Name: Balthran Ireheart
Weight: 152 kilos (334 lbs)
Physical Description: Balthran's bodily stature is of broad and muscular in nature. His hair would of a bright fire-like orange hew that draped from his face and head. The hair on top would be constantly kept at decent length where it could be stricken backward and left in a ragged mess. Though for his beard a master piece of countless hours spent into grooming and braiding it, as rings of varying metals would adorn the hairs. The skin of him would be quite pale but stained from ash, flame, and varying markings that are permanent. For his eyes they would be deep forest green. His ears would hold a few studs of gems stones and rings of shiny metal.
Possessions: Family Smithing hammer, smithing tool kit, thick gambeson and brigandine, split-maille gauntlets and grieves, enough Bishan to last a week and a half, large leather book, and a worn journal (this holds family records and teachings that he keeps to heart).
Powers or Strengths:
Average Military Training with Two Handed Weapons, Heavy Armour, Shields, and Maces/Hammers.
Veterancy of Blacksmithing.
Skilled in Leather working, Jewel cutting/crafting.
He was able to learn how to inscribe runes into an objects and psalms of their clan in praise of their ancestors and god(s). In reality he is quite pious and would be known to be quite zealous.
His entire body is covered in quite brutal scars, leaving nerve damage in some points of his body.
He sticks to the ways of his clan, holding the elders of all and showing the greatest of respect.
Cocky, Blunt, Obnoxious, Hot-Headed, easily angered and insulted.
With his brutal scaring it would become soft and tender from time to time.
He has PTSD and lost trust in nearly everything and everyone.
Little showing of respect to nobility, as in he is very relaxed and would often forget to bow or do something.
Curses too much.
Holds a beyond blood link to all dwarves and would help them with almost anything.
Balthran Ireheart who once was a blooming young beardling in Clan Ireheart. He was raised like almost any normal militaristic house would. He learned how to fight at such a young age and even younger he would have started blacksmithing. Slowly the stoic dwarf would sharpen his wit and skill in many crafts and arts of combat due to his family being reknown berserkers and one of the Ancient Clans of the Forge. In his time he was raise to know that nearly all races are not to be trusted because of their trickery and it was proven with meetings in trade and other adventures that led to contact with them. His great great grandfather was the one who taught Balthran how to first work the forge with his non-dominant hand and then after with his dominant. This was to let him work even if crippled in the slightest. Balthran loved smithing more than anything, he would sneak out in the middle of the night to work and learn. In learning the ways of metalworking and the forge he learned his history and beliefs, which would be solid as the stone he was born from. The thought of being the best smith in all of his race and even this realm would be the greatest of dreams.
Now nearing the age of adulthood he was sent out on a trial to grant him full membership into the clan, a real member of the family. For this he had to slay a dire wolf, a large beast that was larger than the average one and was much more deadly. After such he would have to climb the great mountian that housed the hall they lived in and retrieve a feather from the eagle's nest. Finally Balthran would have to gather other minor objects that were quite menial in task. Setting out to the hunt he was equipped decently and eager to return home and assume the position of heir to make his feather proud. In the hunt he was able to slay a wolf of great size and with a fine grey pelt. After that the dwarf bested the peaks of the mountains and retrieved the feather to return back to its roots.
Returning home now will all of his needed items the fire haired dwarf would march back ready to claim what was his. While getting a few days away he was stopped by a pack of wolves, except these wolves were much more organized than normal.... An arrow would wiz by Balthran's head, turning to see himself now surrounded by the beasts' masters. Elves, humans, and other races were all armed poorly but seemed hungry for wealth. What would be assumed leader, demanded that he would give all he had but was refused. The bandits and beasts would advance to kill Balthran as he would fight them back in vain. Hacking and slashing in all directions as pain would surge and drain out every pour and part of his body. The body movement of the enraged berserker would slow down to a draining halt as he would slump to his knees and close his eyes.
Waking up after being in a coma for days he would arise to be in a camp of druids and local healers. Knowing his shame his damned himself and swore to return with everything once more. Being so horribly beaten and dis-formed he was forced to roam with the band of healers for years till he was back to his normal strength. Giving his thanks the young beardling would return back to his homelands and finish his tasks. Now finally home he was welcomed and honoured as a warrior and was claimed the Forge Master of the clan. Leaving him to learn the sacred arts that caused the creator to inscribe runes to an object and it would bestow a desired power to it, at a cost of course.
Nearing his current age Balthran would be out on a war band trip, defending his current lands from amassed raiders and monsters that posed a threat. He would be wounded nearly every battle and laugh it off and cry with a keg of booze in his stomach. Finally with the tour at an end he would go home finally to be with his family again. But to his horror thick black smoke would no longer train would the mountain's pipes or spouts. No lights, no merriment, no horns or drums, no cheering, or even crying. At the gates he would see his family.... slaughtered and mutilated. Instantly Balthran would break and sink to his knees, bawling like a baby. After what seemed to be an eternity he would slowly regain his composure and live in his home for one day. The next morning he took what he knew was his and the family book and documents with him after he buried every single member of the clan and gave them full rights. That means he sang 10 songs in their name, gave a speech for endless people, kegs of ale drunken through depression, and then the final closing of all tombs. Now closing the gates of his home, he would leave what he loved and held dear. He was now a broken person who was lost but knew one thing. He was going to be the best damn smith in the lands and do what is best for his clan. He now his headed to Marn to find a new life to live and do. This is Balthran Ireheart, and his story.