Abciximab's Shackled City
An orphaned dwarf taken in by the temple of Joramy, sent to further the diety's influence and find his lost kin
Kickin’ ass and takin’ names.
Local trait: Scarred soul (+2 init., -1 will save) – orphan
Bondar Ironskull arrived in Cauldron 30 years ago from an orphanage in Sasserine. He was one of three “placed” by the agency who were part of a growing, shall we say nuisance, at the facility. Ironskull, along with “brothers” Balthanar Firebeard and Dunaan Puresoul, were removed from the orphanage once their hijinks reached a disturbing level. Bondar was “donated” to the temple of Joramy, Balthanar to the Smoking Loon Bakery and Inn as a baker’s apprentice, and Dunaan to the paladin Freugonimous as a squire.
Bondar was often called upon by his peers to settle feuds and administer punishment for violations of the unwritten ‘alehouse rules’. Growing up above a brewery was bad enough, but being alone is what often haunted Bondar. His whole life was the orphanage, his only memory being one word spoken by his mother, ‘splinter-shield’. His fear of the unknown- his past- always seemed to project from him a defiance tempered only by his good nature. But, Bondar was a rather dimwitted dwarf, easily fooled into malicious, and certainly mischievious, behavior. Worse yet, being seperated from his ‘kin’, Balthanar and Dunaan, served only to fuel his insurrective, independent disposition.
He was ‘donated’ to the Temple of Joramy, a complex serving a minor yet influential goddess in Cauldron. He arrived at night, and slept alone. He was in all senses of the word, a ward of the temple, called upon to do simple tasks like fetching firewood, fetching incense, fetching ceremonial hammers, and fetching ceremonial ‘blood of the shrew’, a vile yet intoxicating viscous red liquor brewed onsite. He went about his duties like most willing-to-please-pre-adolescents, and his punctuality and fervor did not go unnoticed.
Freyaa Wickstrom, the female human head acolyte, took notice of Bondar’s exuberance. She pulled strings and got him to take the acolyte test, which he failed with miserable colors. Freyaa believed in his piety, though, and schooled him in the Ways of the Shrew, teaching him how to fight, how to approach battle, and the devotion of divine spellcraft. Bondar, now training in the arts of the temple guard and the rites of priesthood, took his second acolyte test. Again, he failed miserably. Despondent, Bondar prepared to leave the temple, still a young- and hot blooded- dwarf. Freyaa’s faith could not be swayed, and after much prayer and further string-pulling, she secured a job for him in the temple’s kitchen, For seven years, Bondar learned the ins and outs of butchery, as well as the ins and outs of the complex itself; he slowly and carefully fell back to his old ways, violating the laws of the temple on several occasions- he traded the ‘blood of the shrew’ to a lieutenant in the guard for extra weapons training, and to a priest for extra divination training. He would often free small animals- chipmunks, squirrels, and turtles- from the kitchen rather than butcher them, claiming they were ‘beneath even he.’
But the temple’s position of just combat, purification, and rebirth still appealed to the young dwarf. His antics, though, got the better of him. Freyaa took him aside, advised him that his devotion to Joramy was best served outside the temple as a guardian, prepared a suit of armor, weapons, and provisions and instructed him to follow an ancient map to a forgotten tower. there, she said and hoped, he would find his calling. For, truly, she loved the little guy, and wished for the best.
And then, the sky opened up…..
The first thing he expected were rats; the last a real live hobgoblin. ‘Must’ve had the same idea, he thought. Gotta be less stupid.’ Armed with just a bit more than zeal, Bondar’s spirit-hunt turned into an undead un-bloodbath. He was trapped in the pouring rain in some goblinoid crypt, scared for his life. But, with Joramy’s aid, he survived long enough to collect a bit of treasure. Treasure was good; the more he had, the closer he was to getting to the point where he could save Dunaan from the gallows. Puresoul had always been crazy, but to kill his master- and his master’s horse- seemed out of this realm to Bondar. That was when he caught wind of a band of adventurers hunting down goblinoid graffiti-artists while tracking a bugbear-esque vampire… the stupid dwarf with a proclivity for trouble could not be less intrigued.