Name: Freki "The Oathsworn" Oldenton
Height: 4”5”
Weight: 225lbs
Age: 96
Deity: Clangeddin Silverbeard
Dogma:The finest hours of dwarvenkind come in the thrusts and feints of war. Seize the opportunity to defend your kin and ensure their victory wherever conflict erupts. Revel in the challenge of a good fight, and never waver in the face of adversity, no matter how ominous. Lives should never be thrown away foolishly, but the greatest honour is to sacrifice oneself for the cause on the field of battle in service to a righteous cause. When not fighting prepare for next conflict physically, tactically, and by acquiring resources. Attack hill giants whenever possible and other evil giants whenever necessary.
Common, Dwarven, Jutan
At a glance, general: The stocky dwarven man stands in good health, his skin is callused and battle warn. The sides of his head are crudly shaven with his long hair pulled back in a hanging pony tail. With most of his face framed by a heavy silvery mangle of hair. A heavy scar runs down from the top left of his skull over his eye and cleaving of the edge of his nose, the deep wound causing the mans face to be mangled and disfigured.
Cha [6]
On a closer Inspection:
Skin Colour: The thick hide of the dwarf where not covered in hair or marked by old wounds, holds a earthly tanned bronze with exception to his hands. Which seem permanently stained a dark grey from a age of treating his equipment with various oils.
Hair: The reddish hair is streaked with silvery strands denoting the mans age, though thick still it is maintained, often quite well groomed. The manor of which he opts to tie it back in a long pony tail leaves his hair hanging at the nap of his neck.
Beard: The long beard hangs to the tip of his belly, it’s well cared for and a great source of pride for dwarven man. Much alike with his hair it to holds the streaks of age through it. Various braids are woven through out his beard culminating to the attachment of precious metals and stones which seems a job that has no end.
Eyes: The right eye shines a pale green shimmering with a veterans gaze, though his left eye is severally damaged from scar tissue and has turned a milky white often seen drifting around aimlessly.
Nose: His nose is wide and flat with a deep chuck cleaved out of it, this results in the air wheezing somewhat through the scar tissue.
Mouth: Like most of his kin Freki seems to have lost or damaged most of his teeth and those that are retained seem to be in good health showing little sign of decay. His lips are a pale pink though are seldom seen as they keep hidden behind the bristley frame of his facial
hair.
Hands: The flat hands with stubby fingers bear the tale of a crafts man, the skin though slightly scared and stained with the odd finger fatter than normal from an old break. His palms are heavily callused which gives his already thick dwarven hide an almost leathery feel.
Voice: With lazily accented common he speaks with a gravely tone, generally never changing pitch overly much.
Faenor – Priest of Berrnora
Un-like the rest of dwarven kin Frekis birth was not greeted by great adulation and pride. His was a quite affair with only his Mother, Father and a single Faenor whom took pity on his parents and offered her skill.
“Ya doing ‘ight love… ya” The frantic stemmer of Thonars voice echoed through the chamber as he stands by his wife’s side his hand slowly being crushed under her vice grip “Keep breathing… and… push.. That’s the one… keep it going” Thonars
crystal blue eyes look down the sweating form of his beloved. The Faenor’s skills aiding in the birthing, her warm words soothing out his first born into the stone. “Can ya make it go fasta?” He stammers with a frantic tone as he begins to worry about the rapidly fading feeling in his hand “It takes time, be steady as the rock and keep your wife focused” was the only comfort the soon to be father received.
Unlike the other dwarves in Citadel Adbar Thonar was visibly different, for a hold mainly consisting of Shield Dwarves he looked amiss. He begun balding at young age which coupled with his more earthy skin and thin beard meant he was often the end of the crude jokes by other clan’s and castes. It had never helped that his clan was unknown, for only when he was only a small boy. A band of Moradins Hammers found him half staved in the mountains alone, they took pity on him and took him with them to the Citadel.
Life for the young dwarf was tough, his physical appearance resulted in him being shunned from most places. How ever he had found comfort in the heat and smoke of the upper quarter among the steel forges. It was there when an elder Dwarven man came on the boy. His name was Graymer Ironheart and he took the lad under his family forge. For a considerable time Thonar was content with life in the Ironheart forge, his ability to stand the intense heat and his love and skill with molding the steel brought great honour to the Ironheart name.
How ever as he grew older so did Thonars lust for a family of his own. Having had grown with out a true clan and shunned by the general populace of Citadel Adbar he begun to dream of the lands out side the mountains. Graymer caught wind of his thoughts of leaving, it was one thing the elder of the Ironhearts would not have. So he began to devise of a way to keep his best smith in the forge. It didn’t take long as he realized he could kill two rats with one stone as he offered the hand of his youngest Ovilia to Thonar.
Now you need to understand that despite her family's standing within the Smith Caste Ovilia had no luck in finding a willing partner, for when she was younger she suffered a deforming accident at her father’s forge, the same one Thonar works. So Graymer in an attempt to keep both the coin and adulation that Thonars wares wrote him, came to a decision.
He granted Thonar his daughters hand to bind him to the forges and quell the whispers about how the craft of Ironheart forge where not produced by an Ironheart clansman. For even the dwarves are prone to rumors if not fueled from jealously of anothers wealth or skill or even from a old grudge held many generations ago.
But all that mattered little to the man, for now after what seems hours. With the feeling long gone from his hand. Thonar finally seemed happy, with a slow bend he kisses Ovilia on her forehead and whispers into the new mothers ear “It’s a boy, ma love… a little right boy” In the bend of his muscular arm rests the little dwarven baby. Holding him with a loving gaze the new father utters one word “Freki”
