone that could read the ancient dwarven runes could muster a defense in a dire time of need.
So it was with pride when Rathmar entered the sacred hall, being one entrusted with the kings' loyalty to enter. He approached the thrones and kneeled before the kings.
"You sent for me?" Rathmar commented, his head stilled bowed.
"We did." Grimbold said with a smile.
"Get up ye dolt!" Kellen replied playfully, "If we wanted a servant we'd have that fool Arman runnin' our errands."
Rathmar rose with a broad smile and a good laugh, knowing well that their comment of the Elder rang true. If ordered to, Arman would walk around on all fours barking like a domesticated dog. Which was a shame, since the Elders were the second voice in the gonvernment.
"Me lords!" Arman came running in, his white beard in disarray, "Don't be listening to this poor excuse for a dwarf."
"We summoned him, Arman." Grimbold stated.
"Which means we want to be speaking with him." Kellen added. "And we'll speak with whoever we feel needs it. Don't think yerself wise just because yer an Elder, Arman. I'd be listening to Rathmar's words afore I ever considered listening to yers."
"Me lords," The Elder said desperately, but was cut off by Grimbold's upraised hand. "Ye don't know what he's been feeding ye!"
"Enough, Arman." Grimbold said firmly.
The look on the old dwarf's face contorted with rage, "He'll do nothing but bring about the ruin of us all!"
"I said enough!" Grimbold yelled. By this time the yellow-bearded dwarf was out of his throne and standing upright, arms at his sides. He had done with such speed that it made Arman flinch a step back.
"Leave us." Kellen said calmly, and after Arman's presence was still known, he added, "Now."
The old dwarf remembered himself, gave a half-hearted bow, and briskly made his way out of the room. Grimbold, after Arman's departure, took a deep breath through his flaring nostrils and sat back at his throne. He turned his attention back to Rathmar, who had stood patiently through the entire ordeal finding more than a little amusement in the confrontation. As did Kellen, who sat calmly at his own throne, and anyone that had seen what transpired would have noticed the reversed roles in the dwarf brothers.
Grimbold, often the cool and collected, found himself enraged at the old dwarf's hateful thinking. And Kellen, the one known for his temper, found himself somewhat intrigued at how his brother's sudden outburst would unfold. But after a minute's time, they returned to their old selves and looked to Rathmar, the dwarf who's future they would be discussing.
Skills:
Commanding Presence: Due to Rathmar's calm and confident demeanor from years of commanding his small band, he has the power to instill fear or courage in those around him. It emanates from him like an aura and only effects those under or on par with his current level.
Axemanship: The Hammerfist dwarf has been fighting for almost all his life, and like most things, his skills with the axe grew over time. The weapons feel natural in his callous hands and it does not take much effort at all to guide them to the nearest enemy.
Stoneskin: Like most dwarves, Rathmar's skin is rougher than other races; the years of mining and fighting giving them a harder exterior. Although his skin is not the roughest among the dwarves, it can still help protect lightly against iron weapons.
Equipment:
Weapons:
Steel Dwarven Battle Axe: A weapon that Rathmar has been using since his first battle, the double-bladed axe is stained with blood at its fine edges. Upon scrupulous cleaning of the blade, the dwarf has found that the red tint is permanent. It has a sturdy iron hilt with ceremonial carvings that travel up to the blades. It measures to about two and a half feet with a small spike of five inches protruding from its base. The blades themselves are a foot in width.
Two Steel Dwarven Throwing Axes: The throwing axes were constructed much like his Battle Axe. They have an iron hilt that is a foot and a half in length while the blade is seven inches in width. Although it would seem the throwing axes are overly sized to be thrown, the dwarf had them made this way so, if need be, they could double as a melee weapon.
Familiars: None as of yet.
Age: 137
Race: Dwarf
Hair Color: Auburn
Eye Color: Blue-Gray
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 183lbs
Occupation: Rathmar is a captain of a small band of dwarves that answer only to the kings. They are thought of as the elite, though many disapprove of their often "brutal" tactics.
Personality: The burly dwarf has never been good with small talk. Unless he's spouting orders to his soldiers or discussing plans with the kings, he rarely speaks. There have been a select few that he has opened up and spoken with casually, mostly childhood friends, the dwarves under him or Valkas, his second in command, but other than that he is a rather tight-lipped dwarf. He understands deeply that he is not the most respected dwarf outside of his band, and takes that to heart when navigating the halls of Kachuk. Being an outsider both in name and heritage, Rathmar feels as if the entire dwarven community is looking for a reason to be rid of him. Many have thought that is the reason why the dwarf isn't as outspoken as his "kinsmen".
Also, many dwarves think that he is nothing but a mindless brute, finding victory out of sheer numbers and brutality. Though, in truth, he is rather intelligent compared to the other dwarves he has found a home with. He aspires to show the dwarves of Kachuk how much they could benefit from his presence, even if those aspirations lead to his death. Determined and stubborn, he finds solace in the fact that not all the dwarves think of him that way.
Appearance: Rathmar stands at an imposing height of five feet, two inches; rather tall when compared to most dwarves. Upon first glance, Rathmar has a commanding presence, one that most would say is deserving of their respect. Although he is mostly the textbook dwarf (large muscles from years of mining, stout features, etc.), he has a few standout qualities. Unlike most dwarves, he takes great care to his apperance. His beard, which he shaves at the sides, comes down the front of his chest in braids and is clasped with a copper heirloom he believes once belonged to his family. The clasp itself shows the mark of Ronus, a legend among the dwarves, and Rathmar wears it with pride, knowing well the tale of the old dwarf.
He wears steel scale mail armor, a gift from the kings, with large spiked pualdrons. He then has an iron helmet that covers the top half of his head, with protective pieces over the nose and the temples. Rathmar also wears a hardened leather belt with an iron clasp that depicts the Drave, a wolf-like creature that holds family as it's highest priority; an ideal that Rathmar can agree with. They are also very protective of one another, something that the auburn haired dwarf has described to his band as a necessity in any grouping of friends.
History: The dwarven elder stood in his way like an impenetrable bulwark. Although Rathmar was more than a foot taller than him, the old dwarf held his ground. With a stern gaze and a straight jaw he confronted the dwarven behemoth.
"The Kings're meeting with drow representatives from the Queen herself. They asked not to be interrupted, and I'll die before I let ye go breaking that order."
The Elder's dedication was commendable, Rathmar thought, though he knew it was nothing more than a tactic to stall him. There were no drow in Kachuk this day and if they had been, then Rathmar surely would have been notified. The Elders never approved of Rathmar's joining the clan, as did many other dwarves that inhabitied the halls of Kachuk, which lay nestled in the mountains just northwest of Ettermire. The constant insults and abuse that was flung his way started to wear on the dwarf's nerves. But he took it all with a stoic nature, for he deeply believed that he was here to help them, not fight them.
Sadly, Valkas and the other dwarves that served under him did not share that outlook. They fought for their captain whenever the chance arose, no matter who it was or where it was. And because of the rising number of fist fights in the streets and local bars, more and more dwarves were leaning against the captain's presence in the city. So, in an effort to quell the rising tensions of the matter, the kings decided to go to the source: Rathmar.
"They called for me personally." The burly dwarf replied calmly.
"Still," the Elder said, "I'll not be having ye meeting with them. Ye've poisoned their minds enough already." He scoffed and continued, "Speaking of dealing with the orc problem. What problem? Them green-headed bastards haven't shown their ugly faces in over a year. What makes ye think they'll start now?"
Rathmar's eyes narrowed threateningly. He grew tired of the back-and-forth arguments he held with the Elders on a regular basis. Although the dwarf considered himself a patient person, even he had his limits. And that was the first time he seriously considered attacking a fellow kinsmen. But he knew not to underestimate the old dwarf, for to the dwarves, age was but a passing thing.
"An' another thing," the Elder said with a finger in the dwarven captain's face, "you call that a beard? What good is it if ye keep cutting it? I had a better beard than that afore my seventieth--" But he was interrupted as Rathmar shoved him aside and headed into the throne room. The Elder quickly rose to his feet, and after rearranging his scraggly beard, ran in after the outcast dwarf.
Kachuk, the home of the dwarves, was world-renowned for the Twin Thrones, which held the kings Grimbold Anvilbreaker and his brother Kellen. Few had seen the thrones, though word spread of their majestic quality. Made of pure mithril, the thrones held ceremonius carvings all over the metallic surface. Some even said that the mithril seats were enchanted, and anyone that could read the ancient dwarven runes could muster a defense in a dire time of need.
So it was with pride when Rathmar entered the sacred hall, being one entrusted with the kings' loyalty to enter. He approached the thrones and kneeled before the kings.
"You sent for me?" Rathmar commented, his head stilled bowed.
"We did." Grimbold said with a smile.
"Get up ye dolt!" Kellen replied playfully, "If we wanted a servant we'd have that fool Arman runnin' our errands."
Rathmar rose with a broad smile and a good laugh, knowing well that their comment of the Elder rang true. If ordered to, Arman would walk around on all fours barking like a domesticated dog. Which was a shame, since the Elders were the second voice in the gonvernment.
"Me lords!" Arman came running in, his white beard in disarray, "Don't be listening to this poor excuse for a dwarf."
"We summoned him, Arman." Grimbold stated.
"Which means we want to be speaking with him." Kellen added. "And we'll speak with whoever we feel needs it. Don't think yerself wise just because yer an Elder, Arman. I'd be listening to Rathmar's words afore I ever considered listening to yers."
"Me lords," The Elder said desperately, but was cut off by Grimbold's upraised hand. "Ye don't know what he's been feeding ye!"
"Enough, Arman." Grimbold said firmly.
The look on the old dwarf's face contorted with rage, "He'll do nothing but bring about the ruin of us all!"
"I said enough!" Grimbold yelled. By this time the yellow-bearded dwarf was out of his throne and standing upright, arms at his sides. He had done with such speed that it made Arman flinch a step back.
"Leave us." Kellen said calmly, and after Arman's presence was still known, he added, "Now."
The old dwarf remembered himself, gave a half-hearted bow, and briskly made his way out of the room. Grimbold, after Arman's departure, took a deep breath through his flaring nostrils and sat back at his throne. He turned his attention back to Rathmar, who had stood patiently through the entire ordeal finding more than a little amusement in the confrontation. As did Kellen, who sat calmly at his own throne, and anyone that had seen what transpired would have noticed the reversed roles in the dwarf brothers.
Grimbold, often the cool and collected, found himself enraged at the old dwarf's hateful thinking. And Kellen, the one known for his temper, found himself somewhat intrigued at how his brother's sudden outburst would unfold. But after a minute's time, they returned to their old selves and looked to Rathmar, the dwarf who's future they would be discussing.
Skills:
Commanding Presence: Due to Rathmar's calm and confident demeanor from years of commanding his small band, he has the power to instill fear or courage in those around him. It emanates from him like an aura and only effects those under or on par with his current level.
Axemanship: The Hammerfist dwarf has been fighting for almost all his life, and like most things, his skills with the axe grew over time. The weapons feel natural in his callous hands and it does not take much effort at all to guide them to the nearest enemy.
Stoneskin: Like most dwarves, Rathmar's skin is rougher than other races; the years of mining and fighting giving them a harder exterior. Although his skin is not the roughest among the dwarves, it can still help protect lightly against iron weapons.
Equipment:
Weapons:
Steel Dwarven Battle Axe: A weapon that Rathmar has been using since his first battle, the double-bladed axe is stained with blood at its fine edges. Upon scrupulous cleaning of the blade, the dwarf has found that the red tint is permanent. It has a sturdy iron hilt with ceremonial carvings that travel up to the blades. It measures to about two and a half feet with a small spike of five inches protruding from its base. The blades themselves are a foot in width.
Two Steel Dwarven Throwing Axes: The throwing axes were constructed much like his Battle Axe. They have an iron hilt that is a foot and a half in length while the blade is seven inches in width. Although it would seem the throwing axes are overly sized to be thrown, the dwarf had them made this way so, if need be, they could double as a melee weapon.
Familiars: None as of yet.