Orin makes towards the man that had shouted at them, his hands tightening in to fists. For him to sit there safe while women and children suffer...
He pulled himself away from the coward as the others begin to move away and follows.
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After his last success, Orin charges in to flank the hand with Del.
My apologies all, I have had an unexpected house guest for the last while and had no time to post. Getting posts up now. Thank you for your patience. -Rob
- Orin grinned Delexia in thanks as he swings his axe with all of his might.
With a loud bellowing charge, Orin engages the red hand.
Orin is up and out the door before Kisasi can finish speaking, weapon clutched tightly in one hand. "Guide me!" He growled, stepping up beside his two companions. "What fresh hell is this now?" This is the loudest and clearest anyone has heard Orin speak before this.
"My hands are more used to working a forge than cleanin but my Mamma would turn in her grave if I dinnae offer to dry and put away the dishes after Kessa!" Orin stands and follows Kessa and Kendra.
"What would drive the men who attempted to hold up the Professors funeral, to do such a thing?" Orin asked out of thin air, his eyes snapping in to focus as he stepped close to the table. "Surely the Professor is not counted as an outsider here? You all seem to look after your own and take community very seriously so... what set the man apart? Who would want to see his family suffer such an indignation?"
Orin turns slowly and looks at the man. "These are beautiful work. Who does the mark belong to Sheriff?"
Orin didn't help in the cleaning up, he had turned up late to the square, just as the other two were finishing up. He did not announce himself either, come to think of it. Maybe Kisasi and Kessa weren't even aware of his presence, but he tagged along anyway, mutely following the two like a trained Guard dog or something. When they enter and go to speak to the gaelor, he walks to the rack and begins to inspect the Halberds, intrigued as every by the craftsmanship that goes in to weaponry.
Orin narrowed his eyes at the crowd gathered to leave, before shaking his head to Delixias question. "No lass I know nothing about this place bar what I've been told. Maybe we can find someone to ask. The Priest would be a good start I bet, if it has to do with undead!" He downed his drink before standing and straightening his clothes. "I intend to have a wee look at that memorial but I'll leave it fer tonight. I'll go in the morning. Let us turn in hey?"
"Well, now that you mention it Master Zokar, I am new in town and don't know where to go or who ta talk to to buy materials and the like. I am a smith by trade and could use somewhere to practice my trade and to buy materials I can use. I also need ta know who would be able to sell me the best pipe weed in town." He nods when the man begins to speak about Harrowstone, sipping his drink appreciatively and listening as he gives his opinion on the place. When he is done, he nods in thanks and smiles. "I will take a look at the Memorial on my way back tonight. Thank ya Master Zokar. I appreciate it!"
Orin smiled and nodded his head politely to the barkeep, before ordering a mug of ale with a whiskey chaser. When his drinks come, he takes a long swallow of ale, before taking a sip of whiskey and sighing contently. "Beautiful. Thank you." "So no trouble in the town? How about out of town then? What can you tell me about Harrowstone?"
Orin slows down, bracing himself before turning and smiling self consciously at Mihaela. "Thank you for offering to watch my back Mihaela. I am glad of the company!"
"Aye. It is still early enough that the places will have people. You can join me if ya wish!" Orin stood and made his way to the door, without looking back. He felt too selfconscious to after all.
"I was thinking about visiting the Inn. I do not like that those men tried to prohibit Miss Lorimir from buying her father. I would like to know more!"
"I am sure the Professor did not mean for us to hold her hand. She seems to be a strong woman and the Prison is just outside of Town isn't it...? Uhm... maybe we could visit it during the day then return before night?"
"We should look in to where and how the Professor died. If we know that, we can work from there."
Orin makes a mental note to find the most secluded room he can, as he frowns down at the chest as it begins to open.
Orin smiled briefly at Kendra before inclining his head. "If by my presence I can bring you protection then so be it, you have my axe!" When Kessa suggests someone to keep the chest, Orin nods and stands up, moving over to stare down at it. "I'll guard it with my life till we deliver it in to the hands of the right people!" The quiet, withdrawn Dwarf is gone for the moment, replaced by a driven man, full of confidence.
Orin took a long drink of ale before swallowing slowly and standing up, fighting to make eye contact with the young woman. He bit down on his awkwardness as he noted the suffering in her face. 'Just talk, dont think, just talk!' He took a deep breath, before beginning to speak in a quiet whisper. "When I was a boy I was captured and tortured by mages, for the secrets of my Clan. I escaped, with the aid of my Gods, and returned to reap my vengeance upon them with the power they bestowed upon me. From then on I made it my lifes mission to hunt down those wicked few who would use their powers for evil," His eyes hardened and his voice became strong and clear. "I was travelling through Ustulav some fifteen or so years ago when I came across a disturbance in a small village. The dead were rising and people were going missing. The Professor, being an honorable man, was aiding the village in their plight. I had been passing through when I learned of the incident, and would have kept going, had it not been for the nature of the undead. They were not the abnormalities that we are use to hearing of, but were the evil minions of a vile and twisted Mage, a Necromancer." He stared straight ahead, his eyes full of fire and hate, a zeal burning bright within. "I had been some time outside of the village before I learned this, and by that time the Professor had discovered the beasts layer and was seeking to bring it to justice, with the aid of some of his associates. By the time I reached their side, most of them were dead or dying, the Professor and one of his guards being the only two left standing. I aided them in taking down the vile creature, even managing to pull the Professor from harms way, at the last moment. I... it was nothing, I did what any of us gathered would do." He nodded, before taking another sip of ale, his voice becoming soft once again. "Since that time, I have kept in contact with the Professor through letters and occasional visits. We... we will never see his like again. Rest in peace old friend!"
Orin cleared his throat softly before muttering "Ale please Miss Kendra." Orin began to wander slowly around the sitting room, idly glancing at the books.
Orin steps forward and looks at Kendra, before looking at the coffin. He makes to speak, raising a hand, before frowning and beginning to look a little confused. He tries once more, his pulse racing in his throat, before he coughs, bows his head to Kendra and steps back, turning to stare off in to the graveyard to hide his shame. 'Good speech. How you have honoured your friend indeed Doomhammer!'
Gripping the Coffin with one hand, balancing it carefully, Orin brushed his cloak back from his right hip, clearing the cloak from his hip and uncovering his battleaxe wordlessly. He gripped the coffin tightly again, aiming to take some of the weight off of the woman opposite him.
Orin stepped forward silently and reached down, gripping the handle on the coffin tightly, waiting for his moment to pick it up and carry it forth.
Orin slid the thick goggles he wore back up on top of his face, dropping his hood as he took a slow glance around at those gathered. He stood well back from the group, seemingly engrossed in his surround, hand casually stroking his beard in thought. He gritted his teeth and bowed his head, feeling his pulse begin to race as he moved towards the young woman. He stopped before her and sketched an awkward jerky bow. "Orin Doomhammer of Highhold ma'am. I'm here to pay my respect to the Professor and offer my services any way I can." He glanced away from the crying woman as he spoke, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He bowed to her jerkily again before taking a step back, moving to inspect the coffing to cover up the awkward interaction. 'By all the Gods big and small, bloody hate talking to people I do!' His eyebrow (the other merely half an eyebrow) drew down in a frown as he lay his right hand on the coffin, palm down, the brand of Torag he bore there, pressing against the wood. He bowed his head briefly and gave up a small prayer to the Father of the Forges.
As dawn begun to threaten the horizon, the single peel of a hammer wrung out in the dark, sending flashes of spark off of the red hot iron it worked. Each blow of the hammer shaped the metal towards its end, each blow sounding as a beating heart. Or in stood stripped to his waist, thick chest covered by a leather apron, working the forges as his fore fathers had before him. He was forging a blade, not for killing, there had been enough of that now. This blade was a piece for crafting, whittling to be precise, a small thing to occupy his mind. As he worked he intoned small prayers to the father of the forges, focusing his mind and his body on creating, leaving that part of him which knew destruction locked deep down inside. As he worked the forges the beating grew harder, more rhythmic, matching his own heart, beating fire, chasing the night towards its end. As sun broke the horizon he felt a presence and, upon glancing up, noticed a small bird. The beating of his hammer stopped, and silence fell as he took the message from the little birds foot. As he read the words written within, he set down the tool and sighed heavily, turning from his forge. He was a Smith, had been since he was born, built to create, made to build, but he had a darker quality too. Without destruction there could be no creation. He was skilled in both, and with the passing of his friend, would get a chance to practice his darker side before things were done. "Rest well old friend. I will do this for you!" He set out to gather his things and head for Ravengro, there to attend one of his only friends funerals and get to the bottom of his passing. "May our Lord in Iron guide me and may the Father of the Forges protect me!"
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