Post by gatalis on Feb 4, 2012 1:53:52 GMT -5
Morel looked at the port city. He had left the Urvir stronghold a good few years ago to bring honor to his clan name, and in the human lands he had joined himself up with a group of paladins of Tyr who had sought to destroy evil in their wake. Having worked with the group for many a year, the dwarf considered them good friends, and trusted allies. He had been aristocracy where he had come from, which was much different from the human lands. As a dwarven aristocrat, he hadn't dealt with the political mumblings but with maintaining order and honor among the stronghold. He had done so with utmost haste, and was considered a prized fighter by his family and friends.
Having moved out of his clan though, he sat with his four compatriots. The townsfolk appreciated them, and some even considered the group a hand of sorts, Morel being the thumb. They had recently heard of an island a few weeks away by boat by the name of Siranda that had supposedly cut off all contact with the outside world. Fearing that an evil had taken hold, the dwarf took up his arms with his group to investigate.
...
The Weeks rolled on and on, nothing but sea, the occasional port. Morel had never liked the ocean, and spent the majority of the time chatting with the crew of the deeds he had accomplished. Today though, he only stared onwards. A fog seemed to be where the island should have been. It was thick, seemingly impenetrable, and they were quickly approaching it. His friends began to take their prayers as he stared onwards.
...
Death, so much death... Ghil, Frelia, and Iyata had been slain in the endeavors to find a safe haven, the crew had all but succumbed to the infection. Morel stood with the last, and youngest of the paladins, Dopern. One of the undead had ripped through his last compatriot's throat before the dwarf had a chance to kill it. They had over the course of a few days fighting arrived in the city of Kalaram. Morel sighed, prayed for a good afterlife for his friend as they looked at him with a fearful expression, the light in their eyes quickly fading.
"I'll avenge yeh I will..." The young dwarf said bluntly, his voice showing no sadness, just a sense of shame and pity as he looked across the city, trying to find a safe haven...
Name: Morel Urvir
Race: Baseline Dwarf
Age: 65
Gender: Male
Height: A typical 4 feet
Skin Tone: Deep Tan
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Black
Place of Birth: In a dwarven stronghold somewhere in the mainlands
Religion/Deity: Moradin
General Alignment: While lacking the discipline and straight-forwardness of a paladin, Morel has a rather strict code of honor, and feels morally obligated to help when he can. That being said, the dwarf has been known to stay out of affairs that don't directly involve him. ((Lawful Good))
Occupation: While he did work alongside his paladin compatriots, Morel never took it upon himself to learn their arts. He possesses the discipline and rigorous training of a skilled warrior, but very much lacks the fluent aspects of diplomacy his friends were so good at. ((Fighter, and later on if he makes it, Dwarven Defender))
Appearance: Morel takes the idea of all dwarves looking bad and throws it out the window. His greasy, scar-ridden appearance leaves him looking like a clusterfuck that makes most dwarves look rather decent. He typically when he can carries the strongest single-handed weapon he can find, a shield if possible, and good, sturdy armor.
Physique: Duerel doesn't appear the be the most athletic, and when he isn't covered to the brim in armor, he doesn't appear to be that muscley either. That being said, the dwarf is definetly meaty-not fat, just meaty.
