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Message: <blockquote data-quote="taitzu52" data-source="post: 1656067" data-attributes="member: 21465">Thromgril RuukenschlagerThromgril RuukenschlagerMale DwarfBarbarian 2 / Fighter 4STR    17    +3  (10pts. + 4th lvl.)DEX    12    +1  (4 pts.)CON    16    +3  (6 pts.)INT    10    +0  (2 pts.)WIS    12    +1  (4 pts.)CHA    8    -1  (2 pts.)Hit points: 71   <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f600.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":D" title="Big grin    :D"  data-smilie="8"data-shortname=":D" /> AC: 16 (10 +1 Dex +4 chain shirt +1 magic)Initiative: +1 (+1 Dex)BAB:+6/+1Melee: +11/+6 Greataxe (+1 magic +3 Str, +1 focus)Range: +7 ShortbowDam: 1d12+7 Greataxe(+1 magic, +4 Str.2H, +2 spec.), 1d8 Shortbow*Raging: +13/+8 Greataxe 1d12+10 dam..........Bs...Ab...Msc...ModFort:...7...+3...+1......11Ref:....1...+1...+1.......3Will:....1...+1...+1.......3..............................Rk......Ab..........ModClimb........................5......+3...........8Craft (stone).............1.....(+2)..........3Craft (carpentry)........1......+0...........1Handle Animal.............1......-1............0Intimidate..................2......-1............1Intuit Direction...........2......+1............3Jump........................9......+3...........12        Listen.......................9......+1..........10Swim........................1.....+3...........4*Wilderness Lore..........5.....+1............6Rage 3x dayUncanny DodgePower AttackCleaveWeapon Focus:  GreataxeWeapon Spec.:  GreataxePower Critical:  GreataxeExtra Rage+1 Keen Greataxe        8320+1 Amulet of Natural Armor    2000+1 Cloak of Resistance    1000Masterwork Chain Shirt     400Potions    Bull’s Strength x2    600    Cure Moderate x2    600Short Sword        10Dagger x2        4Shortbow            30    20 Arrows    1Backpack, Bedroll, Blanket    3Crowbar            2Grappling Hook & 50’ Rope    3Hammer & Spikes x5    1Pick            33 Empty Sacks +2 Empty Flagons        1Stonemasons Kit        5Carpentry Kit        5Walkin’ Around Money -    12gp (hehe)Thromgril was born into a prosperous clan of dwarves, who made their mark prospecting in the hinterlands of the Iscag Mountains.  The veins of ore were untouched, and the clan busied themselves felling trees on the mountainside to support their burgeoning mining efforts.  Wheels moved water, giant stones were crushed, chords upon chords of lumber were cut, and finally, the elder craftsmen began to delve deep into the mountain.  Though very young, Thromgril was put to work in the lumberyard and in the shafts, building his strength and his skills.One night like any other, Thromgril was chopping wood on the far end of the camp after dusk.  A strange feeling crept over him, he felt the animals of the woods scamper as if a storm was brewing, yet he saw no clouds.  And then there were horns.  Foul blasts from the tusks of some fell beast, bellowing through the trees.  Though he was still young and quite short, Thromgril sprinted as fast as he could back to the clan's encampment.  Chaos ensued as the warband of foul orcs swarmed over the timber walls of the makeshift fort.  Thromgril watched as uncles, cousins, and elders of his clan fell one by one to the jagged blades of the green skinned monsters.  Maybe it was luck, or his size that let him be ignored just long enough to get to his family's burrow.  Finding it empty, and on the verge of sheer panic, Thromgril's heart nearly burst when his own mother, dirt and blood caked into her once luxurious sideburns, came bursting through the door.  Tears streaming down her face, she held what could only be his father's torque in her hands, drenched in blood; Thromgril knew full well, that ancestral collar had fit too tightly around his neck to be removed peaceably.  Suddenly, with a loud thud, her body seized up, and she fell to the ground, a thrown axe deeply buried in her back.  The torque rolled to Thromgril's feet.  The smell of blood mixed with the overpowering stench of orc offal hung in the air as the lumbering shape of the wolfrider approached.  A long, nasty, crooked knife was pulled from the rider’s belt, as he uttered some guttural slur and made and obscene gesture with his privates.  As Thromgrill bent to pick up his father’s torque, he was nearly lifted off the ground by his hair, as the orc made a hideous gash in his cheek.  Before losing consciousness, the last thin he remembered was the blade of a sword spilling through the orc’s neck.  And then there was blackness.Thromgril awoke to the sound of water and an old dwarf coughing.  Olie, the lame, sonless stonecutter, was sitting next to him, the rushing of an underground stream was behind him.  He tore his beard as he relayed to the young Thomgril the fate of their clan.  The bloodline was broken, and the clan’s treasure, the famed Karaakstone…lost.  Olie also told him that they could never again return to Firebreath Hall with honor, and pay homage to King Thendar as a clan of the Forge.  Indeed that was the day when Thromgril forgot his clan’s own name, and took that of Ruukenschlager, the slayer of orcs.For many moons they lay hid, using the access tunnels that were built to divert water out of the mines.  Olie taught him many things, how to hide, and to hunt, but mostly, how to hate.  The old dwarf died in the night, leaving Thromgril what little they had saved from the fires of the orcs pillaging.  Thromgril swore an oath on his mentor’s dead body:  he will regain his clan’s honor in the throes of battle, his death will be known in Firebreath Hall, and even the King himself will know his name as the fell doom of all Goblinoids.  Then, Thromgrill took his knife and did things to his hair and beard which are unspeakable in proper dwarven society.  And with his giant axe slung over his shoulder, Thromgril came down from the mountain…….Appearance:Thromgril is definitely unforgettable.  He has an immense torso, huge arms, and hands the size of hams.  His chain shirt barely fits him.  It has a tendency to ride up over his rotund belly, which he is quite proud of, and will slap it to punctuate his boisterous dialogue.  His legs are barely visible from the front due to this massive gut.  His male pattern balding has been shaved up from the neckline to make a tight horseshoe around his head from ear, to ear.  Thromgril has a tendency to spike this "fringe" using whatever animal fat is available, regardless of whatever smell accompanies it.  His beard has been shaved *shudder* down to what most dwarves would consider a handlebar mustache.  But all others see it as an enormous growth of facial hair, shaved on the lower lip and straight down, and also straight down the middle of his cheeks.  These remaining four locks he sometimes decorates with strange objects tied into them.  Thromgril's drinking habits often leave him waking up in the morning with strange tattoos.  Did I mention the smell?Personality:Thromgril is a gruff, even amongst dwarves.  He respects strength and endurance, on the battlefield and in the tavern.  His sad past, and grave oath have led him to a life of near social solitude.  He has a sense of humor, though not a legendarily good one.  He is loyal to any who will witness him in battle, hoping to one day have a chronicler of his deeds.  Unfortunately, he has scared off or outlived most of these.</blockquote>

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