By my Beard!

[BreathTaker]

"Ho! Patrons of the Crow's Egg!" The drunk dwarf swayed slightly from his precarious perch atop the old battered table, creaking slightly under his weight. He burped before continuing, "My names is Sigurd Hammerhand and I am here to invite you on my GRAND ADVENTURE!" Sigurd caught himself, barely, from toppling over when he threw his arms out wide.

 

"I come to take you on a magnificent quest, a journey to riches and fame beyond your wildest imagination!" Sigurd hiccuped and smiled in satisfaction at his speech. As he opened his mouth to continue his drunken monologue, he heard a man yell from the other side of the common room, "You want riches? Take this and spare the rest of us your babbling!" A rather large coin purse smacked him square in the forehead, knocking him off the table and on to his seat.

 

"Why you Duregar loving son of a Drow! Who threw that! What's your name!" A young man rose from where the coins came from and announced himself as Alvar. He carried himself like a king, a young, arrogant king.

 

Sigurd started across the room ready to put another scar on the pretty boy's face when a much older man stood up and reprimanded the younger for challenging a complete stranger. The older man, who had an impressive beard, introduced himself by a name the dwarf was too drunk to remember. He looked like a cleric of some sort though Sigurd didn't recognize the symbol on his tabard or know anything of a "Martyr". Apologizing for the actions of his companion before turning back, he mentioned something about a crown. That seemed to change Alvar's mood for the better before they both left the tavern.

 

Feeling downtrodden from his unwelcome rejection, Sigurd left the Crow's egg and wandered out onto the dark, damp street of the Foreigner's District. He drunkenly stumbled down the path towards the open area courtyard to get some fresh air and enjoy his pipe in solitude.

 

Edit: It's 2 a.m. PLEASE SOMEONE JOIN!!!!!! This all I have right now, it's about 4 in the morning so it's not the best but please PM me if you wish to join. It's going to be a traditional RPG set in the Faerun city or Raven's Bluff. The next post is reserved for a special guest so ya know... pm me.

 

Sigurd Hammerhand is a Dwarf from the Hammerhand Clan in the nearby Earthfast mountains. He is the son of Sigmund Hammerhand, one of the master smiths of the clan. Under the training of his father he forged his own axe, Fafnir, after a red dragon he read about in the archives, famous for his power and temper.

Sigurd wears a hooded shirt of steel mail under a red shirt with silver stitching and a traditional dwarven steel helmet in black and silver with the "S" rune over the nazel. He also wears a black, drakeshide kilt and black drakeshide boots with steel coverings over the toe with runes for dexterity and strength engraved on them though they are not enchanted.

 

Sigurd's appearance doesn't vary much from the "classic" dwarf look. He is about 5 foot tall and very stocky. He has a long, golden and red colored beard that reaches his silver belt buckle. The beard is ornamented with silver coins and the toe bones of a Displacer Beast he killed on one of his first outing from the mountains. His head is bare on the sides with a very close cropped mohawk that is a dirty blonde flaked with red. On the bare sides of his head he has dwarven styled ravens in flight tattooed in black. His eyes are a piercing green and he has four claw marks going across his face from his run in with the same Displacer Beast whose bones adorn his beard.

 

Here's a link to a little bit of Sigurd's back story, and why he's kind of a drunk. http://www.17thshard.com/forum/topic/53454-by-my-beard-prelude/

Edited March 11, 2016 by BreathTaker

[Seonid]

"Why you Duregar loving son of a Drow! Who threw that! What's your name!"

 

From the table in the corner where the purse had come from rose a tall young man, no more than twenty. His hair was dark, almost black, and his face was fine-boned. He might have been handsome, if it weren't for an ugly red scar across his left cheek and nosebone, obviously only barely healed. "I am Avar Leduinne, my fine, drunk friend, and I say what I please, and to whom it pleases me to say it." His eyes sparkled with anticipation, and his left hand fell to the hilt of a finely-wrought steel sword at his belt. "If you take umbrage at it, it would be my pleasure to educate you on the matter."

 

Behind him, another form rose from the table. "Avar," he said chidingly as he strode into the light. "Did not the blessed Martyr say that peace was greater than the sword? It becomes one of your stature to mark his words closely, and none moreso than these." The speaker was perhaps forty years of age, his thinning hair just starting to show gray, and his full beard was speckled with flecks of it. He wore formal white robes over a scaled tabard, with a stylized flame on the left breast. "Furthermore," he continued, "I have only just recovered from healing the hurts you took from the last tavern brawl you started, and I have no desire to watch you beaten into a senseless pulp again because your bravado was far larger than your common sense." Turning to the dwarf, he smiled in a conciliatory fashion. "Pardon my young charge here. Perhaps age will bring him wisdom."

 

Avar flushed red, and made as if to retort angrily. "Julian!" he began, but was cut off by the older man's words. "Now, Avar, I have completed my inquiries, and the Martyr has shown me that the crown of your fathers is not to be found in this forgotten realm. I should say that we ought to consult with the sages at Cherisse. And then we can return to Menkor for you to be crowned." And like that, the young man's anger was gone, replaced by excitement, and he followed the priest out of the tavern eagerly."

 

I thought I'd drop in to say hi. Unfortunately, I don't have time to actually participate in this RP, but it looks really fun! I'll be following it with great interest.

[The Honor Spren]

Lyra Ilifina, Queen of the Birch Tree, was just plucking the last brown leaf out of her domain, when she was interrupted by a loud crash. She sat up higher on her branch and looked down. The sound had been made by a dwarf, drunk by the way he was walking. He sat down and started smoking a pipe under her beautiful queendom. How Dare He?

Lyra swung down, legs hooked around a branch, so that their eyes, which were both green, were level with each other. "Oi." Her eyes narrowed, as his eyes widened in surprise, "This is my tree. Don't go smoking any of yer nasty dwarf pipe under it."

Edited March 21, 2016 by The Honor Spren

[BreathTaker]

Sigurd lurched backwards, startled and thinking someone spiked his beer before realizing it was an upside down pointy-ears talking to him. He chuckled, " Yer tree eh? Well forgive me for ruining the atmosphere," he said sarcastically as he stood and bowed, taking a long draw on his pipe. "I had no idea there was a homeless elf living insida this ancient twig," he laughed again more heartily while examining the aforementioned tree.

"This doesn't seem like the kinda tree a pointy-ears like herself would be livin in, not snobby enough you see." Sigurds eyes twinkled in amusement, " And ye've not got that snooty elvish accent about ye either. What's yer story elfling?" Again, he took a deep drag of his NOT stinky, dwarven pipe and blew out four perfect rings towards the green eyed girl with a troublemaker's grin.

[The Honor Spren]

Lyra swung herself back up so she was perching on her branch. "As if I'd tell you." She sniffed and stared at the dwarf for a moment be fore asking, "What do ya mean by 'snooty elvish accent' anyway?"

[BreathTaker]

"I mean usually pointy-ears like yerself tend to talk down their noses at everyone else. Think their better than everyone else and sound like it too," Sigurd was curious about this little elf. It was rare for one to be so... Different, and he wanted to know why.