Thrym

"Oi'm Thrym Silverfist, son ov Braum Longsword, son of Draco Irongut. Oi've always been an Irongut! An oi'm sayin' nuttin' worse den ye've said ov me ancestors."

Thrym stands up, the large bear hide about his shoulders fluttering majestically in the wind from a mine shaft somewhere that just happened to be blowing to make his bear hide aswell as his bear flutter in this majestic manner. He walks up to Kjell, a red rage beginning to glitter in his eyes. His bronzed muscular arms shine in the torchlight as strides forward. "Ye think oi'm any less a dwarf den ye, Kjell?! Oi've forged da weapons ye Ire'earts use so much but are too thick'eaded ta know 'ow ta make well an oi've used dem in battle too! An' at least oi dun't need ta foind me self a sheep w'en oi'm feelin' lonely!" ((Kjell, you make me laugh. Enjoyed the read!))

((This basically sums up my situation. You can check to see if I'm on when you are though, always willing to RP!))

Your Name: Thrym Silverfist of the Irongut Clan ((MC Name)): NoobCrafter14 The candidates: Igor Ireheart ((Lefty_Bojengles)) Dominic Irongut ((Doom6153)) X Dizzy Irongrinder ((Dizzy771))

Thrym sits silently, refusing to take a side between his biological son and the one he adopted and raised as his own.

Thrym hears of the death of Thorik while at his forge. As the tale of the death reaches his ears his hand grows numb about the handle of his hammer and it slips from his hand, banging loudly upon the blade resting on the anvil before him. Oblivious to the now ruined sword, he sits against the wall and thinks back to the days in Urguan. He remembers working as the Forge Lord under Thorik as Urguan grew to new heights under his reign. Sitting up with new resolve he grabs the ruined blade being forged upon his anvil and throws it into the fire, melting it down. Thrym begins the work of forging a new, finishing the blade with more care than he has given for many years, working as carefully as if it were his first blade, not one of thousands. When it is completed he begins inscribing upon the face of the blade with a chisel. Grabbing the blade he heads to the tombs, bowing his head in greeting at Wulfric as he comes into the Grandaxe crypt. He lays his blade beside the pipe on the tomb of Thorik, a blade with all the mighty works he completed in his life etched upon its surface, the final insribing telling of his fight with Ondnarch's minions. He spends a time at the tomb, paying his respects before turning to leave the tombs. As he reaches the stairs he says one thing. "Farewell, ma lord." EDIT: ((#Thorik4Paragon2k13))

Thrym sees his Farren's work and walks up to him as they watch the king adjusting. Leaning in he begins to talk. "Farren, oi must say oi'm impressed wit' wut ye've dun 'ere. Truly spectacular smiffen." He pauses a moment, as he watches Thorin walk, his stride not as sure as it once was. "But oi 'ave ta ask lad, do ye tink ye've really given 'im back loife 'er merely prolonged da agony before 'e foinalleh dies?"

I love it. Simple, to the point, perfect.

((So....I'm going to apparently be the odd one of the bunch here and congratulate Tortek.)) Thrym walks up, a large grin on his face. He embraces his son warmly and pushes him arm length away, still smiling. "Oi'm so proud ov ye son. Oi 'ave faith in yer abiliteh ta represent da gods." After congratulating his son, he turns and flashes a momentary glare to everyone calling Tortek a traitor. Once done with this he strolls off to do some old dwarven smith stuff somewhere.

7/10. Really cool but it seems a bit blurry to me