Gruffil Blackale the Sword of Judgment, Seeker of the Paragon

Role

Chapter 4

A bright moon highlights the otherwise dark and cloudless sky on a cold,
winter night. Several miles northeast of Voralian City muffled yells and
banging can be heard coming from a well-lit inn called 'The Saintly Pig'.
Through the thick-frosted glass, one could look in and see irate patrons
shaking their empty wooden tankards towards the elven bartender. The elf
sighs wistfully and shakes his head, whispering to himself: 'Damn me for
hiring a cheap drunk of an oxen driver for ale delivery again, I'll wring his
neck.' With that he quickly grabs an ivory lyre for such emergencies and
begins hastily tuning it. 'My good friends! Let us not', he deftly dodges a
clay plate and winces as it crashes on the wall behind his head, 'riot so!
For riots cause bouncing and bouncers cost funding and fundings aren't fund
when everything's broke?' He glances at the smeared food over his shoulder
again, sighing softly as he hops up onto the bar. 'We have a *slight*
problem! We seem to be short on ale!' A drunk from the crowd calls out
'More'n slight!How kin ye run out o ale in a bar? What kinna show you
runnin?Whatsin tha barrel up 'er?' '*YEAH*' the crowd responds, as if on
cue. The bartender sighs dramatically with a mischievous glint in his eyes
as he speaks, nodding towards the barrel above the bar. 'Ah, that barrel?
You wouldn'' want that barrel. It's cursed, you see. Your ale WILL be here,
within the hour, or drinks are on me tonight. Until then though, my good
patrons, let me tell you about that barrel. Sit back, relax, and listen:


There once was a dwarf who loved his ale
He loved it more than you.
He grew up stubborn and he grew up drunk
A dwarf thru and true
A dwarf thru and true

The brewers daughter was hearty and plump
Her beard was red and full
She brewed pale ale and she brewed dark too
Strong as a bull.
She was strong as a bull.

Well once at market he met the lass
His cheeks blushed rosy and pink.
He fell in love and then and there.
She gave him a sly wink.
She gave him a sly wink.

He knew to win her he'd have to go
And do the best he can.
He searched hard and long searched far and wide
He found a rough spot of land
He found a rough spot of land

He bought it cheap and lost with it
Respect from his home.
Full of rocks and overrun with orcs
A stubborn dwarven tomb
A stubborn dwarven tomb

He found his dwarf and he married her
They started there own clan
Stubborn dwarves outcast from town
But they had a plan
Yes they had a plan.

'Whats it got to do with that BARREL OF ALE!' Sighing to himself, the elf
ignores the call and takes a sip of water and clears his throat.

With courage and rage they fought the orcs
Their battle cries shook the hills
They bled their blood and crushed orc skulls
Thirty orcish kills.
Thirty orcish kills.

The hills were clean of those orc pests
But still had roots and oaks.
They sawed and spent the next few months
Eyes full of smoke
Their eyes were full of smoke.

The land was clear and home was built
The dwarves were beaming and so gay.
The plow was pushed but broke straight away.
Boulders in the way.
Damn boulders in the way.

The earth was dug and the donkeys were hitched
The ropes were strapped and taught.
Donkeys heaved with all their might.
Why were the

Role

Chapter 3

Mournful cries can be heard echoing down the halls of the hallowed grounds.
The guards know better than to enter the room of the grieving dwarf, one
still grumbles at the black eye beneath his bushy eyebrow. The well lit
passageway shines no light on the dark interior behind the thick wooden door
they guard. A white sheet covers a stone tomb in the center of a dark and
musty room. The last torch burns low on the wall sconce and looks to be
ready to go out any second. The place reeks of ale, casks lie all about,
some empty, some soured with time. The foulest stench emanates from the
reeking dwarf sobbing in a heap before the tomb. For days has he mourned
here, drinking, wallowing in his misery; broken, nobody, incomplete. He has
only the casks of 'Black Ale' to numb the pain, and they dwindle, his life
dwindles.

The torch flickers once. Gruffil blinks through the haze and peers around
himself at the disturbance. The torch flickers again, and goes out.
Darkness engulfs Gruffil, he is alone in his misery again. He rubs at his
eyes, wiping away several days worth of crust and gunk.He places a hand on
the tomb, muttering the name of his wife, his children.Tears overtake him.
He knows he saw one last cask of ale, he weakly crawls over to it, he hefts
it up, suddenly it is knocked from his hands. 'Treashory! Demoshn!' He
crawls over to where he heard it land, takes it in his hands again, and
again, it is knocked out of his hands. 'Arrrrrrgulllllaaahhhffshhhh!' He
falls to his rump, whimpering softly to himself, when suddenly he sees a soft
blue light coming from the tomb. He rubs at his eyes again, a blue orb comes
closer to him, he backs away fearfully, drunkenly. Finding himself against
the wall, the orb stops in front of him, and takes the shape of his wife,
holding their children.'Me darlin', look at ye.', she says. 'G-g-Gammil?
It's ye?' He reaches out a hand, but it passes right through the ghostly
image. 'Aye m'love. But what of ye? Look at ye, ye'll be dead soon.'
'Aye,' he responds, 'and with ye, sure'n enough.' 'Nay, not like that. Ye
know better, ye'r lost, ye must find yerself, I've seen it, the other side,
there's Azure Fields, it's perfect, ye'll be here with me. But ye have to
earn it. Ye have to fight, never stop, find the wrong, ye right it. Ye seen
what they did to us? It's all over the world love, Ye gotta stop it, do yer
best, you drink that last cask when it's over fer ye. Not before, when ye
can't fight no more, when yer comin' to me. Then you come home, ye come to
me. Fight hard, with courage, use yer rage..don't bury it. Make 'em reap
what they sow love, reap what the sow.'She brushes her hand along his cheek
and gives him one final kiss, he feels every real moment of it and smiles
happily at his children as he hits the stone ground face first.

Role

Chapter 2

Earth

Gruffil grew up with expectations of becoming a town guardsman of Akan.His
upbringing was plain, without religious views or strong clan or moral
convictions. Once he met Gammil, his wife, however, all that changed. She
taught him many things about himself, how to find inner strengths, to dig
deep within himself. She planted the seed of ability within him and it grew,
with it he felt he became someone. She was the first one to truly empower
him, to make him feel alive. With her he did the impossible, he left his
family even though they forsook him afterwards, they tamed the wilderness and
overcame an orc clan, they tore down a forest with simple tools, they ripped
up boulders and broke their backs over harsh and rugged earth and made a
desirable farm.He understands that actions, and thoughts can move
mountains, ideas planted can become realities, and a dwarf has the power to
shape the world around him. He feels that he can truly live up to his wifes
expectations and right the wrongs of the world.He knows that such a task
will bring him death, and he welcomes it, though not foolishly.



Rage

Alcohol, Ale, Beer, call it what you will. Gruffil was drinking beer while
he was being breast fed. Ale was always his best friend growing up. Hed
gladly have given his life to have tasted the perfect ale growing up. That
demon wife Gammil of his tricked him into swearing off ale until his dying
breath. Never before has he felt such temptation, such utter hopelessness,
hed fight the wicked all damn day easily, hed move mountains with a spoon,
but giving up ale? He blames the wicked for his sobriety, not his wife, and
knows that the sooner the darkness is gone from the world, the sooner he can
have that one final cask of their perfect brew. Though temptation is another
story..


Courage

Shame. That was Gruffil's first reaction after waking in a pool of his own
vomit in the straw bed of the Stones Embrace. His first reaction to his
familys death?Was it to ride down the murderers? To find out who killed
his wife and children? No, he buried himself in grief and ale for weeks. He
swore then and there, to himself, with firm resolve.Fight. Always. Stand
up and fight. Never again back down and let anything other than rage and
courage overtake him at the first sign of adversity.




Nobody turned their heads when he did crush the merchants skull in with a
hammer, and to this day, nothing grows on his once lush farmland. Gruffil
Blackale seeks out the life of the Paladin and has since taken up residence
in Voralian City. He will try to become the best Paladin he can so that he
might be with his wife.He will seek out Ysaloerye in the near future and
explain his situation, asking for her blessing that he might serve her in
this life as a true dwarven Paladin.

Title History

Role

Chapter 1

Having found the Inn of the Ancient Hammer and gained the blessing of the
Paragon from her priestess within, Gruffil has had much time to reflect and
consider his choice to become a holy warrior of the Biddy. He has no regrets
on his chosen path, and finds much pride in being a vessel of the power of
the Dwarves and the Stones of Earth itself. Though many mistake him a
village applicant for some reason, he holds no notions of being such, and
holds no ill will towards mages, or magic in general.

Gruffil explained it best to the Captain of the Fortress during his interview
to become a Squire. Once he was a simple farmer, he tended the crops, the
wheat, the barley, and the rock wall of hops. He nourished the gardens by
hand, he plowed the fields, he worried over droughts and prayed for rain, he
dug out disease infested plants, and weeded well, weeds. On a grand scale,
as a Paladin, that is what he does now. Instead of a small farm, though,
he tends to the world itself. In the souls of men he plants seeds of
kindness, through good deeds and saving others, through love and nourishment
of the faith, through acts of charity and good will, he serves as an example,
letting the flowers of the Light spread as they would in a field from one
mortal soul to the next. On the other hand, there are the infected plants
that must be uprooted, the disease, the weeds, the ones that no matter how
many times you attempt to cut them back they just spread and grow, these must
be removed completely, the wicked. Understanding that as a single farmer
Gruffil couldnt handle a field as big as Thera itself, he joined forces with
the Fortress of the Light in hopes of achieving such a task in a unified
front against the weeds that threaten to overtake the field of Light.

Gruffil misses his wife Gammil, and his children Thelgrim and Pelfry, but the
fact that they await him only drives him to fight harder and do his best in
this mortal life, his only chance at achieving immortality in the Azure
Fields with them. Almost as large a hole in his heart is attributed to his
want for ale, he is a desperate dwarf. He fights an inward battle every time
he passes an inn, every time he sees anyone drinking. He remembers that he
isnt allowed to drink until 'his last battle is fought' and thinks that if
he kills every wicked being in Thera, perhaps then he could get out of his
vow a little early and drink just a few of his mortal days away. He has
sniffed, touched, hugged, rubbed, poured, and even washed in ale, but still
hasn't tasted so much as a drop since his wife denied it to him. Tempering
himself has been no easy feat, but thus far he has achieved success. He looks
forward to his last battle in that regard for certain.

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