Thrym

Thrym finds himself wandering into the Tavern. He hasn't had a drop of ale in nearly a hundred years and he feels a thirst coming on fiercely. Seeing his friend Hiebe in the corner he walks over.

"'iebe!", he exclaims happily, his voice a bit rough sounding from years of little use. Thrym calls for an ale, any ale, as he sits down.

Thrym, looking for whoever is in charge as well, sees the young man and his bag.

"'ello lad," he says, walking over. "Is it possible oi can 'elp ye wit' anytin' per'aps?"

Thrym is confused when he sees Dormin. Before he awoke in the snow his last memory was of Aegis and he has no knowledge of the Doomforged. However, from his beard and height Thrym can tell that Dormin is a dwarven brother and smiles as Dormin greets him.

"Why, 'ello yerself lad. Oi'm quite glad ta be back mehself."

Extending his silver hand in greeting he asks a question.

"Yeh seem ta know moi name, could oi trouble ye ta learn yers?"

((Cya Zez. Good luck with everything! Hope to see you around occasionally))

Thrym Silverfist walks into the smithing district of Kal'Azgoth, looking at it with an expression somewhat of awe.

"My...dis is a tin' ov beauty," he mutters, walking through all the way to the great anvil. He places his hands upon the anvil and rubs his fingers across the surface, taking it in.

"Oi 'aven' seen a true forge in years..." he says, overjoyed to be standing before the anvil. Turning, he looks around.

"Any'un 'ere?"

THE RETURN

The dwarf crunches onward through the snow, the trail of footprints behind him stretching off into the distance. Around his shoulders is a large bearskin jacket, his bare arms scarred and tanned from many travels. On his back sits a large scabbard and in his hand a sword stretches, old and worn but shining and sharp. A large braided white beard falls down his chest, the ends tucked into his belt. Shielding his eyes with his left hand he looks forward, a road visible to him.

"At last. By Yemekar, oi've found it." The dwarf sets foot upon the road and begins to walk, pausing to read the signs posted at intervals to catch his bearings. Once more he pushes onward, his legs pumping, carrying him towards the destination he has been looking for since he awoke. His journey has been long. He remembers nothing that may have happened in Asulon. All he knows is that he awoke in snow, Hanseti he think it was called. His journeys have been filled with nothing but snow and ice since then. He had found a small boat, small enough for him to handle, and had set sail. He washed ashore on some strange islands, snowy but with lava pouring from a mountain. He knew the work, could tell from the way the stone was worked. He was at a Dwarven hold but something horrible had happened. He restocked his supplies on the island, patched his vessel and set sail once more. When his supplies were long spent and he feared he might die a shore appeared in the distance, growing more and more clear as he went. He saw mountains, covered in snow. This was nothing new to him, snow was as familiar as his own beard, so, without much thought, he landed on the shore and began to walk, hoping that Yemekar had at last led him back to his people. He walked on for weeks, keeping his sword sharp and clean as only a smith could hope to do. And that is how he got to where he is now, walking down a road. Before him a bridge spans a frozen river, the architecture of it bringing a smile to his face. Rounding a mountain he sees where the road is taking him, sees a sight he had not dreamed of. Before him, looming up more beautiful than any gem, than any vein of carbarum is the gate of Kal'Azgoth. "By all t'e works ov Yemekar, oi 'ad forgotten da skill of ma people...." His steps continue him onward, tears dripping silently from his eyes, freezing on his skin. It had been years since he heard a voice, years since he had any other to speak to but himself and the gods. Breathing a prayer of thanks to the Brathmordakin and to Belka in particular, the goddess of travels, he walks up the steps, the great bars of the gate finally coming into view.

He comes within view of the gate and is hailed by a guard. "'ew goes dere?" the voice asks. The old dwarf sheathes his blade and raises his right hand in greeting to the guard. The skin of the hand gleams as if made of silver. "Thrym, Thrym Silverfist!" he says, his voice cracking and coming out hoarse from ages without use. "W'at is yer business 'ere sir?" the guard's questioning voice rings out once again. Thrym smiles. "Ta come 'ome at last lad...ta come 'ome." As the list of questions goes out, Thrym answers without truly paying attention. His eyes are locked on the other side of the gate, trying to get a better view of the city he had been dreaming to see. Finally the bars begin to rise up, his feet begin to move forward, taking him into the grand city of Kal'Azgoth. Walking to the balcony, Thrym looks down at the city and the tears begin to flow once more down his face. "'ome....'ome at last..."

[ MC Name: ] NoobCrafter14

Wut be yer name: Thrym Silverfist

Where do ya live: Currently, no where

Wut be yer primary skills: Blacksmithing is my greatest skill though I possess ability with a sword.

Short biography about yourself (5+ sentences): Thrym is an old dwarf of the clan back from the days in Aegis. The grandson of Draco Irongut, he uses the name Silverfist due to a tradition his father and uncle started since they didn't realize their Irongut heritage. When he was first learning the arts of smithing, an accident with his teacher caused the skin on his hand to take on the appearance of pure silver though it is as vulnerable as any other skin. Thrym has been thought dead for many years but has returned, showing this to be false.

How de ya be related to te Irongut Clan (See family tree, dont create your own father or mother unless you PM Hiebe): Grandson of Draco Irongut. Son of Braun Longsword, the bastard of Draco.

De ya swear loyalty to te Irongut Clan Lord: Thrym has always been loyal to his clan and swears to continue in this.

OOC

Do you agree to follow all the rules of the Irongut Clan? Yup

Skype name? (we have a clan chat) You have it.

Norgrim walks through the district to find Farren at a forge.

"Farren, are yeh going ta 'ave classes start ta beh 'eld ta learn new smithin' techniques an' such?"

Nogrim walks in. "W'at yeh callin' meh fer?"

((Sorry about recent inactivity. School decided it wanted to be overly difficult for a couple weeks))

Bael is tired of reapplying for things everytime power shifts. He decides against joing this incarnation of the Smithing Guild.

((Current members of the old version of the smithing guild do not need to reapply. Merely to message me.))

((More to be added. Special thanks to Darkjames for helping me write this.))

Though I like your idea, I always saw rune smithing as more of a overall kind of deal. As in, you could place runes on not only weapons but other things such as walls, floors. Etc etc.

From what I saw some runes could be put on walls/floors and others could be put on weapons.

This is amazing! There is no better way for me to say it, simply amazing.

((  ))

((Please refrain from posting apps here. Use the new thread which can be found pinned at the top of Dwarven Roleplay))

((Bael for Archbishop!~))

I love this idea. Just, so much yes. I would love to walk under those bulky pillars in Urguan once more!

[[ We do what we want. ]]

((Your siggy is perfect lol))

5/10

5/10

Norgrim seems sombre as he watches the display, his customary grin of amusement failing to surface. His eyes watch his cousin as he hears Dormin's words.

"Oi feel ta change in yeh cousin. Strange indeed it seems ta meh an' thought provokin'...."

Norgrim scratches his as yet naked chin, his manner for once betraying the deep thought that he is often engaged in, his own eyes peering at Dormin from the dark.

Banned for use of the words "moar" and "plz"

9/10

10/10 <3 kittens

 I welcome both of ye inte da Kirkja Dverga. Fer now, ye will be taught by Maellik ((Once again, your training will have to take place through PM's until Thrym starts playing as Maellik again))

*any birds sent to Maellik return unanswered*

9/10, you got more famous since I last said your fame :P