Shorn Silverren, who was definitely not a priest.
Posted: Wed May 19, 2010 1:20 am
Name: Shorn Silverren
Physical Description: Shorn is a Gold Dwarf of fair complexion, middling height, and the stout body typically found on most dwarven warriors. He is almost always clad in dark armor, and found wearing his favorite hat, which he claims to have enchanted for many purposes.
Personality: In a word, stubborn. In a few more words, Shorn is a somewhat surly dwarf with a penchant for dark humor. He enjoys frequent sparring with elves about various traits of their kind, as well as long walks on the beach. He is, as many dwarves are, impatient to a fault, and prone to impulsive action, but surprisingly unbiased towards some of the dwarves typical rivals.
*Late at night, a group of people sit around a campfire outside of Candlekeep. The fire burns brightly, recently stocked with wood, and a rough voice carries off into the night*
"So ye want t' know about me life, do ye? Not much t' tell really, but I can be given ye th' long an short of it." Shorn takes a puff of his cigar, leaning forward further into the firelight. "Well, ye see me clanhold got destroyed when I was but a wee lad. Me parents fled t' Baldurs Gate, and started over in th' city. They found work easily enough. Ye can't be beatin dwarven craft ye know? Anyways, th' same jes didn't take with me when I grew older. Jes not fit fer craftin much, then er now. I tried though, did a few apprenticeships me parents got me, but they didn't be pannin out fer me th' way me parents expected." Shorn takes another puff from his cigar and gazes out into the dark for a moment, whistfully, before continuing. "So...I signed meself up as a guard with some merchant caravan. Soon enough, I found meself travelin th' world, betimes findin me a new employer er another when th' fat lout got all uppity an decided me and me mates weren't worth th' cost. That be four years ago, an now I find meself back home." Shorn leans forward further and flicks the remains of the cigar into the fire. "Well," Shorn says, "that be about it. Nothin fancy. I don't be havin no tales o' fancy, er noble upbringin, er any tales o' woe er tragedy. That be me life in a nutshell. If there be any great er terrible things fer me, then it be now, and not then, that me journey t' them begins."
Physical Description: Shorn is a Gold Dwarf of fair complexion, middling height, and the stout body typically found on most dwarven warriors. He is almost always clad in dark armor, and found wearing his favorite hat, which he claims to have enchanted for many purposes.
Personality: In a word, stubborn. In a few more words, Shorn is a somewhat surly dwarf with a penchant for dark humor. He enjoys frequent sparring with elves about various traits of their kind, as well as long walks on the beach. He is, as many dwarves are, impatient to a fault, and prone to impulsive action, but surprisingly unbiased towards some of the dwarves typical rivals.
*Late at night, a group of people sit around a campfire outside of Candlekeep. The fire burns brightly, recently stocked with wood, and a rough voice carries off into the night*
"So ye want t' know about me life, do ye? Not much t' tell really, but I can be given ye th' long an short of it." Shorn takes a puff of his cigar, leaning forward further into the firelight. "Well, ye see me clanhold got destroyed when I was but a wee lad. Me parents fled t' Baldurs Gate, and started over in th' city. They found work easily enough. Ye can't be beatin dwarven craft ye know? Anyways, th' same jes didn't take with me when I grew older. Jes not fit fer craftin much, then er now. I tried though, did a few apprenticeships me parents got me, but they didn't be pannin out fer me th' way me parents expected." Shorn takes another puff from his cigar and gazes out into the dark for a moment, whistfully, before continuing. "So...I signed meself up as a guard with some merchant caravan. Soon enough, I found meself travelin th' world, betimes findin me a new employer er another when th' fat lout got all uppity an decided me and me mates weren't worth th' cost. That be four years ago, an now I find meself back home." Shorn leans forward further and flicks the remains of the cigar into the fire. "Well," Shorn says, "that be about it. Nothin fancy. I don't be havin no tales o' fancy, er noble upbringin, er any tales o' woe er tragedy. That be me life in a nutshell. If there be any great er terrible things fer me, then it be now, and not then, that me journey t' them begins."