Ghrummin Dhrummin the Iron-Arm Berserker, Commander of Battle, Smith of the Noldarian Forge

Title History

Role

Chapter 6

'O'er the ways, an inta da fire, the greatest of smit's in dwarven kin
be da Dhrummin's!'

***A self-proclaimed tabloid instigated by the Dhrummin clan***

A cacophonous argument rang through the bar, silencing the rowdy crowd
in a heartbeat.

'Those crazy Dhrummin's are arguing again. Better get the bouncer'

As is the common occurrence in this particular bar, the High Smith from
the Dhrummin family was in a heated battle with one of their customers.
Normally, any argument between the proud Dhrummin and another party
usually lead to a gladatorial style matchup, where the strength of the
Dhrummin prevailed. However, the air around the customer, a stranger
enshrouded with a chilling aura, was nothing to be trifled with. Beady
red malevolent eyes peered unconcerned and haughtily through its blood
stained clothes.

'As ah be sayin', we Dhrummin clan be da best of da dwarves! Dere be nah
negotiation - ya be payin wut ya agreed 'pon, an dat be dat!'

The large fists of the High Smith, Ghrummin, strenghtened his statement
as it pounded onto the wooden table. A loud groan punctuated his
statement - one might expect that the table was used to the Dhrummin's
fists, as it was his favorite table, but even a table has feelings.

'Foolish dwarf. The price has changed, as I deemed it to change. Your
silly desires are nothing. Your art is quite impressive - however, it is
simply a tool.'

'A tool? A TOOL? By mah mammies bushels o' beard, ya be daft an blind
an stupid! Da Dhrummin work nah be tool! It be life!'

Smirking sadistically and yawning briefly, the wraith whispered in a
bored, if chilling, tone.

'Then you will not agree to the new terms?'

'Ya be wantin' yer 'ead pounded in? We Dhrummin nah only be gud at
ironin' but at 'ead poundin as well!'

'You have named your price.'

A prehensitile tail emerged from under the clothes of the wraith as a
small imp scurried and deftly snatched up the recently crafted staff.
The inscription 'Dhrummin', the mark of the Dhrummin clan, masterfully
etched onto the staff, seemed to scream in protest at the injustice done
to its creators before it was carefully concealed within the cloak of
the wraith.

'Ya fargin' scud of an orc's bottom! BE RETURNIN' DAT!'

With an unnatural grace seemingly absent from his large and stout frame,
Ghrummin leaped across the table to wring the wraith's neck, but to no
avail. A mocking laughter emerged from the wraith as it, and its
snickering imp, dissipated into nothing.

'YA BE PAYIN' IN BLOOD, YA 'EAR? AH BE DRUMMIN YER 'EAD IN!'

The dragon's roar of Ghrummin Dhrummin, who has never been bested in
negotiations before, or for that matter, had been cheated, nearly
deafened the entire bar.

The table groaned for the last time before it collapsed to the ground.

Role

Chapter 5

'Ya be fargin jokin wit meh. Dat fargin magi be takin me tins, dat be
like choppin me tin' off an feedin me mah tin...'

Rubbing his crotch unconsciously, the loud grumbling of Ghrummin
followed him like his shadow, awakening the critters around him from
their hibernation. It had been a few years since the staff he crafted
for the wraith was stolen, and his grudge towards that creature had
magnified greatly, a testiment to his race.

As he approached the gates of his village, he sensed something was
amiss. The normally crackling torches were silent, charred sticks
breathing smoke trailing away from the Village. Replacing the
familiar clang of metal and boasting of abundant bravery was the quiet
breathing of a silent village.

'Now wat be wron' wit me Village?'

Huffing and gruffing in frustration, the sturdy figure trampled through
the well-known path towards his forge. The cracks of branches and the
protest of stones due to his heavy weight disturbed the foreboding
silence. Still grumbling at his misfortune, Ghrummin reached down to
tear apart a particularly large branch that had snagged his pouch.

'By me fargin' beard, wut da farg be dis?!'

A fresh pulsing arm of his kin greeted his sight. Gritting his teeth
in rage, the High Smith of the Dhrummin clan roared a challenge. Stout
legs bunched together powerfully as Ghrummin deftly plowed through the
wooden walls of the various huts in his Village. Uncaring of the
corpses of his kinsfolk, he rushed into his Forge and brought out his
prized possession, a hammer constantly forged and crafted by his
ancestors. The names of all the Dhrummin's who worked on the hammer
were beautifully etched throughout the glimmering fusion of iron and
stone ending with the name 'Ghrummin'.

'DERE BE SOM' 'EADS DAT NEED DHRUMMIN!'

The silent charcoals of the forge crackled and sparked, eagerly
anticipating their master's wrath. Leaping out through the window,
Ghrummin tumbled over the body parts of his kin, coming to his
feet and pointing his hammer steadily towards the lone figure
facing him with a smirk.

Role

Chapter 4

'The price is paid for your insolence.'

The chilling rasp of the dark figure echoed along the lips of the
lumps of dwarven corpses strewn across the ground. The mocking
laughter from the wraith who so long ago cheated him and stole
his creation stabbed the insults deep within Ghrummin's heart.
Even moreso was the twisted creation of flesh and metal glowing
wickedly with a sinister power. Only the last letters of the
Dhrummin family's engraving barely appeared through the malformed
creation of blasphemous sin. The once pristine and glamorous
creation, which the High Smith had entered a contract with to
give existance, shrieked with insanity and a demonic thirst for
blood.

'Shhh, my pet. You will feast on your past master's flesh soon
enough

Clasping his mighty calloused fists across the shaft of his
hammer, Ghrummin's eyes bulged with fury. A startling roar of
fury, deafening even the elderly, erupted from his throat.

'YA FARGIN' TIEF! YA FARGIN TIEFIN' DA CREATION O' DA DHRuMMIN,
BE TIEFIN' ME KINS! BE READY FER DA POUNDIN O' GHRUMMIN
DHRUMMIN!'

As the muscles on Ghrummin's legs coiled to carry its owner
to its hated prey, Ghrummin realized in horror at the reality
of the show put on by the mage. The last whispers of its
incantation ended and the dead bodies of his recently
deceased kin shuffled to their feet. Dull lifeless eyes,
void of any of the compassion and caring that they held
only days before, stared at him, unblinking. Tiny hands
imbued with unnatural strength clawed at his legs, causing
his entire body to become immobile. Even as he struggled futilely,
cursing his body to move, the whispers of the wraith
reverberated from the mouths of each of the zombie and spoke
his fate.

'Ah, my noble dwarven friend, I do not seek anything more
from you but your skills. You will craft me the means to
empower my army.'

Unconsciousness tranquilized his anger and rage as the
zombie piled on top of him, battering him unmercifully.

Role

Chapter 3

The years following the defilement of the Village of the
Dhrummin's provokes unceremonious rage and chaotic destruction
of Ghrummin's surrounding even now. For over a decade, the
magic of the Wraith bound him to a hidden cave, committing
him to forge nearly flawless weapons, only to be malformed
and mutilated into an abomination. Flails were given a mind
of their owns, swords a wicked laughter as jagged spikes
appeared across their honed edges through magical means.
The only creation that was allowed to keep its purity was
the Ancient Hammer of the Dhrummin, a reminder by the
wraith of his powerless rage.

For an observer, one may believe Ghrummin to be living
his dream - without distraction of cultivating farms,
hunting for food, or even the occasional sport of punting
an orc's head. Each heavy stroke was accompanied by the
name of his ancestor or a deceased kin, the smoldering
anger and thirst for revenge barely covered by the ringing
of the hammer. The only luxury entitled to the dwarf
was in his sleep, where the toils of smithing with little
respite lulled him into dreamless unconsciousness.

The stoutness of his spirit would not wane even in his
imprisonment - secretly, he made various marks upon the
weapons to identify them to be created by the Dhrummin
clan. The sentinels guarding him were unintelligent
bags of bones, unwavering in their duties. The cave
was near the Wraith's chambers, positioned so that the
Wraith can approach him without hesitation and frivolent
use of magic.

For years, a plan formulated in his mind. Timing was
the only factor awaiting disposition.

Role

Chapter 2

Upon the 45th year of Dhrummin's existance, a decade
after the start of his imprisonment, a loud roar echoed
within his cavern. A smirk emerged on his face as he
picked up his well-cared hammer from next to his
sleeping pallet. Long ago, he had discerned that the
cave, for that matter the entire fortress that the Wraith
resided in, once belonged to a dragon. The master had
returned.

Swarming across the corridors, the rattling of various
skeletons heeding their master's summons and the shuffling
of enhanced zombies leaping from wall to wall hid his
presence from the ever watchful eyes of the Wraith.
Just outside the chamber, large piles of bone and pieces
of rotting flesh already made the ground slippery and
jagged to walk on. However, Ghrummin had planned for this
event for a decade. Uncaring of his wounds and shrugging
off the waves of magic emitting from both the dragon and
the Wraith, Ghrummin positioned himself in the shadows
away from the sight of the undead. For too long had
he planned his escape and his revenge - haste would
only spoil his ambitions.

With a thunderous roar, the dragon fell to the ground
as a single word pierced its reputed impenetrable hide.
The Wraith hissed in exhiliration and relief - however,
the arduous battle had taken its toll. The various
minions collected over the years had fallen into decay
or simply dissipated into nothing.

In that brief moment, Ghrummin's roar, matching that
of the dragon's, awakened the Wraith's senses, if only
a second too late. The Ancient Hammer of the Dhrummin's
smashed into the Wraith's head through all the ensorcelled
protective clothing that it coveted. As each thunderous
blow smashed Ghrummin's hated enemy, the names of
each of his kin and ancestors came unbiddenly to his mouth,
punctuating each swing and smash.

Hours passed as each shred of bone and flesh was pounded
into nothingness. At the end of his rampage, Ghrummin
yelled in triumph.

'BE DHRUMMIN YER 'EAD IN!'

Role

Chapter 1

Huffing and puffing as the emotions of his decade-long
imprisonment collapsed into his fragile mental state,
his grudge emerged unfounded, stronger than before.
With a determined and ragefilled expression, Ghrummin
gathered his hammer and pounced out of the cave, beelining
straight to the Village of the Battleragers. He had heard
indiscriminatly from the councils held by the Wraith and
its peers of the endless troubles the Villagers caused
them.

The frustration of a decade of seeing his pride twisted
into an abomination infused itself in his mind. Magic
was granted unearringly to those weapons, and only
those able to touch Magic, or be of Magic itself,
seemed to be able to wield it. One hundred fifty seven
weapons had been created during his imprisonment, one
hundred fifty eight twisted by the Wraith if the initial
one is to be counted, and he would seek to free each of
those weapons from their twisted fate. Magic had corroded
their purity, and made his creation into torment itself,
and had a hand in wielding those malformed creations.

There, before Tahren the Smith, as Ghrummin declared his
intent to follow the creed of the Village, he also made
a personal vow. As he brings the end of each magi, he
would seek the unique inscriptions he engraved on their
weapons, seeking those 13 weapons to freefrom their torment.

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