Archbishop
I'm surprised I didn't do this sooner...
Name: Bimhe Onyxheart
Full Titles: Baron Bimhe Onyxheart, of House Stirling, Lord-Regent of Tambry, Defender of the River Tam and Guardian of the Byways
Nickname/Alias: Bims
KEY INFORMATION:
Age: 65
Gender: Cis-Male
Race: Dwargar - Duskhammer
Social Status: Noble
Sexuality: Straight
Height: 4'1"
Weight: 160 lbs
Date of Birth: 15th of Winterfeast, 2195 (Year of Desire)
Date of Death: N/A
Homeland: Destroyed (In-Diaspora)
Current Home: Tambry-upon-Tam, Great Switzertain
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build: Solid, but getting softer with age and disuse. Tavern life and age have atrophied his muscles.
Hair:Snow White
Eyes: Ice-Blue
Skin: Pale
Identifying Marks: Missing right eye w/ eye patch
Appearance: Short, stout, long beard tapered off into two braided ends with decorative beads adorning and holding together his braids
Clothing: Maroon jacket with epaulettes, brass-ringed belt, brown linen pantaloons, black mole-leather boots
Weaponry: Carries his favorite axe with him at all times: Old Age. It's engraved along the haft with the expression "Old age lays all things low."
Prized Possessions: Axe: Old Age, a silver engraved flask, a long-stemmed pipe with accents of silver, an engraved walking cane with embedded silver.
Hygiene: Keeps his tavern cleaner than he is. Has clean hands and fresh clothes, but his beard has always given him trouble.
Voice: Thick accent (as anyone who has RP'd with him can attest). Almost Scottish-like accent with a deep rumbling quality. Chuckles quite often in the golden years of his life.
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths: Handling of axes and pikes, brewing, general conversation
Fears: dying without seeing some resolution to the 'Dwarven problem', invasions of Tambry
Weaknesses: bows (he never could quite handle them, and the later loss of his eye only amplified this), his knees (old age isn't all glamorous) ,
Intelligence: about average, more common-sense than book-learned
Languages: Common, Horghaan (dwarven)
Profession: Tavernkeep (and brewer), politician
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality: Warm and fuzzy on the outside, but likes his solitude and his thoughts (an odd combination for a tavernkeep)
Religion or Cults: Due to the diaspora of the dwarves and the deaths of many of his kin, Bimhe avoids Korog like the plague. He knows, as a dwarf, he'll never be able to fully escape him, but he does his best. He often like Jax, but isn't devout. However, given his lot in life before settling in Tambry, he isn't too thrilled with any of the gods at the moment.
Alignment: True-Neutral (While Bimhe generally stays within the confines of the law, he has been known, on occasion, to stray when the offer presented itself, like when he dabbled in information brokering.)
Short Term Goals: Construction of the Palace of Tambry and the Northern districts bordering the river
Long Term Goals: Political and Economic self-sufficiency for Tambry and the creation of Tambry and the preeminent trading location in Tambry.
TRIVIA:
Favourite...
Place: Tha Hunny Badga'
Pastime: Drinking, brewing
Food: Alcohol
Drink: Alcohol
Colour: Stone-grey
Animal: Rams (Endurance) and Honey Badgers (Ferocity)
Guilty pleasure: Reading about Dwarven history and collecting books on Dwarven history
Least Favourite...
Place: Le Havre (due to their distrust if not outright hatred of dwarves
Pastime: N/A
Food: Melons
Drink: Milk (milk drinkas, yeh 'ear?)
Colour: Pink
Animal: Pigs (he thinks pigs aren't to be trusted)
RELATIONS: (can't think now, will fill this in later)
Loved: N/A
Trusted: Morgan Cerendor (@Antilogy )
Befriended:
Liked: Wollston Cerendor (@Hai_Paladin ), Balatro (@Balatro )
Neutral:
Unsure of: Charlotte de Makorath (@Antilogy )
Wary of:
Afraid of:
Disliked:
Hated:
BACKSTORY:
Copied straight from my Whitelist
Bimhe was sitting at the counter again staring into his dark ale. His reflection marred by the rippling surface of his drink. This was his sixth tonight, and likely to be his last judging by the weight of his coin purse. He gave it a squeeze, as if to confirm his thoughts. He picked up his mug, tipped it back, and drank deeply. He misjudged the amount of liquid pouring into his throat and coughed and sputtered as ale ran down his stained beard and leather jerkin. Setting his drink down he thanked the barkeep, his usual, for the ale, set down a few coppers for his drinks and staggered off into the night.
The booze had hit him fairly hard tonight. Bimhe wasn't a light-weight, but he knew that he should have splurged on the additional spitted roasting chickens that the tavern owner kept trying to prod him into buying. In fact, he hadn't had anything to eat, so that might explain it, but then again, what did he care?
Bimhe had started out his life, like many of his kin and kith, in the great underground fortresses. His father, a well-respected jewel appraiser and his mother, a humble seamstress tried to raise Bimhe and his younger brother Aaho, in a life of relative comfort. However, Bimhe and his brother desired a life of adventure and fame. They spent many an evening in front of the fire reading of epic heroes and their deeds.
Many young dwarves of Bimhe's community were pushed into a life revolving around the mines; digging, smelting, gem-cutting and the like. However, Bimhe , as soon as he was of age, decided to join the Guard. His first day of training, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Bimhe believed anything was possible. His dreams were shattered. The drill instructor, a harsh man who yelled, no matter the subject material instilled into his young pupils, that they were worthless, and that half would die before the end of their allotted contracts to the fortress.
Every day was agony. Early wake-up calls, push ups until his arms collapsed, sit-ups until he vomited. But the worst of all were the sparring drills. If a recruit didn't go all-out, the instructor would thrash their legs with canes until they bled and still expect them to stand and fight another round.
Weeks passed. Bimhe felt a hollow shell of his former self. Gone was his young exuberance, replaced now by a hardened soldier. In his final weeks Bimhe slowly climbed the rankings of his class to become one of the better axe-men as well as at axe-tossing, but it was the pike formations that he seemed to enjoy, given that every dwarven regiment would stand in a phalanx formation to battle their opponents in the field. He never could quite 'get' the bow, much to the chagrin of the instructor and the pain in his legs. But at graduation, he swelled with pride as the sigil of the fortress, in the form of a lapel, was pinned on his chest. He could now walk proud, with his head held high by the pride that he was instilled.
They say that it's not a matter of 'if', but rather 'when' a Guardsman will see something that hits him to the core. Sadly for Bimhe, that incident didn't come as an experienced Guard, but rather on his very first patrol.
Dwarves, while generally considered to be underground dwellers at best or troglodytes at worst, often must patrol the highways and roads above ground near their dwellings to keep them safe for their traders and the traders of other races whom buy their metals and gems in exchange for other goods and services. It was during one of these patrols that Bimhe came upon a most horrid scene. In one of the border villages around his fortress, mass slaughter had occurred. This village had been a market for many dwarven goods, but now it stood a hulking, burned and charred pile, bodies, if that's what they could be called, strewn about. Most were almost unrecognizable from the bodies of the animals that also lay about.
Bimhe covered his nose, the stench was horrid. His captain, a relatively brave dwarf a good standing told his men to spread out and to blow their horns if anyone encountered anything. Bimhe, stifling vomit, stepped over what he believed was the corpse of a young girl, and proceeded through town with his assigned partner.
The houses, such that they were, were empty. Many doors and windows were either missing, shattered or simply broken down and lying on the ground. Some interiors looked like the inhabitants had simply up and vanished. Bowls full of soup and set tables were in a few of the untouched houses. Others looked like scenes of massive carnage. Blood splattered walls and body parts everywhere. Whoever had done this had no mercy and looked to have no motive.
There was a rustling sound coming from one of the alleyways. Bimhe investigated and discovered a young girl clutching a doll, scared into silence by the sight of an armed and armored dwarf standing next to her. Or at least that's what Bimhe thought, until he realized what the target of her cold stare was. Behind him stood a large and particularly brutal-looking earthspawn, a massive hulk wielding a behemoth of a bloody battleaxe.
Bimhe quickly spun around and drove his spear into the gut of the earthspawn, twisting the butt of the spear as he turned to the girl and yelled at her to run. His partner showed up, and took in a huge breath of air as he prepared to blow his horn.
He never got the chance.
Turning from Bimhe, the earthspawn brute, turned it's attention from the gnat that was was Bimhe, swung his axe and sent the other dwarf flying through the air, sliced in two. Bimhe was shocked at the sheer brutality of it. He had never witnessed someone die before, and did not truly think it would ever happen, especially within the protected reach of the fortress. The earthspawn spun back around and backhanded Bimhe.
His vision darkened as he realized he had be struck, thrown off balance, and toppled to the ground. He gritted his teeth. Enduring the pain, he pushed himself up onto his elbow and rolled just in time to avoid the axe coming down on him. He looked down, his horn was broken in two. He knew he needed to alert the others, but in an instant he realized that the sounds of battle were everywhere. Dwarves running in groups with spears into a large earthspawn, others fighting single-handedly; the captain himself had lost his helmet, was covered in blood and was reduced to his axe against one particularly nasty earthspawn.
Bimhe didn't have time to gather his thoughts, he jumped up to his feet, picked up his fallen spear and jabbed again at the earthspawn near him. This time, he training kicked in and he aimed for the throat.
A splash of salty warm blood sprayed his face as the earthspawn fell. It tasted vile, but he had no time for such concerns. Grabbing his fallen partners horn from his corpse, Bimhe breathed in deep and sounded the horn; deep, clear, and most importantly, loud. Any remaining dwarves outside the battle came to his side, joined in their phalanx marching through the streets to sweep-and-clear the remaining earthspawn. With dwarven iron and dwarven might, the town was reclaimed, but at a terrible cost. Many of his compatriots had fallen, others were wounded in ways the herbalists and healers couldn't handle, earthspawn wounds are particularly difficult to heal. Bimhe had survived.
Things progressively got worse from then on, more and more attacks happened to the outlying villages until only the fortress remained. By then, Aaho, Bimhe's brother had graduated the academy and joined the guards, placed under Bimhe's new rank as Corporal.
Despite their known disorganization, an occasional strong leader of the earthspawn can rise. And in this case, one did. Gulbarb-Dul-Nuz, wielder of two battleaxes rose to unite several clans of earthspawn in an attempt to grab dwarven gold.
It was in Bimhe's 30th year, when they came. And they came with fire. Standing atop the massive walls of his home fortress with his brother beside him, Bimhe knew that it was do-or-die. The hordes spread out before the fortress were too numerous to count; campfires dotted the landscape like stars in the sky.
They came at the break of dawn, horns blaring and shouts rising. The earth shuddered. Many lives were sent to an early grave in vain attempts to push back the siege towers and ladders of the earthspawn. But worst of all, to Bimhe, was the loss of his brother. Gulbarb himself led the charge of his clans up the walls. Aaho was simply another dwarf that stood between him and his goal. With both battleaxes, one in each hand, swinging in opposite directions, Gulbarb simply sliced the young dwarf in three. Maddened to the point were all he saw was hatred, Bimhe broke rank and ran straight for his brother's corpse. Raising his axe high, he attempted to end this earthspawn's life. However he never got there. Gulbarb slammed his battleaxe into the ground as Bimhe came close, slicing through his helmet and gouging out his eye. Everything went dark.
Bimhe awoke several days later, wracked with pain. He had been dragged away from the scene of the battle by some of the survivors. The dwarves had been forced to flee. Not many escaped with their lives. His father had died a few years earlier of a particularly bad case of the Rattles, while his mother was trampled by other dwarves in their attempted escape. His family and his home gone, Bimhe now searches for that which he will likely never find, especially within the drink: peace. While he doesn't speak about his problems or his past, he still does find it soothing to hone whatever fighting skills he still does have in case the time should ever arise where they are needed again.
INSPIRATIONS:
Tolkien, plain and simple, and of course my previous dwarven character: Kagric Onyxheart.
My in-game name is: Archbishop
Edit: March 13, 2016. Sad News Bimhe has been killed by the knights guarding the Silver Port throne room. He was decapitated from behind while attempting to flee.
Name: Bimhe Onyxheart
Full Titles: Baron Bimhe Onyxheart, of House Stirling, Lord-Regent of Tambry, Defender of the River Tam and Guardian of the Byways
Nickname/Alias: Bims
KEY INFORMATION:
Age: 65
Gender: Cis-Male
Race: Dwargar - Duskhammer
Social Status: Noble
Sexuality: Straight
Height: 4'1"
Weight: 160 lbs
Date of Birth: 15th of Winterfeast, 2195 (Year of Desire)
Date of Death: N/A
Homeland: Destroyed (In-Diaspora)
Current Home: Tambry-upon-Tam, Great Switzertain
PHYSIOLOGY:
Build: Solid, but getting softer with age and disuse. Tavern life and age have atrophied his muscles.
Hair:Snow White
Eyes: Ice-Blue
Skin: Pale
Identifying Marks: Missing right eye w/ eye patch
Appearance: Short, stout, long beard tapered off into two braided ends with decorative beads adorning and holding together his braids
Clothing: Maroon jacket with epaulettes, brass-ringed belt, brown linen pantaloons, black mole-leather boots
Weaponry: Carries his favorite axe with him at all times: Old Age. It's engraved along the haft with the expression "Old age lays all things low."
Prized Possessions: Axe: Old Age, a silver engraved flask, a long-stemmed pipe with accents of silver, an engraved walking cane with embedded silver.
Hygiene: Keeps his tavern cleaner than he is. Has clean hands and fresh clothes, but his beard has always given him trouble.
Voice: Thick accent (as anyone who has RP'd with him can attest). Almost Scottish-like accent with a deep rumbling quality. Chuckles quite often in the golden years of his life.
QUALITIES AND FLAWS:
Strengths: Handling of axes and pikes, brewing, general conversation
Fears: dying without seeing some resolution to the 'Dwarven problem', invasions of Tambry
Weaknesses: bows (he never could quite handle them, and the later loss of his eye only amplified this), his knees (old age isn't all glamorous) ,
Intelligence: about average, more common-sense than book-learned
Languages: Common, Horghaan (dwarven)
Profession: Tavernkeep (and brewer), politician
ETHICS AND MOTIVATIONS:
Personality: Warm and fuzzy on the outside, but likes his solitude and his thoughts (an odd combination for a tavernkeep)
Religion or Cults: Due to the diaspora of the dwarves and the deaths of many of his kin, Bimhe avoids Korog like the plague. He knows, as a dwarf, he'll never be able to fully escape him, but he does his best. He often like Jax, but isn't devout. However, given his lot in life before settling in Tambry, he isn't too thrilled with any of the gods at the moment.
Alignment: True-Neutral (While Bimhe generally stays within the confines of the law, he has been known, on occasion, to stray when the offer presented itself, like when he dabbled in information brokering.)
Short Term Goals: Construction of the Palace of Tambry and the Northern districts bordering the river
Long Term Goals: Political and Economic self-sufficiency for Tambry and the creation of Tambry and the preeminent trading location in Tambry.
TRIVIA:
Favourite...
Place: Tha Hunny Badga'
Pastime: Drinking, brewing
Food: Alcohol
Drink: Alcohol
Colour: Stone-grey
Animal: Rams (Endurance) and Honey Badgers (Ferocity)
Guilty pleasure: Reading about Dwarven history and collecting books on Dwarven history
Least Favourite...
Place: Le Havre (due to their distrust if not outright hatred of dwarves
Pastime: N/A
Food: Melons
Drink: Milk (milk drinkas, yeh 'ear?)
Colour: Pink
Animal: Pigs (he thinks pigs aren't to be trusted)
RELATIONS: (can't think now, will fill this in later)
Loved: N/A
Trusted: Morgan Cerendor (@Antilogy )
Befriended:
Liked: Wollston Cerendor (@Hai_Paladin ), Balatro (@Balatro )
Neutral:
Unsure of: Charlotte de Makorath (@Antilogy )
Wary of:
Afraid of:
Disliked:
Hated:
BACKSTORY:
Copied straight from my Whitelist
Bimhe was sitting at the counter again staring into his dark ale. His reflection marred by the rippling surface of his drink. This was his sixth tonight, and likely to be his last judging by the weight of his coin purse. He gave it a squeeze, as if to confirm his thoughts. He picked up his mug, tipped it back, and drank deeply. He misjudged the amount of liquid pouring into his throat and coughed and sputtered as ale ran down his stained beard and leather jerkin. Setting his drink down he thanked the barkeep, his usual, for the ale, set down a few coppers for his drinks and staggered off into the night.
The booze had hit him fairly hard tonight. Bimhe wasn't a light-weight, but he knew that he should have splurged on the additional spitted roasting chickens that the tavern owner kept trying to prod him into buying. In fact, he hadn't had anything to eat, so that might explain it, but then again, what did he care?
Bimhe had started out his life, like many of his kin and kith, in the great underground fortresses. His father, a well-respected jewel appraiser and his mother, a humble seamstress tried to raise Bimhe and his younger brother Aaho, in a life of relative comfort. However, Bimhe and his brother desired a life of adventure and fame. They spent many an evening in front of the fire reading of epic heroes and their deeds.
Many young dwarves of Bimhe's community were pushed into a life revolving around the mines; digging, smelting, gem-cutting and the like. However, Bimhe , as soon as he was of age, decided to join the Guard. His first day of training, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Bimhe believed anything was possible. His dreams were shattered. The drill instructor, a harsh man who yelled, no matter the subject material instilled into his young pupils, that they were worthless, and that half would die before the end of their allotted contracts to the fortress.
Every day was agony. Early wake-up calls, push ups until his arms collapsed, sit-ups until he vomited. But the worst of all were the sparring drills. If a recruit didn't go all-out, the instructor would thrash their legs with canes until they bled and still expect them to stand and fight another round.
Weeks passed. Bimhe felt a hollow shell of his former self. Gone was his young exuberance, replaced now by a hardened soldier. In his final weeks Bimhe slowly climbed the rankings of his class to become one of the better axe-men as well as at axe-tossing, but it was the pike formations that he seemed to enjoy, given that every dwarven regiment would stand in a phalanx formation to battle their opponents in the field. He never could quite 'get' the bow, much to the chagrin of the instructor and the pain in his legs. But at graduation, he swelled with pride as the sigil of the fortress, in the form of a lapel, was pinned on his chest. He could now walk proud, with his head held high by the pride that he was instilled.
They say that it's not a matter of 'if', but rather 'when' a Guardsman will see something that hits him to the core. Sadly for Bimhe, that incident didn't come as an experienced Guard, but rather on his very first patrol.
Dwarves, while generally considered to be underground dwellers at best or troglodytes at worst, often must patrol the highways and roads above ground near their dwellings to keep them safe for their traders and the traders of other races whom buy their metals and gems in exchange for other goods and services. It was during one of these patrols that Bimhe came upon a most horrid scene. In one of the border villages around his fortress, mass slaughter had occurred. This village had been a market for many dwarven goods, but now it stood a hulking, burned and charred pile, bodies, if that's what they could be called, strewn about. Most were almost unrecognizable from the bodies of the animals that also lay about.
Bimhe covered his nose, the stench was horrid. His captain, a relatively brave dwarf a good standing told his men to spread out and to blow their horns if anyone encountered anything. Bimhe, stifling vomit, stepped over what he believed was the corpse of a young girl, and proceeded through town with his assigned partner.
The houses, such that they were, were empty. Many doors and windows were either missing, shattered or simply broken down and lying on the ground. Some interiors looked like the inhabitants had simply up and vanished. Bowls full of soup and set tables were in a few of the untouched houses. Others looked like scenes of massive carnage. Blood splattered walls and body parts everywhere. Whoever had done this had no mercy and looked to have no motive.
There was a rustling sound coming from one of the alleyways. Bimhe investigated and discovered a young girl clutching a doll, scared into silence by the sight of an armed and armored dwarf standing next to her. Or at least that's what Bimhe thought, until he realized what the target of her cold stare was. Behind him stood a large and particularly brutal-looking earthspawn, a massive hulk wielding a behemoth of a bloody battleaxe.
Bimhe quickly spun around and drove his spear into the gut of the earthspawn, twisting the butt of the spear as he turned to the girl and yelled at her to run. His partner showed up, and took in a huge breath of air as he prepared to blow his horn.
He never got the chance.
Turning from Bimhe, the earthspawn brute, turned it's attention from the gnat that was was Bimhe, swung his axe and sent the other dwarf flying through the air, sliced in two. Bimhe was shocked at the sheer brutality of it. He had never witnessed someone die before, and did not truly think it would ever happen, especially within the protected reach of the fortress. The earthspawn spun back around and backhanded Bimhe.
His vision darkened as he realized he had be struck, thrown off balance, and toppled to the ground. He gritted his teeth. Enduring the pain, he pushed himself up onto his elbow and rolled just in time to avoid the axe coming down on him. He looked down, his horn was broken in two. He knew he needed to alert the others, but in an instant he realized that the sounds of battle were everywhere. Dwarves running in groups with spears into a large earthspawn, others fighting single-handedly; the captain himself had lost his helmet, was covered in blood and was reduced to his axe against one particularly nasty earthspawn.
Bimhe didn't have time to gather his thoughts, he jumped up to his feet, picked up his fallen spear and jabbed again at the earthspawn near him. This time, he training kicked in and he aimed for the throat.
A splash of salty warm blood sprayed his face as the earthspawn fell. It tasted vile, but he had no time for such concerns. Grabbing his fallen partners horn from his corpse, Bimhe breathed in deep and sounded the horn; deep, clear, and most importantly, loud. Any remaining dwarves outside the battle came to his side, joined in their phalanx marching through the streets to sweep-and-clear the remaining earthspawn. With dwarven iron and dwarven might, the town was reclaimed, but at a terrible cost. Many of his compatriots had fallen, others were wounded in ways the herbalists and healers couldn't handle, earthspawn wounds are particularly difficult to heal. Bimhe had survived.
Things progressively got worse from then on, more and more attacks happened to the outlying villages until only the fortress remained. By then, Aaho, Bimhe's brother had graduated the academy and joined the guards, placed under Bimhe's new rank as Corporal.
Despite their known disorganization, an occasional strong leader of the earthspawn can rise. And in this case, one did. Gulbarb-Dul-Nuz, wielder of two battleaxes rose to unite several clans of earthspawn in an attempt to grab dwarven gold.
It was in Bimhe's 30th year, when they came. And they came with fire. Standing atop the massive walls of his home fortress with his brother beside him, Bimhe knew that it was do-or-die. The hordes spread out before the fortress were too numerous to count; campfires dotted the landscape like stars in the sky.
They came at the break of dawn, horns blaring and shouts rising. The earth shuddered. Many lives were sent to an early grave in vain attempts to push back the siege towers and ladders of the earthspawn. But worst of all, to Bimhe, was the loss of his brother. Gulbarb himself led the charge of his clans up the walls. Aaho was simply another dwarf that stood between him and his goal. With both battleaxes, one in each hand, swinging in opposite directions, Gulbarb simply sliced the young dwarf in three. Maddened to the point were all he saw was hatred, Bimhe broke rank and ran straight for his brother's corpse. Raising his axe high, he attempted to end this earthspawn's life. However he never got there. Gulbarb slammed his battleaxe into the ground as Bimhe came close, slicing through his helmet and gouging out his eye. Everything went dark.
Bimhe awoke several days later, wracked with pain. He had been dragged away from the scene of the battle by some of the survivors. The dwarves had been forced to flee. Not many escaped with their lives. His father had died a few years earlier of a particularly bad case of the Rattles, while his mother was trampled by other dwarves in their attempted escape. His family and his home gone, Bimhe now searches for that which he will likely never find, especially within the drink: peace. While he doesn't speak about his problems or his past, he still does find it soothing to hone whatever fighting skills he still does have in case the time should ever arise where they are needed again.
INSPIRATIONS:
Tolkien, plain and simple, and of course my previous dwarven character: Kagric Onyxheart.
My in-game name is: Archbishop
Edit: March 13, 2016. Sad News Bimhe has been killed by the knights guarding the Silver Port throne room. He was decapitated from behind while attempting to flee.
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