[hider=Arn Thurson] [b]Name:[/b] Arn Thurson of the Hammerstone Clan [b]Race:[/b] Mountain Dwarf [b]Age:[/b] 84 in human years a ripe 19 in dwarven [b]Gender:[/b] Male [hider=Appearance] [hider=Such a pretty Face] [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/93c1867a-a25a-487a-a78b-347a7499805e.png[/img] [/hider] [hider=Arn in full Battle Armor] [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/4db6ebee-632a-4f3b-885f-f81e47301f9a.png[/img] [/hider] [hider=Everyday Gambeson] [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/48096bfb-8131-4f5e-8ecb-8614f4ceedd2.jpg[/img] [/hider] [hider=Formal Doublet] [img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/41597048-d3fd-4368-96b6-10566260ba6a.jpg[/img] [/hider] Hair: Dark brown with sprinkles of red. He wears his hair in a half ponytail and it extends just past his shoulders. His beard is only a palm past his chin and sports a single braid. Eyes: Hazel often piercing as he analyses everything. Except when he is performing his bedside functions of a healer. Height: about 5 feet. this means he is taller than the average dwarf. Weight: A nice round 215 lbs but not one oz of that is fat. He is very strong and muscular but not cut like humans. Voice: a nice baritone and he does enjoy singing the ballads and shanties of his homeland. Arn tends to wear the everyday gambeson which hides a mail shirt underneath. he always carries himself smartly and is rigidly. He is quiet but will speak out if anything needs to be said. Often he will voice his opinion in regards to tactics and such. [/hider] [b]Class:[/b] Cleric [b]Personality:[/b] Arn is serious due to his military academy training. He often will quote his drill sergeant when he wants to make a point. He is very loyal to his kin and if he forms ties with others, he values them as family. He is often gruff as any dwarf but unlike most dwarves, he is not a hot head. This does not mean he is a push over and will not back down from a fight. [hider=Strengths:[/hider] Languages: Common and Dwarvish Darkvision poison resistance Proficient with Battle Axe, Hand Axe, Warhammer, Thrown Hammer Proficient with Mason Tools Stone cutting Dwarven history and architecture All Armors Shields Simple and Martial Weapons Proficient with Vehicles (land)[/hider] Spells: TBD [hider=Weaknesses[/hider] (What are you less than good at) A bit prejudice towards Orcs, goblins, Kobolds, Drow and other such creatures. Little respect for anyone who has not proven themselves in the battle field. Very awkward around females Stubborn Is blunt with no filter. [/hider] [b]Biography: [/b] [hider=Background] Arn is the second son of Thur Hammerstone. He is from a small clan that followed Bruenor Battlehammer in the Battle of Keeper’s Dale against a force of evil drow, orcs, goblins, and Kobolds. Their bravery and skill with the Warhammer earned them renown and an assured place of honor amongst the ranks of the Dwarven military. It was to this legacy that the young dwarf was born into. MILITARY SERVICE: From a young age, Arn began his studies in regards to military history and training with shield, spear and Warhammer. Military service was required of all young dwarves regardless of chosen profession to instill obedience and sound tactics should the Iron Keep ever come under attack as it had in its past. Usually, this service consisted of little more than community service with some being able to actually serve on security duty around the settlement of Ebonstein. Only a select few actually got selected as scouts and entered a military academy. One of the classes enabled them to venture out on patrol duty to clear the surrounding areas around Ebonstein of stray bands of goblins and other creatures. Arn easily gained entrance into this select group due to his natural martial skill and sound mind. From a young age he had listened to the stories and glories of past clan members at the knee of his father and heard of the exploits of his older brother in the Underdark regiment. It was during one of these patrols that Arn faced the true essence of war and battle, survival. His small band of 6 cadets and 1 elder Sergeant patrolled the desolate places on the slopes of the mountains on the outskirts of Ebonstein. It was meant to be a routine patrol with no foreseeable signs of danger. They had camped at the foot of the mountain and set up watches. Arn had woken up his relief, a nobleman’s son who had been added to the group more out of political connections than actual combat prowess. The sleepy eyed lad grudgingly took his place on the ledge that overlooked the camp and that provided the best surveying position. Arn had a bad gut feeling but he decided to keep his business himself and headed off to bed. Chaotic noises woke the young dwarf from his slumber. He poked his head out of his tent, almost losing it to a falling crude ax being swung by a snarling Orc. What followed next was a blur of chaos and adrenalin. Amidst grunts, clangs, and shrieks, Arn found himself facing down two Orcs. The lumbering brutes held their weapons ready and closed in for the kill. The battered and bloodied recruit looked about him, his comrades were either dead or dying. The Orcs had lost six of their own and the remaining two sported wounds themselves. The three of them knew that the victor would have to pay a dear price. With a lunge, Arn went on the offensive trying to catch the two orcs off balance. The deadly dance of battle progressed to the musical clang of weapons and grunts. In stroke of more luck than skill, Arn managed to get under the swing of one of the Orcs and brought the butt of his Warhammer up, effectively crushing the attackers wind pipe. The move however caused him to lose his footing and fall on his back. The remaining Orc did not lose his chance and flung himself onto the young dwarf, bone knife ready to plunge itself deep in the recruit’s throat. The battle and his own wounds had worn the young dwarf to the point that only sheer will was keeping the point of the blade at bay. The snarling Orc used all his body weight and the blade slowly descended on its killing path. Suddenly, warm blood splashed onto Arn’s face and the Orc went limp, a spear head sticking out of its mouth. With a gurgle of surprise the Orc died. Arn looked up to watch his Drill Sergeant falling to the ground. He had lost a leg and had pulled the very spear that had impaled him to use against the Orc . The young recruit made his way to the elder’s side. The veteran laid there and grunted to his pupil “Don’t worry lad, I won’t tell anyone you needed help against two little Orcs. Sorry it took me so long to come to you rescue but I think I have a good excuse” said the elder slowly tapping his bloody stump. “Well, I guess after all the excitement a good night’s rest is in order. Night night…do..nt..let the …bed.bu…”. His arm that was tapping on the young recruit’s shoulder went limp and the veteran soldier exhaled his last. The relieving patrol found Arn unconscious on the floor next to his Sergeant, trails of bitter tears cutting a path through the blood and grime on his face. THE BRANDING His mind took longer to heal than his body. The blow he had received to his beliefs had been shattering. He had trained from a young age, came from a long line of warriors with distinguished legacy even his own older brother was sung on the ale houses. What good was all this if he could not protect and save. The fire in his eyes was gone, days, and weeks passed and the young dwarf had lost his purpose. That is when he met Hardal, a Cleric. He visited with the young dwarf, having seen this type of sickness before. Slowly Arn opened up, the calm and almost fatherly demeanor of the Cleric allowing for deep conversations and guidance. The Cleric knew first-hand about loss. He had lost his father, brothers, and even cousins to battle. “Warriors do not taint the deeds of those lost in battle with regret; instead, the aim is to honor them by surviving and protecting others. You were chosen to live on, do not live your life in self-pity. Let the fire of battle fuel you instead of letting it consume you.” A renewed sense of purpose dawned in Arn. He inquired as to how to become a Cleric. Hardal led him to the inner sanctum of the small altar to Stollara. A single warhammer was suspended over flames by magic. “When you are pure of purpose and you accept the nature of war and battle. When you take up arms in honor and respect. When you have searched inside your soul and find that flame burning within. Then you may come to this altar and hold the sword. If you are not called by Stollara to be her Cleric the sword will be cold to your hand. If she chooses you….you will know” said the Cleric with a smirk. It took months of study, self-reflection and hours spent staring into the crackling fire surrounding the suspended warhammer. During one of those times when he would stare in a trance at the weapon, Arn could hear a voice in his being [i]“why?”[/i] Why what? Why did he want to become a Cleric? The question annoyed him. Wasn’t it obvious? To protect, to heal, to bring some sort of balance to the chaos of war… [i]“why?”[/i] Because people die in war, because sometimes those who live did not deserve it and those who died should have lived…. [i]“why?”[/i] At this point, rage welled up inside Arn and he yelled at the flames. “Because I should have died that day!!” He fell to his knees defeated, his head hanging and broken sobs escaped his lips. Two strong hands gently held his shoulders. “War is a part of life. Different creatures struggle in different ways. Our job is to guide, comfort and protect those in our care. We cannot prevent war, but we can join in the fray and hopefully that tips the scales. You are alive for a reason. Are you ready to join the fight again? Are you worthy to be the light in the shield and the hammer?” The young dwarf slowly stood up. He was ready to join the fray. He was ready to take up the shield and the hammer. He was ready to protect. But mainly, he was ready to battle. He made his way towards the altar and the hanging warhammer. His hand reached towards the handle and his strong calloused fingers closed around it. A sudden searing pain surged through his body. He wanted to cry out but his mouth would not utter the sound. He felt as if his soul itself was ablaze. At the point when he felt he would pass out, a warmth spread throughout his body. A certain calm and new found awareness and in the midst of the pain there was clarity. Hardal tapped the new Cleric on the shoulder and Arn released his grip on the sword. He held the branded hand on both of his and spoke knowingly. “Some warriors bear their scars on their body, others on their soul. Be the balm to both.” A dim glow emanated from the elder Cleric and the pain was gone. In its stead, a warhammer had been branded on the young dwarf left palm. He had been chosen to walk the path. THE TEMPERING After his initiation into the order, Arn was sent out to the world. This was called the Tempering. Just as a sword is plunged into the fire and the impurities hammered away, so must the Cleric. Refined by the fires of war and the blows of life, a Cleric will reach their ultimate calling. It was in this manner that he found himself at the steps of XXX. The young dwarf wondered what challenges awaited him in these halls.[/hider] [/hider]