Posted by Fuath on October 12, 2000 at 19:57:29:
In Reply to: [ARBITER] Fuath the Knight Hero posted by Farewell note. on October 12, 2000 at 19:54:29:
<1025hp 385m 757mv> desc <1025hp 385m 757mv> role Born in a small village, along the surface of the great mountain Added Mon Jul 3 18:35:45 2000 at level 18: Fuath would keep away from the hut, as often as he could. He took a Fauth knew he would be drawn to these places, but little did he know Added Tue Jul 4 21:37:48 2000 at level 23: One day while walking home from his job at the stables, Fauth came Added Tue Jul 4 21:49:42 2000 at level 23: Fuath arrived home to find the front room of the hut in shambles. It Fuath held up an open hand. Added Tue Jul 4 22:04:00 2000 at level 23: Almost in slow motion, as he recounts it in his head, Fuath watched Added Tue Jul 4 22:16:16 2000 at level 23: Fuath left his home, with only the clothes on his back, and went with Added Fri Sep 1 11:14:30 2000 at level 40: Once arrived in Ofcol, Fuath found quick refuge within the home Added Tue Sep 19 16:14:21 2000 at level 51: Through many hard faught years, often on the watch alone, Fuath has kept Continue his personal goals, within the church of Father Selric? In the end, doesn't every man wish to see himself perpetuated...? Added Sun Sep 24 09:43:18 2000 at level 51: Hammersong. Benign enough sounding, almost tranquil even. But it is Feiriel and Solian beckon to Fuath. They lead him to a strange place, he'd A sickly duergar. Not completely uncommon, but this one unique enough... Added Mon Sep 25 09:00:45 2000 at level 51: With the sickly duergar's return, Thror's once mighty hammer is claimed from Added Mon Sep 25 09:15:14 2000 at level 51: It would seem, indeed, that only one who sings the grace of the Hammersong can free To this end... Fuath gives up his daggers, and will seek the wisdom of a gifted teacher. Added Wed Sep 27 19:31:17 2000 at level 51: FIRE. Raw metal must be passed through fire to prepare it for the forge. PURITY. Once fire has burned away the imperfections, the molten metal is ready for the forge. STRENGTH. Free from impurities, the metel is forged into a weapon, or armor of strength.
Your description is:
Stark red streaks of flame breath run through this dwarf's
blonde hair and beard. Hair and beard melding as one across
his warm face and neck, each coming together in a dreaded locke.
Immense shoulders and arms look strangely out of place on this
short stalky aunry little cuss. Looking more like stumps his
legs are think and round, yet sturdy. He looks strait ahead
with sincere blue eyes, as he strokes his firey beard.
Your role is:
Added Mon Jul 3 18:25:10 2000 at level 18:
of Mortorn, Fuath was raised by his two eldest sisters. His mother
died in childbirth, so he knows none to be his mother, save for his
sisters. They were young, and did thier best to raise him. They did
what they could to do, to make ends meet, and niether being wed,
that meant they would sometimes sell themselves, for thier families
wellbeing. Fuath was too young, really, to understand this, but as
he grew older, he began to understand who the male callers were, in
late of night.
job in a nearby stable, and helped the blind keeper there with his
chores. The pay was meager, but it kept his time. He would listen to
words of this blind old keeper, as they worked shoeing, shucking, and
tending to the horses. The man spoke of a wide world, where magical
towers held enlightend scholars, and where stern castles and palaces
where the planning point for the harnessing of new cultures. The
stories were fanciful, and hard to comprehend for a simple lad, who
was being raised by two whore sisters.
how much apart of the adventure to was to become.
across an old man, resting on the side of the road. The man looked
worn and tired, surely he had less days ahead, then those he'd left
behind. Fauth stopped and begun to speak to this man, for he saw a
warmth in his eyes, and kindness he had not even seen in a human.
Fauth offered the man some stale bread, and a drink of water from
his canteen. The man held up an open hand, and at first Fuath cringed
away from him, fearing the man was about to strike him. The man just
smiled warmly, and began to speak the words of the Kara Chal.
was late in the evening now, as he cried out to his sisters, fearing
they were in some trouble. He threw pieces of toppled furniture with
newfound strength and vigor, making his way to the back rooms of the
hut. There, in this sister's room, he saw a vision of carnage, he will
not soon forget. His sisters' still warm bodies lying twisted and
contorted, in heaps of intestines and blood. The duergar culprit still
there, eyed Fuath with glowing rays of contempt. Fuath closed his eyes
hoping it was all a dream. He reopened them, to see it hadn't been.
Gripped with fear, he for some reason, could only hear the words of
the kind old man, from the road, over his beating heart.
the duergar's mighty axe swing a skull cleaving blow toward him. Still
with an open hand outstretched, Fuath could hardly believe his eyes
when the duergar halted his swing, and placed his hands to his side.
Then, without a hint of anger, the duergar walked right passed Fuath
and out of the room. Still gripped with fear, Fauth did not watch him
leave. As Fuath stood there paralyzed with fear, he felt a reassuring
warmth overtake him. Slowly he turned, and there before him was the
old man from the road, hand outstretched, with a strange glow emanating
from his forearm.
the man. They journied to for many days and nights. Each night they
would build a fire against the darkness, and the man would speak more
words of the Kara Chal, and Fuath would listen. Fuath listened and
absorbed the words, as a young fawn suckles it's mothers milk, wholly.
Fuath awoke one morning to find the man gone, and left with him only
a feeling he must proceed alone, through the rest of the wilderness.
Fuath travelled on, and within a short walk had arrived to the outskirts
of Ofcol. His journey on the path of Light had begun, and would face
with an open hand...
of Marshal Diana. The Marshal, not prone to take drifters in, saw
Fuath was in need of direction. While in her home, Fuath learned
the ways of mortal law, and he saw how perfectly it all fit in the
words of the Kara Chal. " It is also this step of the path that our enemy
springs against...plague, disease." Surely this refers to chaos in the
lands, for if the masses are not kept safe from the disease and terror
of chaos, how can thier hearts be filled with peace? Fuath gladly took
appointment to the position of Arbiter of law.
vigil in the face of superior numbers and clever foes. Now with the leave
of Lord Grislan, a paradox:
Or seek futher leadership within the Halls of Justice....
Does not every man wish to leave his mark, and have other men say of him...
.........."There walks a fair fellow.."
said, in the right hands at the right moment, the mace wielder can
become an artist, swinging his hammers with a grace and fluidity which
blur the hammers into a controlled frenzy, making them literaly sing.
never been to. They spoke of the "Hammer", and of digging up graves.
After a week of constant belaboured digging, nearing exhaustion, Fuath collapsed.
He then found out they were indeed digging in Lord Jullias' holy shrine.
Not fully knowing all the facts, he shruged, yet knowing it was indeed for good.
He murmured speaks of having found a hammer, from the digging of a grave.
Could this be? Fuath pressed to find out, what kind of hammer....
Could it be Lord Thror's hammer? The key to salvation of the Mountain Lord?
Ironic indeed, that the choatic behavior of several villagers kept Fuath
from fully interogating this sickly duergar, thus keeping thier Immortal
Lord in ghostly chains.
the wicked Balrogs. Thus begins the days of an uneasy alliance with the village
and it's Leader, the feared savage Vizarsh.
The Mountain Lord, from what Fuath can gather from his compatriots. Taking this
to heart, Fuath quickly set out to learn the last bit of skill he could, using a hammer
until it felt apart of him. Indeed, he could tell there was a song in the hammer's
face, but as to harness it, Fuath was competely inept. Much dedication to this new
weapon would be needed.
One who can set him in the right direction, down the path to the Hammersong.
Fuath takes this journey, surrendering his badge, taking his first step into the fire.
The fire has burned away the years Fuath spent with dagger trainings. He stands ready
like an Aryth sponge, to absorb what he can, from his blacksmith teachers, who sing
to Fuath, in thier repetitious melody. Beating the molten metal, bending it to
thier will with repeated blows from hardened hammers.
Having visited nearly every Blacksmith in Thera, Fuath stands ready to be strong.
Impure and distracting thoughts of old weapons and past duties burned away, he continue
to search for the final strength. He contiues to search for the Hammersong.