GingerBoi123

The Hustle

Hey man. Sorry I dropped out of the last one. I'd be down for playing Ollie again if you'd have me

@souleaterfan320

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread

@KuroYeah but then I find myself not making the cut xD

Video Games: The General Discussion & Community Thread

The fucking find the path one is the one that fucks me over the most. I can either go first and never find the path or stay in the pack and get shoved off the platform by ten different dickheads

Fog of Torvelt

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Solveig Forgeheart

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There was an immediate feeling of uncomfortableness as Solveig began to rodeo the beast. However as gross pus began to pour out from the cut that the Dwarf made, he was forced to dismount. "Fuck me... What is wrong with these bastards..." Solveig grumbled to himself as managed to regain his footing for a moment. The sick feeling began to take over for a few moments as he began to retch. With a deep inhale, Solveig tried to recompose himself to shake off this feeling of illness. Solveig's stance changed as the Rot Troll still seemed to be solely focused on Gentle. Beginning to bounce on his toes more, the Pugilist decided to switch to Outfighting. Solveig gripped his knuckle dusters tighter as he began to flick out jabs into the calves and knees of the Troll, trying to keep his distance.

Fog of Torvelt

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Solveig Forgeheart

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Solveig grinned as Brynan made her comments. As the Trolls began to charge, the Pugilist noticed that these particular Trolls have already taken quite a bit of damage. Had they just came away from another raid and was hoping to get two for one or were they running away from something? In the end it wouldn't matter... The Trolls were barrelling forth towards the party so this would become their fate. Solveig bounced on his knees as he assumed a fighting stance, preparing for the initial crash. "C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!" Solveig murmured as he was pumping himself up.

Fortunately, it seemed the Trolls would pick other targets. Naldir and Gentle were the first to make contact. This clash had forced Solveig to backstep away as to not be caught up in the tussle. It seemed the Minotaur managed to block away his troll. The rush of battle made his mind race, and an idea crossed the Dwarf's brain. It could work! Well Solveig didn't have anything better in his head so why not? The Dwarf ran up behind the Minotaur as he leapt onto the hairy back. "Hold 'im there!" He called out as he stepped up onto Gentle's haunches.

The Minotaur would feel a heavy boot kick off from the top of it's head as Solveig used Gentle as a springboard to latch onto the top of the Troll. The Dwarf spun 180 degrees in the air as he hopped from one beast to the other. As he descended, Solveig wrapped an arm around the thick neck of the putrid troll. The stench was overwhelming but there was no going back now. "Right ya bastard!" Solveig grunted as he tried to hang on for dear life. With his free hand, the fist clenched around the brass knuckleduster before Solveig tried to rain down blows onto the skull of the thrashing troll.

Fog of Torvelt

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Solveig Forgeheart

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Rather enjoying the new company, Solveig probably seemed the most nonchalant about marching to his doom. In fact, after they had left Koprust Solveig was obnoxiously whistling as they began to travel to this 'Mudshit'. Apart from the butting of heads between Gentle and Brynan, the rest of the group seemed to be rather introverted or at least withdrawn. Everybody had their secrets for sure, but the Dwarf would've preferred if everyone else weren't quite as reserved. Especially the Dragonborn. Ah well, beggars can't be choosers. Regardless of whether the rest appreciated his loud whistling, nothing brought Dwarves together like a bit of light-hearted rhythm. Perhaps it wasn't time to bust out a mining or drinking song but perhaps the theory could work here too.

As rain began to pour, Solveig popped the collar up of his jacket more. He didn't have a hood so his hair and beard were starting to get drenched. However, Solveig kind of liked it. There wasn't any rain to speak of back at Tharum Kholdur, at least if you wasn't a Mountain Guard who watched the borders. Sometimes water would drip down but nothing like this. It was kind of relaxing. The tiny pitter patter of droplets reminded him of pickaxes striking the rocky earth of the Mountain. It was comfort.

That was when a potent stench wafted over the party. Solveig held his nose as his face scrunched up. "Gentle! Please tell me that's not what Minotaur shite smells like!" He exclaimed as he tried to wave the smell away. However, the playful jab at Gentle was overshadowed by the call from Naldir.

"Trolls! Ready yourselves!"

Solveig turned on his heels to the direction of the hollering creatures. He watched as Stur was one of the first to step forward, beginning to draw a battle line. With a grin and a hearty laugh, Solveig joined as he pulled out his prized knuckledusters from his pockets. Punching his own fists together making clanging sounds that rang out, Solveig joined the large human's side with glee. Finally it was time for a punch-up!

"RIGHT THEN YA BASTARDS! COME GET A TASTE OF DWARVEN STRENGTH!!!"

Fog of Torvelt

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Solveig Forgeheart

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Solveig smiled as others began to join the party. This was certainly becoming an interesting lot indeed! Humans, elves, a tiefling and a cow man to boot! With a grin on his face, Solveig bowed to the King and Queen before following the group out of the hall, an obnoxious whistle in his step. He noticed the horned lady's face was marred by an unfortunate disfigurement, however he could only shrug his shoulders. Five years in Torvelt, you see and hear a lot worse happening to young women.

His attention was drawn to this Nathaniel character. However, there was something about him that struck him as off. It would be uncharacteristic of Solveig to trust a man who wore a mask especially one who carried himself with that smarm. It seemed it didn't take much to put this Brynan character on the offence. Solveig's style! The Dwarf would smirk at her exchange of words both with Nathaniel and the Minotaur, Gentle. This Stur character seemed reserved for now. In all honesty, Solveig didn't quite care as to why Brynan didn't take kindly to Nathaniel.

"Ladies, ladies! There hasn't even been any ale flowin' yet and yer already slingin' insults at each other!" Solveig would point out as he got close to them. It was... an odd sight seeing a Dwarf approach two taller beings, especially the Minotaur who towered over the entire party. That didn't seem to phase the pro fighter one bit. He would untether the drinking horn from his belt as he sloshed around the contents of what was inside. Ale freshly poured from the Tavern he stumbled out of to get here. "We can fix that though!" He grinned with a hearty chortle.

It was then that Nathaniel offered his sentiment of a more detailed introduction. Aoné was the first to take up that offer. Her sarcasm had a bit of charm, but it was going to wear thin on the Dwarf if this was gonna end up being a thing. "I think a shared drink is better for opening up but what the hell!?" Solveig shrugged. He took a long swig of the ale, wiping his mouth before continuing his thoughts. He playfully flexed his arm with a chuckle. "Like I said! Solveig Forgeheart! I'm a Prizefighter by trade, and it's how I solve me problems too! Ya need someone punchin', I'm yer man."

Fog of Torvelt

Aw gee I wonder who Gimli is >_>

Fog of Torvelt

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Solveig Forgeheart

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

Fog of Torvelt

Solveig Forgeheart

"A Proper Fighter"

SOLVEIG FORGEHEART

"Say that about me Mother again... I dare ya..."

_{B A S I C S}

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_NAME
Solveig Forgeheart

_AGE
30 in human years

_RACE
A proud Dwarf

_CLASS
Pugilist

_OCCUPATION
Prizefighter

_{ORIGINATES FROM}
Tharum Kholdur

_{IF OUTSIDE TORVELT}
One of the Mountain Cities in the Dwarven Realm, Tharum Kholdur is a bustling centre of commerce both in and out of Dwarven kind. Falling in line with many of the mountain holds, the structure and architecture is all within the mountain ranging from the very peak to deep mines within the earth. The city's populace is almost entirely Dwarves, with other races being tourists, employees or merchants looking to trade and sell.

_{P H Y S I C A L A T T R I B U T E S}

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_{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Solveig is as stout and as stocky as Dwarves come. While he's slightly taller than most Dwarves, Solveig sports an unruly head of dark brown hair that falls to his shoulders and a beard to match. His beard has two braids, held together by silver bands. While he has a bit of a beer belly as most of his kind do, his build is comparable to the modern Strongman all bundled up in a 4' 1" package. He also bares a Dwarven tattoo that stretches over his left pec, shoulder and upper arm.

_STRENGTHS

• Hand-to-hand combat: While his style is much more scrappier than the grace of Monastic techniques, it is the only way he knows how to fight and he does it well.
• Resilience: Solveig is a hard man to knock down, and even harder to keep down.
• Improvised weapons: After being in many street fights and tavern brawls, Solveig has a knack for making the most mundane objects a brutal weapon. Chairs, stools, mugs, bottles just to name a few.
• Athletics
• Iron Liver: Other than mining, there is one thing Dwarves are known for- Drinking! And Solveig is no exception. Years of drinking have made him a pro at the game. As the old saying goes, "Never get into a drinking contest with a Dwarf."

_WEAKNESSES

• Height: While he is hardy, Solveig is still a Dwarf so he has no reach. This means he has to get inside of opponent's reach when it comes to taller races and has to work harder to keep up in terms of speed.
• Weaponry: While Solveig has had the most basic of training with axes and warhammers as most Dwarves do, his training does not go past that. Besides, he much prefers using his fists anyways.
• Lack of armour: Following his pugilistic fighting style, Solveig does not wear any sort of armour. While this is used to keep him light on his feet (for a dwarf) this can prove to be a dangerous choice when he is attacked by weapons.

_{P S Y C H O L O G I C A L A T T R I B U T E S}

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_PERSONALITY
Headstrong - Jovial - Proud - Stubborn - Confrontational - Loyal

_SEXUALITY
Bisexual

_FEARS

• Heights
• Being powerless

_GOALS

• To become a famous fighter
• To atone for his crimes
• To return home

_{S K I L L S}

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A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges.

_Darkvision
Being accustomed to mountain living, Solveig as the innate ability to see in the dark. He can see 60 feet ahead of him in dim light as if it was bright light, and in darkness he can see as if it was dim light. However, this is only in shades of grey.

_{Cross-Counter}
One of Solveig's favorite techniques, if he takes an attack then Solveig can redirect the brunt of the force and reply back with a harsh liver blow hook.

_{One, Two, Three, Floor}
Solveig unleashes a quick flurry of blows. The first two attacks are used to double the opponent over, especially if they are taller. The third and final attack is aimed at the jaw to send his enemy crashing to the ground.

_{Stick and Move}
Solveig dances around his opponents with his quick footwork. Combining this with his height, Solveig has an uncanny ability of slipping in and out of an opponent's reach and blindspots.

_{G E A R}

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_{ITEMS ON PERSON}

• Drinking horn
• Roll of thin cloth for hand-wraps.
• Deck of cards from his homeland.

_WEAPONS

• A pair of brass knuckles, engraved with dwarven runes (non-magical)

_{H I S T O R Y}

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Born in the mountainous caverns of Tharum Koldur, Solveig grew up like many of his kind did. As soon as he could, a pick was put in his hands and he learnt all there was to the art of Mining. He quickly learnt the value in ores, minerals and gems. His family was descended from a long line of crafters and blacksmiths, and it was assuredly to be Solveig's fate.

In his teenage years, Solveig spent a lot of time at the markets when he wasn't learning how to mine or how to use Dwarven weaponry. It was there that he discovered Prizefighting. A crowd would gather in the square as two men began to circle each other. Solveig originally thought it was just a fight but that wasn't the case. It was about two warriors who were going to go toe-to-toe in a contest of power and skill. That was the true aspect, and the glory that went along with it. Raucous cheers surrounded young Solveig for each punch thrown or sidestepped as coins practically showered the edge of the makeshift ring. This was the life Solveig would choose.

He would spend any time he could watching these fights, shadowboxing by the edge to learn what he could. Eventually, he'd make his debut. To the surprise of everyone, the rookie won and it caught the eye of some particular folk. They saw the talent and a way to make money off of it. They approached him with an offer to throw his next fight. Solveig initially refused, but a young Dwarf's avarice can take hold rather quickly. Once the offer was right, Solveig would eventually agree.

He would continue this way of living for a long time. Sometimes his new 'endorsers' would allow him to win the fight, but mostly he would go down whenever they decided. However, the city eventually found out. Disgraced, Solveig was run out of Tharum Koldur and banished to Torvelt. If he could make it in such a harsh environment then he would be awarded his Dwarven honor back.

It was a tough adjustment at first but he had survived the five years he's lived in Torvelt so far. This time he was fighting for himself, and nothing hanging over his head. He's spent these years going tavern to tavern, taking on any challenger and spending night and day drinking and prizefighting. While he's run into trouble a fair few times, he's always punched his way out in the end. Solveig still thinks about going home, but he still feels he has something to prove. Besides, he could get used to this...