Rognar Olep

Dwarven smith turned adventurer


Rognar is a dwarf in the throes of a mid-life crisis. He has worked all his life in a tiny dwarf smithy in Ogjorn, forging blades and armor. As Rognar watches the young bloods of the town buy his wares and carry them off to adventure, he becomes nostalgic for his own youth, during which he fought with Captain Tog Bjorn’s Sure Axes, a band of mercenary dwarves who had a tendency to plunder the small, private dwarven mines that dotted the mountains above Ogjorn, the commune in which he now resides.

Rognar does not miss the plunder: His sense of righteousness was what led him to leave the Sure-Axes in the first place. He does, however, thirst for the excitement and comradeship that he experienced with his fellow mercenaries, many of whom have been killed in raids since his departure. Pushed forward by the shadow of inevitable old age, Ragnar decides to go adventuring once more before it’s too late.

In his travels he hears that Captain Bjorn is still raiding in the mountains above Ogjorn, and has established himself as something of a king there. Rognar recalls the bad blood that exists between the two of them: Before he departed the Sure Axes, he argued with Tog over the “right and wrong” of plundering communities of his own kind. In the ensuing scuffle Tog fell into the band’s nearby campfire, which shortened his long, red beard considerably. Rognar fled, but he is certain that Captain Bjorn will remember the unfortunate event if the two ever cross paths again.
Rognar has no wife or children in Ogjorn, for he feared Tog’s retribution and what it could do to a potential family. Though he cannot help feeling that he missed out on one of life’s certain joys, Rognar is now free to adventure without limitation. He will not speak of this regret, though. He is protective of his pride—even for a dwarf.

Rognar is average size and weight for a dwarf, hence short and stout. His beard and eyes are dark brown. His beard is extra-long to compensate for his receding hairline, though again, he would never admit to that. His skin is pasty yet leathery for his combined years of adventuring and indoor forging. His hands are quite calloused, seared, and scarred. He does not wear and gold, silver, or valuable stones, because they remind him of the senseless plundering in which he one partook.

Rognar Olep

The Clutch of Verthandi sevenpages