I think we should give @EWillden and everyone else a chance to show up before we take the conversation further.
Fatal Error 1337 Member
The Wrathful
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- Fatal Error 1337 11 yrs ago
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Notable Achievements:
- Can consistently write 3,000+ word posts
- Bested the Bronies in the "Go through the Alphabet before someone posts a My Little Pony Picture" forum
- Can consistently write 3,000+ word posts
- Bested the Bronies in the "Go through the Alphabet before someone posts a My Little Pony Picture" forum
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Well then, she's in for a nasty surprise. ;)
I'm getting the feeling you're not %100 aware of how dwarves and elves usually interact...
There, fucking re wrote it. Though I have to admit that it's a lot better the second time around.
The squat figure shambled down the road leaving the docks, stumbling every now and again with each heavy step. The only things helping him keep his balance were the large pack on one shoulder that gently clanked its contents with each step, and the massive war hammer resting on the other.
"Damn the bloody ocean." he grumbled. "Damn that bloody ship. And damn that that bloODY, SON OF A GOBLIN WHORE PIRATE!" His frustrated yelling was punctuated by his nausea attempting a reenactment of his four day journey. Bjoric managed to keep it down to a small belch, tasting of the rancid grog that had been given to him with promises of quieting his stomach, which almost started the process over again.
"I need a drink." With a deep breath he pushed on, stopping at the first tavern that didn't stink of fish. Pushing through the door of the Oasis he was greeted with the comforting smells of fresh food and ale. Shuffling to the bar and finding a vacant seat, he dropped his belongings to the floor, drawing fourth his purse and digging out a few coins. "Your darkest ale." He said, placing the coins on the bar after heaving himself into the stool that was clearly not built with dwarves in mind.
Replacing the purse to his belt, he couldn't help feel how unnervingly light it was becoming. He was going to need to find some work before he'd be able to carry on. The tavern keep placed the tankard in front of Bjoric, "Thank ye." With that he brought the tankard to his lips and took a long draw of the almost black ale. Having drained half of it stopped to let out a contented sigh of relief, the nausea being washed away by the bitter liquid. Looking around he saw that this was popular establishment, many of the patrons wearing clothes far finer than his own. Next his eyes were drawn to a notice board with papers stuck to it.
Deciding to take a closer look he hopped from his stool, placing his hammer in his pack and slinging both over his shoulder he took up his half-empty tankard and made for the board. A quick scan and another sip of ale revealed most of the notices to nothing more than menial labor, until he saw one with nothing more than the reward of 1,000 gold pieces and direction to a table to inquire further. Looking to the table described he saw that three other had already gathered there, including a mountain of a man that he was surprised he hadn't noticed earlier. Making his way over he was able to see that one of the others was an elf maiden, the third figure was wearing a cloak which made it hard to see her face.
"Moradins beard your a big one ain't ye." he remarked, as the man seemed to only get taller once Bjoric reached the table. "I gather ye are all here 'or the mountain o gold this fool's ofer'n too?"
"Damn the bloody ocean." he grumbled. "Damn that bloody ship. And damn that that bloODY, SON OF A GOBLIN WHORE PIRATE!" His frustrated yelling was punctuated by his nausea attempting a reenactment of his four day journey. Bjoric managed to keep it down to a small belch, tasting of the rancid grog that had been given to him with promises of quieting his stomach, which almost started the process over again.
"I need a drink." With a deep breath he pushed on, stopping at the first tavern that didn't stink of fish. Pushing through the door of the Oasis he was greeted with the comforting smells of fresh food and ale. Shuffling to the bar and finding a vacant seat, he dropped his belongings to the floor, drawing fourth his purse and digging out a few coins. "Your darkest ale." He said, placing the coins on the bar after heaving himself into the stool that was clearly not built with dwarves in mind.
Replacing the purse to his belt, he couldn't help feel how unnervingly light it was becoming. He was going to need to find some work before he'd be able to carry on. The tavern keep placed the tankard in front of Bjoric, "Thank ye." With that he brought the tankard to his lips and took a long draw of the almost black ale. Having drained half of it stopped to let out a contented sigh of relief, the nausea being washed away by the bitter liquid. Looking around he saw that this was popular establishment, many of the patrons wearing clothes far finer than his own. Next his eyes were drawn to a notice board with papers stuck to it.
Deciding to take a closer look he hopped from his stool, placing his hammer in his pack and slinging both over his shoulder he took up his half-empty tankard and made for the board. A quick scan and another sip of ale revealed most of the notices to nothing more than menial labor, until he saw one with nothing more than the reward of 1,000 gold pieces and direction to a table to inquire further. Looking to the table described he saw that three other had already gathered there, including a mountain of a man that he was surprised he hadn't noticed earlier. Making his way over he was able to see that one of the others was an elf maiden, the third figure was wearing a cloak which made it hard to see her face.
"Moradins beard your a big one ain't ye." he remarked, as the man seemed to only get taller once Bjoric reached the table. "I gather ye are all here 'or the mountain o gold this fool's ofer'n too?"
SON OF A WHORE! I just lost my post and the save I made isn't working. Going to have to rewrite the whole god damned thing!
There, Bjoric lives to fight again, make sailors blush and nuns weep.
Name: Bjoric Stoutsmith
Age: 101
Race: Dwarf
Alignment: Neutral Good
Class: Cleric (War Domain)
Description:
Biography:
Bjoric was born into a large family within the halls of the small dwarven city. They were considered pillars of the community, his eldest brother practically ran the mine that was the lifeblood of the city. Even his uncle boasted that a third of all the craftsmen in the city had Stoutsmith blood in their veins. As a young man Bjoric was the first in his family to take vows and join the clergy, but it wasn't long after that the mines fell. Having broken into a vast network of caves they had awoken a swarm of giant insect like creature that had crawled out a nightmare. After the many who had died at the swarms arrival, they fought back to reclaim livelihood. Bjoric and the rest of the clergy worked to heal those who were wounded in the fighting, many falling ill to their poisonous bite. Soon they were unable to keep the fighting contained to the mines and taking up the hammer his father had made for him, Bjoric fought to keep the monstrosities away from the wounded while they escaped. This was when Bjoric found he was able to call for Moradins aid in battle far more easily than the other clerics.
Aiding in the escape, Bjoric and the rest of the dwarves were forced to abandon the city with the few who survived. Few of his family were among those who survived, they and the other survivors made their way to neighboring towns or cities trying to make new lives. The pain of losing so many family led Bjoric to decide that a life of wandering the world would lead to his finding peace.
Demeanor/Attitude:
As with any proud dwarf, Bjoric has a passion for ale. Again being true to his kind he can be seen as gruff to those who don't know him well but is fiercely loyal to those he calls friend.
Other:
Since beginning his adventures he's developed the habit of shouting curses and insults at his foes.
Age: 101
Race: Dwarf
Alignment: Neutral Good
Class: Cleric (War Domain)
Description:
Biography:
Bjoric was born into a large family within the halls of the small dwarven city. They were considered pillars of the community, his eldest brother practically ran the mine that was the lifeblood of the city. Even his uncle boasted that a third of all the craftsmen in the city had Stoutsmith blood in their veins. As a young man Bjoric was the first in his family to take vows and join the clergy, but it wasn't long after that the mines fell. Having broken into a vast network of caves they had awoken a swarm of giant insect like creature that had crawled out a nightmare. After the many who had died at the swarms arrival, they fought back to reclaim livelihood. Bjoric and the rest of the clergy worked to heal those who were wounded in the fighting, many falling ill to their poisonous bite. Soon they were unable to keep the fighting contained to the mines and taking up the hammer his father had made for him, Bjoric fought to keep the monstrosities away from the wounded while they escaped. This was when Bjoric found he was able to call for Moradins aid in battle far more easily than the other clerics.
Aiding in the escape, Bjoric and the rest of the dwarves were forced to abandon the city with the few who survived. Few of his family were among those who survived, they and the other survivors made their way to neighboring towns or cities trying to make new lives. The pain of losing so many family led Bjoric to decide that a life of wandering the world would lead to his finding peace.
Demeanor/Attitude:
As with any proud dwarf, Bjoric has a passion for ale. Again being true to his kind he can be seen as gruff to those who don't know him well but is fiercely loyal to those he calls friend.
Other:
Since beginning his adventures he's developed the habit of shouting curses and insults at his foes.
Okay I'm back, had to run out for a bit, CS will be converted shortly.
Alright, looks like Bjoric Stoutsmith is getting resurrected.
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