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[Dwarf IMM] [BATTLE] Thror HammerSong?, Mason of Untempered Souls
Tattoo: Mark of the Hammer and Anvil
Sphere(s): Strength, Fire, Purity

Those who bear the mark of the Hammer and Anvil are apprentices of the HammerSong?.

Before the blazing, cherry-coal red fire is a craftsman who fabricates objects out of metal. Such a blacksmith will take a raw shaft of immutable metal, place it through the searing heat of the forge and smelt the metal, eventually heating it into a suppleness from which it can be molded. Between a simple hammer and a massive anvil, this smith will shape and sharpen the metal, bending it to his own will. The resulting object, more often then not, is unique and Pure, Strong and beautiful, molded with the determination and skill of the blacksmith.

The Noldarian Smiths believe that all things begin raw, weak and unformed. Life, like the forge, is a process that cannot give way to weariness or fatigue. A man is made through the trials of life, a great man through the tragedy. Beginning with themselves, these smiths see existence as a process of artisanship, crafting themselves through fiery temperament and cool resolve.

The Noldarian have ultimate faith in the spheres of Fire, Purity, and Strength. These spheres represent the life of a Noldarian smith. They are not hesitant to take another being and smelt him, reforging this being into their image. The trials of a smith are demanding, always capable of breaking the being and their beliefs; therefore, these smiths are steadfast in their duties as shapers of perfection. The Noldar believe that ultimately this perfection, found through the forge, will be captured in the inevitable quenching of death.

Seek the Song of the Hammer where mountains are unreachable and dwarven heritage prevails.

Description and items:

Standing before you is a short creature that nearly reaches your waist. His eyes bore into you as if searching for something you have or might be willing to give him. He bears his broad chest before him, snorting at any who nears him without his leave. Behind his rather large nose a pair of eyes are set, fixed upon your every movement. At times a froth can be seen about his mouth, though one cannot discern whether it is ale or slobber. A great mane of red falls about his neck and while stubbornly glaring at you he seems to recognize your worth. It's quite apparent that this creature has seen his fair share of battles especially with those of his own kind.

<worn about waist> a filthy, mud-stained loincloth

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Copyright 2002 Eric C. (Dioxide)