[piosenniel]

Dwarves of Moria

Folwren's character

NAME: Bror Stonecut

AGE: 64 (45 years younger than his brother Riv, and 40 years younger than Skald)

RACE: Dwarf – one of Durin’s Folk/Longbeard clan

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: When hand to hand in combat, so to speak, he uses a short, shafted axe with a wide axe head on one side and on the other, a four inch, sharp spike. When out of range, he enjoys the use of smaller, lighter axes which he has learned to throw rather accurately, and when out of that sort of fighting range altogether, he has an excellent hand with a small bow.
Iron and leather helm, long and short sleeved chain mail, thick, leather vest.

APPEARANCE: Somewhat short next to his brothers, four feet eight inches, and still small in build and stature, maybe making 110 pounds. (Okay, pause here, if this is too light, then tell me. I'm trying to figure out the stature of a small, young dwarf, but Tolkien, as far as I can tell, never gives you weights, and all I have to go by in comparison is my little brother, who's two inches taller than Bror, but is only 65 lbs.) His hair is brown with a hint of red in it, barely long enough to braid in the back, and his beard isn't long enough at all, though it does reach his collar.
Boots that come to his knees, and a green cloak and hood over all.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Unlike his two older brothers, Bror has something of a quick and fierce temper, but it can generally be settled down before too long, and is without a great store of patience. Any real anger that stays and burns quietly is difficult to waken, though he does have his limits. He is, however, pretty easily befriended and on the most part is cheerful.

Change doesn't bother him very much and he loves the sort of adventure of going out and slaughtering orcs, having learned to hate their very name (perhaps he took the stories a little too personally and to extremes). He takes particular interest in the making of weapons - axes, swords, arrow tips, and what ever else - though he doesn't have the patience to make armor, or chain mail. He managed to get an apprenticeship with an Uncle, a sword smith, and he works with him when he's not out with his two brothers on a scouting party.

Whatever time he does not spend at the smithy, or in a scout troup, he often uses on learning how to play the harp. The instrument that he plays is one that his mother's great grandmother crafted, and is a beatiful instrument. Most people are surprised that he has been able to continue playing and learning without loosing interest, but music seems to mean something to him, although he can never quite put it into words. He would not call himself very good at it, though he is better than some.

He holds a certain respect for his older brothers and almost nothing can make him angry faster than an insult sped their way. He also is rather protective of the rest of his family. He loves his sister-in-law and Riv's young son and was very much disappointed when they were taken back to the safer caves.

His main weakness is not staying focused on the job at hand and letting his mind wander...and his next main one would be getting mad too fast. (Hopefully Riv will be there to calm him down when he needs it.)

HISTORY: Assuming that this is the year II 1697, Bror was born in 1633 in Moria, then called Khazad-dûm, if I am not mistaken. As often as he could when he was a youngster he would find the smiths that made weapons and armor and would watch them until someone came to fetch him back home again. He hasn't seen much of the outside world, still being young, but he intends to, in time.

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Folwren's post

Bror sat silently, plucking with less heart at his harp as he watched Riv take his wife and son away. They passed from the room out of sight and he sighed and tilted his head a little towards the smooth wood of his instrument. He lifted a second hand and once again the chords sang sweetly, though somewhat sadly.

“I wish they didn’t have to go back there every night. We hardly see them anymore,” he said quietly. A hand clapped him on the back and he looked up over his shoulder at Skald, his older brother.

“Cheer up and put the harp away, we’ve got business to discuss.”

Bror got up from the table and took his harp away a few paces and set it on a chair, possibly to be picked up later. He returned and took his seat again as Skald rose and gathered mugs and a skin of ale to wet their throats while they talked.

He had just sat down again when their Uncle Orin entered. A smile came into Bror’s face and he got up again.

“Good evening, Uncle!” he said. “Take that chair, and I’ll get another...How are you?”

The general formalities were swiftly dealt with and for a minute, the three of them sat together in silence. Bror could not stand that for long. What they had to talk about had to do with orcs, and of all creatures, he thought he hated those the most.

“What do you know of this business, Uncle?” he asked, turning to Orin. “I don’t know how much you have heard.”


“I know no more than the little I have heard from gossip,” Orin replied.

“That’s probably not very much, since there is little known,” Bror said. “All that I’ve been told, and I hope that I hear more tonight,” he added casting a glance towards Skald, “is that a company of dwarves are needed at the East Gate to escort a number of elves through Kazad. War’s brewing, evidently, and though we’ve only heard whispers of it, they are getting louder and the rumors are taking shape into ravenous villains who need slaughtering. It’s rather serious, by all accounts.”

Orin lowered his head towards his mug and Bror and Skald both turned their ears towards him to catch the words he muttered to his ale.

“How have I been in the dark for so long?”

“Because you’re always locked up in your room working on who knows what!”

The three dwarves at the table turned quickly to see Riv walking towards them. He gave them a smile as he passed and got himself another mug from the cupboard and a second skin of ale. He came back to the table and pulled a chair up next to Orin, filled their mugs and then his own, held it between his two hands and looked at them seriously.

“Well, what have I missed?” he asked immediately. “We’re taking a full complement of weapons...yes? No telling how long it might take the Elves to make their way down the Stairs and cross the valley. Or what might try to follow them.” A pause while he took a deep drink of his ale. “There have been reports of Orcs sniffing about the Kheled-zaram. Or so I heard.” He banged the metal mug down on the table’s top almost violently and Bror started slightly. “Love to set my mattock in a few of their skulls and pick out what passes for brains among the filthy creatures,” he said, giving his youngest brother a grim smile.

“Yesssss!” Orin exclaimed with evident excitement and obvious agreement. Bror shifted his eyes from his brother to his uncle.

“So, this is more serious than I imagined. I had no idea you all hated those orcs as much as I did. You were always the ones telling me to calm down and quit shouting that I’d kill a whole regiment.” He turned his dark eyes back to his oldest brother. “Is that what we’re going to do?”