Thovolim Myrbilmor

Portrait
Description
   The Suit of Armor standing before you is of obvious dwarven craftsmanship- it looks every bit as intense, solid, and unrelenting as the race itself: as though someone distilled dwarf, and poured it all over this large suit of metal, to the point that it?s not hard to imagine the armor itself sprouting a beard and demanding a mug of stout. Runes in all-caps dwarven adorn the metal, carved with impossible skill- the metal itself is unlike anything that has been seen before, as though some artisan took cursed adamantine lodestones and melted them down to form this plate: Indeed, the armor seems dense at a cosmic scale, little particles and stones floating in orbit around it and it?s wearer, should he remain stationary long enough. It has a strange sheen to it, and an odd, green hue. Those versed in Dwarven would recognize an explanation, within the esoteric, all-caps lettering of the curse: This armor was forged by a dwarven-god, and cursed by a bitter divine rival to be so heavy it is unusable. Oddly enough, it seems to be being used.

   The Dwarf wearing the armor is nothing short of a giant, for his race- or perhaps an extra-wide, extra bulky, extra-hairy human. Regardless, encased in the armor he is quite a figure- perhaps his little dwarfy legs only reach halfway down, and the rest is all stilts? Either way, he seems to possess unusual features- his eyes are large, round glossy and watery- an uncommon sparkling sky-blue, his skin is a bit too pure and soft, and his lips are pink and full. He has small, perfectly proportioned ears that curl into his head using the golden ratio - really, he seems less a common dwarf, and more some creepy, idealized version of one. His beard shines- glossy and sleek and crinkled and dwarven, a magnificent beard, likely the envy of all other beards- so perfectly dwarfish and beardlike is it, there is nearly a magical compulsion that makes onlookers want to walk up to him, and comment simply and in an awe-struck voice "Sir, your beard is the envy of all other beard" Almost. The dwarf constantly sweats profusely, and seems terribly tired- as though he had just worked the longest, hottest day of his life, all the time. With that much armor on, though, that?s all you can make out.

     The Story is simple, for those who are jaded, psychic, or lore-whored enough to know for some reason - the runes upon the armor did not lie. It is a masterpiece crafted by a dwarven forge-god, which was then cursed by a rival, jealous god- Imbued with the ability to make its wearer impossibly strong, rather quick, somewhat dashing, a bit wise, rather dwarfy, quite sneaky, and rather well-armored, it was cursed to be impossibly heavy, and impossibly unremovable, as well. Soon after his masterpiece was cursed, the forge-god, in a fit of manly dwarven rage, changed his portfolio to  ?bitter defiance?, and started a cult based around training a mortal to don his armor, despite the curse. Many dwarves were simply not strong enough- unable to lift the armor, once donned, they quickly starved to death, until one dwarf put those sacred plates on, and actually managed to take a step!

     Beneath That Armor

     The Stench is absolutely horrible- perhaps another aspect of the cursed layered upon it after it had been successfully donned, perhaps the result of not being able to take a proper bath, combined with being inside an impenetrable suit of armor while constantly sweating thanks to the intense exertion of actually moving in it, there are no words to describe the absolutely soul-withering stench that this dwarf seems to possess- but we can certainly try. It is like a living creature- a miasma that pervades every pore- tendrils of foulness that drive up the nose, and wrap around the brain- strangling it. This is a stench that has caused zombies- unliving, unthinking monsters of blackest, foulest necromancy to vomit in disgust, having only the barest echos of working noses. Thankfully, those without noses, such as constructs, and liches do okay. Otyughs- creatures that literally eat the refuse of other races- could not stand a minute near this smell. Needless to say, anyone who has anything resembling the scent ability might seriously consider suicide to being within miles of the barest whiff of this horrifying stench. Even the rain does not dampen the impact of this- oily, yellow-chunk bearing foulness simply seeps from the armor?s greaves in the presence of rain, spreading the mess further. Oddly enough, some people- such as those who don?t read bios- can simply not smell it. The dwarf seems used to it.

Name: Thovolim Myrbilmor
Age: 84
Race: Dwarf
Type: Dwarf
Gender: Male
Class: Hulking Hurler
Languages: Dwarf, Common, Goblin, Elven
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Deity: None
Height: 6ft
Weight: 442lbs
Breasts: Hairy Pecs
Cock: Horse? Hah- bit-in-half Dwarf. Twice as long.
Hair: Smoky Black
Eyes: Shimmering,watery Blue
Skin: Tanned
Setting: Custom High-Fantasy


For a 'good time', go search "Slogardis" in the character lists and enjoy!

My kinks:
Dominant / Switch

Impregnation/Breeding, Shemales, Slave / Master, Corruption, Rape, Risk of Pregnancy, Bondage, Monsters, Tentacles, Extraplanar (Angels, Devils), Magic, Mind Control, Creampies/Cum-Filling, Rough Sex, Small Groups, Exotic Species, Animals, Lactation, Oozes, Oral, Unusual Semen, Foreplay, Pet-Play, Elves, Long Scenes with Steady Posts, Story-RPs, Relationships, and much more!

Dislikes:
Scat play, Watersports, Completely Vanilla F/F and M/F (I'm not on a high magic fantasy server for generic), Excessive gore.

Yep. Looks like my kinks are the same, even wearing a different character.
Player:Last_Ember's_Light
Gender (Visually):Male
Race (Visually): Dwarf