Intro Posts for the Heroes of the Realms
Posted: Sat Jan 12, 2013 2:00 pm
1358 DR – The Year of Shadows
Oggle, Oggle, baby’s bottle!
Oggle, Oggle, baby’s bottle!
Oggle, Oggle, baby’s bottle!
The teasing when he was a child has never left him. Some memories just won’t die – instead they creep in and kick you when you’re down. And Oggle Steambottle has seen his share of the down times.
His clan was the embarrassment of the Dwarves of the Frost Hills. For as long as he can remember, his clansmen were lay abouts and drunkards, never amounting to much at all. Some of the longbeards talked of ancient glory days when they mined precious ore in the mountains and the town of Settlestone was bustling with promise, but those days were long gone – some tragedy or disease occurred and the Dwarves left their mines and came to the surface to drown their sorrows in liquor and beer.
Oggle’s childhood was full of these stories, and the other children of the town, both Dwarven and human, teased and taunted him and made his life miserable, just like their lives were miserable, and so he turned to strong drink at an early age, following in the footsteps (albeit drunken ones) of his forefathers.
All of that changed when the dragon attacked their camp in the hills and ate several of his kin, including many of those teasing children who had grown into obnoxious, mean adults. Why Oggle was spared, he still doesn’t know, but he remembers a visage of a metallic dragon – fierce with claws of steel, fighting and destroying the other dragon; a visage that even strong drink couldn’t erase from his mind.
So, on a whim and with only a handful of coins in his pockets, he left the only place he had ever known and ventured out into the world. He avoided the newly established Mithral Hall, out of shame mostly, but also because he wanted to see more of the Realms than just hole up in another Dwarven compound. He threw in with a caravan traveling the south and ended up in Nesme, and it was there he met a man who would set him on a path of honor, a concept he had never known.
Eregund Wayland was a powerful man and a holy one too. He was the constable and commander of the Riders of Nesme – a large force who were respected and even feared for their battle prowess, known for their endless patrols of the Evermoors. Oggle cleaned up, and applied for the newest recruits of the Riders. He trained hard and suffered many a jibe and jest, but he didn’t give up – the image of the metallic dragon (which he later learned was named Bahamut) bore into his mind, giving him strength. He mastered the sword, and then he mastered fighting with two swords at the same time. He learned concepts such as loyalty and honor and respect, and he earned the comradeship that he had never known.
He was content to live out his life in Nesme – he had friends and he had fought hard to drag himself out of the mud, and there was a patrol venturing out into the hills near Griffon’s Nest in two days and he had been chosen to go. He was so excited, he hardly noticed another Dwarf enter the Five Gold Crowns tavern, and squeeze through the mob of patrons toward his table…
Orn Ragduum was going to die of starvation if he didn’t find a place to eat soon. And how he had ended up in the fortified town of Nesme was something he’ll always wonder about. It had been weeks since he had left Mithrall Hall – left his family and friends, left the forges and the smelts – left it all for something…different, something new. Surely there was more to Dwarves than blacksmithing and mining. He knew there was and he was bound and determined to find out.
His most prized possession was a stolen lute – and that’s a lot to be said about a person when they’d rather starve than sell something that wasn’t theirs to begin with, but that is where he was at the moment. He and that old lute had a lot a great memories – one of the best was playing for the King > Bruenor Battlehammer! You see, Mithrall Hall was only recently “liberated” by King Battlehammer and his companions and Dwarves began flocking to his rule and to the Hall once again. His family traveled all the way from Mirabar to work the mines and forge steel, but it was something Orn never really wanted to do. He wanted to perform – to sing, to play, and to tell tales – to spread Dwarven culture, not with sword and axe, but with song.
And that sentiment got him beat up more than he would care to remember. He was teased and called more names than he had read in books. He even had his fingers stomped and broken once, and he had to stop playing the lute until his hands healed. It was during that period that his Uncle Beorn taught him something he will never forget. He loved his mother’s brother more than just about anyone he knew, and Uncle Beorn told him, “To be a man, ye heart must be divided in two – one half ye set to doing what must be done, the other half ye let run wild and enjoy it! Else ye die bitter and broken with a heart of stone.”
So when his hands healed, Orn split his heart – he learned how to fight and he learned how to let his heart and mind run wild. He studied chants and war songs, delved into Dwarven lore when he could find it, and regaled his friends with battle hymns. This got the attention of the King’s men, and he was invited (along with a dozen others) to perform at a banquet for the King and some of his old companions.
After that night, his clansmen began to see him a bit differently, but his father and brothers did not. So…he left Mithrall Hall to prove to them that there was more than one way to live as a Dwarf.
Traveling south through the Frost Hills, he bought passage on a barge traveling south…but along the way, the barge was ambushed by trolls, and swept away down the rushing River Surbrin. The only thing that saved him from drowning was his precious lute case, magically enhanced to float and he held on for dear life. He floated in the frigid waters until he came to the bridges of Nesme and was pulled out by men guarding the bridge. Grateful and starving, he wandered into town, having been given a handful of silver by the guards and pointed toward a tavern.
Five Gold Crowns read the sign out front and he staggered in still damp and still starving. The place was packed with people and he shoved his way toward the roaring fireplace, if nothing else but to thaw out. And near the fireplace, he spied another Dwarf…a warrior from the look of him, but he was a Dwarf, the first he’d seen since leaving Mithral Hall. Orn gestured at an empty chair and smiled…and then promptly sneezed, blowing snot and phlegm all over the table…
Alright fellers > this is the opening post for Oggle and Orn. Only those two characters should post in this thread. That finishes up the intro posts. Thanks for your patience.
Oggle, Oggle, baby’s bottle!
Oggle, Oggle, baby’s bottle!
Oggle, Oggle, baby’s bottle!
The teasing when he was a child has never left him. Some memories just won’t die – instead they creep in and kick you when you’re down. And Oggle Steambottle has seen his share of the down times.
His clan was the embarrassment of the Dwarves of the Frost Hills. For as long as he can remember, his clansmen were lay abouts and drunkards, never amounting to much at all. Some of the longbeards talked of ancient glory days when they mined precious ore in the mountains and the town of Settlestone was bustling with promise, but those days were long gone – some tragedy or disease occurred and the Dwarves left their mines and came to the surface to drown their sorrows in liquor and beer.
Oggle’s childhood was full of these stories, and the other children of the town, both Dwarven and human, teased and taunted him and made his life miserable, just like their lives were miserable, and so he turned to strong drink at an early age, following in the footsteps (albeit drunken ones) of his forefathers.
All of that changed when the dragon attacked their camp in the hills and ate several of his kin, including many of those teasing children who had grown into obnoxious, mean adults. Why Oggle was spared, he still doesn’t know, but he remembers a visage of a metallic dragon – fierce with claws of steel, fighting and destroying the other dragon; a visage that even strong drink couldn’t erase from his mind.
So, on a whim and with only a handful of coins in his pockets, he left the only place he had ever known and ventured out into the world. He avoided the newly established Mithral Hall, out of shame mostly, but also because he wanted to see more of the Realms than just hole up in another Dwarven compound. He threw in with a caravan traveling the south and ended up in Nesme, and it was there he met a man who would set him on a path of honor, a concept he had never known.
Eregund Wayland was a powerful man and a holy one too. He was the constable and commander of the Riders of Nesme – a large force who were respected and even feared for their battle prowess, known for their endless patrols of the Evermoors. Oggle cleaned up, and applied for the newest recruits of the Riders. He trained hard and suffered many a jibe and jest, but he didn’t give up – the image of the metallic dragon (which he later learned was named Bahamut) bore into his mind, giving him strength. He mastered the sword, and then he mastered fighting with two swords at the same time. He learned concepts such as loyalty and honor and respect, and he earned the comradeship that he had never known.
He was content to live out his life in Nesme – he had friends and he had fought hard to drag himself out of the mud, and there was a patrol venturing out into the hills near Griffon’s Nest in two days and he had been chosen to go. He was so excited, he hardly noticed another Dwarf enter the Five Gold Crowns tavern, and squeeze through the mob of patrons toward his table…
Orn Ragduum was going to die of starvation if he didn’t find a place to eat soon. And how he had ended up in the fortified town of Nesme was something he’ll always wonder about. It had been weeks since he had left Mithrall Hall – left his family and friends, left the forges and the smelts – left it all for something…different, something new. Surely there was more to Dwarves than blacksmithing and mining. He knew there was and he was bound and determined to find out.
His most prized possession was a stolen lute – and that’s a lot to be said about a person when they’d rather starve than sell something that wasn’t theirs to begin with, but that is where he was at the moment. He and that old lute had a lot a great memories – one of the best was playing for the King > Bruenor Battlehammer! You see, Mithrall Hall was only recently “liberated” by King Battlehammer and his companions and Dwarves began flocking to his rule and to the Hall once again. His family traveled all the way from Mirabar to work the mines and forge steel, but it was something Orn never really wanted to do. He wanted to perform – to sing, to play, and to tell tales – to spread Dwarven culture, not with sword and axe, but with song.
And that sentiment got him beat up more than he would care to remember. He was teased and called more names than he had read in books. He even had his fingers stomped and broken once, and he had to stop playing the lute until his hands healed. It was during that period that his Uncle Beorn taught him something he will never forget. He loved his mother’s brother more than just about anyone he knew, and Uncle Beorn told him, “To be a man, ye heart must be divided in two – one half ye set to doing what must be done, the other half ye let run wild and enjoy it! Else ye die bitter and broken with a heart of stone.”
So when his hands healed, Orn split his heart – he learned how to fight and he learned how to let his heart and mind run wild. He studied chants and war songs, delved into Dwarven lore when he could find it, and regaled his friends with battle hymns. This got the attention of the King’s men, and he was invited (along with a dozen others) to perform at a banquet for the King and some of his old companions.
After that night, his clansmen began to see him a bit differently, but his father and brothers did not. So…he left Mithrall Hall to prove to them that there was more than one way to live as a Dwarf.
Traveling south through the Frost Hills, he bought passage on a barge traveling south…but along the way, the barge was ambushed by trolls, and swept away down the rushing River Surbrin. The only thing that saved him from drowning was his precious lute case, magically enhanced to float and he held on for dear life. He floated in the frigid waters until he came to the bridges of Nesme and was pulled out by men guarding the bridge. Grateful and starving, he wandered into town, having been given a handful of silver by the guards and pointed toward a tavern.
Five Gold Crowns read the sign out front and he staggered in still damp and still starving. The place was packed with people and he shoved his way toward the roaring fireplace, if nothing else but to thaw out. And near the fireplace, he spied another Dwarf…a warrior from the look of him, but he was a Dwarf, the first he’d seen since leaving Mithral Hall. Orn gestured at an empty chair and smiled…and then promptly sneezed, blowing snot and phlegm all over the table…
Alright fellers > this is the opening post for Oggle and Orn. Only those two characters should post in this thread. That finishes up the intro posts. Thanks for your patience.