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Ha!
So, that game I might be joining wants a cleric, do they? Okay, says I. FINE! But, this is my world, and my rules.
Hilda Steelfoot (Birthname: Hilda Ungart, daughter of Brynn Loderr-Ungart and Lörs Ungart of the Ungart Clan)
Race: Dwarf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Concept: Independent Woman
Sex: Female
Height: 4 feet, 7 inches
Weight: Ask me again and it’ll mean me axe blade in yer arse, ye ‘noxious little prat!
Age: Oh, now yer just pushin’ yer luck, laddie.
Hair: Chestnut, streaked through with black
Eyes: Coal Gray
She leans back, letting the usual dull rumble of the inn noise wash over her. Snippets of conversation are brought to hear ears and snatched away just as quickly. A dice game in one corner, a reedy-voiced minstrel-wannabe butchering some Gods-forsaken love ballad. She has a corner all her own. She prefers it that way. She takes a long pull from her ale, washing it around in her mouth a few times. Where she comes from, it’s proper table manners. Her eyes widen with a touch of surprise, her mouth twisting into a frown as she spits something…alien into her hand. “Pfaugh.”
It’s clear when the dwarf speaks that, despite the depth of the voice and the burr in their speech that most dwarves have, that the dwarf is in fact female. It’s a little too high for it to be a male voice, despite the acid in her words. “Hey, lass,” she growls, calling to the nearest barmaid. She tosses the object (She knows not what it is. She would rather not ask) the server’s way. “Would ye be a dear and tell yer barkeep that the Good Ale ain’t supposed to have crunchy bits swimmin’ ‘round in it?” She tosses out a gold to the girl. “S’fer yourself. Get yerself a new apron, allright?”
She turns to her drinking companion for the night, and lets out a sigh hard enough to blow the remaining foam off the top of her mug. “I consider it supportin’ the girl,” she explains. “Been here before. She got here on her own, works and deals with all the crap other people be givin’ her. I gotta respect that. I know what it’s like. Been there, done that, got the tunic.
“Name’s Hilda Steelfoot. That’s all you be needin’ to know. Sure, we dwarves got all them fancy clan names and ’ncestry that tells us how great the ones who’ve gone to pal around with Moradin and his bunch were in life. Great warriors, Paladins, Defenders, heroes from the mountains to the valleys. And, most o’ them are men. Not a great big pile of women mentioned in those lists, ‘cept fer who the heroes wedded and bedded and made more little heroes with
“Now don’t get me wrong, here. I be liking the men, despite what I know the folks ‘round here be saying of me. They got all these problems when a woman dwarf comes around, since they ain’t hardly heard of. Maybe one or two, and usually in one of them Bard’s tales to spice things up. But to see one in the real? Hardly.” Hilda smirks, but there’s a touch of darkness to it, something bitter. “If the Clan Danes had their way, we women would be only fit for breeding stock, like a good horse would be. The race is dyin’ out, they say, and they need all the ones we can get. Or that we can make, so long as it gets done.
“Now, don’t think I’m sayin’ anything other’n what I’m sayin’. I don’t hate kids. I wanna see what kinda tricks my own try’n play on me, like I did when I was a wee lass. But I got a bit of time before that’ll be happening t’me, and maybe they’ll show me some ‘spect once they hear I had me wild time in me life.
“It’s been like that since I was a wee one: I was always pokin’ me nose into things. Me father would be talking ‘bout the war, and I’d be sittin’ under the table, just listening to see what the adults were talkin’ about. Me mother, lovely woman she is an’ all. Kept trying to teach me how t’be a woman. Cookin’, brewin’, all the stuff that was expected of the girlfolk. But I wasn’t havin’ any of it. Ye know, she used to joke that she had me little brudders and sisters just so that she had more hands to keep track of me. Ha! Try as they might, and they did a lot of tryin’ the wee ones, they couldn’t catch me.”
Her lips curl into a smile as she draws from her ale again. She’s satisfied; there’s no solid…things in this draught of ale. “Oh, I did me part, growin’ up,” Hilda says. “I found meself liking the forge work, more’n anything. Which is all well and good under the mountain, but I wanted out. There’s a whole world outside the cavern I been growin’ up in, and I wanted t’see it. Not that I didn’t be likin’ me home, but I thought there was more out there than makin’ wee ones and quilts. Not necessarily in that order, either.
“It all happened when I was wanderin out in the cities under the mountain. I was just growin’ up, becoming a woman an’ all that, and I was restless. Always was, an’ I still am. Anything to get the blood pumping, tellin’ us that we’re still alive and that we ain’t squandering Moradin’s gift t’us. One of the churches was out having a festival, so I stopped in for a few pints ale and some pastries to wash it down with.” The smirks comes back. Let ‘em think I got it backwards. They don’t know Dwarves. “And, there was this play that some of the priests were puttin’ on. Now, I ain’t one for dressin up and pretendin’ to be something I ain’t, but plays are fine to watch, ‘specially when they take their axes to the orcs. But this one, the hero of the story wasn’t one at all. Was a heroine, y’see. Legends, and one of the Goddesses. Haela Brightaxe. Now this one, she wasn’t one fir sittin’ at home waiting for the boys t’come back from the war. She went out and made her own, and I was hooked. Moradin loves us, and the other gods have given us great gifts, but Haela understands what it’s like to have a fire in yer spirit, and how some of ye want to feel the rush of blood inside an out for the sake of it. She was said to have taken on a dragon b’cause it was there. She said they were yellow-bellied beasts, and she wanted a look first-hand, she did.
“I know when folks start goin’ on and on about religion, it drives folks away, but you wanna know something? I felt that play, farce that it was, speak t’me. This was what I feel like I always wanted t’hear, that I wasn’t some outcast, or some weirdo. I was just looking’ in the wrong place, is all. Once the play was over, I went and asked questions, and they liked my attitude, they did. The kaxanar, or the Bloodmaidens. That’s what they call Heala’s servants, and that was what I ended up becomin’. I started to study with ‘em, learning to use the greatsword in the spirit of Haela herself. Me folks…were less than pleased with the idea, really. Mother woulda been happier with me turning to Berronar, goddess of the home, like she had. I hold a lotta love for Berronar Truesilver, and with most of the gods of the mountain folk. But Haela, she was being me true calling. She teaches us to hold a respect for the Morndinsamman (the blanket name for all the dwarf gods). But, my family was resting assured I wasn’t running with a cult of duregar-lovers or anything sick like that, so they let me be.
“An’ I was content an’ all. I had me work on the forge, and my duties to the church. Those priests, they were mostly females, and it felt good to be part of a sisterhood like that. You know, bein’ that I wasn’t outta place. We often went on forays outside. Orcs here, zombies there, and me healin’ skills and me sword came in handy. Half the time, the sisters said I had a bit of Haela’s own luck.” She frowns at her empty mug, and bangs it on the table. “Barkeep! Another round! Tellin’ me life’s story is thirsty work, you know! Especially when I tell ‘em about how me luck was starting t’run out.
“It started a little over a year ago. ‘Course, with my ways, me folks never pressed on me the ideas of me family duty. To them, it was being a breedin’ ground for more, as it seems t’be accepted ‘round those parts. Since I was a wee baby lass, me folks had arranged a marriage. I wasn’t too bothered about this: it’s what’s done, and I was always told ye love the man over time. But this one…Kellin, he was an odd one, sure’n be told. I used to talk to him. More ‘pecifically, he used to talk at me, and tell me all about his plans to have the largest gold pile under the mountain.”
Another wry smirk crosses the dwarf’s features, which can be seen because she has no beard. Some chin whiskers, but those happen to dwarf women. “Don’t get me wrong. I like gold. It’s useful stuff, money is. Pays for me ale and me food and a place t’sleep at night, as well as a new sword for when I break one off in the ass of an orc or somethin’. Coin, it’s all good. But this Kellin guy, I could see it in his eyes. He was obsessed with the stuff. Sure’ns the sign of an Abbathor worshipper if’n I ever saw one.” She pauses, and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Abbathor is the god of dwarves who want to get as much as they can, any way they can. Greed, avarice, misers. Those types grovel at his feet, always wantin’ more. Kellin, he used to look at me like that, like I was somethin’ bought, and somethin’ that could be sold out for the best profit. So, even after I argued with me folks about it, and them not believin’ me ‘cause I had no proof, I did the only thing I could. Picked up my sword and me holy symbol, and ran for it.
“It’ll come back to haunt me, but I’ll deal with it when it happens. I ain’t old enough to be tied down to a money-grubber like that, and the world’s still out there f’r me t’see. I bet they’re trying to find me, but I use the Steelfoot name out of the mountain, and I’ve been workin’ with mercenary companies ever since. Traveled around, even took care of an ogre or two.” She puffs the foam off her ale again. “Okay, so it was six of the great buggers, but it wasn’t all at the same time, and I ain’t out for braggin’ ‘bout it, either. Us versus them, and it was business, even if I got a little extra for it. That one company, they took t’me slowly. If they didn’t need a healer so bad, they wouldn’t have looked at me twice. But they needed, and I answered t’call. I earned the name Steelfoot right quick, when one o’ the mercs tried to tell me how pretty me armor would look on t’floor next to his bed. Foot right to the gold pouch, and he left me alone after that. And some o’the others, they waited til dark to try and lose they way into me tent.” Hilda flashes her teeth, and even her grin has bladed edges. “Did I ever tell ye how much I like the singin’ or sorpranos?” She says naught else about that, letting the listener figure it out.
“I parted ways with them last week,” Hilda explains. “See, the old commander, Durwin, got killed by a bugbear ambush. They were trained, and trained well. Gorsh, that great Half-Orcish son of a ball-less goat, he took over, and pressed onto a new mission. Seen him talkin’ with some orcs, who are lookin’ for something called the ‘Lost Eye.’ About that time, I took my earnings, and settled in here. Somethin’ll come up, and I’ll be out on the road again, sure’n as ye can say me sword will never get rusty.
“Thanks for yer time, but,” she adds, standing up, taking her mug with her. “But I gotta go yell at that minstrel for hurtin’ me sensitive ears, then go get some shuteye.” With that, the dwarf picks up her gear. Ale in one hand, sword in the other, and stalks off.
-End-
And there you go. ISn't she awesome. Inspiration hit earlier today.
Hilda Steelfoot (Birthname: Hilda Ungart, daughter of Brynn Loderr-Ungart and Lörs Ungart of the Ungart Clan)
Race: Dwarf
Alignment: Chaotic Good
Concept: Independent Woman
Sex: Female
Height: 4 feet, 7 inches
Weight: Ask me again and it’ll mean me axe blade in yer arse, ye ‘noxious little prat!
Age: Oh, now yer just pushin’ yer luck, laddie.
Hair: Chestnut, streaked through with black
Eyes: Coal Gray
She leans back, letting the usual dull rumble of the inn noise wash over her. Snippets of conversation are brought to hear ears and snatched away just as quickly. A dice game in one corner, a reedy-voiced minstrel-wannabe butchering some Gods-forsaken love ballad. She has a corner all her own. She prefers it that way. She takes a long pull from her ale, washing it around in her mouth a few times. Where she comes from, it’s proper table manners. Her eyes widen with a touch of surprise, her mouth twisting into a frown as she spits something…alien into her hand. “Pfaugh.”
It’s clear when the dwarf speaks that, despite the depth of the voice and the burr in their speech that most dwarves have, that the dwarf is in fact female. It’s a little too high for it to be a male voice, despite the acid in her words. “Hey, lass,” she growls, calling to the nearest barmaid. She tosses the object (She knows not what it is. She would rather not ask) the server’s way. “Would ye be a dear and tell yer barkeep that the Good Ale ain’t supposed to have crunchy bits swimmin’ ‘round in it?” She tosses out a gold to the girl. “S’fer yourself. Get yerself a new apron, allright?”
She turns to her drinking companion for the night, and lets out a sigh hard enough to blow the remaining foam off the top of her mug. “I consider it supportin’ the girl,” she explains. “Been here before. She got here on her own, works and deals with all the crap other people be givin’ her. I gotta respect that. I know what it’s like. Been there, done that, got the tunic.
“Name’s Hilda Steelfoot. That’s all you be needin’ to know. Sure, we dwarves got all them fancy clan names and ’ncestry that tells us how great the ones who’ve gone to pal around with Moradin and his bunch were in life. Great warriors, Paladins, Defenders, heroes from the mountains to the valleys. And, most o’ them are men. Not a great big pile of women mentioned in those lists, ‘cept fer who the heroes wedded and bedded and made more little heroes with
“Now don’t get me wrong, here. I be liking the men, despite what I know the folks ‘round here be saying of me. They got all these problems when a woman dwarf comes around, since they ain’t hardly heard of. Maybe one or two, and usually in one of them Bard’s tales to spice things up. But to see one in the real? Hardly.” Hilda smirks, but there’s a touch of darkness to it, something bitter. “If the Clan Danes had their way, we women would be only fit for breeding stock, like a good horse would be. The race is dyin’ out, they say, and they need all the ones we can get. Or that we can make, so long as it gets done.
“Now, don’t think I’m sayin’ anything other’n what I’m sayin’. I don’t hate kids. I wanna see what kinda tricks my own try’n play on me, like I did when I was a wee lass. But I got a bit of time before that’ll be happening t’me, and maybe they’ll show me some ‘spect once they hear I had me wild time in me life.
“It’s been like that since I was a wee one: I was always pokin’ me nose into things. Me father would be talking ‘bout the war, and I’d be sittin’ under the table, just listening to see what the adults were talkin’ about. Me mother, lovely woman she is an’ all. Kept trying to teach me how t’be a woman. Cookin’, brewin’, all the stuff that was expected of the girlfolk. But I wasn’t havin’ any of it. Ye know, she used to joke that she had me little brudders and sisters just so that she had more hands to keep track of me. Ha! Try as they might, and they did a lot of tryin’ the wee ones, they couldn’t catch me.”
Her lips curl into a smile as she draws from her ale again. She’s satisfied; there’s no solid…things in this draught of ale. “Oh, I did me part, growin’ up,” Hilda says. “I found meself liking the forge work, more’n anything. Which is all well and good under the mountain, but I wanted out. There’s a whole world outside the cavern I been growin’ up in, and I wanted t’see it. Not that I didn’t be likin’ me home, but I thought there was more out there than makin’ wee ones and quilts. Not necessarily in that order, either.
“It all happened when I was wanderin out in the cities under the mountain. I was just growin’ up, becoming a woman an’ all that, and I was restless. Always was, an’ I still am. Anything to get the blood pumping, tellin’ us that we’re still alive and that we ain’t squandering Moradin’s gift t’us. One of the churches was out having a festival, so I stopped in for a few pints ale and some pastries to wash it down with.” The smirks comes back. Let ‘em think I got it backwards. They don’t know Dwarves. “And, there was this play that some of the priests were puttin’ on. Now, I ain’t one for dressin up and pretendin’ to be something I ain’t, but plays are fine to watch, ‘specially when they take their axes to the orcs. But this one, the hero of the story wasn’t one at all. Was a heroine, y’see. Legends, and one of the Goddesses. Haela Brightaxe. Now this one, she wasn’t one fir sittin’ at home waiting for the boys t’come back from the war. She went out and made her own, and I was hooked. Moradin loves us, and the other gods have given us great gifts, but Haela understands what it’s like to have a fire in yer spirit, and how some of ye want to feel the rush of blood inside an out for the sake of it. She was said to have taken on a dragon b’cause it was there. She said they were yellow-bellied beasts, and she wanted a look first-hand, she did.
“I know when folks start goin’ on and on about religion, it drives folks away, but you wanna know something? I felt that play, farce that it was, speak t’me. This was what I feel like I always wanted t’hear, that I wasn’t some outcast, or some weirdo. I was just looking’ in the wrong place, is all. Once the play was over, I went and asked questions, and they liked my attitude, they did. The kaxanar, or the Bloodmaidens. That’s what they call Heala’s servants, and that was what I ended up becomin’. I started to study with ‘em, learning to use the greatsword in the spirit of Haela herself. Me folks…were less than pleased with the idea, really. Mother woulda been happier with me turning to Berronar, goddess of the home, like she had. I hold a lotta love for Berronar Truesilver, and with most of the gods of the mountain folk. But Haela, she was being me true calling. She teaches us to hold a respect for the Morndinsamman (the blanket name for all the dwarf gods). But, my family was resting assured I wasn’t running with a cult of duregar-lovers or anything sick like that, so they let me be.
“An’ I was content an’ all. I had me work on the forge, and my duties to the church. Those priests, they were mostly females, and it felt good to be part of a sisterhood like that. You know, bein’ that I wasn’t outta place. We often went on forays outside. Orcs here, zombies there, and me healin’ skills and me sword came in handy. Half the time, the sisters said I had a bit of Haela’s own luck.” She frowns at her empty mug, and bangs it on the table. “Barkeep! Another round! Tellin’ me life’s story is thirsty work, you know! Especially when I tell ‘em about how me luck was starting t’run out.
“It started a little over a year ago. ‘Course, with my ways, me folks never pressed on me the ideas of me family duty. To them, it was being a breedin’ ground for more, as it seems t’be accepted ‘round those parts. Since I was a wee baby lass, me folks had arranged a marriage. I wasn’t too bothered about this: it’s what’s done, and I was always told ye love the man over time. But this one…Kellin, he was an odd one, sure’n be told. I used to talk to him. More ‘pecifically, he used to talk at me, and tell me all about his plans to have the largest gold pile under the mountain.”
Another wry smirk crosses the dwarf’s features, which can be seen because she has no beard. Some chin whiskers, but those happen to dwarf women. “Don’t get me wrong. I like gold. It’s useful stuff, money is. Pays for me ale and me food and a place t’sleep at night, as well as a new sword for when I break one off in the ass of an orc or somethin’. Coin, it’s all good. But this Kellin guy, I could see it in his eyes. He was obsessed with the stuff. Sure’ns the sign of an Abbathor worshipper if’n I ever saw one.” She pauses, and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Abbathor is the god of dwarves who want to get as much as they can, any way they can. Greed, avarice, misers. Those types grovel at his feet, always wantin’ more. Kellin, he used to look at me like that, like I was somethin’ bought, and somethin’ that could be sold out for the best profit. So, even after I argued with me folks about it, and them not believin’ me ‘cause I had no proof, I did the only thing I could. Picked up my sword and me holy symbol, and ran for it.
“It’ll come back to haunt me, but I’ll deal with it when it happens. I ain’t old enough to be tied down to a money-grubber like that, and the world’s still out there f’r me t’see. I bet they’re trying to find me, but I use the Steelfoot name out of the mountain, and I’ve been workin’ with mercenary companies ever since. Traveled around, even took care of an ogre or two.” She puffs the foam off her ale again. “Okay, so it was six of the great buggers, but it wasn’t all at the same time, and I ain’t out for braggin’ ‘bout it, either. Us versus them, and it was business, even if I got a little extra for it. That one company, they took t’me slowly. If they didn’t need a healer so bad, they wouldn’t have looked at me twice. But they needed, and I answered t’call. I earned the name Steelfoot right quick, when one o’ the mercs tried to tell me how pretty me armor would look on t’floor next to his bed. Foot right to the gold pouch, and he left me alone after that. And some o’the others, they waited til dark to try and lose they way into me tent.” Hilda flashes her teeth, and even her grin has bladed edges. “Did I ever tell ye how much I like the singin’ or sorpranos?” She says naught else about that, letting the listener figure it out.
“I parted ways with them last week,” Hilda explains. “See, the old commander, Durwin, got killed by a bugbear ambush. They were trained, and trained well. Gorsh, that great Half-Orcish son of a ball-less goat, he took over, and pressed onto a new mission. Seen him talkin’ with some orcs, who are lookin’ for something called the ‘Lost Eye.’ About that time, I took my earnings, and settled in here. Somethin’ll come up, and I’ll be out on the road again, sure’n as ye can say me sword will never get rusty.
“Thanks for yer time, but,” she adds, standing up, taking her mug with her. “But I gotta go yell at that minstrel for hurtin’ me sensitive ears, then go get some shuteye.” With that, the dwarf picks up her gear. Ale in one hand, sword in the other, and stalks off.
-End-
And there you go. ISn't she awesome. Inspiration hit earlier today.