Name: Forsoff Glintson
Appearance: Standing at around four foot seven, Forsoff is short and stocky like most of his race, with bulging muscles from his work. He wears his hair natural, and it’s of medium length just short of his shoulders. Black in colour, he also has a thick beard stretching down about two inches from the bottom of his chin and a classic dwarven moustache. His face is scarred from conflicts in his youth and his large hands are heat scarred from the forge.
Personality: Hearty, social and practical, Forsoff is hard working because he feels it only heightens the pleasure of drink and relaxation afterwards. However, he doesn’t take insults lightly and has a fighting spirit. His pride is also something of a weakness, and he is strongly conscious of his low stature. He would probably be considered average in intelligence, but he does have the odd moment of clarity. His particular thinking set makes him greatly adverse to things magical in nature, and he particularly detests criminals and those who prey on honest working men.
He has a measure of respect for those of higher class, so long as they do nothing to lose it. (For example, a lord known to be cruel or harsh to his workers would be met with a certain cold and test manner from Forsoff) In general though, he usually greets everyone in a cheerful way. To sum up, he’s a fairly simple and honest man who doesn’t stand for disrespect and respects those who work hard and treat others well.
Spirit Animal: Ram
Spirit World: Rocky mountainside
Equipment: Rawhide leather blacksmiths tunic, iron bracers, Dwarven blacksmithing hammer, leather boots and leggings. Small rucksack with basic travelling supplies and a purse with his savings, he doesn’t have a huge amount of money, but a moderate amount for a working man.
Major: Dwarven fighting skills (Axes and Hammers especially.)
Strengths: Physically strong (even for a dwarf) with considerable muscle endurance. Has a degree of hardiness and resistance to heat and cold. Has knowledge of weaponry and armour which helps in battle on top of blacksmithing. (Also has most other dwarven strengths, such as decent vision moderate resistance to magic and mind effects, poisons etc.)
Weakness: Slow and short, he lacks the finesse to deal with multiple opponents who have any degree of agility or speed at their own disposal. However in the heat of battle he can easily knock a man down to his size with a powerful blow to the legs.
History: Forsoff was born to a warrior caste of moderate renown. His father was a strong willed and fair man, who taught him the morals he still holds to some degree now. As he grew his siblings were never close to him, located all over the world in numerous Dwarven settlements on account of their father setting them all loose on their 18th birthdays. However, his father taught him well the skills he had learned in a lifetime of conflict. He left with his parents love, and never returned. Relatively unskilled in all but the fighting techniques learned as a child, but strong and hardy with a love of good ale instilled in him from a young age, he wandered into a mining town. He settled there for a while, although he never owned any property or set down any real roots. Forsoff left his home in the caves of Alkarin after he was forced to beat some of his fellow mine workers to near death in a brawl after a serious altercation.
Once again he wandered, although his knowledge of certain metals had grown to a degree and his strength and endurance had improved. The blacksmith trade appealed to him greatly as there was a fair amount of money to be made in it. When he found a dwarf willing to teach him he learned all he could of the trade, not a significant amount as his teacher forged mundane items, and moved on. He is still learning to this day, and probably would have continued down that path had it not been for the sudden interference of a certain god.
Dialogue Color: Burlywood
Post Sample: The dimly lit hall was clouded with smoke and filled with an uncomfortable ruddy heat. Hearty laughter and good natured chattering drowned out the lone Dwarf’s thoughts as he puffed on a pipe in one corner of the room. The town was one of many for him, the tavern a thing he was more familiar with than his own father. Forsoff dropped his pipe with one hand and seized a half filled tankard of ale, drinking it in massive gulps. Some spilled over his heat worn leather apron, and his arms knotted with the smallest of movements, making it blatantly apparent the trade he practised. With a sigh he slammed the mug onto the wooden table and stood, walking with a certain unstable lurch and belching as he passed the other occupants of the ale house. He stood a little under shoulder height on the humans outside, but he ignored them as he made his way doggedly towards the smithy.
With a forceful push he sent the wooden shutters flying and strode into his temporary home in the forge, where he lived and worked while he learned what he could from the Dwarven weapon master in town. His skill was progressing rapidly, Forsoff was after all a Dwarf, but he was still considered an apprentice in most respects. All of the basics were there, only in experience was he lacking.
As the drink befuddled dwarf made ready to snuggle down beside the still warm embers of the forge, heavy footsteps caused him to raise his head in alarm. The overwhelming aura of strength and the dull hammering of the forge surrounded him, and he looked into the face of his god.
“A little young and more than a little drunk, but aye you’ll do.”