Rakthic Rumblechest the Legend of the Battlefield

Role

Chapter 4

He sat one day in silence, staring deep into the fire of his father's small forge. He was
deep in thought, flames dancing in his eyes, when a vision took him. It was brief but
powerful.

His dwarven hands worked hammer and tongs, shaping a pick from a lump of iron.
Screams interrupted his morning, and he emerged from the forge glancing around the
small mining encampment. He saw people fleeing into the mines, trying to escape the
reavers. There were two or three dwarfs already entangled in nets. A half dozen bandits
fanning out to entangle more. Fear panged in his heart, and he turned to the entrance of
the mines, safety only two score strides away. He suddenly became aware of the
uncomfortable heat in his hand. He had held the forge tongs far too long, the heat had
crept up and was singeing his gloves. He dropped the tongs and the half finished pick,
looking down at his hand. Heat spread through his arm landing in the center of his
chest, growing into a fury, burning away the fear and doubt from his heart. He looked
back to the reavers, they were not armored. Poorly armed, they held nets and had but
small knives or sticks at their belts. One had a small axe on his belt, but they all had
their backs to him as they herded a group of washerwomen. He gripped his hammer
tightly, and turned to face the bastards. He didnt know if he could get them all before
the got him, but he had surprise on his side and he figured he had a chance. A chance
he could not live with himself if he passed on.

The vision of courage changed Rakthics life, he never felt the pangs of despair again.

Role

Chapter 3

Rakthic is from old stock. His line unbroken since the first age. During his childhood he
was told stories of old. Stories of his family, histories of the realm most forget. Once
finished his chores, he would sit in his fathers forge and hope to hear stories of old.
Stories of war and battle, of evil deeds and great champions. Yet the tales that most
intrigued him were the stories of peace. Of before the forsaken poisoned mortals with his
wicked craft. When the hearts of all were content and pure. More and more he dreamt of
those times, and the nightmare visions of how it would end. Bloodshed, slaughter,
abduction, and tortuous experimentation. He grew more and more distraught, soon he
found himself dangerously close to despair.

Role

Chapter 2

A hearty dwarf sits in a small forge in the foothills of a large mountain
range. His soot marred brow furrows deeply as he examines the result of
todays labors. The plow blade is indeed a work of beauty, the culmination of
years of knowledge. The steel worked with precision, the blade hone true
and straight. Pride and satisfaction is evident on his face, made rudy by the
fading fire of the simple forge. He begins to tidy his work space and in a few
moments he leaves the forge, making the short walk to his cabin, head held
high. The final light of day fades to black, the sun having set some time
ago. He is stopped short of the door, as brilliant unnatural light explodes in
the sky. He can make out screams and clamour as dozens of torches
appear on the next hill. They are close, and getting closer. He has heard the
stories, and prayed them to be untrue. His blood runs cold as reality sets in.
He pauses another instant before burst into his home to gather his family.
With naut a word he scoops up two small children as they rush to meet
him in one arm, a woman dwarf in the other. In a single motion he has her
over his shoulder and is back out the door. The voice of his wife is eclipsed
by the thundering of hooves. His heart hammers in his chest, blood
pounding in his ears, the noises rises to a deafening crescendo.

Rakthic explodes from his pallet to his feet as a bellow escapes his throat. His heart
hammers in his chest as he struggles to catch his breath. Eventually he calms himself
and sits, his sweat soaked head resting in shaking hands. Once again his vision like
dreams lead to a sleepless night.

Role

Chapter 1

- Heritage -
Rackthic comes from a old line of dwarfs, his lineage extending back to the dawn of time.

His family name comes from the penchant for humming, seeming to have been instilled
in all men and women of his family. While forging, or marching, or even during battle,
deep baritone rumbling infectiously focuses the mind and strengthens the soul.

His ancestors were know for particular majestic beards

His father raised him on stories of history and his family, passed down through countless generations.

Most of his family were smiths by trade, or warriors who smithed by necessity.


- Goals and views -
His ultimate goal is to erase magic and return to the days before the forsaken poisoned
mortals with it for his own amusement.


The stories of old filled him with despair, he saw no way to face such adversity.

That is until he had a vision while staring into his fathers forged which showed him true
courage.

His ultimate person goal is to become a Noldarian Smith.

He constantly strives to improve himself.

He drinks, constantly but never to excess.

He views forgecraft as a pure act of creation, natural as giving birth. A wholly innocent
and agnostic act resulting in a tool.

Immortal Comments

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