Post by Barron Cormac Toreln on Aug 29, 2007 12:36:56 GMT -5
Name: Barron Cormac Toreln IV, the Silent One
Age: 167 years old
Gender: Male
Race: Dwarf
Sub-race: Lord [Leader]
Description: A large nosed dwarf, Barron Cormac has many scars about his body: the monarch is missing three fingers on his right hand, an eyeball, he limps sometimes and he has a long cut in the center of his chest; his fascination with battle has not thrived without a price. Although his smile is handsome, Barron's face has been battered into an expressionless visage, from long winter nights in the mountains, to his constant battles. To protect his body from the same cold that has frozen his face (both figuratively and literally) Barron wears a large fur cloak. It is strange that he prides himself in wearing the fur, since is was a gift from a traveling human. Indeed, the fur is fine and warm, and the maker of the cloak was obviously a master of their craft. Barron Cormac has quite a negatively biased opinion of other races, though. Wrapped within the cloak the dwarf wears a warm maroon shirt. At his waist is a large black belt with a piece of leather to carry his small buckler. His war hammer is usually left in his room until needed. Under this red shirt and golden buckled belt is a pair of brown breeches, stitched with red to compliment the colours of his kingdom. He wears large leather boots, tied tightly by two buckles. The short dwarf is quite muscular because of his profession, and he prides himself that he can best anyone in a dual. A large red ponytail is braided down his back, with an equally large beard of the same colour at his front; Barron's face is handsome, disregarding the gruesome glassy eye.
When in battle, Barron wears a black wool tunic covered by a chain mail tunic of the same size. A quilt-patterned maroon and brown tunic covers the mass of both, the colours alternating at each quilted square. A large brown belt with an iron buckle is cinched at his waist, and similarly tied to his right arm is his buckler. He carries his war hammer on his back, or simply in his hand. He wears black trousers and the same boots he normally wears underneath all of this. A brown padded cap covers Barrons head, with flaps extended to cover his ears.
Personality: The cold climate of the Paerish Mountains has hardened Barron's emotions. The journey to Soirail over half a century ago made Barron a quiet dwarf, and this silence mixed with his stone face gives him an aggressive looking nature, to people unaccustomed to the Paerish Dwarves. Barron lets a few of his emotions slip by his barrier when with close friends, and he speaks more freely than with normal dwarves. However, he does not have many friends, other than his family, and so his subjects look upon his silence with an awed respect. Barron's voice is deep, reflecting his demeanor perfectly, and his voice is given much room to speak, when he opens his mouth; usually his contribution to conversation is worthy of the silence given. However, other races usually don't understand this gruff dwarf, and don't make room for his speech, making the Dwarf Lord a racist; his voice when speaking to other species is sarcastic, grumpy, and some-what patronizing. He rarely gets along with other nations.
History: As a young dwarf, Barron had no concern with the affairs of the kingdom, or of his father's place in Paerish. Like most youngsters of any race, he would run about with tireless energy, constantly causing mischief and trouble. However, Barron did have one goal. Barron would be a warrior. He was not only going to be a soldier in the Lord's Army; no, no, this young dwarf was going to be the next great tactician. The best strategist the dwarven world had seen in the past millennia! Of course, these were young dreams, uncaring of the responsibility and work it would take to become a legend among his kin. After he had chosen a weapon, coincidentally the same as his patriarch's, he went about his small colony learning different techniques from the garrisoned soldiers. Barron's training seemed to never end. By the time he had turned forty-three, Barron had become a sort of phenomena among the soldier's; he was much more skilled than most by that time, and yet he had never seen any combat! This young dwarf could beat trained professionals - seasoned warriors! This was, however, only in scenarios. When the entire garrison of his town had tutored him, even the replacement men, Barron was almost fifty years old. Ignoring that achievement of his, Barron had quickly set about the travelers - most were quite adept at combat, having to survive in the mountains. At the age of seventy-six Barron was still quite young, and had now become a diluted version of his dream. He was the town hero. It was on his birthday that Barron planned to leave for Soirail, to fulfill this goal of becoming a true legend.
Barron's father was a blacksmith, and like his son he was quite good at using a hammer. In fact, some of his colleagues had speculated that perhaps the elder Barron Toreln was the better of the two, with a war hammer. These comments had never been publicly spoken, either from respect to their fellow smith, or because they did not want to be proven wrong. They shouldn't have held their tongues, though. On the eve of his departure, and seventy-seventh birthday, Barron finally went to his father's work for the first time. It is often speculated whether before that day the young Barron Toreln had ever known his father was a blacksmith; for there was a quarrel, the reasons unknown, and a duel; one hammer-wielding Barron Toreln against the other. This long affair went into the streets, and the elder Barron was finally victorious. Barron Cormac Toreln's father had beaten him. The young dwarf had not been defeated for the past forty-one years. He suffered a broken arm, wrist, nose and a few cracked ribs from the incident, and had quickly stormed out from the town with a few of his followers, and the supplies that had already been packed.
Little is known about the adventures that Barron and his score of friends; but when they came to Soirail, they were dearly depleted in supplies, and even themselves. Only Barron and three other dwarves survived that journey. Even then, one did not survive with his sanity. For some, who had known Barron while stationed in his land, or who had been travelers that had educated him in battle, Barron seemed a different dwarf. He had lost fingers, his nose had been broken and he had lost an eye. The glassy orb that filled his left optical seemed exactly the same colour as his useful one, making the new Barron Cormac a frightening sight. He was gruff, and it appeared he had endured much on the way to Soirail.
Three years past, and Barron's manner was still the same, mostly. He did not talk when he needn't, but he was more cheerful looking now. He had joined the army, and had received promotion after promotion for his logic and his skill. He smiled regularly now, without strain. He still did not go back to his father, or mother, however. He never would.
Barron's life fell into routine, after a while, and by the time he was one hundred and twenty-four he had become the aide of the Dwarf Lord. He had entirely forgotten his past life, after his three companions had died some years earlier from a small plague that had touched the fortress. He was living among the legends of the time. He was living his dream. Then one day a message came from a local peddler that Barron's hometown had been raided by goblins. There were no survivors, people assumed. In less than a minute Barron's life had been turned upside down once more. He suddenly wished he had forgiven his father for their fight, and brought both of his parents here to live with him, to be spoiled by his success.
Such was not to be, and soon Barron forced himself to forget his parents; what had been done, was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. Except avenge their deaths. In the following year, Barron Cormac Toreln had been promoted, or rather elected from the ranks, as the new Dwarf Lord - following the death of Torchal Steelfist, the previous Lord. Soirail was literally under Barron's control! He decided to train warriors. And train, and train! When Barron turned one hundred and forty he had amassed an army so large and skilled he believed they would never be defeated. This attitude was reflected in his proud soldiers; they constantly trained at a grueling pace, and attacked various goblin settlements for sport. They had declared war on the goblins.
In the following twenty-six years Barron and his men soon found that in fact they were beatable. They had met their match; the goblins had been training as well, it seemed, anticipating the dwarves attack. Barron had become a hero, as had his army, and they had fallen. The goblins had taken over Soirail! Now, with his remaining forces and his subjects Barron has escaped to the most barren parts of the Paerish, to regenerate and plan - they must take back Soirail.
Weapon: Barron still uses the small buckler he was given by his father when he decided to become a warrior. It is battered from battles, but has become smooth to grip and parry. It is a useful weapon to bash, and to protect. His second weapon is a large two-handed war hammer.
Other: Barron knows how to ride a horse, unlike many dwarves.
First Character: Yes,
Age: 167 years old
Gender: Male
Race: Dwarf
Sub-race: Lord [Leader]
Description: A large nosed dwarf, Barron Cormac has many scars about his body: the monarch is missing three fingers on his right hand, an eyeball, he limps sometimes and he has a long cut in the center of his chest; his fascination with battle has not thrived without a price. Although his smile is handsome, Barron's face has been battered into an expressionless visage, from long winter nights in the mountains, to his constant battles. To protect his body from the same cold that has frozen his face (both figuratively and literally) Barron wears a large fur cloak. It is strange that he prides himself in wearing the fur, since is was a gift from a traveling human. Indeed, the fur is fine and warm, and the maker of the cloak was obviously a master of their craft. Barron Cormac has quite a negatively biased opinion of other races, though. Wrapped within the cloak the dwarf wears a warm maroon shirt. At his waist is a large black belt with a piece of leather to carry his small buckler. His war hammer is usually left in his room until needed. Under this red shirt and golden buckled belt is a pair of brown breeches, stitched with red to compliment the colours of his kingdom. He wears large leather boots, tied tightly by two buckles. The short dwarf is quite muscular because of his profession, and he prides himself that he can best anyone in a dual. A large red ponytail is braided down his back, with an equally large beard of the same colour at his front; Barron's face is handsome, disregarding the gruesome glassy eye.
When in battle, Barron wears a black wool tunic covered by a chain mail tunic of the same size. A quilt-patterned maroon and brown tunic covers the mass of both, the colours alternating at each quilted square. A large brown belt with an iron buckle is cinched at his waist, and similarly tied to his right arm is his buckler. He carries his war hammer on his back, or simply in his hand. He wears black trousers and the same boots he normally wears underneath all of this. A brown padded cap covers Barrons head, with flaps extended to cover his ears.
Personality: The cold climate of the Paerish Mountains has hardened Barron's emotions. The journey to Soirail over half a century ago made Barron a quiet dwarf, and this silence mixed with his stone face gives him an aggressive looking nature, to people unaccustomed to the Paerish Dwarves. Barron lets a few of his emotions slip by his barrier when with close friends, and he speaks more freely than with normal dwarves. However, he does not have many friends, other than his family, and so his subjects look upon his silence with an awed respect. Barron's voice is deep, reflecting his demeanor perfectly, and his voice is given much room to speak, when he opens his mouth; usually his contribution to conversation is worthy of the silence given. However, other races usually don't understand this gruff dwarf, and don't make room for his speech, making the Dwarf Lord a racist; his voice when speaking to other species is sarcastic, grumpy, and some-what patronizing. He rarely gets along with other nations.
History: As a young dwarf, Barron had no concern with the affairs of the kingdom, or of his father's place in Paerish. Like most youngsters of any race, he would run about with tireless energy, constantly causing mischief and trouble. However, Barron did have one goal. Barron would be a warrior. He was not only going to be a soldier in the Lord's Army; no, no, this young dwarf was going to be the next great tactician. The best strategist the dwarven world had seen in the past millennia! Of course, these were young dreams, uncaring of the responsibility and work it would take to become a legend among his kin. After he had chosen a weapon, coincidentally the same as his patriarch's, he went about his small colony learning different techniques from the garrisoned soldiers. Barron's training seemed to never end. By the time he had turned forty-three, Barron had become a sort of phenomena among the soldier's; he was much more skilled than most by that time, and yet he had never seen any combat! This young dwarf could beat trained professionals - seasoned warriors! This was, however, only in scenarios. When the entire garrison of his town had tutored him, even the replacement men, Barron was almost fifty years old. Ignoring that achievement of his, Barron had quickly set about the travelers - most were quite adept at combat, having to survive in the mountains. At the age of seventy-six Barron was still quite young, and had now become a diluted version of his dream. He was the town hero. It was on his birthday that Barron planned to leave for Soirail, to fulfill this goal of becoming a true legend.
Barron's father was a blacksmith, and like his son he was quite good at using a hammer. In fact, some of his colleagues had speculated that perhaps the elder Barron Toreln was the better of the two, with a war hammer. These comments had never been publicly spoken, either from respect to their fellow smith, or because they did not want to be proven wrong. They shouldn't have held their tongues, though. On the eve of his departure, and seventy-seventh birthday, Barron finally went to his father's work for the first time. It is often speculated whether before that day the young Barron Toreln had ever known his father was a blacksmith; for there was a quarrel, the reasons unknown, and a duel; one hammer-wielding Barron Toreln against the other. This long affair went into the streets, and the elder Barron was finally victorious. Barron Cormac Toreln's father had beaten him. The young dwarf had not been defeated for the past forty-one years. He suffered a broken arm, wrist, nose and a few cracked ribs from the incident, and had quickly stormed out from the town with a few of his followers, and the supplies that had already been packed.
Little is known about the adventures that Barron and his score of friends; but when they came to Soirail, they were dearly depleted in supplies, and even themselves. Only Barron and three other dwarves survived that journey. Even then, one did not survive with his sanity. For some, who had known Barron while stationed in his land, or who had been travelers that had educated him in battle, Barron seemed a different dwarf. He had lost fingers, his nose had been broken and he had lost an eye. The glassy orb that filled his left optical seemed exactly the same colour as his useful one, making the new Barron Cormac a frightening sight. He was gruff, and it appeared he had endured much on the way to Soirail.
Three years past, and Barron's manner was still the same, mostly. He did not talk when he needn't, but he was more cheerful looking now. He had joined the army, and had received promotion after promotion for his logic and his skill. He smiled regularly now, without strain. He still did not go back to his father, or mother, however. He never would.
Barron's life fell into routine, after a while, and by the time he was one hundred and twenty-four he had become the aide of the Dwarf Lord. He had entirely forgotten his past life, after his three companions had died some years earlier from a small plague that had touched the fortress. He was living among the legends of the time. He was living his dream. Then one day a message came from a local peddler that Barron's hometown had been raided by goblins. There were no survivors, people assumed. In less than a minute Barron's life had been turned upside down once more. He suddenly wished he had forgiven his father for their fight, and brought both of his parents here to live with him, to be spoiled by his success.
Such was not to be, and soon Barron forced himself to forget his parents; what had been done, was done, and there was nothing he could do about it. Except avenge their deaths. In the following year, Barron Cormac Toreln had been promoted, or rather elected from the ranks, as the new Dwarf Lord - following the death of Torchal Steelfist, the previous Lord. Soirail was literally under Barron's control! He decided to train warriors. And train, and train! When Barron turned one hundred and forty he had amassed an army so large and skilled he believed they would never be defeated. This attitude was reflected in his proud soldiers; they constantly trained at a grueling pace, and attacked various goblin settlements for sport. They had declared war on the goblins.
In the following twenty-six years Barron and his men soon found that in fact they were beatable. They had met their match; the goblins had been training as well, it seemed, anticipating the dwarves attack. Barron had become a hero, as had his army, and they had fallen. The goblins had taken over Soirail! Now, with his remaining forces and his subjects Barron has escaped to the most barren parts of the Paerish, to regenerate and plan - they must take back Soirail.
Weapon: Barron still uses the small buckler he was given by his father when he decided to become a warrior. It is battered from battles, but has become smooth to grip and parry. It is a useful weapon to bash, and to protect. His second weapon is a large two-handed war hammer.
Other: Barron knows how to ride a horse, unlike many dwarves.
First Character: Yes,
ooc||
I will post a picture soon. The one I've found needs to be photo-shopped a little. And sorry about the history. Kind of goes on and on, doesn't it? Haha. Anyways, if there are any errors, please point them out.
I hope the Dwarf Lord position is still open
.
The Sound of the Horn
I will post a picture soon. The one I've found needs to be photo-shopped a little. And sorry about the history. Kind of goes on and on, doesn't it? Haha. Anyways, if there are any errors, please point them out.
I hope the Dwarf Lord position is still open
.The Sound of the Horn
)
