Kalmar

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Thud! Thud!

The thundering of a solitary pair of steel boots on hard ground quickly approached the keep. A lone dwarf, panting, and quite understandably so. Despite his high endurance, dwarven legs were not built for speed. Add in his heavy armor, the warm weather, and the keep's position on a mountain, and the result is quite possibly the most exhausting jog Joric had ever experienced in his entire life.

Finally, he came to a stop, red-faced and breathing so heavily he could barely form a sentence. The guards looked at him with questioning glances.

"I... I..." He sputtered out. Despite his exhausted, fatigued state, he somehow managed to grin. "...wouldn't want to keep you, but I've 'eard your call for aid, and came to see what all the yammering's about. You could say that getting here was... an uphill battle."

One of the guards chuckled. Another took his gauntlet off, just to bury his face in his palm. The rest had looks of either mild amusement or confusion. A few moments of silence passed, before their leader finally spoke. "The meeting's already underway. Head on in."

-----

Darius fought valiantly to conceal his boredom as the old man rambled on. But he knew that if he tuned out, he might miss an important detail, like what they would be facing or - more importantly - how much they would be paid. When the subject turned to the undead and ancient legends of curses, Darius's eyebrows raised in surprise.

In his years of traveling, all the foes he had fought were mostly living, sentient humanoids, with the rare aggressive wild animal here or there on the road. Never had he encountered an undead, and rarely did he have to deal with anything magic related (with the exception of his enchanted gear, of course.) His own experience with magic mostly consisted of having to avoid magical traps, wards, or alarms in the homes of particularly paranoid nobles. The amount of wizards he actually fought could be counted on one hand.

The actual pay for the job was one hundred and seventy-five gold. No meager sum, of course, but surely whatever he could find in those tombs would be much more valuable?

He was just opening his mouth to negotiate higher pay, when suddenly a late arrival - some sort of knight, it seemed, spoke up to warn them against doing exactly what Darius had been thinking. Those knights - such spoilsports. The elven gypsy then cut in, arguing almost exactly what Darius had been thinking, before asking for a rather... ambitious increase in pay. One seventy-five to three hundred was a huge leap, and with so many faces in the room and the rather modest furnishings in the household, it could turn out to be a ridiculous sum to ask from this man.

Still, he said nothing. That was how haggling worked, after all. You start with an outrageous counter-offer, and after long negotiation you eventually end up somewhere in the middle. For now Darius kept his mouth shut, to see how it would play out.

-----

Joric strolled into the meeting room, the sound of steel plates shuffling together immediately notifying everyone of his entrance. His breathing had calmed down significantly, and there were only a few beads of sweat on his face. "Sorry I'm late." he announced with a grin, walking up to the nearest unoccupied chair. "But you could say that I'm bringing a lot of skills to the table!" And he sat down at the table, as if to emphasize his point. "Now what's this about? I 'eard something about tombs and undead. Sounds like a task I could dead-icate myself to!"

The dwarf gave off a bit of an odor, which the elven gypsy he sat next to would probably be able to notice - it had been days since he last bathed.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Joric Ironfist

Race: Shield Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 103

Class: Fighter

Stats:

Strength: 18
Dexterity: 13
Constitution: 20
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 9
Charisma: 5

Physical Description: Joric stands at approximately 4' 9", with a light skin tone. He has an unruly head of dark hair, which sets him apart from most dwarves that prefer to go bald. Like most dwarves, he does have a beard. It is eight inches long, but neatly groomed unlike his hair - he usually wears a helmet anyways. His eyes are dark blue, and his nose is slightly misshapen from when it was broken long ago, and never healed quite right. He often has a cheesy grin on his face that reveals a missing front tooth. Some people may think he is not the most attractive individual, but some people do not understand true beauty.

Moving down to the rest of his body, Joric's muscles have been built up over years of training, traveling, and fighting. He has numerous scars that he earned fighting anything from common brigands to vicious beasts.

Armor/Attire: Joric wears a steel helmet with a sharp two inch-long spike on top, mostly to prevent taller beings from condescendingly patting him on the head, as many humans seem to do when faced with shorter beings. The helmet does not protect the lower half of his face, allowing his beard to flow out, and the eyeslits are larger than most - he likes visibility. The rest of his armor is standard heavy steel plate, although it is worth noting that the gauntlets and boots have short-yet-sharp spikes on the knuckles and toes. Around his waste is a black leather belt, and he has a simple traveler's pack on his back.

Equipment

• One-handed single-bladed steel battleaxe, fashioned from Dwarven steel with a hilt wrapped in leather. Joric frequently ensures that is sharpened, giving him an edge in combat. He keeps it on his belt at his right hip.
• A steel longsword, or at least a longsword by Dwarven standards. Though he prefers his axe, there are times when a sword may be more useful. It never hurts to have a back-up, either. You could say Joric has proven this point on multiple occasions.
• A round steel shield, glowing softly with a magic-resistant enchantment. Fire and ice will neither heat nor cool it, the shield itself is less likely to break under magical force, and Joric himself is less likely to be knocked off his feet. The shield itself is painted with the image of a red axe crossing a blue sword.
• A flask of strong dwarven brew at his belt.
• Basic traveling supplies in his pack: a canteen of water, some food, some rope, a bedroll, a knife.

Mental Description/Personality: Joric is rather optimistic, I guess. And by optimistic, I mean inappropriately so. He likes to yell out puns and one-liners, especially in combat. Some of these are cheesy or poorly thought out, while others can actually be rather clever. He can also be regarded as reckless, having a tendency to charge straight in or announce his presence before discussing battle tactics. Rarely will he back down from a challenge. All that said, he has a strong sense of honor and loyalty. There are a few other things I could say about his personality, but I'd rather leave that for others to piece together as the story progresses.

Goals: Joric doesn't have much of a purpose, to be completely honest. He simply seeks to wander the surface, slaying monsters and exploring new locations. If he happens to save some lives or earn some coin in the process, then all the better.

Background/History: Joric was born in an underground mining settlement somewhere in the Silver Marches. His parents were blacksmiths, and he was expected to follow in their footsteps, although he always harbored a curiosity as to what was on the surface. And while he did have an interest in weapons, it was more to do with how they were used than how they were made. He would take flawed weapons that his parents had discarded, and practice with them in secret. And being the son of a blacksmith allowed him to pick up quite a bit of information on what qualities to look for in a weapon, and how to do minor repairs on basic objects.

The work and training his parents continued to pile onto him prevented him from having an opportunity to explore the surface, even for a visit. And on the odd occasion that he did get free time, he was unable to work up the courage to actually go and explore.

As the years went on, his naive and idealistic desire to become a wandering hero started to fade, but his fascination with weaponry and combat didn't stop. He instead decided that he would rather be a guard. So when he came of age, he signed on with the town militia. After only a few weeks of actual training, he proved to be a skilled fighter from his earlier years of practice. Both his trainers and his comrades knew he had potential.

And then came the cave-in.

To this day, no one knows how it started. One day the ceiling of the cave just collapsed, burying the mines as well as half the town and killing most of its population. Joric had been in the middle of a training session at the time, but his parents had been in the other half.

His parents dead, the population devastated, and the town's main source of income destroyed, Joric was distraught. He and the other survivors dug away at the rubble for days, hoping to find survivors or recover valuable possessions. When the tool provided to him broke, he used his hands, clawing away at dirt and stone and until his fingers were raw and bleeding. As the days wore on, any hope of finding the survivors was lost.

Joric soon realized he had no reason to stay. He couldn't bear it. Picking up his weapon, he left for the surface without a word. He was set upon by a pair of bandits only a few days later, which he promptly slew. He remembered how much he enjoyed training with the militia. He thought of the thrill he had just felt, battling and overpowering two men. He looked up at the open sky above him, taking in the smell of the fresh air and the surrounding wildlife. He recalled his childhood dream to wander the surface as a monster-slaying hero.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

His fifty years of adventuring took him all across the Realms, doing mercenary work and even earning a modest reputation as a hero in some areas. He fought various beasts and rescued innocents, just as he had set out to do, although he quickly found it was not as glamorous as he imagined, but it was a life that he loved nonetheless. Eventually his travels took him to the Moonsea, and from there he found his way to Hulburg, where he answered a call for aid.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Wow. Apparently I DID name him Ironfist - I thought I put Ironfoot. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Well, Joric really didn't go up on the surface because he never had an opportunity - helping out his parents, training, as well as the concern that if he did go up, he would either find it to be an awful place, or find that it was a fantastic place and never want to go back home. He was around fifty when he finally left, which according to the wiki is the adult age for a dwarf, so he was still living with his parents as well.

And while that speech WOULD be funny, unfortunately it's not the kind of guy that Joric is (this isn't my first time using him in a roleplay, by the way. His last name would have been Ironfist, but apparently there's already a pre-existing clan of that name somewhere in the lore.)

I'll bump it up to nine, because while he's not an eloquent speaker he isn't a complete idiot - just a bit below average, which was what I thought 7 was. I wonder how a level 1 intelligence character would sound?

Also his jokes don't usually have much thought put into them. He just says the first thing that comes to mind, and sometimes it just so happens to be clever.

Edit: I adjusted his stats accordingly, and mentioned the Silver Marches in his background. Still hadn't been to the surface before the collapse, but I added in the reasons why.

Edit2: You know what, I'll just swap his intelligence with his wisdom. He now has 12 intelligence and 9 wisdom.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Joric Ironfist

Race: Shield Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 103

Class: Fighter

Stats:

Strength: 18
Dexterity: 13
Constitution: 20
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 9
Charisma: 5

Physical Description: Joric stands at approximately 4' 9", with a light skin tone. He has an unruly head of dark hair, which sets him apart from most dwarves that prefer to go bald. Like most dwarves, he does have a beard. It is eight inches long, but neatly groomed unlike his hair - he usually wears a helmet anyways. His eyes are dark blue, and his nose is slightly misshapen from when it was broken long ago, and never healed quite right. He often has a cheesy grin on his face that reveals a missing front tooth. Some people may think he is not the most attractive individual, but some people do not understand true beauty.

Moving down to the rest of his body, Joric's muscles have been built up over years of training, traveling, and fighting. He has numerous scars that he earned fighting anything from common brigands to vicious beasts.

Armor/Attire: Joric wears a steel helmet with a sharp two inch-long spike on top, mostly to prevent taller beings from condescendingly patting him on the head, as many humans seem to do when faced with shorter beings. The helmet does not protect the lower half of his face, allowing his beard to flow out, and the eyeslits are larger than most - he likes visibility. The rest of his armor is standard heavy steel plate, although it is worth noting that the gauntlets and boots have short-yet-sharp spikes on the knuckles and toes. Around his waste is a black leather belt, and he has a simple traveler's pack on his back.

Equipment

• One-handed single-bladed steel battleaxe, fashioned from Dwarven steel with a hilt wrapped in leather. Joric frequently ensures that is sharpened, giving him an edge in combat. He keeps it on his belt at his right hip.
• A steel longsword, or at least a longsword by Dwarven standards. Though he prefers his axe, there are times when a sword may be more useful. It never hurts to have a back-up, either. You could say Joric has proven this point on multiple occasions.
• A round steel shield, glowing softly with a magic-resistant enchantment. Fire and ice will neither heat nor cool it, the shield itself is less likely to break under magical force, and Joric himself is less likely to be knocked off his feet. The shield itself is painted with the image of a red axe crossing a blue sword.
• A flask of strong dwarven brew at his belt.
• Basic traveling supplies in his pack: a canteen of water, some food, some rope, a bedroll, a knife.

Mental Description/Personality: Joric is rather optimistic, I guess. And by optimistic, I mean inappropriately so. He likes to yell out puns and one-liners, especially in combat. Some of these are cheesy or poorly thought out, while others can actually be rather clever. He can also be regarded as reckless, having a tendency to charge straight in or announce his presence before discussing battle tactics. Rarely will he back down from a challenge. All that said, he has a strong sense of honor and loyalty. There are a few other things I could say about his personality, but I'd rather leave that for others to piece together as the story progresses.

Goals: Joric doesn't have much of a purpose, to be completely honest. He simply seeks to wander the surface, slaying monsters and exploring new locations. If he happens to save some lives or earn some coin in the process, then all the better.

Background/History: Joric was born in an underground mining settlement somewhere in the Silver Marches. His parents were blacksmiths, and he was expected to follow in their footsteps, although he always harbored a curiosity as to what was on the surface. And while he did have an interest in weapons, it was more to do with how they were used than how they were made. He would take flawed weapons that his parents had discarded, and practice with them in secret. And being the son of a blacksmith allowed him to pick up quite a bit of information on what qualities to look for in a weapon, and how to do minor repairs on basic objects.

The work and training his parents continued to pile onto him prevented him from having an opportunity to explore the surface, even for a visit. And on the odd occasion that he did get free time, he was unable to work up the courage to actually go and explore.

As the years went on, his naive and idealistic desire to become a wandering hero started to fade, but his fascination with weaponry and combat didn't stop. He instead decided that he would rather be a guard. So when he came of age, he signed on with the town militia. After only a few weeks of actual training, he proved to be a skilled fighter from his earlier years of practice. Both his trainers and his comrades knew he had potential.

And then came the cave-in.

To this day, no one knows how it started. One day the ceiling of the cave just collapsed, burying the mines as well as half the town and killing most of its population. Joric had been in the middle of a training session at the time, but his parents had been in the other half.

His parents dead, the population devastated, and the town's main source of income destroyed, Joric was distraught. He and the other survivors dug away at the rubble for days, hoping to find survivors or recover valuable possessions. When the tool provided to him broke, he used his hands, clawing away at dirt and stone and until his fingers were raw and bleeding. As the days wore on, any hope of finding the survivors was lost.

Joric soon realized he had no reason to stay. He couldn't bear it. Picking up his weapon, he left for the surface without a word. He was set upon by a pair of bandits only a few days later, which he promptly slew. He remembered how much he enjoyed training with the militia. He thought of the thrill he had just felt, battling and overpowering two men. He looked up at the open sky above him, taking in the smell of the fresh air and the surrounding wildlife. He recalled his childhood dream to wander the surface as a monster-slaying hero.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do.

His fifty years of adventuring took him all across the Realms, doing mercenary work and even earning a modest reputation as a hero in some areas. He fought various beasts and rescued innocents, just as he had set out to do, although he quickly found it was not as glamorous as he imagined, but it was a life that he loved nonetheless. Eventually his travels took him to the Moonsea, and from there he found his way to Hulburg, where he answered a call for aid.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

I'm here. Sorry if I'm a bit late to the sound off.

Are second characters allowed? I assure you that I have enough free time to manage it. I'm thinking a Dwarven Warrior who wears heavy armor and fights with an axe and shield.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Only shortly after Darius attempted to initiate conversation with the guards, their attention was diverted to the other newcomers. Most notably, an Orc who appeared to be wearing some sort of armored set of robes, and a Duergar who carried several daggers. They made an interesting sight, and Darius raised his eyebrows. Although he didn't have anything against their races, not many of their kind would choose to so brazenly approach a stronghold of heavily armed humans. It was a fortunate thing that the Sergeant was able to defuse the situation.

Briefly looking the elven gypsy up and down, Darius then turned and followed the Sergeant in, giving a nod to the Deep Dwarf from one dagger enthusiast to another.

Darius was actually somewhat surprised when he entered the Great Hall. He had robbed minor nobles with more lavish furnishings than the room he was standing in. What could that mean? Were they just being modest? Were they cheap or falling on hard times? If it was either of the last two, then perhaps this job might not be as lucrative as he thought...

Hiding his disappointment from his face, Darius walked up to the table and immediately sat down on one of the chairs, folding his arms behind his head. "So, I hear you're in need of aid." He repeated, giving the old man a friendly smile of his own. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Anyone, especially a noble, could put on a friendly face whenever they wanted something from somebody else.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Done.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Darius Arenar

Race: Half Elf

Gender: Male

Age: 28

Class: Rogue

Stats:

Strength: 10
Dexterity: 20
Constitution: 10
Intelligence: 12
Wisdom: 7
Charisma: 18

Physical Description: Darius stands at approximately six foot one. He has a light skin tone with a slight tan to it, and a slightly muscular build well suited to speed and agility. He has medium length dark blond, almost brown, hair, and in the way of facial hair he has some short stubble on his cheeks. As for his eyes, they are a piercing dark green, and can vary between cold and calculating to kind and friendly, depending on what front he is trying to put up. He can be described as rather handsome, although he does have a thin, pale, barely noticeable scar running from under his left eye to the bottom of his cheek.

Armor/Attire: Darius wears a brown vest of boiled leather, with a few empty pouches to quickly stash small items and potions. On his wrists he wears hardened leather bracers, and on his hands fingerless leather gloves. For leggings, he wears a pair of leather pants with additional padding on the thighs and crotch to hopefully negate any dirty fighting tactics. Protecting his shins and knees are some steel greaves, and for footwear he wears a pair of brown leather boots with a minor enchantment to reduce the noise he makes while walking.

To help him blend in cities, or protect him from the elements while traveling, he also has a hooded dark green cloak that is quite warm when wrapped around him.

Equipment

• Eight daggers and knives. Two are kept in sheaths strapped to his wrist, two on his belt, two more strapped to his thighs, and an additional two hidden in his boots.
• A light crossbow with twelve bolts.
• A walking stick, to help make him look more like a harmless traveler when he is out on the road.
• Several lockpicks in a pouch on his belt.
• A vial of poison and an antidote to go with it.
• Boots of Stealth that muffle his footsteps.
• Basic items like a coinpouch and a canteen on his belt.

Mental Description/Personality: Darius is a complicated individual. Although he has no qualms with resorting to thievery or breaking the law to get by, he doesn't make an active habit of it, and tends to only target the wealthy. He has a slight distrust of guards and authority figures, and will often take the law into his own hands, whether to profit or do what he thinks is right. But he also has a soft spot towards beggars and children, and tries to do right by the common citizen. Those who do manage to earn his trust will find a steadfast friend and ally.

Goals: Darius doesn't have any particularly grand ambitions. He simply wishes to travel and earn enough coin to get by, perhaps even enough to retire and live a long comfortable life, as unlikely as that is.

Background/History: Darius was born in Thentia to an elven mother and a human father. His mother was an alchemist who owned a small potion shop, and his father an adventurer who he had never got to meet. Their life wasn't exactly comfortable, but they got by, his mother teaching him how to identify herbs and brew potions so he could help her run the shop. That changed when he turned fourteen and his mother died of an unknown disease. Only a few days later, he realized that their financial situation was more severe than she let on. The shop had to be sold to pay off his mother's debts, and Darius was reduced to a life on the streets.

For his first few weeks he was reduced to begging in the streets, spending many a night cold and hungry. Eventually it became too much to bear, and he turned to thievery. Small things, at first - an apple or a loaf of bread from a market stall. But as he got better at it, he became more bold. When he was fifteen, he ended up joining a gang, who taught him how to pick pockets and defend himself using daggers and knives. He became extremely good at sneaking and blending in, and also found that he had a way with words; able to put on a convincing act of innocence whenever somebody suspected him.

When he was seventeen, the gang began to trust him with riskier assignments - break-ins. They taught him how to pick locks, which he was also quite good at. As the years went on, his other skills only improved. His boss was particularly proud of him, and one day gave him a pair of enchanted boots as payment for a particularly challenging heist (although in truth, they had belonged to another member of the gang who was found dead in an alley, and they just so happened to be Darius's size.)

But eventually, when he was twenty two, his luck ran out. His boss had become overconfident, and planned a rather daring job on the mansion of a powerful noble. Instead of the usual two or three assigned to a heist, it was a group of five, Darius among them. It had started out easy enough, and getting inside was surprisingly easy. And then it all went wrong.

Darius wasn't sure who had triggered the magical alarm - they had split up to cover all the rooms faster. But it made a loud noise that could be heard throughout the house, and all stealth was quickly abandoned. The five of them fled through the front door in panic, just as a patrol of guards happened to be passing by, who immediately took notice. The group split up and fled in different directions, the guards chasing them.

Darius ended up being pursued by two guards who were particularly fleet footed. Unfamiliar with the neighborhood, he made a wrong turn and found himself facing a dead end. Unwilling to go to prison, he drew his daggers and turned around...

That night had been the first time he had ever killed someone. He had been unwilling to kill the second one, only wounding him, but he had seen Darius's face. Two of his fellow gang members had also been captured that night, and Darius feared they might give the others up. Even if he wanted too, staying in the city was no longer an option. So he fled, stowing away in a merchant cart as it left the city, not knowing his destination but simply wanting to leave his past behind.

He arrived in Melvaunt, and was left with the challenge of applying his skillset to a safer, more ethical line of work. So he became something of a private investigator. His skills of remaining undetected and getting into places he shouldn't proved to be quite useful, as he followed men and women whose spouses thought they were cheating, spied on employees whose bosses suspected of stealing, and solved more than a few cases that the city guards themselves had been unable to handle. He soon gained a reputation as someone who could find out anything.

But the idea of spending all his time in a city doing the same work began to feel a bit dull. He also feared that his reputation was getting too good - Thentia wasn't that far away, after all. What if word spread? So, he packed up and left.

He spent the next few years after that traveling around the Moonsea. He would arrive in a settlement, spend several months or maybe even a year there doing work, and then once he had experienced everything the city had to offer and was secure in his financial situation, he would journey to the next city down the road. In particularly lean times when jobs were hard to find, he would resort back to thievery to keep himself fed and comfortable. Sometimes he would get into brushes with the law, while other times he would become the target of corrupt nobles or gangs that he came close to uncovering.

During this time, he also started worshiping Tymora. His mother had never raised him to be religious, but it only seemed fitting for someone in his position and skill set to follow the goddess of luck and change.

Eventually his travels took him all the way to Hulsburg, which he arrived in only recently. Having only been there for a few days, he once again faces the challenge of starting fresh in a brand new city. Fortunately, it is a challenge that he has gotten quite used to - although the city's close proximity to Thentia is somewhat unnerving, despite the fact that his name has likely been forgotten already.

Forgotten Realms: Adventures of Faerun

Darius approached the keep, clad in his usual armor with all of his daggers in their sheathes and his light crossbow on his back. His cloak and staff had been left at the inn he was currently staying at. Better to let them know he was armed to teeth than look like he was trying to hide it, even if it might cause the guards to be instantly suspicious.

As he approached, he eyed the defenses warily, but did not let himself be intimidated. Such places were built to be intimidating, after all. That, and he had seen his own fair share of castles and forts during his travel around the Moonsea. His wariness was mostly due to the fact that he tended to avoid authority figures unless it was work related. He had plenty of brushes with the law in the past. While it was true that he was often the one who had committed the crime, there were also a few cases where he had tried to do the right thing, only to discover that the guard he reported an incident to was corrupt, or they simply didn't trust his word against that of a wealthy nobleman.

The only reason he had come at all was because he was having difficulty finding work. Performing an errand for the family who ran the city would not only grant him a sizeable amount of coin, but also potentially get his name out there. Assuming this Grigor Hulmaster was fair in his dealings, that is. There had been many an occasion where an employer had gotten greedy and refused to pay him. And usually, a few choice items went 'missing' from their home a few weeks later.

"So!" He suddenly said as he walked towards the Sergeant, putting up a friendly smile and holding his arms outstretched, clearly revealing the sheathed daggers at his wrists. "I hear you're in need of aid. But first, I take it you'll be confiscating our weapons?" He asked, motioning to remove one of his daggers, although in truth he detested the idea of giving it up.