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proskiier722

New Member
  • Content Count

    8
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About proskiier722

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    proskiier722#9250
  • Minecraft Username
    proskiier722

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Somewhere near snow
  • Interests
    Skiing, drawing, engineering, and coding.

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Forge
  • Character Race
    Mountain Dwarf

Recent Profile Visitors

71 profile views
  1. Name: Sylvester Voronov Age: 34 Gender: Male Race: Human Position Applied For: Comptroller of Finances Relevant Experience: 13 years of independent entrepreneurship Additional Notes: My business was extremely successful before being dissolved due to unrelated legal issues. [[Username & Discord]]: proskiier722, proskiier722#9250
  2. “Lots of weddin’s these days ta go ta. Kinda boring, they are. I hope it ain’t always like this...” Forge looks up, stroking his beard. ”Well, actually, I s’pose it just means more free drinks an’ partyin’,” he says, smiling. ”I guess I won’t mind if it’s always like this.”
  3. Forge stares at the notice on the board. He pinches himself, making sure he isn’t dreaming. ”This is why I don’t live in Helena...” he says under his breath.
  4. Forge closed the book. For a long while he sat there, staring at the title. ‘The Death of a Beaver.’ Was he no better than the dwed in the book? Would he, eventually, lose all purpose, and... and- ”Hey, um, mister dwarf sir? Are you done with that book?” The small voice interrupted Forge from his thoughts. ”Oh, o’course. Here,” he said, offering the book to the child in front of him. She took it sheepishly. ”Thanks, mister!” she said quickly, with a little smile. He watched as the small figure ran off. As the child left his sight, Forge stood up, smiling. “There’s always gonna be some purpose in me life,” he said to himself, “if nae but tha simplest things I do make people happy.”
  5. Though he loved them dear, He left his family, with a tear To go off alone To the kingdom of A knock. Forge set down his quill, looking at the wall in front of him. ”I told ye, I can’t do no smithin’ till tha mornin’. Come back later.” ”Sir, ‘tis simply a message I bring. The king...” Forge looked over at the messenger boy, eyelids drooping. ”Well? Spit it out, will ya?” The boy looked down at his shoes, squirming uncomfortably. ”Well, um... he- he’s dead. Died of an infection from his wound.” ”Oh...” ”Go ahead, ye can leave now.” Forge looked at his unfinished poem. The kingdom of... of... Tears filled his eyes. He stood up, slamming his fist against the table in front of him, spilling the bottle of ink on it. ”Damnit! Couldn’t even say goodbye... Couldn’t even go ta tha damn ball!” He bowed his head. ”I’m sorry, me king. Ye were so supportive of me, ye gave me this opportunity, ye praised me smithin’... and I didn’t do a thing for you.”
  6. do we really need more blacksmiths? there isn’t much smithing that needs to be done. i’ll take anyone in if they really want, but it seems unnecessary.
  7. Application: Name: joe Gender Identity: attack helicopter How much anime do you watch: every season of jojo Are you an epic gamer: yes i love fortnite Please write a 3 paragraph essay explaining why you are a disappointment to your parents: yes i love fortnite What mental maturity do you possess? (Hint: Too much mental maturity = application denied 🙂 ) joe mama lmao gottem
  8. proskiier722

    proskiier722

    Fordin was born in Kal’varoth to two hardworking mountain dwarves. His mother was descended from the Greataxe clan, and was a mighty warrior in her youth. His father was a blacksmith, though not a very good one. He taught Fordin, his only child, all he knew about his trade. Fordin quickly surpassed his father in skill, learning more than his father ever knew through his own experimentation. Because of his affinity for smithing, Fordin adopted the nickname Forge. Forge, not yet of age to begin working, had much free time after helping his father in the shop. He spent it researching the old architects, especially Fimlin Grandaxe, and how they built the city. He also tinkered with his old toys, taking them apart to see how they worked. Soon, his inquisitive and skeptical nature got the best of him. He pondered on his dwarven heritage and tradition, and whether it was real or not. Were the Brathmordakin real? Were grandpa’s old stories true? And most of all, did he want to live in the same city for his entire life? Forge decided he had enough of living with his fellow dwarven kin and following all the traditions. He aspired to live in a city, one above ground with grand guild halls, large markets filled with charismatic merchants and their bizarre trinkets, and adventurers seeking their fortune. He longed to open his own shop, selling his great weapons and armor to real adventurers. So, when Forge finally came of age, he packed his things and left to fulfill his dreams.
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