Urtho Odmontine
Forge Cleric Urtho Odmontine
Mental characteristics
Personal history
I, Urtho Odmontine, was born in the freezing north tribal lands of Jalba. Whether having too many mouths to feed or believing I was abandoned shortly after birth. I was found at the doorstep of a well-known Darvgean Smith in Jalba. Sondsto Odmontine was at first reluctant to take me, barely an infant, in. To him I was a distraction from his work and I would be hard to feed, he couldn’t just abandon the child though. I would have surely died in the harsh Jalban snow if he had just left me there. Sondsto would take me in then set about the local villages and towns searching for my parents which could never be found. In the end Sondsto had to adopt me himself, thankfully by then he’d grown quite fond of taking care of me.
It took a lot of work and money to raise me. With red hot metals and a burning forge running all the time, it was also quite dangerous. Sondsto had given me a name, Urtho, based off a rare form of Quartz found deep in the mountains. On most days I enjoyed simple things, such as watching my stepfather work the forge tirelessly everyday. As soon as I could competently swing a hammer, Sondsto set out teaching me how to smith like him. He was beyond skilled in the craft, watching him from afar had already captivated me, but partaking in the work filled me with purpose and pride. I became somewhat of a prodigy under my stepfather’s guidance, not without my fair share of failures of course, but excellent for my age. I grew to see and understand what the different colors in heated steel meant, when to pull the metal from the forge and how to shape it with my hammer. Sondsto even taught me a few useful cantrips that would help me in my crafts.
We would finish each day by taking an hour to forge something in the name of the Patron of Smithing, Kokruh’thol. Eventually I grew curious, as all children do, and asked questions. Who is Kokruh’thol, how can I meet him? Why did Sondsto worship this deity? My stepfather would tell me often of his time back in Darvgea as a cleric dedicated to Kokruh’thol. How he dedicated himself to smithing from dawn to dusk. Even after he retired he couldn’t help but forge daily, it was in his blood. I was inspired and wanted to do what he had done, only twelve winters in age he would always stop me. It would be too hard for me as I was now, but when I grew older I swore to him I would become a cleric of Kokruh’thol and dedicated my life to the forge and anvil just as he had.
When I came of age at sixteen winters old, I snuck away in the dead of night and travelled to Darvgea to become a cleric. It was a slow, arduous journey over the snowy mountaintops that seperated Jalba from Darvgea. Many dangerous creatures and orcs prowled the area relentlessly. Through some miracle I had made it to the capital of Darvgea and set about looking for the great temple of Kokruh’thol. Many of the Dwarves laughed at me, believing me unfit to worship one of their deities as I went along, but the clerics knew. They took one look at me, saw where the sparks had scared my body, the burn marks that had peppered my skin. Most importantly, they recognized my hammer. My stepfather was famous around Darvgea, once leading this order of clerics.
The Cleric took me in, teaching me a great many things. They started with useful applications of magic, what oils were best for tempering the steel. How to work Mithral and Adamantine. I spent a decade of my life learning from there, forging day in and day out. I learned where my magic came from, how to manipulate it better. They taught me the things my stepfather had not yet, and I grew better because of it. After a decade I was an up and coming smith in Darvgea, I had officially become a Cleric of Kokruh’thol, but I was growing antsy. Darvgea was quiet, and the dwarves truly respected fine craftsmanship, but what good would my work do if I didn’t continue to learn? The Dwarves had taught me all they could, so I returned home to my stepfather to tell him of the journey I would embark on. He wasn’t there.
The house I had grown up with had vanished, so too did Sondsto. It was heart wrenching to say the least, but I knew I could find him if I asked around. He was famous around these parts of Jalba, so I went to visit some of our most common clients. The old families I once knew had no recollection of him, swearing they had only ever interacted with me. The experience was strange, and concerning. The Darvgeans had taken me in because of Sondsto, so why was everyone suddenly forgetting him but me? After a couple months of searching I had decided to call it a rest as far as Jalba was concerned. I would continue my original plans, and travel south to Mora, a land that worshipped many Patrons to show them the glory of mine and perhaps find Sondsto.
The Morans were less than receptive to me. They did not worship the Patron I did, in fact they had never heard of him. They scoffed at me and sent me away, calling me a barbarian. A few of the more prestigious among them offered me patronage, and so I got to work in my craft. I made a fair amount of coin in Mora before moving further south, to the searing hot sands of Albraham. The people here had never heard of my patron either, but many were fascinated by him and funded my work. I set up shop here for a couple years, the desert sun tanning my skin a dark bronze. This is also where the locals introduced me to tobacco. During my stay the locals began constructing a temple dedicated to Kokruh’thol, and I taught them all I could of him. The people here were all hard workers, many of them just as fascinated with the arts as I. But I once again grew restless. My stepfather had not been here either, so I planned to travel across the sands of Rama’munza this time. Rama’munza was a much cooler desert than Albraham. I had grown accustomed to the blistering heat of the south, but I longed for a temperate land. This is when the A’mau told me of the Acoran Provinces, three Kingdoms that occupied a vast valley just north of Rama’munza.
My journey to Acora was not without its bumps. First I had to cross through the Drovinu Pericalinus, or the Drovinian. The Drow here were anything but hospitable, and while I found their land to be quite beautiful, I learned it was far from peaceful. I was treated like less than mortal, and when I mentioned my Patron I was spat at in disdain. My craft drew attention, but the Drow offered to let me become their slave, no payment involved. I grew tired of this realm and made haste for Acora, where I now preside. I nearly had a run in with Drow slavers as I crossed through the border into Laelon, where I soon learned magic was prohibited. I looked into the reasonings before making judgements and came to understand the situation better, elves from the neighboring realms had terrified the populace. From what I’d heard, I couldn’t blame these people. I was free to worship my patron here, but not relying on my magic made my job much harder. I had to borrow forges to work which had become a nuisance, that’s when a red-haired fox named Kasvaar found me.
He mentioned he had a job for a man like myself. At first I told him I wasn’t interested in becoming a mercenary, but he insisted. The man critiqued my work like none other, like he truly understood what I was doing. Strangely he even knew of my Patron and talked at great lengths with me about him. For the first time in a long time I felt real comradery with someone I had only just met. At the end of the day, I did decide to join his motley crew. For better or for worse, it felt right. I was nearly 32 winters old at this point and been doing next to nothing but travelling and surviving. I had grown accustomed to the hardships of the road, the monsters and mortals that could attack you at any moment. Settling down and occasionally getting my hands dirty for this Kas fellow didn’t sound like such a horrible way to spend the next few years, and I was offered my own forge.
Now I sit in the Klif Company doing odd jobs for its members, working my forge every day. I still haven’t found my stepfather, but I’ve begun to think that maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe it’s better this way, we can both live out the rest of our days striking red hot metal against the anvil just like we used to. That’s all I need, and I’m sure he feels the same way. It’s been two years since I joined the Klif Company. When I’m not out doing jobs I’m in my forge, shaping metal in the name of Kokruh’thol. After spending so much time in the desert, I can’t say I’ll ever get used to the heat. My bronze skin may never go back to the way it was either, but I can’t complain. I have to have most of my clothes custom tailored because the clothes here are too uncomfortable and it’s pretty hot all year ‘round to me. I guess my greatest wish now is to forge something truly worthy of bringing to Kokruh’thol in the afterlife.
Sexuality
Heterosexual
Education
10 years working under the Darvgean Clerics of Kokruh'thol as a Forge Cleric.
Employment
Currently Employed in the Klif Company as their go-to Blacksmith and a general Mercenary.
Social
Family Ties
Sondsto Odmontine
A rugged northern man with a thick accent. Worshiping Kokruh'thul, the Patron of Creativity, Urtho commits himself fully to his smithing. Because of this, Urtho often seems cold, distant. If it has nothing to do with his labor, then why should he bother? That's what many members of the Klif company believe anyways. Those who offer him patronage often see him as a completely different man, for he seems to truly care for his customers.
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Birthplace
Western Jalba
Children
Current Residence
Fort Klifheim
Aligned Organization
Other Affiliations
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