Yorsuk Stormchest

Hill dwarf Barbarian

Description:

Age: 215
Height: 4’7"
Weight: 140 lbs
Eyes: Brown
Skin: Light
Hair: Grey

Bio:

Ah, lad so you’d like to hear the story of old Yorsuk Stormchest? Aye, might be I’ll tell you. Just mind you anythin’ that I say is privy you best keep to yourself. Now, to it then. Old Yorsuk was born damn near 215 years ago. Me father was a great blacksmith for the king of the hill dwarves. Being his son had its perks, aye, but for me life was meant to be lived on the battlefield where glory and gold could be claimed all at once. S’far as I can remember I had a Warhammer in my hands. My goal in life was to be remembered as the greatest bloody warrior to ever touch a Warhammer. So soon enough I found myself in the king’s army growing my reputation as a warrior and a leader. Winnin’ battle after battle reaping rewards far beyond my dreams. By the time I was 150 I was known as the best general in the king’s army and the king took ole Stormchest on as a war advisor. For many a year I served that king and slayed many a foe for ‘im, but as I grew older I began to see the cruelty of war. Not long after I realized it, my lust for glory had faded. I had done enough killing and pillaging to carve my name into history. Some might say this grey bearded dwarf has gone soft, aye, and who’s to say they’re wrong? But when your king is slowly goin’ mad for chaos and greed right in front of yer eyes how can ya avoid it. Now this you better bloody well not tell anyone about. The reason why I’m in this god forsaken prison cell is a direct result of the great dishonor I brought upon myself. During the most recent battle I brought great shame upon myself. It had been a fierce battle between ‘im and I, but as to who he was I never gave the faintest thought. T’me he was just another dead man walkin’ just waitin’ to be struck down by my giant gilded Warhammer, Fury. Despite losin’ m’balance after a flurry of blows, I was able to knock aside ‘is sword and push ‘im to the ground. As I lifted the massive Warhammer up to deal the killin’ blow, I heard ‘im mutter a single word, “mercy.” With my doubt came hesitation and that was just enough for the bastard to disorient me and escape. Our bout happened near the end of that gruesome battle and through the mud and viscera the only features I could make out were his dark black hair and great amethyst lookin’ eyes. The dwarven army had won the day so what if one Elf got away. To celebrate I headed to the Fanghur pub called the “Laughing Barber” to drink any doubts I had away. If only I had not been eavesdroppin’ on some nearby dwarven soldiers, might be I wouldn’t be talking to the likes of you. But as fate would have it in my drunken stupor I was listenin’ in. The soldiers were talkin’ about some Elvish Lord who had escaped the slaughter of a battle. I over heard them say he had eyes the color of pure ameythsts and jet black hair. All at once anger, shame, and drunkeness hit ole Yorsuk. The next thing I knew I was stridin’ over to the soldiers and startin’ a fight. Beatin’ the talkative soldier bloody until I blacked out. Now I’m here in this dank prison cell the same as if I’d been some thievin’ rogue.

Yorsuk Stormchest

Adventures in Fanghur andrewaran34 cburgess4049