[hr][center][h2][color=a36209]Solveig Forgeheart[/color][/h2][/center]
[hr]
Among the audience gathered within the throne room was a stout Dwarf, leaning against one of the far walls with his arms crossed. Solveig was still recovering from a partial hangover with last night's slim prize-money filling his pouch. He listened intently to King Brand's words. The task was clear. Venture into the Torvelt Fog to recover the King's son. This was by far the biggest challenge Solveig was presented with but [i]this[/i]... This could be the exact ticket he needed to return home.

The Dwarf would watch as many of the court would exit the room. To be honest, Solveig couldn't blame them. You'd either have to be desperate, foolish or just a downright crazy bastard to take on this quest. The funny thing was- Solveig couldn't figure out which category he fell under. Solveig would wait a moment, seeing if there was anyone else who would take on the call with him. Afterall, he didn't want to be the first one to volunteer for a suicide mission. Two half-elves and a Dragonborn would precede Solveig's answer. This wasn't a bad crew by any stretch of the imagination, at least by first glance.

Solveig pushed himself off of the wall and uncrossed his arms. [color=a36209]"Right then..."[/color] He began, mostly murmuring to himself. [color=a36209]"I am Solveig Forgeheart of Tharum Kholdur!"[/color] The Dwarf introduced himself in an almost boastful manner, pounding his chest. [color=a36209]"By my fists and my honour, I will help find yer son!"[/color] He answered, the Dwarf's accent was thick and typical of his race.