Grumm Blackhand
Grumm Blackhand
Born to a family of artisans, Grumm turned his back on the family business to explore the world.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Short, squat but muscular. His heavy legs are predictably short.
Body Features
Grumm has a few burn marks from his years at the forge. Apart from one on the left side of his neck, all the rest are covered by clothing.
Apparel & Accessories
Grumm tends to wear practical, sturdy clothing of wool and leather. It is usually a pair of dark grey leggings, leather shoes, belt and bracers and a light grey short-sleeved tunic trimmed with gold (a nod to Kvasr's colors). He carries a thick grey wool hooded cloak for inclement weather.
Mental characteristics
Personal history
Grumm comes from the ancient line of Blackhammer, master artisans since well before the Old Times. He comes from a large family, all of whom pursue the family crafts at the Dwarfhold of Zirakzigil. He was the youngest of three, and at an early age discovered that while he had the aptitude for foundrywork and forging fine armor, he had little interest in doing so. He joined the hearthguard, but found that he was held in little regard by his peers for having abandoned his family's honor.
Grumm did piecework as a mercenary for a few years, eventually drifting into drink and despair.
Things changed for Grumm when he met by chance a wandering cleric of Kvasr, the deity of wine, fate honor. This cleric, Boric Hartwell, suggested a path to redemption, one which would restore him to his family's good graces and balance the destructive and constructive parts of his life. He followed Hartwell's advice and did just that; more, he became a champion of Kvasr.
Morality & Philosophy
Grumm was brought up as part of the artisan caste, with all the views and expectations of a proper Dwarven craftsman. He had rudimentary training at arms, the better to design and build exceptional arms and armor. He found he yearned to enter the battlefield himself, and in fact abandoned his family to do just that.
Personality Characteristics
Likes & Dislikes
Grumm likes strong coffee, warm feet, good food and smelly pipeweed.
Vices & Personality flaws
He snores spectacularly.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Grumm, On Sand: “He’s clever, I’ll give him that. And he’s an eye for the out-of-place, things I’d not notice in a fortnight. He holds his own in a fight, when he can keep his distance... why, I’ve seen him strike his foe between two armor plates! Clever might be too mild a word. But he’s a bit... well, excitable, I suppose. When we were inside Gnemo’s fish, I was half-convinced Sand wanted to propose!”
Grumm, On Margeaux: “There’s something not quite right about that girl, I suspect. Oh, she’s a fine traveling companion and a good fighter... but she seems to disappear often. And, between me and you, I saw one of her fallen enemies. It had — I swear — claw marks! And she has iron in her voice when she chooses. She scared a man half to death by threatening him. I think she might be a werewolf!”
Family Ties
Religious Views
Champion of Kvasr, member of the Horn Guard.
Social Aptitude
Grumm is a personable sort, when he’s a mind to be. Generous with his wealth, kind to those in need and always ready to lend an ear.
Hobbies & Pets
Nalim, Grumm's trusted War Ram, is a mature animal companion. He was trained in the mines, tempered in war against goblins in the deeps.
Speech
Grumm's voice and vocal mannerisms are reminiscent of Tom Waits.
A dwarf whose relations with his family drove him towards redemption. Following a chance encounter with a priest of Kvasr, he has walked the path of redeemer.
View Character Profile
Alignment
Neutral Good
Current Location
Species
Ethnicity
Age
57
Date of Birth
23 Goldenleaf, 642 4A
Children
Current Residence
Norseaxe
Gender
Male
Eyes
Dark Brown
Hair
Bald, but with brown beard and fringe of hair
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Weatherbeaten
Height
3’11”
Weight
195 lbs
Belief/Deity
Champion (Redeemer) of Kvasr
The Broken Jarl
Having decided on the final design fer Grummhorn, I knew it was gonna take some doing. I consulted with Frainr and others tae figger out what I’ll need, only t’ learn that we Dwarves aren’t masters o’ brass music. Our warhorns aren’t built fer more than one tone. Turns out what I need is a Nord crafter.
So, Spark in one hand and newly-made shield under th’ other arm, I managed t’ convince Margeaux ‘n Sand t’ join me in heading t’ Nordheim. We left Dun U’ri, headed fer th’ Staglands (damn Celts) and cut through the forests. We managed t’ find the centaur scout Mara an’ I presented her new shield. In return, she had us led t’ the road to Nordheim.
Seems the locals had a bit of a troll problem, as we found half a dozen stout warriors (half of ‘em already dead) battling a troll near the road. Been’ the foolhardy git’s we are — an’ I say this with no small pride, mind ye — we aided the sole survivor in takin’ the beast down fer good. An’ that poor fella! Half of him was scar and burns. His shield hung on a bad arm, but he still fought valiantly. Turns out these were old wounds, not troll-got.
We returned t’ his town, where we were invited to a feast at th’ longhouse. We were a bit surprised t’ find a pole with a bloody heap at its base just in front, but… well, Nords, y’see.
Torag’s Spark
The armor was only th’ first step in me efforts t’ better me gear. It weren’t much helped by losing me axe to th’ damned sea, but there y’ have it. Needin’ t’ make a new one, I persuaded th’ group to go where th’ best forges are: Dun U’ri. ‘S a fair bit north, but with mounts all around it wasn’t much of a concern.
When we arrived we came to find a craftsman named Frainr, who, on seein’ me sketch fer th’ new axe, made an offer. A skystone had fallen in the forests west o’ Dun U’ri, an’ Frainr offered us good coin t’ retrieve it. He’d even help me make th’ axe, giftin’ me with some o’ th’ metal.
I’ll jump t’ the end — we got th’ stone. Weren’t easy. See, we ran inta a few obstacles along th’ way. A centaur ranger accosted us, an’ it wasn’t until I noticed th’ sad state of her shield an’ offered her better that we were allowed t’ move ahead. Then we found kobolds had grabbed the stone, an’ we had t’ assault their warren an’ slaughter th’ lot… but then we had some bad fortune. Name’s Ash. She’s a fire mage, not th’ first time we run across her. She escaped.
So we had what we came for… but not for long.
As we exited th’ warren with our prize, we ran inta a pack o’ Celtii tribesmen, who demanded th’ stone. I put up a bluff face, but it was pretty evident they outnumbered us, and looked tough enough to tear off Pharasma’s tits. An’ get this — the ignorant savages actually thought it was a piece o’ sky sent from their primitive gods! I know, right? I had to explain to th’ superstitious clods that educated folk all agree that skystones are sparks that fall from Torag’s anvil as he works. Piece o’ sky, my sweaty arse.
Anyroad, the simpletons took our rock an’ made it clear they were gonna sacrifice it t’ their gods by dumpin it inta a river. “Well, swell,” we thought, “just let ‘em do their silly ritual, we pinch the stone, and Bob’s yer uncle.” So we did, and (after a spot of trouble) we escaped back to Dun U’ri. We got our rewards, I built my axe (called her Spark) and had a spot of adventure with a friend.
A Lost Journal and Catch-up
I’ve no idea what’s happened to my old journal — may have left it on a rock somewheres after breaking’ camp or some such. No matter. Life goes on, written down or not.
So we finally recovered the artifact an’ returned it to its rightful owners, and I helped give th’ poor Order fellas a proper burial. I still need t’ find a good ritual fer th’ dead... no matter. We found another job t’ find a man Hrothgar, who managed to disappear when trading’ horses. Fancy that.
So me an’ th’ crew wandered north along th’ road. A few encounters along th’ way, nothing too alarmin’. Found ourselves in a bit of a situation in th’ mountains roundabouts Dun Tharum, where me cousin runs a place. Found our man, followin’ a skirmish with some oddish beasties and headed t’ th’ Dwarfhold. Nice enough place. Cousin’s inn was nice, made some new armor in th’ forges there. Felt good to forge steel with hammer an’ anvil.
After taking a few minor jobs — had t’ break in the armor, after all — we ended up in the south, on th’ coast. The locals petitioned us t’ help ‘em by hunting a sea monster that had been eatin’ their ships, ruining’ their trade. Now, I hate th’ water. Not much of a swimmer, me, an’ don’t like not knowing’ where danger might be. But I was out-voted.
When we went in, I had t’ leave me brand new armor behind. It were a sad day, lemme tell ya.
You’ll not believe what we found. Sea monster, indeed! Mechanical, no less, driven by a mad bastard called Gnemo. Had to climb aboard, confront the captain… but there things went a bit off th’ rails. We were taken t’ his underwater base, where we had t’ fight his minions. I tried t’ give him the option of coming t’ his senses and leaving’ th’ locals alone, but he’d have none of it.
I had th’ crew make their ways t’ th’ surface before I confronted Gnemo fer th’ last time. We dueled until th’ place began t’ collapse, then I bolted. On me way t’ th’ surface, I managed t’ fumble me axe, and it was lost t’ th’ sea. My axe. Gods.
Well, we were th’ heroes that day, but it was a bittersweet victory fer me, I can rightly say.
End of the Job
Well, we discovered the hidden bits of the tomb — and it was no small feat. I give credit to Sand fer his sharp eyes. Too clever by half, but not a bad sort. We recovered the artifact we were sent t’ retrieve and managed t’ find a few pretties of our own. Truth be told, the tomb turned out t’ be the easy bit.
We went back t’ town and met up wi’ Osberht’s lads — I reckoned they were priests, by their garb — an’ we gout our pay. We settled down fer a decent meal and a bowl of Old Mugwort when Osberht comes down, all a-panic, and says his lads were murdered!
Turns out some girl masqueraded herself as a servin’ wench, sneaked up an’ slaughtered th’ poor fellows unawares. Grabbed the artifact, too. Sand found some clues an’ we’re followin’ up. More as we figger it.
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