
Name: Thorberg Flintlock
Age: 60
Race: Dwarven
Height: 4' 6"
Weight: 250lbs
Physical Description: Thorberg stands with the typical stocky gait of a dwarf, with his head reaching the height of just below the level of an average human's shoulders. His build does nothing to detract from the stereotypical image of his race; his waist is adorned by a large belly earned from the debauchery that comes with the love for ale and other alcoholic beverages. His thick arms come from repeatedly swinging a hammer down onto a forge. The fact that his left arm seems just slightly more muscled than his right might tell an astute observer that he favors that hand when wielding a hammer at the forge.
Greasy black hair falls uncut to just at his shoulders. It doesn't seem to want to grow past that point on its own. By a stark contrast to that shaggy and unkempt mane, Thorberg's beard is kept constantly combed and braided. Its length reaches to his waist. The ends are typically tucked into his belt to keep it restrained and out of the way as he goes about his daily business. Underneath all of that that is a craggy, pitted careworn face that is just as effective at appearing jovial and friendly as it can portray a condescending scowl. Brown eyes stare out from bushy black eyebrows.
Typically Thorberg keeps his attire simple and practical. Due to his profession and the physical exertion it takes, he just simply sees no point in ruining fancy clothes with sweat or the heat and sparks from a forge. Thorberg is often seen wearing plain but thick leather breeches and a sleeveless vest made of a similar material. The color of this clothing usually varies between either black or plain leather brown, he carries more than one pair and due to the nature of his work they are always constantly getting torn or pitted with burns and eventually replaced. His only idea of what constitutes 'fine wear' comes from the only thing he takes pride in; his work. During his travels from location to location in order to ply his wares, Thorberg usually wears his armor over his typical attire.
Possessions: Thorberg keeps things rather simple and modest. About the nicest things he own are his axe, and his armor.
Though not too terribly skilled with the axe, it was passed down from his father, who had passed it down from his father and so on. As an heirloom, Thorberg was rather obligated to accept it and it has seen its use. He typically wears it only during his travels for protection. Mostly it remains stored safely and lovingly away wherever Thorberg takes up residence. A large two-handed weapon, the blade is double-sided and the ends curve slightly, giving it a corkscrew sort of look. The shaft is made of the same steel as the blade, and then wrapped in leather.
Thorberg's armor is a simple affair, but some of his best work. It has its share of dents and scrapes, as traveling abroad comes with its share of troubles on the road. But being a blacksmith as his trade, it's taken care of and maintained well enough. Made of a similar steel as his axe, it was crafted to cover mainly his chest. His arms are left bare for mobility, and plate-style gloves are worn over his hands with their ends extending up to his forearm that fasten to that with a leather strap and buckle. Over his legs are pieces of plate. They have their gaps where they seperate at the joints, but again as one who travels frequently this was done to preserve mobility and comfort for his ease of travel. This setup is comprised of four pieces per leg; a piece to cover the upper front and a piece that covers the upper back of his legs. The front upper pieces extend to cover his knees, while the back leave that area slightly exposed so that he can keep his mobility. The bottom pieces similarly cover the front and back of his shins. Steel-shod boots are worn in place of his typical leather boots. All of the armor pieces are decorated with some celtic-style runes around the trim. Thorberg almost exclusively only wears this during his travels, as it is rather inconvenient to work a forge in such a stifling and cumbersome attire.
The only other item of importance Thorberg keeps is his blacksmith's hammer. This is almost always worn on a belt around his hips and he typically carries it wherever he goes. As he uses this to ply his trade and make his money, he is very attached to this particular item. Since he almost always carries it, if one starts any trouble with Thorberg this is likely the first thing he would reach for to brandish against them.
Personality: Thorberg Flintlock is a prideful dwarf. The honor of his family and clan name are meaningful to him, and he is confident of himself and means to represent the Flintlock name as best he can. Thorberg avoids being arrogant, but he can be stubborn and his pride leaves little tolerance for insults. He is quick to fly off the handle at any slight against him, perceived or otherwise. His basic attitude is to offer respect when he is shown it, and return disrespect with plenty of disrespect of his own.
Thorberg's best skill is his blacksmithing. He plies his trade well. He can negotiate and haggle prices with the best of them, but has also learned through experience that often if you want to make a profit then you have to compromise. He often uses this insight when dealing with others outside of business, but he can't help being the stubborn bastard that he is and he wouldn't openly admit his compromises to anyone but himself. In this regard he is dwarven through and through; outwardly he refuses to back down and even when he does back off he tries to make it out to seem like he's the one who's coming out ahead. Similarly, he keeps his wounded or sensitive feelings largely to himself and presents a surly, gruff and strong presence to others. While he's clearly convinced this works out in his favor, it can obviously work against him at times as well.
Thorberg isn't so much a fighter as he is a brawler. He focuses his skill on blacksmithing and because that's what he loves doing he obviously isn't spending his time training in the art of combat. That's not to say that he can't hold his own; the nature of his work has given him a strong arm and he is constantly getting burns and other injuries. This has given him a pretty decent resilience to pain and he can take a pretty good beating. His stubborn nature has led to his share of fights in bars or taverns, and he's been through his troubles out on the road. But if Thorberg were to go up against a seasoned veteran of combat who does so for a living, even though he wouldn't admit it or back down he's not likely to win that fight.
Strengths:
- Blacksmithing
- Good pain tolerance derived from his tradeskill
- Good negotiating/haggling skills
- High regard for family and community ideals and honor
- Attempts to avoid arrogance
- Willful; refuses to back down
- Alcoholism
- Stubborn
- Pride can also get in the way, leading to negative responses towards insults perceived or otherwise
- Impatient
- Willful; refuses to back down
- Not a trained veteran of combat; brawls like a bull in a china shop
Their clan is led by a Thane who is chosen by the inhabitants when the former one either dies or grows too old to handle the responsibility. The new Thane typically ends up being a son or other close relative of the old Thane, although that result isn't entirely intentional as it is circumstantial. The next commonly chosen Thane is just usually someone close to the former Thane who knew him, had been around him, and had helped him the most in his duties to govern the folks of Clan Flintlock. Thus while this is commonly a close relative, it can just as easily be a former close friend of the Thane. Ultimately it boils down to who the inhabitants choose is best suited to the task in a meeting they call a Thanesmoot.
Although not every denizen is related by blood, they all take on the surname of Flintlock. This is done as they widely believe that this brings the community closer together, and causes most to have fierce pride in the clan as a whole and to represent it well. As a result, almost all of the dwarves of Clan Flintlock can recite their own personal family lineage for several generations past and that is how they can differentiate their own individual families from each other. It is common when formally introducing themselves to others that they name themselves and follow up with "son of" or "daughter of", and name off a generation or two. Thorberg might formally introduce himself by saying "I am Thorberg Flintlock, son of Dolof, and Balund before him." Most leave it at that, unless further inquiry is made.
Obviously those of the clan Flintlock have their various professions. A community needs hunters and gatherers, seamstresses and clothes makers, and anything else essential for a small community to survive. But by and large, the bulk of Clan Flintlock ekes out their living by either mining their mountain of ore and minerals, or they take up the trade of blacksmithing to form that ore into weapons, armor, or other useful items which are then brought out of their mountain by merchants in order to try to sell to other communities.
Such it was that Thorberg's own family were primarily blacksmiths. Thorberg's father, Dolof, was a blacksmith. His father Balund was a blacksmith before him. Although not always the case, a son typically begins helping his father in his work as soon as he is a responsible enough age to be expected to help support his family and such it was with Thorberg. By the time he was 10 years old, Thorberg was assisting his father at their forge. His tutelage at such a young age obviously started off small, the bulk of it involving fetching tools for his father and suffering through lectures about the various processes of the tasks his father carried out and why they were important to the craft. Eventually as Thorberg reached the age of twelve he was allowed to take part in crafting smaller things like nails, horseshoes, and other necessary tools until he was finally crafting weapons and shields alongside his father.
Thorberg eventually took over entirely by the time he turned twenty years of age. His father had died at an age of two-hundred and fifty, a woefully early age for such a long-lived race as theirs. A rather gruesome ordeal, it had happened when Dolof and Thorberg were helping his uncle Eldgrimur load up a wagon of their forged goods. Eldgrimur was one of Clan Flintlock's tradesmen, and Thorberg had occasionally accompanied him during his travels and had watched his uncle Eldgrimur trade and haggle. Thorberg had intended to accompany Eldgrimur on this particular trip, but as they were loading up his uncle's wagon the horse had spooked.
It was a new mare, Eldgrimur had been forced to obtain it after his former horse had grown lame on the way back from his last journey. Eldgrimur had had no choice in the matter, but it was generally preferred to keep horses that were raised and trained within the noisy confines of Flintlock's mountain stronghold because those animals were used to all the loud noises and dank smells coming from the numerous forges within. Eldgrimur had been advised by those close to him to rid himself of the horse, but like the rest of Thorberg's family he was stubborn. He'd paid well for the horse, and he was still upset that he'd been forced to put down his old one. "I'll not be wastin' good bishani on a bloody Gods-be-damned single trip beast!" he declared, and that was that.
It was a declaration that Eldgrimur came to regret, and one that Thorberg had a hard-time forgiving him for. The horse had spooked and reared up, jarring the wagon as Eldgrimur and Dolof had been loading up a crate of forged steel weapons. The crate had fallen and burst open, and a sword had stabbed right through the chest of Thorberg's father. The weight of the crate subsequently falling on them had ensured the sword stabbed clean through. Mercifully, Dolof's death was instant. So was Thorberg's grief and anger. With the same sword that had felled his father, Thorberg unceremoniously tore it from Dolof's chest and stormed towards the spooked horse. Stunned onlookers watched as with a mighty swing that surprised even himself, Thorberg embedded the blade halfway through the horse's neck. A few more blows severed it completely before he dropped the sword and left it there in the dirt and blood of his grisly deed. Those who enjoy juicy gossip will swear Thorberg cleaved the horse's head off in one clean blow, although the strength required to do such an act is ridiculously silly. During Dolof's funeral pyre Eldgrimur had tried to apologize to Thorberg for his reluctance to replace the horse with a good Flintlock one, but that had turned into a fierce brawl. To this day Thorberg remains estranged from the uncle he had once been very fond of.
After the pyre, Dolof's remains were buried in his family's tomb in the lower depths of Flintlock's mountain stronghold where they laid their dead to rest. Dolof's blacksmithing hammer was put with his remains at Thorberg's insistence. He knew his father would have wanted him to keep it and use it at their forge. Dolof insisted the hammer had a magical quality to it, that it vastly improved the quality of his work. It had been passed down and used for generations in the family. Thorberg wrote that off as nonsense. His father's work was good, far surpassing that of Thorberg's. But that was simply because Dolof was much better than Thorberg as far as he was concerned. Still it was a boast that Dolof always liked to make, crediting his quality to his hammer more than his own skills and claiming that if only he knew more about it that hammer would make him some powerful items. Thorberg had no use for magic. Sure, it was plain that it existed and had its uses. But dwarves had little use for magic. Thorberg had more regard for his own two hands and what he could plainly see in front of him.
That didn't stop the gossip mongers from talking about Dolof's hammer long after his death. The topic always came up when Dolof's death was discussed, and most always tried to convince Thorberg to open his father's tomb and have someone skilled in identifying such things to have a look at that hammer. The thought only served to enrage Thorberg. "I'll not be disturbin' my father's rest for such nonsense, ye bloody dolt! Now off with it!"
Indeed, any topic at all regarding his father's death typically brought out a bitter and angry response from Thorberg. The young blacksmith was very fond of his trade, and since his father had been the one to teach him Thorberg had been the closest to him. Out of their whole community, and even within his family, Thorberg had seemed to take the hardest blow from Dolof's death. His mother, Aslief, had been especially concerned for him. She had lost her husband; essentially her other half. Yet Thorberg was the one who seemed to be taking his grief the hardest of all. For a time he would sit morose, not wanting to face entering the seemingly empty forge as it only served to drive home his father's absence from it. It finally fell to Aslief and Thorberg's sister, Eyfinna to drive him out of the house and send him back to work. They had to point out that with Dolof gone, it would be up to Thorberg now to take over Dolof's work and support them. Eldgrimur had also made attempts to reason with Thorberg, but had eventually given up because Thorberg still blamed his uncle for Dolof's death and refused to let that go. Any talks Eldgrimur tried to have with his nephew only degrated into arguements and physical assaults.
Thorberg still loved his craft, but it was tainted now with the sadness over the loss of his father and he would return home in a foul temper. It was Eyfinna who suggested Thorberg might want to take up another trade entirely to take his mind off the circumstance of their father's death. "Bloody outrageous!" Thorberg fumed. "I'll not turn me back on Father's memory so!" So it was that she suggested he at least take on something in his spare time to distract him. Dwelling on Dolof's death wasn't healthy. She argued that while their father would be touched that Thorberg felt at such a loss without him, he wouldn't have wanted it to bring his son to ruin. Thorberg, stubborn as ever, wouldn't hear any of it. But stubbornness was an attribute that ran in the entire family. A few days later Thorberg came home to find Eyfinna giving him a smirk as she stood over a small keg in their kitchen.
"What're ye about, Eyfinna? Ye got that schemin' look on yer face." he demanded.
"Dear brother, ye look like ye had such a rough day. Come share a cup o' brew with yer little sister and I'll tell ye all about my schemin' plots."
Thorberg had to admit it was one of the best brews he tasted, and when he asked where she'd gotten it Eyfinna only told him that if he wanted more he'd have to make it himself. She'd taken it upon herself to obtain everything he'd need from Sigfinnur, a dwarf who had been a close friend of the family ever since Eyfinna and him were close childhood friends. The two would likely be wed when they felt the time was right. Sigfinnur's family provided clan Flintlock's few modest bars and taverns with most of the alcohol that wasn't imported in. He'd told Eyfinna that he didn't mind 'a wee bit o' competition' as long as it helped to bring her brother out of the rut he'd dug for himself, and had even provided her with his family's best recipe to show his sincerity.
Oddly enough, Eyfinna's idea worked. Though perhaps not in quite the fashion she'd intended. Thorberg went ahead and set the apparatus up outside behind their home, and Sigfinnur showed him the basics, brewed his first batch with him in order to show him the ropes of the trade, and then left him to it. Thorberg spent the next forty years indulging himself in his newfound hobby, experimenting and coming up with his own clever concoctions. But his new distraction came at a price.
Thorberg still found it difficult to enter his forge and not reminisce on the memories that he and his father had shared. Only when he was tinkering with his brewing and getting completely drunk in the process did he take his mind off of the matter. It wasn't long before he began bringing his concoctions to the forge. He no longer dwelled on his father while he toiled, but a whole new crop of problems arose for him as he developed his habit. As long as he was getting drunk at the forge, the quality of his workmanship dropped considerably. Sober, he was one of the best blacksmiths that clan Flintlock could boast. But nobody was happy with the quality of his work while drunk, and as a result of these inconsistencies many who had come to his family's forge began to look elsewhere. His uncle Eldgrimur tried to explain to him the problems this was causing as he took their family's goods out on the road, but Thorberg wouldn't hear any of it from him. The rift between them only grew even further.
Eyfinna also grew more distant from her brother. She blamed herself for what had become of Thorberg, and as a result she was the hardest on him regarding the matter. They would erupt into arguements in their home, and she would call him a filthy drunk and accuse him of bringing their family to ruin. She would tell him that he was only soiling their father's name when he should be honoring it with his work, which would only further enrage Thorberg and he would storm off to tinker with his brews and only get more drunk in the process. Even Thorberg could see that he wasn't bringing in as much coin to the family as he used to, and after many years of this he resorted to selling some of his concoctions to the local establishments to bring in some bishani on the side. Eyfinna only caustically retorted that at least some good was coming out of this debacle but he'd do better to sober up and step it up at the forge.
It wasn't until the fortieth year following Dolof's death that the matter his father's hammer came back to haunt him and Thorberg gave it more serious consideration. A human visitor showed up inquiring of such a rumor and when Thorberg caught wind of it, he flew into a rage. Hunting the man down, he didn't even bother asking for a name. He angrily informed the man that if he knew what was best for himself he'd let the dead lie in peace and take his business outside of Flintlock stronghold. Thorberg was not about to tolerate some outsider coming in with ideas of desecrating his father's tomb. "My father loved that damned hammer, an' t'was held in his hands every day he toiled! Ye'll be seein' yerself off now, his hands are where that hammer belongs an' thats where it stays!"
To Thorberg's dismay, his father's hammer didn't stay there much longer than that. Dolof's tomb was found disturbed, the hammer missing shortly after that stranger had left. Angry at his community for continuing the gossip of his father's hammer long after his death, he blamed them for the strange man finally arriving to ask about it. He demanded to know what the man's name was, although likely it had been a false one. The man had claimed his name was Bergsveinn, and when he'd been asked why he was interested in the heirloom he'd maintained that he was only willing to discuss that with Thorberg. That was all anyone knew about the visitor. He wouldn't say where he had come from or where he was going. But Thorberg vowed he would find out.
His uncle Eldgrimur offered to look for the man, as the dwarf constantly was out and about in his travels to sell Flintlock forged goods. But Thorberg's grudges and stubbornness hold fast and long, and he refused Eldgrimur's help declaring he would look himself. His mother begged him not to leave. Aslief argued that she'd already lost a husband, and as a result their family was falling apart. This would only rend their family further. She didn't want to lose her son to this madness. She told Thorberg to drop the matter, it wouldn't change the fact the Dolof was still dead. Eyfinna had a completely different opinion. She fumed that maybe Thorburg should go, that if it would take him from his brews for a while maybe he'd come back with his act together and do better at their forge. She further infuriated him by suggesting that Eldgrimur could help support them until he came back. That was almost enough to convince Thorberg not to go, but in the end the rage over the desecration over his father's grave won out. Surprisingly enough, so did a suggestion from Eldgrimur himself. Eldgrimur still carried regret over the part he played in Dolof's death, and also blamed himself for how it had come to consume his nephew. He planted the seed in Thorberg's head that perhaps it would fall to Eldgrimur to help support Thorberg's family during his absence to help make amends for Dolof's death. Thorberg grudgingly admitted that Eldgrimur owed that debt, though deep down Eldgrimur's true motivations for the offer were because his opinions mirrored Eyfinna's. Eldgrimur hoped Thorin would return with his act cleaned up, hammer or not. Thorberg declared that as Dolof's son, the responsibility of supporting his family ultimately boiled down to himself. He would return with his father's hammer, and he would be redeemed. His family would have to admit that he wasn't a drunken screw up, his community would have more respect for him, and things would finally be set straight.
And so it was that Thorberg set out, looking at every village, town, or location he stopped to stay at for word of any visitors matching the description of the one who took his father's hammer. He would stay for a short time, working a local forge to earn just enough money to move on to the next lead. His search finally brought him to the city of Marn. He had heard talk of the renowned city, but hearing and seeing are two completely different things. Thorberg was simply breath-taken. His home of Flintlock stronghold was just a speck of dust compared to the sheer size and population of Marn. And that was to say nothing of the technological advances to be seen as well. The clan of Flintlock were modest people. They used torches and candle light, not electricity. Anything that required massive strength to move was done by beasts of burden, not complicated machinery. But beyond all that wanderlust Thorberg was also apprehensive. He would be showing up to a city that held little trust for magic, and he would be inquiring frequently about an alleged magical item. Never mind whether he believed it was magical or not, to him it was a heirloom that belonged to his father and family honor demanded he see it returned. But he would have to tread carefully if he found the hammer here.
