Post by Riaan on Nov 15, 2013 3:25:17 GMT -6
THE RETURN OF THE OLD SPICE DWARF IS NIGH.
plothook.net/RPG/profiler/view.php?id=13008
The Past:
Gravel - shattered remnants of what was once a proud wall or stoic boulder. Such is what the dwarf called Bruetus calls himself, a mark of shame he insists be shown, brought on by a violent and troubled past. Once, he was Bruetus Anvilfist, of the Clan Oathstone - named for the ancient tablets upon which the inviolable tenets of his clan were inscribed. A powerful warrior of the dwarves in his own right, he had brought much honor to the clan by his victories against its eternal foes, the giants; yet at once, he was little but trouble to his people as a whole, with an insatiable thirst for fighting and a violent streak so wide that some likened to the mountains they called home. Always tolerated, but scarcely loved, it was said the one anchor to his sanity was his wife, Amryn.
The dwarves are a stoic people, and from without it seems as though there are no arguments between clans - and so utterly incorrect a falsehood has seldom existed. It was in one such feud that Bruetus, already looked upon with disdain for his berserking tendencies, sealed his own fate of exile. In a fit of rage, he maimed the son of one of the dwarves’ elders; it would be the last battle that the other dwarf ever saw, as Bruetus was to discover later. Such a heinous crime, especially to his clan, whose Oathstone strictly forbade turning your weapon upon another dwarf, would unquestionably have warranted execution; however, by virtue of his past heroics, he was spared, though at the cost of his family, the company of his people, and indeed, his very self. Stripped of his clan name, he was exiled from the mountain, never to return, save at the penalty of death. Embittered, burning with agony, shame, and rage, he departed to wander the land, losing himself so deeply to anger that at times he scarcely seemed of this world.
Several months passed in this fashion - he became almost a beast of the wilds himself, adding several scars to the formidable collection he had earned in war. It was during these times that he at last came upon another sapient being - one that would change him forever. That evening, he found his path barred by a titanic figure, clad only in simple, loose-fitting hide and cloth. The figure spoke to him, though he did not hear what was said; always thirsting for battle, even more than he had whilst in control of his faculties, he launched himself into a fray with the being - only to be soundly defeated time and again by his deceptive agility and the sheer force of his blows. Before long, he fell to the ground, and, casting his weapon aside, begged for death. The goliath’s (for that was what he was) severe face did not soften as he said:
“Your path is familiar to me; I see in you a kindred soul, brother of stone. Alone. Lost to rage. I, too, was once lost, as now you are.”
Clutched in a massive fist, the goliath forced Bruetus’ weapon back into his hand, his scowling visage not more than a foot away. “The difference in you and I is that you would surrender. You would make yourself weak - crumbling in the face of your troubles, rather than face them and overcome.” He snorted and turned away. Taking a ragged breath, Bruetus looked up, his face forming into a familiar scowl. “Don’ yeh talk ter me ‘bout it. Yeh don’ know anythin’, oaf.” The goliath turned back to face him, his perpetually disappointed-seeming look hardly registering to the dwarf.
“Do I not? I have said I have walked this road that you are on; if you will not listen, then I cannot help you.” Folding his arms, the goliath looked down at the wreck of a once-proud dwarf lying on the ground in front of him, the latter with a still-defiant expression, though it faltered somewhat as the pain of recent times settled in his for once clearer mind.
“All roit. Maybe yeh do, I‘ll give yeh tha‘. But yeh cannae help me; no one can.” His axe left his hand again, but not to fall to the ground, but rather to be sheathed across his back as he got shakily to his feet. “I’m no’ even sure if I can anymore.” The goliath shook his head.
“The stone must be steady. Certain. You are not of the stone now, but you can return.” Despite himself, Bruetus listened as the goliath spoke, and spoke back in return; frustratingly vague, and interspersed with alien terms in Gol’kaa for the former, and bluntly with colorful Dwarven oaths for the latter. As they did, the inklings of peace wormed their way into his mind, for the first time in those several long months. Much had been said, and the sun had begun to show itself on the horizon when at last the goliath rose.
“Come with me, brother of stone. Such has wisdom been passed down to me - now, it is time to make it yours as well.” He paused for a moment. “I am Lo-Ko’en, the Deathfist, sworn to Kavaki the Ram-Lord. Perhaps you may never again be whole, Bruetus of the Broken Stone, but peace will come to you in time.” Bruetus did not question how the goliath knew his name, but he swore to himself then that he would never forget - neither his own, nor Lo-Ko’en’s. And when Lo-Ko’en set off….Bruetus followed.
The Present:
After several years of exile, the Oathstone clan summoned Bruetus back to their mountain city with ill tidings: Amryn's untimely passing at the hands of a giant raid. All that he had worked for in tempering his rage was almost undone, but in the end, his will triumphed over his anger, greatly impressing the council that had originally sentenced him. As such, they permitted him to personally avenge his wife's death with Moradin's blessing. When the task was done, and Amryn's remains laid to rest in a place of honor in the clan's necropolis, Bruetus made to leave once more, returning to his exile - but in a nearly unprecedented decision, the elders elected to reverse his punishment, seeing the changes that had been wrought in him from his years away. He in turn chose to once more take up his family name - Anvilfist - and rose once again to be a respected figure in his clan, and the dwarven race as a whole. He further pledged himself to the All-Father, and was ultimately ordained as the dwarven equivalent of a paladin in the dwarf god's service.
Through all of this, however, Bruetus had not forgotten the world outside his mountain home. Endowed with new purpose, to truly make better the world for all - not only the dwarves - he bade the Oathstone an amiable farewell to wander the land once again.
plothook.net/RPG/profiler/view.php?id=13008
The Past:
Gravel - shattered remnants of what was once a proud wall or stoic boulder. Such is what the dwarf called Bruetus calls himself, a mark of shame he insists be shown, brought on by a violent and troubled past. Once, he was Bruetus Anvilfist, of the Clan Oathstone - named for the ancient tablets upon which the inviolable tenets of his clan were inscribed. A powerful warrior of the dwarves in his own right, he had brought much honor to the clan by his victories against its eternal foes, the giants; yet at once, he was little but trouble to his people as a whole, with an insatiable thirst for fighting and a violent streak so wide that some likened to the mountains they called home. Always tolerated, but scarcely loved, it was said the one anchor to his sanity was his wife, Amryn.
The dwarves are a stoic people, and from without it seems as though there are no arguments between clans - and so utterly incorrect a falsehood has seldom existed. It was in one such feud that Bruetus, already looked upon with disdain for his berserking tendencies, sealed his own fate of exile. In a fit of rage, he maimed the son of one of the dwarves’ elders; it would be the last battle that the other dwarf ever saw, as Bruetus was to discover later. Such a heinous crime, especially to his clan, whose Oathstone strictly forbade turning your weapon upon another dwarf, would unquestionably have warranted execution; however, by virtue of his past heroics, he was spared, though at the cost of his family, the company of his people, and indeed, his very self. Stripped of his clan name, he was exiled from the mountain, never to return, save at the penalty of death. Embittered, burning with agony, shame, and rage, he departed to wander the land, losing himself so deeply to anger that at times he scarcely seemed of this world.
Several months passed in this fashion - he became almost a beast of the wilds himself, adding several scars to the formidable collection he had earned in war. It was during these times that he at last came upon another sapient being - one that would change him forever. That evening, he found his path barred by a titanic figure, clad only in simple, loose-fitting hide and cloth. The figure spoke to him, though he did not hear what was said; always thirsting for battle, even more than he had whilst in control of his faculties, he launched himself into a fray with the being - only to be soundly defeated time and again by his deceptive agility and the sheer force of his blows. Before long, he fell to the ground, and, casting his weapon aside, begged for death. The goliath’s (for that was what he was) severe face did not soften as he said:
“Your path is familiar to me; I see in you a kindred soul, brother of stone. Alone. Lost to rage. I, too, was once lost, as now you are.”
Clutched in a massive fist, the goliath forced Bruetus’ weapon back into his hand, his scowling visage not more than a foot away. “The difference in you and I is that you would surrender. You would make yourself weak - crumbling in the face of your troubles, rather than face them and overcome.” He snorted and turned away. Taking a ragged breath, Bruetus looked up, his face forming into a familiar scowl. “Don’ yeh talk ter me ‘bout it. Yeh don’ know anythin’, oaf.” The goliath turned back to face him, his perpetually disappointed-seeming look hardly registering to the dwarf.
“Do I not? I have said I have walked this road that you are on; if you will not listen, then I cannot help you.” Folding his arms, the goliath looked down at the wreck of a once-proud dwarf lying on the ground in front of him, the latter with a still-defiant expression, though it faltered somewhat as the pain of recent times settled in his for once clearer mind.
“All roit. Maybe yeh do, I‘ll give yeh tha‘. But yeh cannae help me; no one can.” His axe left his hand again, but not to fall to the ground, but rather to be sheathed across his back as he got shakily to his feet. “I’m no’ even sure if I can anymore.” The goliath shook his head.
“The stone must be steady. Certain. You are not of the stone now, but you can return.” Despite himself, Bruetus listened as the goliath spoke, and spoke back in return; frustratingly vague, and interspersed with alien terms in Gol’kaa for the former, and bluntly with colorful Dwarven oaths for the latter. As they did, the inklings of peace wormed their way into his mind, for the first time in those several long months. Much had been said, and the sun had begun to show itself on the horizon when at last the goliath rose.
“Come with me, brother of stone. Such has wisdom been passed down to me - now, it is time to make it yours as well.” He paused for a moment. “I am Lo-Ko’en, the Deathfist, sworn to Kavaki the Ram-Lord. Perhaps you may never again be whole, Bruetus of the Broken Stone, but peace will come to you in time.” Bruetus did not question how the goliath knew his name, but he swore to himself then that he would never forget - neither his own, nor Lo-Ko’en’s. And when Lo-Ko’en set off….Bruetus followed.
The Present:
After several years of exile, the Oathstone clan summoned Bruetus back to their mountain city with ill tidings: Amryn's untimely passing at the hands of a giant raid. All that he had worked for in tempering his rage was almost undone, but in the end, his will triumphed over his anger, greatly impressing the council that had originally sentenced him. As such, they permitted him to personally avenge his wife's death with Moradin's blessing. When the task was done, and Amryn's remains laid to rest in a place of honor in the clan's necropolis, Bruetus made to leave once more, returning to his exile - but in a nearly unprecedented decision, the elders elected to reverse his punishment, seeing the changes that had been wrought in him from his years away. He in turn chose to once more take up his family name - Anvilfist - and rose once again to be a respected figure in his clan, and the dwarven race as a whole. He further pledged himself to the All-Father, and was ultimately ordained as the dwarven equivalent of a paladin in the dwarf god's service.
Through all of this, however, Bruetus had not forgotten the world outside his mountain home. Endowed with new purpose, to truly make better the world for all - not only the dwarves - he bade the Oathstone an amiable farewell to wander the land once again.