Description
A short, fat dwarf catches your attention. He stands at approximately
four feet tall and probably weighs nearly 200 pounds without armor. His
gut spills over his waistline, ending just above his knees. His skin is
a dark, ruddy color and appears as though it'd be extremely rough to the
touch. His head is a mass of hair. That on his scalp is a wild mass of
greasy tangles that appears to have gone unbrushed for decades. His
facial hair is thick and black, but much better groomed. His beard falls
to mid-chest and ends in three separate braids. His head rests like a
boulder on his shoulders due to what appears to be an utter lack of a
neck. His eyes are deeply set and darkly colored, like caves on a cliff
face. His nose is very broad and flat, showing signs of having been broken
a number of times in the past. For clothing he wears simple cottons and
leathers with thin white linen robes overtop. The robes are decorated with
a number of dwarven runes, making it likely that he is a priest of some
kind.
Role
A Dwarven Healer? BAH!
Added Thu Mar 31 15:44:57 2005 at level 1:
Gumbldink Hammberbeard is a man who is almost completely dissatisfied
with his lot in life. Since before he was knee high to a sleeping
gnome, Gumbldink has strived to become the mightiest, grittiest
warrior in all of the land. Fate, however, has been unkind to his
dreams.
While he was out one day, swinging his axe around at trees and
other harmless objects, Gumbldink lost his balance and stumbled
over a cliff landing in a pile of still-fresh orc dung. Enraged,
Gumbldink turned his axe towards whatever he could find. Inept,
however, he failed to successfully carry out his vengeance. As
he was chasing squirrels and chipmunks, waving his axe about like
a madman, he came upon an older gentlmen who sat him down on a
nearby rock.
The man, frowning deeply at the young dwarf, inquired into Gumbldink's
rage. Years of frustration, resentment, and anger came pouring out
like a rock slide. At some level, Gumbldink knew he would never be a
a stout warrior and this pained him deeply. The man, a Moudrilar monk,
was deeply empathic and sensitive to the dwarf's plight. He sensed in
in the young dwarf a lot of potential and, even though Gumbldink would
never willingly accept the role, believed he would become a wonderful
understudy.
"Yous wantin' meh to believe what!?!" Gumbldink would often say. "That
soundin' like yous wantin' meh to wear a flowery dress and shave meh
beard! I'm nuh elf woman!" Gumbldink fought the monk's teachings every
step of the way, but the old man persevered and eventually taught the
young dwarf to harness his rage and focus his energies on the healing
arts. As it turns out, Gumbldink took to the healing arts like a fish
to water, but as the old saying goes...you can take the dwarf out of a
warrior, but you can't take the warrior out of a dwarf. He still has
the fiery temper of his kin and a desire to be involved, at least in
some way, in combat.
The Acolyte of the Golden...Rage?
Added Mon May 30 09:05:58 2005 at level 51:
Fate had been a cruel mistress and the gods had been cruel pranksters.
Somehow, after over 100 years Gumblink was still a healer. Worse yet, he
was an Acolyte of the Golden Sun. A man of lesser dedication, or perhaps
just a sober man, probably would have turned the knife on himself ages ago.
He had sworn himself, before the Divine Smith of the Tara'bal, to serve the
Light to the best of his abilities, but this was ridiculous. He was sure his
family would have been shamed by his profession. What kind of dwarf cannot
wield an axe, he often wondered aloud.
Wielding a "sensible weapon" had become somewhat of an obsession for him. He
would often find a secluded place, usually the shrine of his Lord, and
imitate the great axe wielders he had been lucky enough to see in action. He
would try and spin the haft in his hand, and imitate overhead chops, and even
the sweeping motion that he had often seen result in a gutted victim. He
thought that perhaps if he could wield an axe he would return some kind of
dignity to himself and his family. Maybe the damned elves would keep their
distance and not pick on him so much as well.
They had been quite a nuisance, the elves, and Gumbldink often felt as if he
were surrounded by the pointy-eared bastards. Just one more example of how his
life had become a comedy of errors. No dwarf who was not star-crossed or
otherwise cursed by fate would have to deal with this many elves, he was sure
of it. They made fair allies, but the wine sipping and the pungent scent of
flowers were almost enough for him to throw himself into a working forge. He
had even met an an elf who carried a basket full of flowers, daisies no less!
If that weren't bad enough the Lord of the Summer Country had "blessed" him
with the scent and feeling of summer. Pulling the Chariot card from the deck
of fate and being condemned to a cell in Hell had been a more enjoyable moment
in his life. He persevered though, never taking his eyes from his duties.
The books in the Fortress spoke of finding serenity in the Light, being of
fair word and action, and never losing hope in his comrades or those needing
redemption. He was sure an elf wrote all of that, because no self-respecting
respecting dwarf would have. He was an Acolyte of the Golden Sun, however,
so he did his best to stay true to the spirit of the organization. That's
not to say he liked it. The dwarf in him would much rather have been
gutting heathens with an axe and stomping on the necks of soot-skins. This
urge troubled him, somewhat, because it often led him to chase after those
that had escaped the talons of the maran and he was afraid it made him a
poor Acolyte. To soothe himself he noted that he was a dwarf before he was
an Acolyte and, therefore, he was a dwarf first and foremost not some elven
woman afraid of blood.
He had made a name for himself preaching to the various people of the
world, giving thanks or urging redemption depending on the tendencies
of his audience. He earned the mark of Aarn for his efforts, allowing
him to further focus his rage and dedication. Whether it was the fact
that he had earned the mark of his Lord, proven himself to be a leader
of men, or simply by default, those around him had begun talking about
a leadership position within the Ac