The Doomforged

Added; Dormmar Lore. Edited; Roster (Member List)

((Umm... Wat? Explain thoroughfully the origin, name and lore behind this anvil. -DarkJames.))

The selected for the Doomforged will be; [center][size="6"][font="Impact"][b]WizardInABox![/b][/font][/size][/center] Please; PM DarkJames, Aoze (Aryon), Rhia or Goldrim, so that we can add you to our Skype Conversation.

With the new world coming round rather fast, the Doomforged have decided that it would be a phenomenal time to give the players a chance to join us in our Role-Play experience. Unlike most Role-Play groups, we do not allow you to simply join, nor fill out an Application. We choose those who we know are skilled, do not Meta-Game or Power-Game, and will provide a fun experience for everyone. However, we have run out of ideas for people to play our characters. This is where you, the player, come in. If you are interested in joining our group, simply post below, and in 3 days time ( December 23rd, 5pm EST ) We shall choose one or two players who we believe will be able to play with skill. We hope you the best, and look forward to recruiting! Remember; by posting these answers below, you do understand that, to even be considered, you need to be ready to take this “Doomforged” Character as your main, as we want full-dedicated players. The Doomforged thread & lore can be found by clicking here! As it is with most Role-Play groups, we require you to read the lore first. To make sure of that, we ask you these lore questions: On the other hand, on the first weeks, should you get accepted, you will be guided by an elder player in order to attune to our customs, our culture accordingly, translating lore to in-game behaviour.

Dormmar Dormmar first granted the magic to the Dwarves after witnessing what he deems, even today, the most sinister, utterly horrendous pillage, death-striving skirmish. Dwarves were happily mining their way through the core of Neywä itself, as they stumbled an already hollow cave. They stumbled forwards, bringing in the warriors from the upper levels of the kingdom, incase trouble aflew. They were in the right, A few renegade mages, who had devoted their life to kill the Dwarves who had rampaged and took over their sanctuary over to a Daemon, had trampled the Dwarves face-first into a trap. The Dwarves were under-handled, as their hammers couldn’t reach the fireballs of the attackers, some even casted ice upon them. Dormmar saw this skirmish, and saw the corpses of his beloved race on the ground, gouging for air, yet, all they could swallow was blood. From that day, Dormmar began working on a language. A language so powerful, that could tear through the very threads of The Void, and evoke permanent power into the land, which could be embedded to this powerful words, engraved into weapons, armors, and later, to the very user. This magic was instructed to the first Dwarves, fervent followers of the Kirkja Dverga, and they soon handled it quite well, attuning themselves to the Language like no other, the concepts being easy for a Dwarf to master. However, upon stranger eyes, these concepts would be impossible to grasp. Dormmar, upon seeing his creation, decided to grant upon the mortals his anvil, the first runic anvil, called by the Dwarves; "The Doom Forge" whilst in reality, it is of neutral alledgement. These anvil, upon others granted by the other Aenguls and Daemons, overseers of the kin, granted even furthermore power to the Dwarves, who soon grew as powerful as the Elven, Human mages, and the Orc Shamans. The Dwarves would carve the runic words on walls, soon making this language a secret and sacred tongue. These carvings could tell the entire civilization's history, such as Karik's walls, and Asgol's walls in the land of Asulon. Runes could affect both weapons, armors, and users, making themselves of a high reputation amongst other races, considered, of noble-tailor, or, exclusive to nobles. Whilst partly-true, these Runes were mostly applied to Clan-Lords, Kings and other type of honor-bound nobles of the Dwarven Kingdom, with the exception of great smiths, mythical warriors, and heroes within the kingdom. This Runic Language, called Initär Norváthiik by the Dwarves was by far a complex, filled with substantial words, strange, mixedly-embarking words and odd definitions, which the mere concept is now lost to time. Dormmar, or Terwálan in the Initär Norváthiik, created this language, with one purpose in mind, to make magic for Dwarves, who were vastly upper-handed by other races and their own magical powers, and not for a conversation. However, later on, it was found on several walls, of Chants using this language, which can be roughly translated to common, yet it loses much of it’s honor “cost” as most of it are definitions now drifted away in the minds of the elder Dwarves. While other races didn’t like dwelling with the Dwarves, some Humans and Elves tried to attain this art, yet failed horribly, and many died, all due to their relationship to The Void. Said relationship, when it came to Dwarves, was too lesser, to be considered none.

Introduction Flesh Runes have been an ancestral tradition in the Doomforge. Flesh Runes - Known as Kathiik in Doomforge language, it is the most sadistic and perverted form of Rune-Crafting, a whole new root stemming from the original Runes. Kathiik or Kathin [singular] have been a mystery to all the foreigners, having prejudice of this act into the border of cannibalism. Kathiik are usually carved into those who have proven themselves worthy of these [Most commonly, those who are older than one hundred and fifty years old]. It is told that Kathiik is actually a technique found in the ancient walls of Asgol. Perhaps only the eldest remember what once was carved into the now blurred with dust walls. The current Throl [Rune Lord] Of Asgol is Yorri Doomforge. Discovery of the Kathiik Hodir lumbers towards the forge as heat emanates from the lava surrounding him, sweat dripping from his forehead as he notices Yorri’s absence, he blinks his eyes multiple times as sweat trails down his cheek. After a brief while his beard drenched in sweat, he shakes his head as he removes his chestplate with a puff. “How can Yorri last down ‘ere..” he asks himself as he grabs the Rune Rod firmly with his right hand, he sets himself before the Doom Forge as a wicked thought crosses his mind “Why craft a weapon if ah can be tae’ weapon meself?”, he sets his left arm on the forge, looking at the walls, which have some runes carved into them. Glaring at them, he begins carving into his flesh, the flesh turning into a deep black, blood drawn from the wounds. He finishes a small rune, placed upon his forearm, and as he leaves the Forge, he begins feeling in-power... Hodir looks down at the rune as it glows in a tone of bright crimson red. Years went by, Hodir soon being engulfed with interest in these runes, that he remember to have seen similar in Urir’s skin. He explained Yorri, who congratulated him on discovering a new function for Thiik. Soon, Yorri perfected the design, and began carving these runes into every member who wished so, Hodir being the one with most Kathiik. Yorri explained that these runes were pure energy of the forge, and thus, if they could be carved into a weapon,enhanced by the user giving the actual item a meaning and thus, the rune activating, so the Kathiik could function. He began studying the rune-walls in Asgol, soon discovering more Thiik that could apply to the body, to enhance it’s speed or it’s way to deal damage. Types Of Kathiik: Defensive Runes [blue-Coloured] -The Rune Of Speed The Rune [Or Thiik] of speed allows the bearer to move faster. This run is usually find on the knees and thigh, usually reaching up to the pectorals. Chant of the rune of Speed: “Vokron A’... Iviak ishelon.. Erronok thiik... Va silan... Erkan voaznuk.” Which, translated, roughly means: “Brother of blood... Here we reunite... Under the the runic sun... In honor, and fear... To take the speed that you gift us.” The Rune Of Defense The Rune of defense gives the bearer plentiful of defense against; Weather [be it extreme heat or freezing cold] Creatures and everything that may threaten the bearer literally [The rune makes your body tougher, making the skin almost rock-hard]. This rune is usually seen in the back of the bearer, usually carved to form a shield. Chant of the Rune of Defense: “Vokron A’... Doshtiik vakna... Erronok thiik... Arroka vok... Kroniz erkan vodozk.” Which translates to: “Brother of blood... Runes bestow our hearts... Under the runic sun... In pride and skill... Atake your brothers with the might of your shield.” Offensive Runes [Red-Coloured] Rune Of The Swift-Hand This is a rather small rune, carved usually into the right or left hand of the bearer, it gives the user an incredible amount of speed when using his weapon, [Which has a rune too, so when both clasp together, the effect becomes active]. Chant of the Rune The Swift Hand: “Vokron A’... Veino vokin... Erronok thiik... Sorron K’a... Retagh Giikan” Which translates to: “Brother of blood... Weapon wield... Under the runic sun... Hammers fall... To rise and fall” Rune Of The Fist The rune will trail from the shoulder all the way to the lower arm, which will grant the bearer accelerated striking speed and may emit a small shockwave depending on where the strike lands. Chant of the Rune of the Fist: “Vokron A’... Desnoigrokk vok... Erronok Thiik... Vertaigas Redunal... Raina jator” Which translates to: “Brother of blood... Skilled warrior... Bring your despair!... Gift us with the whirlwind.” Type A: Weak Bokkanym These creatures are small, an adult reaching the 1 meter 20 centimeters tall. They don’t know how to build, nor use weapons, but they still develop on birth a gibberish language, with no real lyrical structure, ranging a lot from the various groups of these creatures. The Bokkanym live for about 3 months, yet they are asexual, and produce amany children. Most Bokkanym are stupid as the stupidest goblin, and usually don’t even fight back when provoked. However, if you destroy their home place, these will riot into anger, trying to kill the one who did this, and the person’s companions. The strange and special fact about Bokkanyms, is that they are born out of Stalagmites, offspring of the pulsating energy of The Doom Forge. They are usually found hiding in the dark areas of Asgol. Type B : Useful Dirhim Dirhim are very useful creatures for the Doomforged and all races alike. They are an ancient, and immortal race of some sort of hound. They are about 1 meter and fifty centimeters tall, 8 meters long, and 3 meters wide. It’s size matches up to his strength and resistance; It can carry about 1000 kilograms with ease. Dirhim’s apparel is usually granted with deep black - dark crimson scales, and dark blue tusks. It usually has greyish green eyes with a sharp pupil that seems to resemble that of a reptile. After the Doomforged tamed it, using their understanding of anatomy [After dissecting a few.] of the Dirhim, inserted several machineries of their own tailor to make them move faster or ahold even more weight. Their main use; To transport from persons to cargo. The Dirhim usually travel at night, being afraid of the day. They are secretive creatures, albeit they protect their caves, deep in the ground. Type C : Dangerous Frost Wyrm "Far in the deep dark veins of earth, a creature lains. Noone knows who, with such sinister purposes, made it, but one is wise enough to step out of its way. The Wyrms are most feared for their ferocity...but also for their intelligence.” - Unknown Doomforged. Frost Wyrms lay beneath the frost lands of Hanseti, but have only been seen in Asgol. It's offsprings, in their early years, usually measure in 2 meters tall, and 7 long, and 3 wide. The bigger creatures, in their adult life, reach the 10-30 meters tall, 80-100 meters long, and 10 wide. The same measures of size apply for the other Wyrms, but only the frost wyrms are known now. They are extremely dangerous, and usually encountering one without the company of a Doomforged means your certain death. Frost Worms “Those vicious creatures...One must not defy their prowess...Vicious creatures they are. Do not approach a Worm’s abode. Those who do, do not return” - Hodir Doomforged. Frost Worms can be found in the deep caverns of The Doom City. They are minusciously sneaky and of protruding size. They can reach the size of 30 meters long, and about 5 meters tall. Their diet is based on Aerium, specifically, the dust that it produces within 1 hour and falls down to the ground. They protect the stashes of this metal with their lives, as why the Doomforged call these “The Black Keepers” since they protect the black metal Aerium. They can live for countless years, and they only mature in a few weeks. They were tamed by the Doomforged when they first settled. They now use them as a mean of transport, however, they still have some issues in the handling of these beasts, thus it’s labelling as “Dangerous” and not “Useful”.

“Far in the south, where cold stains the land, low deep, in ruins of old, there lays an ancient being. Monging amongst shadows and scourge; The Doomforged rise. Do not be linger, do not be fooled, for their ferocity, is not one to be dull.” Long ago, in the lands called Aegis, Urir Ireheart, a renown dwarf of Kal’Urguan, found himself travelling to what seemed the last shelter of the Dwarves; A refugee camp. Urir was almost running into his destination, knowingly to be soon preparing a plan for the last desperate blow to the Undead forces. He feels like he misses something, but he is in much hurry to remember. He continues, but suddenly, with a rash shove to his shoulder, someone stops him. “U-Urir!” Faeyin screamt. Urir came to a halt. “F’eyin!” Urir turns without hesitation as he looks at her, her gaze drilling into him as he remains silent for a brief moment before speaking. “W’ere ye been lass, ah’ve been luukin’ fer ye all over!” Faeyin seems to carry some odd object in her hand, a basket of some sorts covered with clothes in an attempt to hide it’s content inside, Urir quickly snaps as he hears Valen shout. “Hurry Urir, we ‘ave tae’ prepare!” Urir insists to see what is in the basket, she refuses as Urir lunges his arm forward, gripping the clothes and yanking them away, he freezes as the sight of three ash grey skinned Dwarves laying in the basket, the emotion of anger quickly fades away as a faint yet gentle smile appears across his face, the sight of his sons quickly calming him. “Faeyin, what in Urguan’s name...” She abruptly yanked the blankets away from him, turning around and shielding the basket of infants with her body. She glared over her shoulder icily at him, the look telling Urir all he needed to know; She hadn’t wanted him to know about the children, and even worse, she didn’t want him to have them. Urir quickly grew angry again, glowering up at the woman as he clenched his hands into tight fists. “Ye were plannin’ on keepin’ this from me, weren’t ye?! My own bloodeh sons!” Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke, his upper lip curling upwards as he took a hard stomp forwards, closer to her. In return she took a wide step back, unleashing a feral growl, like that of a lioness protecting her cubs. “They’re not yours. They’re mine, my sons, my children, mine to take care of! Don’t you dare...” Faeyin’s sentence was cut short as Urir suddenly grabbed at the front of her dress, pulling her forward. She let out a gasp, either of surprise, or fear, or simply anger as he began to speak in a low angry tone. “,T’ey be ours” She looked at him quizzically, trying to decipher his face, which usually showed little emotion, hard as rock. She tried to walk away, but she was pulled back by Urir “W’ere ye goin’!?” Urir roared. “These are my children!” She took a step forward. “Nay! T’ese be ours.” Urir, hesitantly, tried to touch one of the babies with his free-hand. Faeyin, rather frustrated, and deeply disappointed, allowed him to do so. Urir’s face formed a perturbing, yet fatherly smile, as he played with Odyn’s hair. He let go of her dress, lifting Hodir up, however, his face was rock-hard once again. He grabbed him harshly, holding him with his arms, at eye-level. “Ye’ be of me brood, boi?” He asked him, rhetorically. He noticed the obvious stub under the child, and the features of his own face, his nose, the nose of a dwarf. “Ye’ be a Ire’eart” Urir said, Hodir only able to look at his father’s eyes. The baby began crying, since he was beginning to feel cold, away from the grasp of his mother. Hodir was placed back into the care of his mother once again. Urir was holding to his innards what tears come to one who finds out he’s a father, but his pride overcame his parenthood. He could only express his emotions in one simple action; He leaned forward, forcing Faeyin to kiss his lips. She let out a muffled noise, disgruntled by his actions, and tried to push him away, to no avail. When he finally pulled away, she started walking away, but was stopped as Urir grabbed onto her arm roughly. Knowing it would be futile to try to get away from him, she allowed herself and the children to be drug off, towards the Alrasian Refugee Camp. They reached the camp, and he gave Faeyin shelter in his own tent, much to her chagrin. “Listen, Faeyin. These’re my sons, and I want ‘em raised as dwarven children should be.” He spoke with a voice tinged with sadness,crossing his arms as he looked down upon the children. “I’m not letting you of all people raise my children.” She spoke, angrily and loudly, and he suddenly knelt down beside her, interrupting her. “Oi’m nae’ lettin’ tae’ Undead follow us tuu’ t’is new land. Oi’m nae’ lettin’ ‘em haunt my children loike they’ve haunted us. Faeyin, oi’m going tuu’ bloodeh kill ‘em all, and oi’m gonna go down with ‘em” She narrowed her eyes at him quizzically as he continued speaking. “I’m givin’ ‘em to Thorik to raise. You got two choices; Go with ‘em and live in the new Dwarven lands, where’ver they are, and help him raise my sons, or...” She spoke up, standing to her full height as she left the basket with the infants on the ground. “They’re mine, not yours. You can’t have them, the Dwarves can’t have them. I’ll raise them how I want to, I don’t give a damn what you-” Her sentence was cut abruptly short as Urir’s fist landed square on her face, sending her flying backwards, landing with a hard ‘thump’ on the ground. “Option twuu’, ye never see ‘em again.” He growled angrily, picking the basket up and stepping over the unconscious dark elven woman. He quickly exited the Camp, leaving her there as he headed a short sprint down the road to the Blackened Portal which lead to the Verge...and to his son’s safety. Whatever beasts roamed the decrepit ruins that the Verge Portal first let out into were no match for Urir’s axe. He barely even noticed the various spiders biting at him or zombies clawing at him as he hurried through the ruins, up the spiral staircase until he finally reached the light of day. Immediately he could feel which direction to go, as the rush of people, refugees, politicians, families, royalty all converged upon one singular direction; That of their future, that of the ships of their respective nations, including Kal’Urguan’s. Urir boarded the Dwarven ship with basket in hand and entered the Captain’s Quarters as he greeted his fellow Dwarves, those he considered his own flesh and blood, Kjell, Valen and Thorik stood together discussing their plans against the Undead as Urir sets the basket on the table. He looks into Thorik’s inquisitive gaze, moving the basket’s blanket with his eyes. Urir reveals the three ash-skinned babies. At first, Thorik gestures with a frown, to which Urir nods at. “T’ese be me’ sons...” He explains, sounding proud, yet eerily sad. He feels a hand on his shoulder, looking up, he sees Thorik’s hand. “Ah understand.” He says shortly. The scene, turns into grieving silence, completely opposite to what is outside, where people fight over food, ramble over nothing, and scream from one side to the other. Urir breaks the silence “Ah need ye tuu’ look after ‘dem...Ah dunnae want t’em ‘armed, Thorik.” He explains. “Aye, oi’ll make sure ta’ raise ‘em as me own an’ tell ‘em tales of how great t’eir fat’er was.” Urir nods, looking down at the basket as Thorik shelters the three. Urir had precious little time to spend with his sons, and soon Kjell and Valen made it clear it was time to go. They left the ship with a parade of Dwarves following, cheering them on as the champions of Kal’Urguan. The horns trumpeted them all the way back to Aegis, then down the road to Laurelin, where the final stand against the Undead would be started. Though it would not be made there, for this time, the fight would be brought to the Undead. Cheers erupt from the watching crowds, Urir grinning and waving boisterously, more than happy to accept the praise. Out of the corner of his eye he seems to spy two glowing, purple eyes in the crowd, but he quickly writes it off, taking his place among the Champions of the other nations. He pays no mind to whatever speeches are given, watching the crowd. He glares at the Ascended who is bestowing Aerial’s blessing on the arms of the Champions, Urir refuses and snarls, “Ah dunnae’ need a blessin’ ‘o tha’ wench!” Urir says as he positions himself before the portal prematurely, as Thorik makes an appearance. He beckons for Urir to come over, who looks at him quizzically, approaching warily. Thorik chuckles “Ye’ goin’ like ‘tat?” He motions to his armor. Thorik shouts, as two dwarves approach, carrying a golden chest. “T’is me friend, is w’at ye gunnae wear.” Thorik says filled with confidence, ordering the two keepers of the chest to open it. Inside, a beautiful armor, crafted of a strange-looking diamond, seeming more in the tint of scales, the shoulder pads, with two runes each, both glowing strong. Urir looked at it, awe-struck. He recognized it from the myths and children’s tales; Urguan’s armor. “Tis’ armor was crafted by Urguan an’ was given tuu’ tae’ first Braveaxe, ‘tis armor ‘as saved me an’ me ancestors countless ‘o toimes an’ is ‘e relic ov tae’ Dwarves, now get in t’ere an’ show t’ose Undead scum whae’ we Dwarves are made of!” Urir stomped his foot once and let out a loud “Yarrr!”, he equipped the armor and extended his hand, Thorik grabs it as they embrace each other firmly, Urir pats Thorik on the back before he lets go of him, slowly retreating back into the cheering crowd as he speaks his final words towards Thorik. “May we meet again in Khaz-A-Den’trumm, brot’er.” Urir quickly ran back towards the portal after donning Urguan’s armor, pushing other champions out of the way, angry that he was not first. As he enters, the drone of the cheering crowd outside slowly fades, with one final sentence burning into his ear drums: “I hope you burn in the Nether Urir!” It is quickly drowned out by the agonizing screams of men and women alike, fellow champions laying dismembered as the thick smell of burning flesh hits Urir’s nostrils. Urir ran as he saw Kjell falter in the corner of his eye but did not stop.. His heart told him to stop for his companion, but his brain made his legs keep going. Valen too quickly fell behind as he became swarmed by Undead spawn, but there was nothing Urir could do for him as he quickly ascended the first Pinnacle where he stood before the sacrificial pit. A Human champion stood next to him as Urir muttered silently “We all ‘ave ta’ mayke sacrifoices.”, quickly planting his Axe into the Human’s rear as he falls to his knees, grasping the wound as Urir kicks him over into the pit, a path appearing before him leading towards the Axe of Krug. Before him lay no more Champions, as he was the only to survive thus far, though the survival of the others did little to stall him. Without stopping to admire the Axe, he ran by, dropping his own and grabbing it with both hands as he did so. He smirked to himself as he felt the weight of the axe as it slid through the beasts of the nether like a knife through butter. “Now this be a foine weapon. Shame it’s gotta go!” He muttered to himself, letting out a loud, arrogant laugh as he slammed it clean through the skull of a zombie, leaping over the corpse and onto the next challenge. It wasn’t long before Urir had bested all the traps and trials the Undead had laid before and after the Axe of Krug. It was with a great, unnatural haste that he soon reached the Nexus, the source of the Undead’s power, and where he, and the Axe, would meet their final fates. He shut his eyes as he approached it, perhaps to avoid being corrupted by it’s taint, or perhaps for reasons of reminiscing. He instead ran straight forwards, a wide grin coming to his face as the faces of his friends, allies, compatriots, and most importantly, family, all passed before him at a terrifying speed as he neared the edge of the Nexus. As he felt the ground disappear beneath his feet, as he dove axe-first towards destiny, he muttered one last thing to himself: “Burn ah will, Fe’yin.” And burn he did, as did Aegis, as did the Undead in their tomb which was the former home of the Four Races. The ships set sail, following the setting sun as the clues had foretold, and into the distance. Thorik himself stayed with Urir’s children throughout the boat ride, leaving only to issue orders to his men, through the snow and hail, the rain and lightning, the bombardment by other ships. And in time they reached Asulon, at which point the Four Races went their separate ways, and though the sons of Urir were of two races, they went instead with the dwarves, guarded and kept safe in the new home of the Dwarves, in the Mountains of Karik. Here they were raised, here they were honored for their Father’s deeds, though here too they were labelled heretics and hated. Thorik’s word to Urir held true, and he guarded and raised the sons like his own, till the day of his death. Lost in the political chaos and cultural squabbles in the aftermath of Thorik’s assassination, the three brothers left the lands of the dwarves behind, though they did so grudgingly. As their Father had found his purpose in fighting the Undead, the three brothers would need to find purpose in something other than their father’s legacy. Though in so great a shadow as that of Urir Ireheart’s, they sometimes felt it impossible to find their own destiny. It was on their extensive journeys throughout the lands of Asulon that they would find that which would give them their place, their own place, separate from that of their Father’s. Through the thick ice and snow of the lands of Hanseti the brothers travelled, and either by luck, or instinct, or just their desire for warmth, they took shelter in an alcove as the sun set on the horizon. And perhaps it was destiny, or luck, or just curiosity which drove the brothers to investigate the alcove further, finding it to be not a simply cave, but rather the entrance to something larger, and much grander. Pulled by fate through the darkened tunnels and dimly lit crevices, it was on their last set of torches that they discovered that which would give them meaning; The ruins of Asgol as they named it, that which would hold their namesake within: The Doom Forge. Alive Hodir; son of Urir and Faeyin. [Goldrim] Thargas; son of Hodir [7lo/Sultan_Mogroka] Dormin; son of Hodir. [Darkjames] Ulgrim; son of Odyn [Vekaro] Urric; son of Odyn [Craotor] Irila; daughter of Odyn [irene42] Norgrim; son of Yorri [NoobCrafter14] Rhona; daughter of Yorri [Mezua] Deceased Yorri; son of Urir and Faeyin. [Deceased] Odyn; son of Urir and Faeyin. [Deceased] Missing Grum, son of Odyn [Open] Gungrim, son of Hodir [WizardInABox / Open]