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  • Character Name
    Aerrund Silverbraid
  • Character Race
    Mountain Dwarf

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  1. "Finalleh som' engineerin' tae be done 'round 'ere."
  2. "Armakak be blessed, there's profit tae be made!" Aerrund laughs as he fills out a paper to Ulfar. Name: Aerrund Grundust Age: 48 Clan: Clanless
  3. "Narvak oz Master Grelu." Aerrund chuckles as he pours himself another round.
  4. RianNeverfield


    Physical Describtion Aerrund is a young adult Dwarf of slightly below average size and stocky stature. His hair is a mix of honey and hay, not just in color but also texture. The greasy mat of hair falls slightly below his shoulders, usually kept in simple braids to kept them out of tools and face. His beard, while equally as greasy and adorned with a puffy mustache, is kept short. Not by choice though, blackened singed sports point towards accidents in the lab. His goggles, apron and toolbelt point towards an artisan profession, most likely engineering based on the unfinished schematics to be seen. Glazed blue eyes and a red nose additionally point towards a deep love towards ale and other brew. Roleplay Scenario You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" she begins, then pauses to study your face— ”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” Aerrund grunts in distrust of the Situation. "By my fathers Beard, how much did ye drink? Ye truly outdone yerself idiot, if this is where ye wake up." Clouded glasses eye the room, trying to look for a response, before he continues with a sigh: "So ye want to know me story? Sure thing, just gonna make it short though, not really the talkative guy meself. Been born up in the mountains, frigid cold, could freeze off ye old ass if not careful. Not in any clan though. Me old father been a hermit and me mother to good to leave him be. We had a workshop there and supplied nearby towns with tools and weapons to make some coin. Old man was crazy, tried to make explosives, didn't end to well. May his spirit rest. Mother sent me out to walk in his steps. Be better, be smarter. She said. Well, here I am, no home, no smarter, but determined to do it better." He exhales in another grunt, eyeing the old woman. "Now what it is that ye really want?" ...
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