rjamesking
Lord of Altera
Eisenfaust, Urist.
Name: Eisenfaust, Urist.
Full Title: Lord Eisenfaust, Urist. The 15th of his name.
Trademark: A dwarven looking "EF" and 15th as seen here.
KEY INFORMATION:
Age: 70's.
Gender: Male.
Race: Dwarf.
Social Status: A master smithy, Noble Lord of Eisenheim.
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Height: 1.3m.
Weight: 85kg.
Date of Birth: How does the calendar work again?
Date of Death: N/A.
Homeland: Small village far to the West.
Current Home: Eisenheim.
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build: Average-Stout.
Hair: Dark brown almost black, medium length tied in back. (as seen here.)
Eyes: Brown.
Skin: Rough skin/bad complexion [from being in the heat of a forge for so long.]/Hairy.
Identifying Marks: N/A.
Appearance: Clean and tidy most of the time.
Clothing: Red and black Eisenheim noble garb, with a black griffon cloak and matching skull pauldron.
Weaponry: None.
Prized Possession:His first Forging Hammer. His cloak.
Hygiene: Freshly clean almost all the time.
Voice: Deep andRaspy has mellowed out.
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths: Friendly, Sarcastic, and Blunt.
Fears: Failure.
Weaknesses: Blunt, not good with words, and holds on to grudges.
Intelligence: Near average.
Languages: Common, Dwarven.
Profession: Smithy, scrimshaw/bone carving, a few other minor things.
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality: Friendly and doesn't beat around the bush.
Religion or Cults: The watchful eye of Jax.
Alignment: Lawful Neutral.
Short Term Goals:Vacation DW&RF. Eisenheim.
Long Term Goals:Having a forge in a big city. To be known as the best smith in the NK. To make Eisenheim the best it can be.
TRIVIA:
Favorite...
Place: A far away land, quiet and peaceful.
Pastime: Drinking, gardening, and cooking.
Food: Stew.
Drink: Mead.
Color: Green/Grey.
Animal: Ox.
Least Favorite...
Place:Caves. Now it's boats.
Pastime: Writing.
Food: Bread.
Drink: Water.
Color: Blue.
Animal: Cat.
Name: Eisenfaust, Urist.
Full Title: Lord Eisenfaust, Urist. The 15th of his name.
Trademark: A dwarven looking "EF" and 15th as seen here.
KEY INFORMATION:
Age: 70's.
Gender: Male.
Race: Dwarf.
Social Status: A master smithy, Noble Lord of Eisenheim.
Sexuality: Heterosexual.
Height: 1.3m.
Weight: 85kg.
Date of Birth: How does the calendar work again?
Date of Death: N/A.
Homeland: Small village far to the West.
Current Home: Eisenheim.
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build: Average-Stout.
Hair: Dark brown almost black, medium length tied in back. (as seen here.)
Eyes: Brown.
Skin: Rough skin/bad complexion [from being in the heat of a forge for so long.]/Hairy.
Identifying Marks: N/A.
Appearance: Clean and tidy most of the time.
Clothing: Red and black Eisenheim noble garb, with a black griffon cloak and matching skull pauldron.
Weaponry: None.
Prized Possession:
Hygiene: Freshly clean almost all the time.
Voice: Deep and
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths: Friendly, Sarcastic, and Blunt.
Fears: Failure.
Weaknesses: Blunt, not good with words, and holds on to grudges.
Intelligence: Near average.
Languages: Common, Dwarven.
Profession: Smithy, scrimshaw/bone carving, a few other minor things.
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality: Friendly and doesn't beat around the bush.
Religion or Cults: The watchful eye of Jax.
Alignment: Lawful Neutral.
Short Term Goals:
Long Term Goals:
TRIVIA:
Favorite...
Place: A far away land, quiet and peaceful.
Pastime: Drinking, gardening, and cooking.
Food: Stew.
Drink: Mead.
Color: Green/Grey.
Animal: Ox.
Least Favorite...
Place:
Pastime: Writing.
Food: Bread.
Drink: Water.
Color: Blue.
Animal: Cat.
Being raised in a family that was of average wealth, life was never hard. My mother was a baker and my father was a blacksmith, so we never found ourselves in need, except for the year of the grain shortage. Being an only child and a male, I was expected to follow in the steps of my father, so at the age of five, my father began to teach me the arts of the hammer, the fire, and the anvil, each of these being a separate but equal part of the path to true steel.
At the age of 11, as I was well on my way to becoming a fully-fledged smith, my mother fell ill with a fever. Despite all the efforts of the town doctor, who tried his best to help her for several days and nights, she died, with my father at her side. He looked at me, tears brimming but never falling from his eyes, said simply, "She's in no more pain, boy," and walked out of the room.
Once I turned 16, I was tested by what was left of the `Eisenfaust clan -- my father and great-grandfather, `Urist the 12th. Once I was tested, my father held the ceremony where I recited the smiths' oath, the Oath of Making -- "By the hammer of my father, I am strong; by the anvil of my mother, I am steadfast; by the fire of my ancestors, I am a true smith!" -- and with that, I was named a true blacksmith.
Two years ago, my great-grandfather died in a mine collapse. Last year, my father died after becoming mysteriously ill. He collapsed at the forge one afternoon, unexpectedly. That night, as we waited for the doctor, he reached up and grabbed me by the back of the neck, and whispered through clenched teeth, "Uphold the... honor of our... family name." He fell back onto the bed, and passed out. He never again woke up, and died later that night.
Since my father has passed, life has not been the same. Several people have complimented the quality of my steel and have told me that it is better quality than that of my father, but I don't see it. The store sees fewer and fewer customers, because they were friends of my father. I've had to find something else to not only occupy my time but also to be able to feed myself. As a result, I've picked up locksmithing, because in today's day and age, people need locks that they can depend upon. I've gotten to where I can open most locks, and I can make some, but I still have far to go before I can consider myself adept.
Today, a man I had never seen before walked into the shop. I knew he was not someone who had bought from my father. He walked slowly through the store, examining each of the tools and implements and weapons closely as he passed, asking about me and about the shop. I told him about my father's passing and how the shop didn't have nearly the business it had when he was still alive. That was the point when he informed me that he had been watching me, and they had been looking after me since his death. I was confused.
"What? How? Why?" I asked.
"No need to be alarmed, young sir. We have great interest in your well-being, and would do nothing to harm you," he said, quietly.
I sank onto my stool, blinded and stunned by the shock of this. I dropped my head into my hands, eyes closed, shaking my head back an forth as if I could deny what he had just said. When I finally looked up once again, he was gone. There was a letter on the shelf in front of me, folded and sealed. I picked it up, looked it over, broke the seal and read it.
"I leave you now with a decision," it said. "Burn this letter and never hear from or see me again and live the rest of your life in mundane peace, or keep this letter and walk east out of town where your life will start anew and I will meet you and explain everything."
I took the letter, grabbed my hammer and tools, and locked the door to the shop. I don't know when or if I will return, but I need to know what is going on and how these people know my father. Tonight, I head east.
At the age of 11, as I was well on my way to becoming a fully-fledged smith, my mother fell ill with a fever. Despite all the efforts of the town doctor, who tried his best to help her for several days and nights, she died, with my father at her side. He looked at me, tears brimming but never falling from his eyes, said simply, "She's in no more pain, boy," and walked out of the room.
Once I turned 16, I was tested by what was left of the `Eisenfaust clan -- my father and great-grandfather, `Urist the 12th. Once I was tested, my father held the ceremony where I recited the smiths' oath, the Oath of Making -- "By the hammer of my father, I am strong; by the anvil of my mother, I am steadfast; by the fire of my ancestors, I am a true smith!" -- and with that, I was named a true blacksmith.
Two years ago, my great-grandfather died in a mine collapse. Last year, my father died after becoming mysteriously ill. He collapsed at the forge one afternoon, unexpectedly. That night, as we waited for the doctor, he reached up and grabbed me by the back of the neck, and whispered through clenched teeth, "Uphold the... honor of our... family name." He fell back onto the bed, and passed out. He never again woke up, and died later that night.
Since my father has passed, life has not been the same. Several people have complimented the quality of my steel and have told me that it is better quality than that of my father, but I don't see it. The store sees fewer and fewer customers, because they were friends of my father. I've had to find something else to not only occupy my time but also to be able to feed myself. As a result, I've picked up locksmithing, because in today's day and age, people need locks that they can depend upon. I've gotten to where I can open most locks, and I can make some, but I still have far to go before I can consider myself adept.
Today, a man I had never seen before walked into the shop. I knew he was not someone who had bought from my father. He walked slowly through the store, examining each of the tools and implements and weapons closely as he passed, asking about me and about the shop. I told him about my father's passing and how the shop didn't have nearly the business it had when he was still alive. That was the point when he informed me that he had been watching me, and they had been looking after me since his death. I was confused.
"What? How? Why?" I asked.
"No need to be alarmed, young sir. We have great interest in your well-being, and would do nothing to harm you," he said, quietly.
I sank onto my stool, blinded and stunned by the shock of this. I dropped my head into my hands, eyes closed, shaking my head back an forth as if I could deny what he had just said. When I finally looked up once again, he was gone. There was a letter on the shelf in front of me, folded and sealed. I picked it up, looked it over, broke the seal and read it.
"I leave you now with a decision," it said. "Burn this letter and never hear from or see me again and live the rest of your life in mundane peace, or keep this letter and walk east out of town where your life will start anew and I will meet you and explain everything."
I took the letter, grabbed my hammer and tools, and locked the door to the shop. I don't know when or if I will return, but I need to know what is going on and how these people know my father. Tonight, I head east.
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