Raglin

It'd been a long time. Too long. Numerically, it was more than Raglin even bothered to keep track of. All he knew, was that this old breastplate was getting rusted to all hell. Fingers that once curled triumphantly 'round the hilt of an axe now curled dependently 'round the knob of a gnarled cedar cane. The bear head at its precipice the perfect mold for the elderly dwarf's grip. A soft smile played on his lips as he peered down at the little visage of the beast. To him, it'd been a confidant for many a year. A face to look into when murmuring or mumbling the woes of a traveler, of a dwarf lost in his own world. The years had not been kind, ravaging what was once the figure of strength and pride, reshaping it into the considerably softer form of an elder. But those arms, wreathed in markings of a bygone warrior, still shown proudly when not enveloped within the warmth of his fur cloak. It'd been a long road. What seemed like an age of recuperating from a sickness laid upon him in the most foul of ways, of wounds of the soul and the body, had changed the dwarf forever. The fiery champion of the common fighter looked more akin to a paragon of books and hearths. But alas, it was a lonely existence. Familiar faces had been a novelty of the past, a forgotten fruit born by a life of a traveler, an adventurer, a soldier, and a father. All things of the past, of course. Now, after so many years, he was but simply himself. Raglin. The weathered visage peered up beneath the heavy hood he bore over his head, the thick ivory beard the only sign that this mound of fur was indeed of the dwarven folk. A storm blue eye and its milky white pair were cast over the monks' gardens, the pillars that had been such a constant throughout the years. He drew a deep breath through his nose, sniffing the sweet smell of freshly cooked bread, of the books and the orchards beyond. It was from this serenity of nostalgia that he was roused. "Raglin... Raglin Edgehand?" (( Hey-howdy-hey! Old timer here. Figured I'd pop back into a community I fell in love with oh-so-many years ago. Nice to see some old friends, old faces. If anyone wants to chat, reminisce, or RP? Just shoot me a PM. Thanks all, and much love. ))

=(Election Ballot of Urguan)=- Place an X next to the candidate of your choice. Your Name ((RP and MC)): Raglin Edgehand (_Raglin_) Race: Dwarf Kalion Grandaxe (Dashing_Knight) Lathros Irongrinder (Lathros) Verthaik Frostbeard (Kralek) X Skippy Irongut (Skippy369) Fili Grandaxe (Cpt_Noobman) Changed me vote ta' make t'ings more interesting, hehe. Both lads are great an' worthy.

The clan has officially established its own hall within the limits of Tal Azwyr, and is providing food, gear, and a room to any and all Edgehand members! Contact me via forum PMs if you're interested in joining us.

Back in my day, those fiends wouldn't dare fiddle with our sticks!

Anyone with a 'Fair' or above tinkering skill, I have a proposition for you! I need a Skull Mask made, and will happily provide the ingredients, as well as a 100 minas tip.

Any idea what items are used, exactly, for say, a skeleton mask?

Any idea what mats are used to create the masks, or if they've even been implemented yet?

(( Just a random thing my friend wanted me to do, working off of the prompt "A simple guard defending his home from a monster." )) Crunch. The roach's demise was the fourth of many, squashed beneath the whims of his iron-clad boot. It was a slow day, but it always was. There was hardly a thing to worry about in that little village nestled on the border of the Whitetail River. Crunch. Another one gone. So went away another insect, and so went away another minuscule moment of his life. Now that he thought about it, Frank truly did have a lot to worry about in his small village. Aside from the itchy feeling of his leather jerkin, there was that itchy anxiety involving the merchant's daughter. What a beaut she was, and her eyes the color of freshly hewn emeralds. The young guardsman didn't know a lot about jewels, but he did know that emeralds were his favorite... Ever since she first smiled at him. A precarious thought, a penniless farm boy garbed in leather and a spear, aspiring to marry a girl of such blatant... Poise. A soft sigh escaped him, as his fantasies drew him away once more, dozing off to that occasional sound. Crunch. A few bugs and wistful thoughts later, and suddenly his daydream was shattered. The sweet, honeyed voice of that golden-haired girl was growing louder, deeper, and reverberating, until it was a bellowing voice in his ear. "FOCKIN' GET MOVIN'! THAT DAMN OGRE IS HERE!" The sound of his commander always drew a sickening feeling in the depths of his stomach, and this was no better. With a flail and a gasp for air - and reality, no less - young Frank scurried about. It wasn't until he joined the other assorted men that he saw it. Tossed end over end, the merchant cart filled with a myriad of spices, silks, and jewels was upended entirely. The yelping sound of that sorry, fat sod of a merchant pierced the air; and yet was soon muffled by the roar of that hulking beast. Standing easily twelve feet high, and weighing far more than the cattle it carried on its shoulder, the ogre was a hideous gray thing. With a tooth jutting upwards far past his nostrils, and many missing between, he was an ugly sight. The spruce tree he carried lazily in one hand was lofted high, waggling in fury. That single, red eye, was blazing in a primal rage. Frank was petrified, and he wasn't the only one. Men all around practically (and some literally) pissed themselves at what they beheld. Yet, their stupor of awe was soon broken. Tossed aside by the whim of a new horror. Jewels were strewn about, many now worthless and dulled by the dirt of the old road. Yet, a pair still gleamed, glossed and glistening with tears, that fair-haired maiden scrabbling on the ground in terror. Suddenly, the idea of a golden band beneath a birch altar seemed so fragile. Like a newborn child, it reached out towards him in blind necessity. It awoke something in Frank. Something deep, deeper than the fluttering heart of adrenaline, deeper than the sickness in his gut, or the quivering in his muscles. It was feral, it was humane. Striding forward, past the bedraggled line of guards, he hefted his spear in hand. That sharpened steel point looked so meager and useless in the wake of such a monster, but it was no matter. His true weapon gleamed brighter than the gold ornaments about him. Adrenaline surged through him, bravery coursing through his veins like a valiant destrier upon the fields of battle. The world was growing hazy, the tunnel of focus settled upon that heaving, breathing creature. The squinted hues of the blonde merchant's daughter shined bright in hope. A new fluttering took over her body, a new gripping sensation of euphoria. With a roar, the young man leapt into the air, a grin nearly plastered on his face. The ogre turned, its eye widening. That great tree began to fall downwards, but Frank felt as if he was flying faster than an eagle. Suddenly, there was nothing stopping him. Nothing would stand in the way of ma-- Crunch.

(( I'm told it'll receive a stamp of approval or whatever from the Grand King, but the clan has existed for years on end, now. So yes. It's a thing. ))