ThumperJack

Found someone! Never mind!

This looks really cool!

Vosirk lets off a long sigh, "Another good dwed... lost." He shakes his head, muttering a quiet prayer for Barradin to Anbella and the Aspects.

Vosirk shrugs, "Kal'Dormir."

Vosirk Blackaxe-Grandaxe The Iron Druid -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Gender: Male Race: Mountain Dwarf Status: Healthy Height: 4’11 Eyes: Brown Hair: Dark Red Skin: Light-skinned, slowly gaining a tan Markings/Tattoos: Various scars, most noticeable being over his eye. Dwarven-styled tattoos in the color of raw iron ore along his right arm. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- -==Everything beyond this point cannot be known unless learned through rp interaction with my character, metagaming this will not be tolerated==- Nicknames: Firebeard, Vos, Iron Age: 289 Birth Year: 1401 Health: Healthy Personality: Generally light-hearted and is most often seen with a calm, content expression. He enjoys being a helping hand to friends and kin. Inventory: Longsword, Oak Staff with dwarven symbols and words carved into it, Some kind of food, two flasks of ale and water Parents: Fimlin Grandaxe, Unknown Mountain Dwarf Siblings: Torvin Blackaxe Spouse: Elenora Zytiaear Children: Velatha and Anita, Primrose Zytiaear His Story: WIP Artwork:

Vosirk's brow rises as he cannot find his name on the roster, "Fairly certain I'm still alive, and still around."

Why not. +1

((OOC)) MC Name: ClassyImperial Discord: ClassyImperial#1536 Timezone: CST IC Name: Wulfric Irongut Race: Dwarf Nation Allegiance (Only if you are a political member, this does not count citizenship): None Age: Somewhere in my 300s, I would think. You start to lose count after a century or two. Can you fight?: I can, yes. Do you know magic?: I do not. Would you do work (Nexus professions) for the Scions?: I can manage crops and cook up a decent meal, if that would help. ((Farmer/Chef))

Demagol Doomforged slams his fist against his chest from beyond the grave, "Ame ame- Wai'... Arru Arru? Da' fock did weh scream 'gain? Ah swear weh screamed sumthin' edgeh." He would shrug, going back to whatever he does.

Demagol Doomforged, standing beside his patron Dormmar and still carrying his fatal wound, welcomes his fallen cousin into the auction of the dead, "A good death. Honorable. Fit for the forges of Dormmar."

Maric Ilesca -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Nicknames: None Age: 34 Gender: Male Race: Adunian Status: Healthy -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Height: 6'4 Weight: 192 Ibs Body Type: Mesomorph Eyes: Cold, icy blue Hair: Dark brown Skin: Pale Markings/Tattoos: TBA Health: Healthy Personality: Calm, Logical, Understanding, Friendly Inventory: Long sword, Curved dagger, Round shield, Warm clothing/Plate and chainmail, rations for traveling Further Details: None -==Everything beyond this point cannot be known unless learned through rp interaction with my character, metagaming this will not be tolerated==- His Story: WIP

Name: Halcyon (( MCName: )) ClassyImperial Race: Adunian Gender: Male (( Timezone: )) CST Write a little about why it is you wish to serve the Aengul of Order: Why I wish to serve? Well, I have no great tale of how beasts of darkness murdered my loved ones, nor of being inspired by a passing knight of honor. My reason is simply that I was taught to do good when I could, where I could. Your group seems to do just that by serving this Aengul, so I too would wish to serve.

This, please. Not being able to have any kind of mina income makes RP pretty hard (Don't say get a job, we all know very well that no one actually pays their employees/soldiers), especially if you want to live in a town with a tax.

A dwed shakes his head at this, snorting, "Whoever put this here needs to learn to accept a break when it's given. A few decades or a century of quiet while the umri fix their new government together is enough for me." He says toward another dwed who happened to stop to read the same paper.

Some Fringe RP in Alras (The good ol' days) Athera Mother Grove shenanigans

Nice! Good read!

Gervas von Marbruck approves.

Vosirk Grandaxe reads of the slaughter safely within Kal'Omith, shaking his head, "Poor elger, dat 'es nae ah gud way tuh guh." The dwarf rises from his seat, deciding he might just make a trip into the elven forests to see if his axe could be of any help.

Vosirk Grandaxe walks through the forests within Urguan's mountains, hefting an axe over his shoulder and a heavy travel pack hanging from his back. At the sudden sound of a horn all to familiar to him, his smiles and makes a sharp turn in the snow covered path, "Home I go, once again."

Norik would sign the document, however he is dead. So Valun Starbreaker signs instead, "Da Fringe... gud tiomes."

Very interesting! With my recent drop in active characters, I might just join as well!

Marring Doomforged shakes his head, sending in his own letter, "Do not listen to this dwed who knows nothing of the current affairs, a dwed who left his kingdom high and dry. An entire clan, my clan, worships Dormmar as their patron. While we do not care whether you believe him to be a god or an ally to the Brathmordakin, we do care when we are branded heretics for following our beliefs, beliefs we've openly expressed and not once been insulted in such a way until this claim. High Prophet, I urge you to not give in to these lies. Marring Doomforged, son of Demagol"

Demagol gets ready to take'em to the auctions, "C'mon! Dormmar'll beh wai'n!"

Demagol walks through the mountains as he usually does in the mornings. He tells people it's to get some fresh air out of those 'dusty caverns', but that is a lie. He travels far into the mountains to a small clearing in a patch of woods where a pile of large logs sit to his right, and an empty area covered in wood splinters to his left. Demagol inhales sharply, already feeling the same anger build up in his chest. With a huff, he goes to begin moving a log toward the wood splinter covered area when a loud crack of a snapping branch resounds from the trees behind him. He stops, letting even his breathe stoop to almost dead silence as his piercing blood red gaze watchs the treeline like an animal. After several minutes of simply staring, a group of ragged dwarves with various hair colors and skins make their way into the Doomforged's secret clearing bearing hateful expressions as they brandish axes and swords. Demagol sets down the log, moving to stand a few feet away from one dwarf that is obviously the leader. This dwarf was blonde and scarred, wearing leather and mix-matched metal plates. None of this seemed out of the ordinary, except for the black and grey beards the dwarf wore across his belt. Demagol immediately recognized them as Doomforged beards, as some still held beads and braids common to his clan. "Why are you here, dwedmar? And why do adorn yourself in that manner?" Demagol asks, the anger beginning to rise in his chest more and more as he starts to struggle to contain it. The blonde dwarf laughs, causing the others around him to rumble with chuckles and grunts. "Is our purpose not obvious, half-breed? Do those eyes make you blind as well as stupid?" The dwarf luaghs again, withdrawing a sword from the scabbard at his belt. He and his group moves toward Demagol now, the rest drawing axes and swords and hefting them in undisciplined manners above their heads and letting them swing around legs carelessly. Demagol shakes his head, thinking to himself how much of a sorry bunch this appears to be. However, blonde dwarf's stance is professional and confident unlike his men. Demagol drew his sword, a blade reinforced with Asgolian steel and a gift from a long-dead friend, and charged at them with a warcry in dwarven. He easily dispatchs the first two dwarves that clumsily swing their weapons at him, decapitating one and smashing the other's nose with his stone fist. The next dwarf that charges him falls just as easily, however makes way for the next to slash her sword across Demagol's face and cause a waterfall of blood to flow down his cheek. Demagol growls at the pain, kicking the woman to the ground and moves to end it when the blonde dwarf comes behind him and rakes his sword through Demagol's back and pushing him aside. The elder Doomforged stumbles into the log pile panting and gasping as he turns, blood soaking through the shredded cloth on his back and dripping onto the snow at his feet. The blonde dwarf laughs, "That hurts? Imagine what I'll do to your kin in Urguan. Their blood will fill the fountains and their beards will be the garb of my clan." He cackles as he steps closer to the wounded Doomforged, parrying a slash to his chest and delivering a swift punch to Demagol's burn-scarred face, sending him to the snow. The blonde dwarf kneels to grab a fistful of the elder Doomforged's long hair, growling, "I will burn them to the ground, like you did Kal'Agnar." The dwarf says, picking up Demagol's dark sword and shove it through his chest. Demagol gasps, the glow of his eyes fading like the life within him dies. The blonde dwarf starts to laugh again, looking away from Demagol at his utter joy in killing the Doomforged. The female dwarf behind him stands, blinking at Demagol as the Doomforged'd glassy eyes rage into a fierce glow, "Iblees.. not me." The Doomforged shakily grabs the blonde dwarf's discarded sword and slides the blade through the dwarf's chest similar to his own killing blow. The two dwedmar sit there kneeling before eachother now with their own swords plunged into their chests, having a silent stand-off to see who dies first. The blonde dwarf fails, letting out a small hiss of air as he falls to his left and face first in the reddened snow. The female dwarf screams, running into the hills as two other Doomforged run into the clearing while patrolling the route Demagol had given them a few weeks prior, having heard the cries and clangs of steel from afar. However, they only make it halfway to Demagol as the glow of his eyes fades completely and his falls backward in the snow with his own sword sticking from his chest. OOC: So I've finally done it. Demagol's dead, no comebacks for him this time. I got tired of playing a character who'd already seen it all and done it all so I'll be playing his son and one of the nameless Doomforged above. Thanks to everyone who RPed with Demagol and made him one of (If not the one) favorite characters I've ever played.

Demagol rumbles meeply. "'e did talk 'bout 'et wit' t'e clergeh, ye ol' fart."