Raghmar Firebeard

*"We'll all be dust in th' end. Best you grind th' other guy down first." - Raghmar*

## History

Raghmar hails from the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, a frigid, inhospitable place unsuited for any but the most stubborn of settlers. Born far and away from any archetypical dwarven mining or merchant clans, Raghmar instead spent most of his younger days acting as a simple hunter, taking in the game of land so that others could eat.

It was a simple, incredibly tedious job for Raghmar. Even by dwarven standards of tedium, it was pretty bad. After one too many years spent hunting game, he declared that enough was enough and set off on his own from home. He had always been somewhat of a hothead in his early days, wanting to go and make a name for himself in some fantastical way, and though his parents tried to make him stay, he would have none of it.

Instead, he wandered for some time, visiting other settlements, seeing the other tribal kingdoms led by the other Linnorm Kings, trying to see what little sights there were to see in that awful land. He eventually happened upon a relatively young settlement that had the misfortune of being under frequent attack by fey and other, less capricious but equally hostile, monsters. Seizing the chance to do something fame worthy, he volunteered to join the settlement's militia and aid in defending it against monsters while the small bastion of civilization built itself up.

The work was much less tedious, to be sure, but it proved to be a formidable task. Monsters would assail the walls at the oddest of hours, farmers and miners would frequently go missing, and the fey would frequently ruin things just for the fun of it. After years of keeping the settlement from collapsing, the old, hotheaded Raghmar had long since burnt out. In his stead was a new, cynical one.

It was during this time of burnt out dreariness that Raghmar could swear he heard something calling to him. Whispers coming from the crunch of snow under his boot, sighs easing out of the last breaths of wild monsters encroaching on his land, and utterances billowing out in the smoke of torched nets of gigantic spiders. He didn't understand what it meant, mostly because he couldn't even *hear* what the whispers were saying. He elected not to think about it too hard as a precaution for his own sanity.

It was later, and far too late, that he finally divined the meaning of these 'messages.' They had been signs, signs only a particular kind of soul could hear. A soul touched by the foreboding moon of Groetus. He discovered this as he fought for his very life against a seemingly unending horde of creatures and raiders that attacked the settlement seemingly out of the blue - in reality, a build up by the fey in order to wipe this upstart encroachment on nature off the map after one too many failed attempts.

One dwarf and a handful of militiamen alone are not enough to stem any major tide, and so it was that Raghmar found himself bleeding out in the snow, staring up into the sky as the town burned around him. Was he sad, then, to lose people he had known for years at that point? If he was being honest with himself, the answer was "not really." Non-dwarves never did live long enough to make an impression on him anyway. Still, he had to say, he *did* feel bad that they had died such senseless deaths. If he had been able to heed the warnings sent to him, seen the signs coming...

He passed out, welcoming the relief from pain even if it meant the likelihood of death. Instead of the clammy hands of the reaper, however, he found himself waking up the next day in that same field. He was freezing half to death, his whole body ached all over, and he was surrounded by a mass of other killed villagers and guards. Yet he was still too stubborn to die. He forced himself to crawl, stumble, and eventually walk to the nearest village, and as he walked he could swear he heard the whispers again.

It was then he truly realized what had been whispering to him. He did not know why, but the strange god had seen fit to pick him of all people to murmur to. Either that, or he had at last truly gone mad from boredom. Still, even the insane do not begin to demonstrate divine magic out of nowhere. He also had to give the god credit: he had picked a good dwarf, for Raghmar had seen so much death and hardship over the years that he too understood that all would be pounded into dust and swept away by the wind in the end.

He and Groetus understood each other. He and Groetus would work together - Not to spread death, or dismay, or anything in particular beyond the knowledge that the end would be upon people soon. His one job, he figured, was to put down those who had risen again in defiance of this cycle: the undead, just like a regular Pharasmite.

He traveled the world, staying in places long enough until he felt the signs of oncoming doom. Then, he would stay a little longer to see how what had been built would be ground back into the dirt, remaining just long enough to put down any evil or undead that dared remain to despoil the entropy.

It was during these travels that he entered the city of Skyholm, rather unexpectedly, and it was for these reasons that he remains to this day, waiting for signs of the End Times from his god, waiting to see how this place would meet its own disastrous fate.

After a few weeks, he started to feel "it." There was something in the air, a sense of... nothing. He felt it coming. When the plane collapsed, he was totally unaffected, not surprised whatsoever that the place had ended. Finding himself somewhere new, he again awaits Groetus' foretelling of the end. This settlement would not be the first, nor the last.

## Appearance

Raghmar's last name quite obviously comes from his flame-like in color beard. A typical stocky and short dwarf otherwise, his distinguishing features include the odd grey pallor to his skin from his time with gunpowder and the burn scars etched into his face. These scars are a reminder of both his time spent in the forges of settlements maintaining his equipment and his near-end in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings.

## Personality

Raghmar is a man of few words, preferring to let actions do the talking. He considers breath wasted on words another step closer to the end. For this reason, he typically refuses to attend public events and parties, though he bears no real hatred toward them. Where he was once hotheaded, his temper has now cooled. Where he used to be optimistic, he is now cynical and tired. He expects little joy and receives even less, yet somehow finds the energy to keep going each and every day.

If you asked him where he found it, he'd just shrug and say "Better than fading away."

## Friends

Raghmar has pretty much no friends, though he somehow managed to not kill a gnome druid when she accidentally infested the local park with bugs. It helped that he was drunk.

## Enemies

Raghmar, as an inquisitor of Groetus, loathes the undead, seeing them as an abomination against the cycle of entropy. Fortunately, most people share this hatred, and thus his putting down of said creatures is greeted with applause rather than wanted posters and cries for his head at the gallows.

## Aspirations

Raghmar and aspirations do not go together. His hope hasn't been seen for many decades, and the best you could say he hopes to do is found a hunter's lodge. For all his youthful dislike of hunting, he finds entertainment in the novelty of it now.