Magni
Quote of the Day: "Judge by the weight of a mans purse, not the silk on his arse."
Current XP: 34,000 (Level 8)
Hero Points: 1
Magni son of Veur, is a dwarven Barbarian from Mount Thuun. He and his mount (a bear named Björn) are far from home when he first meets the rest of The Hunted.
Description
Before you stands a Dwarf clearly armed for battle. His prodigious muscles are evident even when he stands at ease, his skin taught, thick and rough, showing the faint scars of a hundred skirmishes. His hair is a dull fiery red, grown long both on his head and his face. It's pulled back into a tight knot from which it flows down to between his shoulders, while his bushy, thick beard brushes the top of his chest. Neither shows signs of being much cared for. His green eyes look out, surveying the world and drinking in it's details, a faint scar above and below his left eye suggesting he once came close to having only the one good eye.
He wears well worn but well oiled leather boots, with a tuft of fur sticking out the top of them suggesting they're intended for cold climates. He wears a Kilt that brushes the top of his shins, but it's woven of muted colours, more grey and blue then vibrant reds or blacks. Atop his body he wears a leather jerkin, with no sleeves to impede the movement of his arms, though again tufts of fur can be seen protruding. Over the jerkin he wears a dull grey chain mail shirt, scuffed and worn but looking to be of the finest quality inspite of it's use. A thick leather belt emblazoned with a bear sigil is around his waist, with two daggers in scabbards worn at his left hip, one silver one steel.
Across his back, the handle of a greatsword (Bloodseeker) can be seen protruding over his left shoulder, a mighty slab of metal, chinked and chipped but with a gleaming, terrifyingly sharp glint to it's edge. Over his left shoulder protrudes the head of a Longhammer, wrought from cold iron. Nestled in the small of his back, tilted up slightly can be seen a quiver, with a mighty oaken bow slipped into it with it's arrows, the bow and shafts available to his right hand at a moments notice. Atop all this lies a thick brown cloak made of a bear hide, a large bulge suggesting he wears a pack beneath it.
He looks like one who seeks battle and has been quite successful in that hunt...
Took delivery in Madrill of a new sword which came to be named Shipwrecker taking it from +1 and adding Furious and Shocking.
Requiem
He has felt the rage within him since he was young, like a furnace buried somewhere deep. A pressure and a heat.
The trick has never been to summon up the power that dwells within him, but to keep it locked away. To control it and chain it. To only let it slip when it serves him or his clan or his god, and even then to only loose it a little, ready to rein it back in.
But there is nothing left now but the battle. No-one he might harm in his thirst. The furnace within him has been stoked with the fuel of loss and vengeance and duty until it felt like a star within his chest. But as those he knew fled, the chains did not simply slip away but explode beneath its force, flooding through him, consuming him, leaving only heat and rage and need. Need to destroy. To kill. To contain.
He has never felt so at one with it. His fear of its cost upon him is gone. He does not fear the rages end, wether some outside power is granting him strength such that it will never end or... That he somehow knows he will not survive it... It does not matter.
It is pure. It is clear. It is timeless. He is afloat, awash in its warmth, watching the world turn. He sees them move towards him like they were digging through sand, so slow, their anger not even a spark beside the fire of his own.
Time catches and for a moment it is chaos and speed and insanity, a blade tearing through two.. No, three. A head exploding as it meets a hammer. Screams and sounds and words...
And then he is at peace again, watching it all, choosing where his blade will cut, who his hammer will crush. But the words... He knows the words. Numbers. Some kind of danger. It doesn't matter, the warmth of the rage melts them from his mind. Warm and safe in its embrace, like a fathers hug.
Screams. Fury. A green splash that must be side stepped. A tide of dark and shiny things. The grate of his allies armour against his. A rumble. Bright light. Battle to the death, one way or another. A duty fulfilled.
Wait... More words.
One of the words was important to him once. A name? Did he know it once? How long ago? How long had the rage held him now? A day? A thousand days? A thousand years? Time was meaningless to him here... But that word... He had known it once. Revered it...
Thor.
The god who had charged his people..
Laughter. Slashing. Splashing. Lightning. Was the laughter his?
Had charged them with protecting this world from... From these. These things.
But... Has he not already given all to his lord? More than even he had to give? Had he not earnt his place at the table yet? Beside his father...
Aye. He had. He could go now. He could rest and toast with those who fell. Honour did not require him to fight on.
But love did require it. His father had said they did not do what they did simply for honour, but for love. Love of their lord, love for each other. But above all, for their love of the world.
They must be strong that others may be weak and yet live.
For each brother that falls he must remember the thousand whose lives were bought by that sacrifice.
He must be strong that others may love and live without loss.
The words were formed and waiting for an eternity before a second had passed. Finally, a voice... His voice bellowed "AYE! FOR VEUR! FOR THE THUNDERLORDS!"
And then as time slipped again, he saw it come. The bloom of the light. The heat and the force and then... Nothing.
Achievements Unlocked
