Character Profile - Brenalor Heavyhammer

—Name: Brenalor Heavyhammer —Race:Dwarven —Gender: Male

—Class: Oracle —Height: 4'4” —Eyes: Brown —Hair: Black

Str:16

Dex:10

Con:16

Int:12

Wis:18

Cha:14

Skills:
Diplomacy
Sense Motive
Knowledge
Heal

“You have disgraced the Heavyhammer name, you Thorgarim-damned fool. Sparing the lives of those things could endanger our people!”

He’d been yelling at me about this for quite awhile; I knelt there with my hands in shackles, the chain between them running through a bolt to the floor. The king-priest had taken my armor, my hammer, and my precious rope. Now he stood over me. My left hip throbbed.

“Please sire, you do not understand. Those things were humans, and they were peaceful! They could be our allies if we didn’t kill every one of them who come to our lands. I ask mercy sire.”

“You do not decide who receives mercy and who does not; Thorgarim’s beard you do not respect the boundaries set before you!” He bellowed, “I should have you killed in the great hall for all our people to see, then perhaps they could learn from you Thorgarim-cursed fate.”

My blood boiled, “You need to stop that sire, Thorgarim does not appreciate his name used in curses. Beware crossing the boundaries set before you.”

The king-priest back-handed me across my jaw with his gauntlet made from adamantine, the blessed metal of our god, and I collapsed onto my side. I felt the power swelling in my chest. “You insignificant traitor-blooded wretch! You dare challenge me on what Throgarim commands?! I am his mouth, I am his eyes! I will have your Thorgarim-begotten beard shaved, and execute you before all our people with your own hammer!”

My own hammer. There is no greater dishonor than to be killed with your own weapon to my people, but this is not how Thorgarim works. He is a god of community, of strength, and of protection. I feel as his will overwhelms my own, like my blood is on fire. I feel my strength surge and the chain shatters as I tear my hands free from the bolt in the floor.

“You were his mouth, you were his eyes! I am his hand!” I get to my feet, but not smoothly. My left hip still throbs as it has since Thorgarim touched it. “I will leave your people and you shall enter a time of darkness. You have cursed by Thorgarim’s name and so you have lost his blessing! You do not deserve to wear his metal.” I placed my palm against his chest in a thrust, his eyes still wide at my freedom and words, and the Adamantine breastplate folded off of his body, buckles and clasps snapping, and wrapped my forearm. I reached out my other hand and my hammer launched across the room and into my grip.

“Good bye king.”

“How dare you?! You cannot stand before me!”

“No, it is you who should not stand.” I pointed my Adamantine wrapped fist at him and clenched it tight. The armor plates around his knees crunched inward and he screamed in agony. I turned to walk out of his chamber, “Good bye father.”

I left the Dwarven kingdom, and have never returned.