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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Kinger" data-source="post: 2253630" data-attributes="member: 31885">Introducing Togenheim, played by KingerOOC: Right, now to drop the Warcraft Troll bit for the Warcraft Dwarf. <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" /> ************** This was NOT what Togenheim Runeforge of Clan Ungart had in mind when he came to the surface. The attempted rescue of the Baron's wife was close enough. If they had succeeded, that would have made a good name for him. A good name would have reflected well on the denizens of the Mountain, which was why he was up here in the first place. Of course, they hadn't succeeded. They had in fact got the Baron's wife killed. That made the whole thing somewhat of a mute point. Then there was the constant running. It seemed wherever they went, the party he travelled with sowed chaos and discord, or some vengeful false god had cursed the whole party, or Fate had decided to make whipping-boys. Whatever the reason, things just didn't turn out well. Sure, he and his comrades had defeated that army of orcs and made safe the Sword of Power, but in the process they had delivered it to the Church of Light rather than the arms dealer who was paying them. That in and of itself was probably for the better, if not for the fact that said arms dealer now had it in for them, as did the Church of Maodric, who he followed. That led to the betrayal by the cleric of Maodric in their party and subsequent imprisonment at the next town they visited. They might have got away quietly if the wizard that aided them didn't decide to fireball the bloody castle out of spite. That was pleasant. And so the running began again. Off into wide-open countryside, underneath that bloody great big sky. Togenheim still wasn't used to the lack of ceiling over his head. Bad enough that every time he looked at the horizon (which in and of itself was disturbing), there was some bloody bright ball of fire known as the Sun shining into his eyes and giving him headaches. Of course, recently they didn't see the sun as often, since the party had the great fortune of wandering around during the month of Fog. Lovely. Bloody surface and all its bloody weather. One messy encounter later involving a desolate tower and a green dragon, and the party (minus several members) finally stumbled into a town that wasn't intent on arresting them, trying to run them out, or on fire. And wouldn't you know it? Fate had shat on them once again. Atherstone, aside from sitting atop some bloody great rock that supposedly fell from the sky, happened to be home to the world's largest population of lycanthrope-ruled plague-bearing rats, depth-spawned aberrations, and vampires. Oh, and its armies had recently been served a crushing defeat by the forces in the north. Absolutely fan-bloody-tastic. Granted, some valuable and powerful allies had been made in Atherstone, several of which now travelled as party members. But in the process of aquiring them they had had to chase down every bloody monster in the whole bloody town, which nobody seemed to know anything about before Togenheim and his merry companions showed up. One actual death experience later, and the dwarf now sported a nasty scar on his neck fortunately hidden by what remained of his previously envy-generating beard (which the acidic breath of that dragon had done quite a number on). And now, wouldn't you know it? An accidental discovery by the party had sparked a vampricidal crusade in Atherstone, and here was Togenheim, the craftsman and transmogrifier, roped into the whole mess, with nothing to wield but his sturdy forge hammer, dented crossbow, and several prepared Disrupt Undead spells. "I'm really starting to hate the surface..." muttered Togenheim to himself as he followed the lynch mob into the mansion. "I need a drink."</blockquote>

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