Thalmor Silverhelm's page

Thalmor was supposed to be a lot of things, and most specifically, he was supposed to be dragonmarked. Both parents were. The marriage was arranged. Everything was perfect, until it wasn't. The dragonmark didn't manifest when he came of age. And it kept not manifesting. His younger siblings (a brother and sister) were luckier, if you can believe it, and found prominent and important roles within the house, carrying the name d'Kundarak with pride.
Thalmor did as any stout, intrepid dwarf would not do. He left the Mror holds angrily, embittered by the hand he was dealt, he found a calling as a merchant and guard, set out to prove that he didn't need the mark to make something of himself. He would uncover secrets from ages past, unlock doors to places that were thought to be forever closed, and make as much money in the process as possible.

It was no coincidence then, that he began to practice the rituals of Kol Korran. Eventually, he manifested miracles here and there. If the dragonmark wouldn't come to him, he seemingly could draw other things. Minons, allies from Lamannia, The Twilight Forest, he could manifest with a prayer, and they were even stronger than most. They serve him, and he serve Kol Korran, ensuring trade deals are kept, and hunting down those who violate the agreements.

He comes now to Sylbaran to collect on one of those. A fellow who promised payment to the house and didn't follow through. For services rendered in full! Thalmor doesn't much care about making Kundarak richer, but it's the principle of the thing, he had struck the deal. Of course, his target couldn't expect him to be able to track him down, Sylbaran is in the godsforsaken woods, who would come here. Thalmor has, of course, to collect what's due.

Thalmor is a strong, generally taciturn dwarf of early adulthood who wears grey and black clothes. His hair is short and black, and his beard is medium-length, braided, with silver wire binding it at the tip. He wears silver rings, and has other pieces of silver jewelry. His eyes are dark grey, and his skin is weathered, likely due to his frequent time outside. He uses a spear, and keeps a battleaxe at his side, carrying a heavy backpack full of different useful things.
Thalmor is taciturn like many dwarves, but his divine spark allows him to charm others sometimes. He also remains quicker on his feet than other dwarves, a trait which is useful when he has to keep up with the wagons on trading caravans. He's merciful to enemies, honorable in combat, and thoughtful and measured in his words when he speaks. He never breaks his word, but it is a word not easily given, as he knows the power of oaths.

He usually stands, arms folded, on the sidelines, until others need him to intercede. He doesn't care much for oathbreakers, but his skills nearly guarantee that enemies can't escape him. The only times he lets people get out of oaths is when his foe seems destitute, though he is loathe to bind others who are in that situation, as he doesn't want the moral conflict to get in the way of his job.

Thalmor is content to summon things, and then use them to fight his enemies, having given the creatures teamwork feats. He wants to smugly make himself and the house wealthy without relying on a dragonmark, which is why I chose the artifact hunter trait, but I might also choose Roll With It if someone else wanted that (so we didn't duplicate). He may, however, actually pick up something like the Heir of Siberis, or I may have him take a dragonmark feat eventually if I feel like he would have had a better attitude about things. He'd start as LN, but move towards LG over time if he were around people who weren't so bitter.

Eberron 950 YK - Below the Vaults, Korunda Gate

Thalmor sat on the edge of the crevasse, throwing rocks. Like many kids, he would throw a rock and then count until it lands, trying to figure out how deep the pit was. With each toss, the rock would fall, fall, fall, until a faint "tink, tink, tink" was heard. He would count, "one, two, three, four, five, six, sev-" at which point he nodded to himself, grabbing another rock.

The road to this place was short, and well guarded, but he was little, and he had learned secret ways. His parents had said the bottom of the crevasse was the ceiling of another cavern - the cavern of the city of his ancestors - long warded against intrusion, and now a shadow of it's former glory. The name of the city was forgotten, as the daelkyr had taken over most of it. Expeditions were send down from time to time when Kundarak could spare people, and most returned, but reclaiming just this city was a monumental task. People trained for years to get the chance to fight.

Thalmor wanted to go, desperately. He felt a calling to the bones of Eberron. The stories of twisted monsters and sightless beasts thrilled him. But it would never happen, he was important, they said. His parent's firstborn, a scion, they said. He had work to do on the bank. His rebellion, (as far as it could be said that a dwarf ever really rebelled), was to sit here, and throw rocks. He ran through the mental process he would need to activate the mark, as he had been taught, closing his eyes. He wondered quietly where the mark would manifest - his father had an extensive mark on his chest, his mother's greater mark encircled her upper arm. He hoped it would be on his forearm, or even his face, the beautiful shape and color a sign of the fact that even if Thalmor wasn't to become a great adventurer, he would be known and respected, somehow.

But for now, he held onto a rock, feeling the weight in his hand, and tossed it, listening for the telltale "tink" that would end his count, as he shivered, and wondered about the creatures that lay below.

Eberron 962 YK - Korunda Gate - Enclave of Kundarak, Silverhelm Family

Dagnar and Meva sat in the parlor, speaking quietly to each other, and to what must be one of his distant cousins. Thalmor sat in his room, his back to the door, straining to listen. His younger siblings were playing quietly with each other, a game they had invented with monsters and princesses. Thalmor strained to hear what was being spoken about, but the thick stone made it hard to hear more than snippets.

His cousin, "... what are we... it is not like we can do anything... " Dagnar spoke up, barely comprehensible through the door, "...fault. Not ours either... the house for years?..." Meva was crying. Thalmor frowned, and pinched his beard, twisting the tip around his stout finger. He looked at his siblings and grimaced. They were younglings, still little, and their bright marks were manifest. It was apparent they would be strong and they could do anything in the house. They could become wardens, or could do an expedition, banking, they had the freedom - freedom which came as a result of the damned marks.

Distracted, he tried to listen again, but the conversation had dropped to a quieter volume. Thalmor pressed his ear to the crack and strained, and but could hear nothing else. He closed his eyes and scratched his arm, scratching, looking at the spot where he scratched and frowned. He scratched until the arm was bloody and his nail was broken, but the spot where his mark was supposed to show was just raw. Numb to the pain, he curled his knees to his face and rested his head on them, as unbidden tears dripped down the sides of his face and onto his lap.

His brother and sister glanced over at him, but their expressions were confused and standoffish, and Thalmor didn't even notice. His brother opened his mouth to say something, but was nudged by his sister, who mouthed something, suggestively, and his brother closed his mouth, dropping the issue. They returned to their game.

Eberron 970 YK - Below the Ancient Gate, the ancient city

Thalmor was worried. He was bloodied. His friend was bloodied, and the others had not returned. Craglon was sleeping quietly as Thalmor stood near the exit, guarding him. The scouts were supposed to be back. They were all going to retreat back to the safe area of the city, but they weren't back yet.

Thalmor grimaced. He was a neonyte, and his job was to provide support and healing to the expedition. But something had gone wrong. The more nimble and stealthy members of their group had seen a lone daelkyr, smaller than the others, skulking on a street outside the outpost they had created. It didn't look especially powerful, and their axes were sharp, their hammers broad. They were headstrong, and they wished to take the fight to them, to prove themselves. Thalmor told them to avoid going out, their job was to stay here and document the passing for three days, but the others, beyond Craglon, wouldn't listen. Thalmor grudgingly agreed to help their foolish plan, formulated quickly. They waiting until the skuling thing was sniffing around at the door, and then pounced. But though the thing was stronger than it appeared, tentacled arms extending as if from nowhere to strike him and his companions, hurting them badly, the daelkyr itself was badly hurt in the process, and screaming incomprehensibly with an impossibly distended mouth, it scampered away into the darkness of the old city. Most of the same headstrong dwarves of his company took a look at Thalmor and Craglor and rushed after the thing. One, a shieldmaiden, Zerda, stayed behind with them to hold the outpost.

When a day passed, and the others did not return, Zerda shook her head. Craglon's wound had festered, he could not easily be moved, and there was little Thalmor could do to help. No other beasts had been seen, and Zerda announced, "well, I think the others are dead, I'm going back for help - if I'm not back soon -" She shook her head, and Thalmor knew what she meant.

And she wasn't. Thalmor waited another day. His supplies were low, and Craglon wasn't getting better. He grabbed the skinny dwarf, his friend, and carried him on his shoulders, one hand gripping the man's weak hands together around his armored neck, the other holding his battleaxe. When he believed it to be clear, he slipped out, and began to walk back to the safe zone. There was no sign of Zerda, the city was as deserted as it had been when they came. Shaken, he trudged nonetheless,

It had been a day. The scouts had not returned. Craglon had mapped the streets, and Thalmor didn't have a great head for it, but he walked anyway. The city was not - it did not look more recognizable. But Thalmor kept walking, and for a time, it felt as if there were eyes on him, more than he could count, the new residents of the city, inexplicably letting him passs on the street as they resided in their stolen homes, living... lives, if they could call them those, in gross facsimile to actual dwarves. The daelkyr were ultimately surreal in this way, there had been evidence of such things in their outpost they had taken. Inexplicably abandoned, it served as a refuge, but Thalmor wouldn't have been able to find it again if he himself had a map.

He trudged, and trudged more, through the inky blackness, until he saw down a side street, a glow. A familiar glow. Dwarves are comfortable in the dark, but they also like color, and do not hate light, as the daelkyr seem to (sometimes), and the safe zone was there. He turned down the street and sprinted. He felt a sticky tendril smack the back part of his heel, but he pulled away, his head down, trying not to think about what was or wasn't around him. He wasn't afraid - but he was despearate. Safety was assured, if he could get there. His training as a priest made him quicker than almost any dwarf, but he wasn't faster than the beasts below, as long as he didn't stop he might make it.

And he did. Bristling with weapons, the wall of the safe quarter loomed in front of him, and opened as he approached, the portcullis raising and quickly shutting behind. No creatures followed him, though, and when he looked back, the outer city was quiet. He sensed the eyes, though, watching, too many to count, or for one creature to have. Breathlessly, he set Craglon down, and others came to tend to them both, as he collapsed.

...

Of the others, they had disappeared. Thalmor frowned at the thought, and clenched his teeth as he had recovered. Craglon grew hale and hearty again, though he lost a few fingers that couldn't be salvaged, as they had been infected somehow, with a parasite. All the work that Thalmor had done to get to this point - his superiors would not send him back, no matter how much he protested. He would return to the surface. He scratched the scar on his forearm as he stewed bitterly, and made the long walk with Craglon back to Korunda Gate.

Thalmor had few friends, but his priestly training, and his deep connection to the earth itself had allowed him, as he had aged, to make some, drawing them out of the earth itself. They only appeared for a short time, but whenever he was feeling particularly alone, he was draw them up and chat with them. The friends he conjured were always the same individuals, hale and hearty each time he drew them up, and though few could speak, but they listened quietly, allowing him the contact that he craved, even as he had pushed away many of those in Kundarak due to his persistent bitterness and anger.
They served a valuable purpose too. Few expected him to be able to grab such beasts from the ground, and such a feat had caught more than a few oathbreakers off guard as they thought they could outrun a typical dwarf. Without malice, Thalmor had found a calling with he and his odd-behaving-and-looking friends that he could conjure. A calling and a type of peace, or at least enough that he wouldn't poison Korunda any further. It was a convenient arrangement.

WORK IN PROGRESS/TO BE UPDATED

Thalmor had grown complacent, and plump from said complacency. He wheezed breathlessly as he marched up the steep hill. His dream of being a deep warden - seemingly dashed - yet now he found himself on the surface, doing drills. The instructor had all the bankers in a row. This was supposed to be a safe, easy job they all thought. But Thalmor had a secret thrill. Being a priest and a banker - his feet had begun to get restless. He worked well enough behind a desk, but after his failure, he would prove to everyone that skill at arms wasn't the measure of a dwarf. That a damnable blue birthmark wasn't anything to be proud of. Actions were.

He watched the instructor, carefully. The instructor, stretched, and looked over his banker recruits, "okay, well, yer all soft, and there's not a fighter among you, but if you're in the wilds, and something big comes, principally a Gerivar, these techniques - they should keep you alive long enough that you won't fall over like house of cards when one breathes on you." The instructor, and older "banker" of a number of years, with an eyepatch, and scars on his face, pointed at the hills. "They hate civilization. They hate what our kinds has built - and they want to destroy it. So - what do you do." He breathed in, and began to explain. When they struck, it was important to tuck in your body to the side, or away from the blow, let it hit but move with it, so that you wouldn't be left vulnerable. They hit like fast-moving carts, but at least you wouldn't be as badly hurt as they could hit you, this way. They could hit as hard as a lightning rail if one were inclined to stand in its path (if that one had a head injury and thought such fanciful ideas were "good"). Thalmor's blood quickened, as he practiced, and dodged, his reflexes quickening. It was his greatest weakness - he was fast for a dwarf, but the priesthood - it cut one's speed.

He breathed, and wiped his brow with his embroidered kerchief, watching as the other, older, and fatter bankers, groaned, exhausted. "Aye boss, easy enough," he stood tall, grimacing, at the instructor.

The boss eyed him, "aye, says you now, don't get cocky - you don't deserve it - I know your story." He whistled, and from behind a hill game a yawning 12' tall man with pebble-gray skin, a loincloth, and sandals. The man cracked his knuckles, and Thalmor took a step back. The instructor grinned a broken-toothed grin. "easy eh? This is a pal of mine - Kudun Hodof N'Orthon." The fellow waved slightly, and stood nearby looking bored. He cracked his knuckles again, and the instructor continued, "you'll find that it's not the case that when I try to punch yer lights out, it's at all comparable to him," and he jerked his thumb back, stepping out of the way, and nodding towards Kudun.

Kudun raised an enormous eyebrow, but shrugged his beefy shoulders and approached Thalmor, towering over him. Thalmor blinked in surprise, and tried to apply the right, technique, but Kudun was impossibly fast. He slammed his fist down at Thalmor's relatively meager frame. Thalmor tried to catch the blow, get out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough, and the fingers, each as big as his neck, curled into a deadly, rock-hard punch, knocked the dwarf off his feat, and unconscious.

-----------

A few minutes later, Thalmor woke, a stench permeating his nostril as he stood up, slapping away what had knocked him out. "wha, what? A BLASTED GIANT?" He boffled dramatically, and spotting Kudun leaning on a stubby-tree nearby, bored, he scrambled backwards, breathing heavily. The instructor was standing over him, "what, did you think all giants were destructive monsters?" He spit, as if disgusted, "learn, more than just how to count coins. Khorvaire is a land of people all trying to just get along. It doesn't do me, or you, or Kundarak, or Kol Korran to judge. Kudun, his clan, hells, stone giants in general, not to mention any individual giant, they can be good fellas or bad, though Gerivar's... the best of 'em can't seem to control their anger at buildings long enough - though they have enough sense to stay deep in the mountains." He helped the inquisitor up, "now, shall we try again?"

Thalmor blinked, and spat out a bit of coagulated blood, wiping it off of his nose and beard, and taking a look at Kudun again, called over, "aye, good hit, let's have a few more gos, I'd like a shot to figure out how avoid that." Kudun looked at the instructor, hesitantly, but it seemed clear that Thalmor was serious.

The other bankers were nursing wounds, sitting quietly, though the best of them seemed to be watching carefully what would happen.

Kudun waited while the instructor dumped the magic of Kol Korran into Thalmor's frame, returning it to health, then, standing over Thalmor, raised his fist, bringing it crashing down. The dwarf watched the movement, and caught the fist with both his hands, not enough to stop the blow or even direct much momentum, but enough to keep Thalmor from getting knocked out. Thalmor, bloodied, with possible broken bones, held his head, where the giant had connected, and shook it, "blasted, yer, friend here... he's just too strong."

The instructor frowned, "nay, ya daft bint, yer too slow, again. You were better than last time, and yer still a damn sight better than those jokers. Try again." Kudun looked hesitantly and the old dwarf, and mouthed something a language Thalmor couldn't catch, the instructor nodded, and said "again." Thalmor readied himself to receive the blow, staring up at the fist as looked to crush him... watching, and waiting for the moment to act...

Thalmor stood and watched as the human signed the paperwork infront of the vault in Sylbaran. Lessie Crumkin was with him. A practical woman, the human was, stout and level-headed, a credit to humanity. Sivin had won her over with his business plan, (though Thalmor thought it was his slick black hair, long goatee, and flattery towards every custom, just perfectly calibrated to appeal to her nature... of course) had impressed the banker. As had his persistence. Sivin said he knew Eldeen well, and would develop a profitable business from a land rich in natural resources. Lessie had agreed to the loan.

Thalmor had rolled his eyes at this fellow, but wasn't in a place to argue. He bound the man to his word, and the deal was set. Sivin had played the part of the businessman very well. So well that Thalmor, to his own disappointment and unexpected surprise, found himself on an airship, of all insane places.

It had turned out that someone did have a use for Thalmor, in the end. His distant cousin, Blaurath, heard of his speed in the deep. And knew that Thalmor's training as a priest of Kol Korran might be useful. He had conscripted this markless dwarf to aid in compelling oaths from all who would do business, mostly farther afield, a task which pleased Thalmor. He had grown bitter in his time in Korunda, and found himself secretly resenting the Kundarak dwarves, so much that he was almost always at more ease with those of the other ancestries of Khorvaire, especially halflings, gnomes, and orcs, for whatever reason. His agreeability with the other races had led to frequently being shipped off to different corners of Khorvaire, for the dwarf could turn on the charm when he wanted to.

Thalmor knew that Sivin had betrayed the house. He knew that he had betrayed Kol Korran. He didn't know how, but the oath had been broken. He sent messages to Lessie, who just replied, "come back, you have to find him." Sivin would have to be tracked down. And Thalmor was the only one who knew where he was, with any accuracy. He sent a message back to the Banking guild and Blaurath to be sent to Mror as quickly as could be arranged, and hopped off of the rail. He would need to find other arrangements back to Eldeen.

The only transport leaving within the hour was a blasted, gods-damned airship. He found himself almost sick at the thought. But he weaseled his way on, even though it was a chartered flight, something for the college to use to transport some thing from Xen'drik. Profit - likely, but not for him, so nothing of consequence. He grabbed a newspaper and prepared to hop on...