Post by rodrictheblacksmith on Jul 6, 2014 4:49:45 GMT -5
Name: Rodric the Blacksmith
Nike names: The metal weaver of the underworld
Age: Speculative
Physical Description (3rd person): Long greyed dreds from the smoke that billows around him with a beard that is burnt at the tips. His skin looks bronzed even though he barely goes outside of his place of work, most people guess its because the flames he works with on a daily basis burn hot enough to rival the very sun. The only scars on his body are on his arm that, from stories told, were self inflicted in order to teach himself the dangers of his craft. In the shop he only wears some leggings and basic protection from the heat, some even say he sports a kilt whenever the man is in a particularly good mood.
Special Talents: Expert metal worker and rune engraver
Guild/House/Organization: Dagger's Tomb
Position in Guild/Order/Organization: Owner and arguably the best smither in both the light and dark side of Nagoroth
History: Every war, battle, skirmish, or even disgruntled agreement has its weapons; and for each weapon there is a man that creates it from the elements of the earth, molding it into shape to fit the wielder's desires. In Nagoroth, there are many blacksmiths to feed the desire of metal. Yet, for those who wish to possess craftsman ship that would rival a smither to the heavens, they would seek Rodric the Blacksmith. A meticulous worker who's shop can only be found by word of mouth, he supplies masterpieces of steel to any who are willing to meet his price. That is, of course, if they are willing to also meet his terms. It did not matter if they were an emissary of the dragon empire or even one of the Ten Blades themselves that asked for his services, his demands must be met. It wasn't because of greed or favoritism, but simple fact. "You can not force metal to move, you can only help it take shape." Rodric tells his not so intellectual customers when they argue about the price and length of time it takes to make what they desire. For you see, while other craftsman's best made claymores would crack after a certain time from wear and tear, a simple knife made by Rodric would have the power to chop chunks off of all the anvils in Nagoroth without leaving a single scratch on the blade. Armor, blades, canisters, even runes ready to be infused with powers of the wielder's choosing can be forged at Rodric's shop. No one know's how long he has been there, some say the shop has always been there and the secrets of its smithing is only bestowed to the greatest blacksmith of the generation. There are also rumors that Rodric has lived many lives and may have been the very smither to have forged the Legendary ten blades of the rulers of the Dark Kingdom. But Rodric does not care for the rumors, only his craft and will continue it so long as his body wills him to do so.
Character Wrighting: Rhythmic clanging of metal can be heard all throughout Rodric's shop as he put the last finishing touches on the main blade involved in a commission of a spring loaded blade for one of his better known customers. The chamber was pulsed with light with each swing of his hammer. He had just put got the blade to the right curvature when a bell that hung from the ceiling rang to signal that he had customers waiting upstairs. He marveled at his work for but a moment as he said, "I'll be back in a moment." before climbing a ladder as he entered the main part of the shop that housed some samples of his work, forged well enough to look nice but weak enough so that if an idiot tried to run off with one of them it would break at the first contact against anything solid. Three men stood at his door, assassins by the look of it, though probably only been in the business for less than a year since none of them even had the common sense to keep their weapons hidden on their person. Rodric pulled a pipe out from his pocket, lit it, and took a few puffs knowing that this was going to be an irritating conversation. "So, your Rodric the blacksmith?" One of the 'men' spoke up looking irritated, to which Rodric simply replied, "I am, what of it?" "We are in need of your services, I need 10 of these by tomorrow night." The man snapped as the one to his right held up a parchment with a diagram with what looked to be a badly drawn gauntlet with spiked finger tips. After a long puff Rodric said, "I'll have them to you in 4 days for 200 gold." The main man growled as he and his associates quickly drew their knives and had it ready to be thrown at Rodric's head, "I SAID we need them by tomorrow, and just for that we'll take them for 100 gold, no more, no less. got it?" But instead of being answered with fear or concern, the man was answered with skepticism. "....your really using those pieces of trash against me?" Rodric inquired with disbelief. "W-what?" The man asked confused as Rodric sighed, "Since your obviously an idiot allow me to say it slowly... you rejected sperm from your whore mother's womb are seriously thinking of using rusted pieces of shit coated with anemic blooded scorpion venom sold by that hack Welshler to try and kill me?" Needless to say the three men took offense to that. "You...YOU PIECE OF..." Before he could answer Rodric had already reached under the table and pulled a hidden trigger which opened up the front part of his counter that held a horizontal line of spring loaded blades that shot forward one hitting the man in front in the stomach, one hitting the man to the left in the groin, and the man on the right in his leg as they all fell to the ground screaming in pain, "When any assassin worth his salt would know to check the quality of their blade but also to use poison that has been tested to kill a man in no less then....oh i say 15 minutes unless you get to the local herberalist on the other side of town if your lucky." The three look at Rodric as they each became pale as he took off a claymore from the back wall with one arm as he held it on his shoulder as he glared down at them, "So if any three of you survive and don't throw up your assholes by the time you get back here, maybe we can do some actual business." The three scrambled to their feet as they ran for their lives, leaving a trail of blood behind them as Rodric took one last puff as he said to himself, "I should thank Wulfmane the next time he's in for the poison he traded me, didn't think it would last on my scrap metal." Rodric reset the trap and put the claymore back in place before heading downstairs, the clanging once again filling the shop with its soothing rhythm.
Nike names: The metal weaver of the underworld
Age: Speculative
Physical Description (3rd person): Long greyed dreds from the smoke that billows around him with a beard that is burnt at the tips. His skin looks bronzed even though he barely goes outside of his place of work, most people guess its because the flames he works with on a daily basis burn hot enough to rival the very sun. The only scars on his body are on his arm that, from stories told, were self inflicted in order to teach himself the dangers of his craft. In the shop he only wears some leggings and basic protection from the heat, some even say he sports a kilt whenever the man is in a particularly good mood.
Special Talents: Expert metal worker and rune engraver
Guild/House/Organization: Dagger's Tomb
Position in Guild/Order/Organization: Owner and arguably the best smither in both the light and dark side of Nagoroth
History: Every war, battle, skirmish, or even disgruntled agreement has its weapons; and for each weapon there is a man that creates it from the elements of the earth, molding it into shape to fit the wielder's desires. In Nagoroth, there are many blacksmiths to feed the desire of metal. Yet, for those who wish to possess craftsman ship that would rival a smither to the heavens, they would seek Rodric the Blacksmith. A meticulous worker who's shop can only be found by word of mouth, he supplies masterpieces of steel to any who are willing to meet his price. That is, of course, if they are willing to also meet his terms. It did not matter if they were an emissary of the dragon empire or even one of the Ten Blades themselves that asked for his services, his demands must be met. It wasn't because of greed or favoritism, but simple fact. "You can not force metal to move, you can only help it take shape." Rodric tells his not so intellectual customers when they argue about the price and length of time it takes to make what they desire. For you see, while other craftsman's best made claymores would crack after a certain time from wear and tear, a simple knife made by Rodric would have the power to chop chunks off of all the anvils in Nagoroth without leaving a single scratch on the blade. Armor, blades, canisters, even runes ready to be infused with powers of the wielder's choosing can be forged at Rodric's shop. No one know's how long he has been there, some say the shop has always been there and the secrets of its smithing is only bestowed to the greatest blacksmith of the generation. There are also rumors that Rodric has lived many lives and may have been the very smither to have forged the Legendary ten blades of the rulers of the Dark Kingdom. But Rodric does not care for the rumors, only his craft and will continue it so long as his body wills him to do so.
Character Wrighting: Rhythmic clanging of metal can be heard all throughout Rodric's shop as he put the last finishing touches on the main blade involved in a commission of a spring loaded blade for one of his better known customers. The chamber was pulsed with light with each swing of his hammer. He had just put got the blade to the right curvature when a bell that hung from the ceiling rang to signal that he had customers waiting upstairs. He marveled at his work for but a moment as he said, "I'll be back in a moment." before climbing a ladder as he entered the main part of the shop that housed some samples of his work, forged well enough to look nice but weak enough so that if an idiot tried to run off with one of them it would break at the first contact against anything solid. Three men stood at his door, assassins by the look of it, though probably only been in the business for less than a year since none of them even had the common sense to keep their weapons hidden on their person. Rodric pulled a pipe out from his pocket, lit it, and took a few puffs knowing that this was going to be an irritating conversation. "So, your Rodric the blacksmith?" One of the 'men' spoke up looking irritated, to which Rodric simply replied, "I am, what of it?" "We are in need of your services, I need 10 of these by tomorrow night." The man snapped as the one to his right held up a parchment with a diagram with what looked to be a badly drawn gauntlet with spiked finger tips. After a long puff Rodric said, "I'll have them to you in 4 days for 200 gold." The main man growled as he and his associates quickly drew their knives and had it ready to be thrown at Rodric's head, "I SAID we need them by tomorrow, and just for that we'll take them for 100 gold, no more, no less. got it?" But instead of being answered with fear or concern, the man was answered with skepticism. "....your really using those pieces of trash against me?" Rodric inquired with disbelief. "W-what?" The man asked confused as Rodric sighed, "Since your obviously an idiot allow me to say it slowly... you rejected sperm from your whore mother's womb are seriously thinking of using rusted pieces of shit coated with anemic blooded scorpion venom sold by that hack Welshler to try and kill me?" Needless to say the three men took offense to that. "You...YOU PIECE OF..." Before he could answer Rodric had already reached under the table and pulled a hidden trigger which opened up the front part of his counter that held a horizontal line of spring loaded blades that shot forward one hitting the man in front in the stomach, one hitting the man to the left in the groin, and the man on the right in his leg as they all fell to the ground screaming in pain, "When any assassin worth his salt would know to check the quality of their blade but also to use poison that has been tested to kill a man in no less then....oh i say 15 minutes unless you get to the local herberalist on the other side of town if your lucky." The three look at Rodric as they each became pale as he took off a claymore from the back wall with one arm as he held it on his shoulder as he glared down at them, "So if any three of you survive and don't throw up your assholes by the time you get back here, maybe we can do some actual business." The three scrambled to their feet as they ran for their lives, leaving a trail of blood behind them as Rodric took one last puff as he said to himself, "I should thank Wulfmane the next time he's in for the poison he traded me, didn't think it would last on my scrap metal." Rodric reset the trap and put the claymore back in place before heading downstairs, the clanging once again filling the shop with its soothing rhythm.