Omni5876

Hoseforn’s Academy for Gifted Adventurers

@Aerandir please forgive my ignorance but I’m not familiar with discord or it’s benefits. Also, from what I read it’s a sort of Skype call? I tend to have very little time to set aside like that but would appreciate any info so I can better understand the concept.

Jewel of the Skies

Don't really know what you mean but I think Arn is just really almost a true neutral or Lawful neutral character. Of course, depending on what happens to Eilis, he might be pushed over to the Lawful Evil side lol.

So believe it or not, my secondary story line falls really well into what you have provided already. I almost want to discuss it with you so you don't think I am just copying you but it is funny how similar or logical it seems. There may be another reason why Arn and Eilis are so connected lol.

Hoseforn’s Academy for Gifted Adventurers

I borrowed this from one of my DnD campaigns so If something needs to be updated to fit the current world I can do so. Also, I am assuming he will learn his cleric spells at school which is why I left it TBD or should I go ahead and fill those in?

Please see below and let me know, Thanks

Arn Thurson

Name: Arn Thurson of the Hammerstone Clan
Race: Mountain Dwarf
Age: 84 in human years a ripe 19 in dwarven
Gender: Male
Appearance:

My Hider

Arn in full Battle Armor

Everyday Gambeson

Formal Doublet

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.



Class: Cleric

Personality: 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.

Strengths:
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)

Spells: TBD

Weaknesses: (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.

Biography:

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
“why?”
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…
“why?”
Because people die in war, because sometimes those who live did not deserve it and those who died should have lived….
“why?”
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.

Hoseforn’s Academy for Gifted Adventurers

Are you still taking in new students? I am thinking of a Dwarven Cleric.

To Claim a Starting World

The big man shifted the dead weight of the man wolf as the young lad spoke. A grumble proceeded from deep in the hunter’s chest as he listened and the names of the two delinquents was brought up. He caught himself and stopped the disapproving sound that would have been very natural in any dog.

Oskar fully explained what the hunter had theorized. The man wolf had been the victim of young stupidity. A hunter would have been much more merciful in their arrow work and a guard would have already delivered the dead body of a suspected monster to the elders of the village.

No this episode reeked of the need for entertainment and the cruelty that some humans took very easily too. Unlike animals, humans tended to play with wounded things. They rejoiced in the feeling of power it gave them. Animals hunted for food, never for sport. Even the playful kitten is not doing that out of evilness but out of a desire to prolong the hunt and try out more skills.

Arn gave a big sigh. “Come boy, you must tell this story to the Elders. This may not be your doing. But only a coward would hide the truth.” Arn motioned his head towards the wounded man. It was still unclear if the person would survive. “We need to take him to the healer.” He reminded the young woman next to him and again turned his blue eyes to the would be hunter lad. “Come” was all he said and started walking towards the village again.

Jewel of the Skies

Arn just stared back at the dark haired witch. His eyes were even but there was nothing in them but a deadly promise to any who dared to harm the sleeping form of Eilis on his lap. His feelings had been strained. Not only from the things he had witnessed but the effort of controlling the Aether in such a manner. It made him wonder who both women managed to do so with seemingly little effort.

The battle mage had been praised for his great capability for magic as well as the strong aptitude for magic by many in the Cauldron and the Academy. The Vice Archmage had even had a few talks with him to measure him up. This potential had allowed a bastard lowly birthed nobody to be invited to the prestigious Academy and offered a job at royal court.

All of this was naught in the sheer power that the mage had witnessed. He was not sure how much he would have been able to oppose them should they had truly been of the mind to snuff him out. A dark anger welled up inside him. He had fought all his life to never feel useless again but here he was ignorant to the power that rested in his lap.

That power had stirred something inside him that made him feel ashamed. Witnessing such raw power had made Arn feel….lustful. But not in the carnal way that is quickly satisfied with the pleasure of the flesh. Instead, he wanted that power. He wanted to control that power. He wanted to awaken that power in Eilis merge it with is own and share it with her. Dark currents of desire like cold sweats still ran down his spine and fueled his dark anger.

This was further aggravated by the declaration that somebody had already successfully tapped into hat power and was greedily draining it away. The battle mage’s mind searched desperately for a plan of attack. Ironically, it was not in the volumes of books that he had the pleasure of reading in the secret place of the Academy. In fact, his answer came in the most rudimentary of practices taught to all magic recruits-Thread Cleansing.

A mage’s connection to the Aether is necessary to draw from that power. However, due to inadequate casting or prolonged use, that connection can weaken or suffer in some manner. Via deep meditation and a sort of astral projection where the person travels the Thread and repairs any damage, Thread Cleansing is possible.

Arn had also discovered that with enough practice and skill, one could actually enhance one’s thread to be able to draw even more power from the source. This was extremely dangerous because if unregulated and unpracticed, the flow of power could burn a mage out. There were many applications of this simple procedure he was still trying to learn. Who was to say that a mage of the old hero’s level was not capable of forming bonds with the threads of other humans.

Had the dark haired woman in front of him not tried to kill them all, Arn would have loved to learn from her. Her insight and teachings were so dangerous and so forbidden that there was no doubt that they were powerful. Mage’s often have many restrictions due to the dangers the Aether poses to those with the lack of power or experience. Certain techniques are painted as forbidden but are not inherently bad. The way that one uses those techniques is what causes that distinction.

The powerful will often feel themselves above such trivial matters of good and evil. To them, there is only power. This was evident in the secret retelling of what history recorded. Arn had always had an inkling that the stories that were promulgated to the masses held half truths and revisions. After all, the weak need only be told what the truth is. However, he also knew that digging too deep would lead to your own grave or the discovery of a dark pit so endless, that you would loose yourself in it.

Arn met the gaze of the woman. “Then what is your purpose of coming here? If what you say is true, then Eilis could run to the ends of Ith and still not escape her prison. So why chase her?” His eyes narrowed. “If you wanted her dead, you could have easily killed her.” He gently laid his proteges head down and stood up. “IF all you said is true. Then I will shoulder the burden of the lives to be lost by her staying alive. Eventually she will perish, from what you have said, so why deny her the simple life while it lasts.”


His tone turned dark. “IF however, my assumption is right, I think that like all prisons and all chains, there is a way to break them and your master is afraid that will happen. Either way, you have no claim over her now. Remain and I promise to end your life if its the last thing I do.” He stared at her. Controlled death in his eyes. To any even minimally attuned to magic, there seemed to be a sudden increase in Arn’s projection. He had opened a second gate to the Aether. He had not used this very often and would mean he would tire out much faster. But it also meant, that the power that now flowed through him was immense almost reaching that of the Vice Archmage.

Jewel of the Skies

I dont recall you mentioning that but thanks for the info. Yeah stay safe out there and dont stress too much about replies. While it always brings a smile to my face to read a reply I understand that you may be streched thin. That being said, let me now if you ever want to go ahead and pursue other options. Ill reply when I can do the reply justice.

Jewel of the Skies

not an issue. I have an inspection this week and thought I was going to be absent but It went rather smoothly. I am deff here for the long run. If you want me gone you gonna have to kick me out.

Rise of the Shield Hero - From Another World

oh yes, sorry if I did not communicate properly. As I stated, IC I have not had a chance to upgrade my shield with ingredients and stuff.

Jewel of the Skies

Arn fought not only with his concentration to keep the Aether focused on his young lady’s neck, but he fought with the desire to stop this action on her. Regardless of the reason, he hated having to harm her or bring pain upon her. The magic threads pulled and expanded as he tried to control his own output of magic and the flow of it. Too much and he would crush her neck, too little and the goal would not be achieved.

His eyes began to fill with liquid compassion and shame. He was being no better than the black haired witch who had harmed poor Eilis. Yet he knew that she needed to be free from this version of her. Even if he was never forgiven, he would not allow his protegee to continue to be this dark force. He would not kill her but he would not just stand idly by.

When her dark eyes fixed on him he could do little else than whisper “I am sorry” as tears began to spring from his eyes. The Master Mage collapsed to his knees just as the girl fell unconscious. His chest shuddered as he tried to gasp for breath in between slight sobs. He looked at her small form. Like a rag doll which had been played to hard with.

He was weak from his expenditure of magic that had been required to so carefully manipulate the forces of the Aether in such a manner. Also, he had never attempted to do such a thing. He would normally excite or harness the raw energies of the magic threads. All he had to do was provide a direction for the destructive forces and unleash them. This time however, he needed to basically use his own power to block off the flow of magic just enough. It was like pouring drops of water into a small glass while carrying a 50 gallon bladder full of water on your back.

The mage moved forwards on his hands and knees slowly. Tyrhallan and the witch the least of his worries. His eyes could only hold the crumpled form of Eilis in his gaze. Only when Uille’s voice boomed in authority did Arn look in the direction of the trio. Still, seeing that there was nothing that would threaten Eilis immediately, he continued his pilgrimage until he reached the poor girl.

Her body had cuts and tears were the bindings were. She was not bleeding profusely but she looked as if she had been very efficiently carved. He clenched his teeth in anger and frustration. He knew she was still alive due to the soft rise and fall of her chest in the now torn green dress she had worn.

The battle mage lifted her head and placed it on his lap brushing the disheveled hair out of her bloody and yet still oddly beautiful face. A few drops of his tears landed on her face and ran to mingle with her slightly bloodied wounds.

Arn could hear what they were saying. The black haired woman called Eilis an abomination. He had seen a terrigying sight but he was convinced that this corrupted form had been a product of her torturous time in the convent. His anger was now directed towards the witch as she turned to look at him.

A man who had considered himself no more than a weapon could not accepte that people considered the girl in his lap as nothing else. ‘She deserved better than that. She deserved a full life surrounded by friends and family. Even as a person who had seen war and suffering, Arn believed that life was meant to be lived to the fullest. Perhaps that is why he was so committed to her freedom and protection. He wanted the rest of her life to whipe clean her beginning years.

“The wisest thing to do…and the most merciful is to end her life. Right here. Right now.” Scylla ended looking at the three men for a moment before she sighed.
"The choice is yours gentlemen. Do the right thing."

Arn placed a gentle hand upon upon Eilis. He set her down gently and then stood over her protectively. His voice was calm but cold and as deadly as a sharp blade. “No one will touch her. You make her out to be certain death to the world. Yet you or yours did not do her the mercy of ending her life as you claim. You wanted to use her. When she would not be your pawn you sought to end her. She attempted to leave that cursed life behind. It was you who triggered her turn to darkness.”

His eyes narrowed. “No one will touch her. She is stronger than all of us here. She is stronger than the destiny you would thrust upon her. She deserves a chance to live a life that does not have you or your damned beliefs in it.”

His eyes started to glow. “No one will touch her.” He said again. A warning to any in the room. He knew that Tyrhallan would consider the implications of the benefits of ending Eilis's life. Indeed, had the master mage not had such a deep connection with the tattooed beauty, he himself might have considered carrying the sin of her death. Unfortunately for all of them, she had caused a change in him that overruled even his most logical of thoughts.