Greycore

Obisidiman Weaponsmith traveling the world to find his "true" weapon and bring experience back to his community.

Description:

Weaponsmith (4)
Summary: Especially gifted with understanding what weapon a Namegiver is best suited for, he has yet to find a weapon for himself. Thus, he carries the Bulwark of Greycore, a large, full body scutum, as he’s only armament.

Greycore has worked in many Name-Giver cities, training with a number of Weaponsmiths. He often has gained the nickname “Gregore” or simply “Greg” while working the forges. He often gets into arguments with his tutors over the relationship of weapon and wielder. Greycore tends to refuse to sell a weapon he has crafted to someone he doesn’t deem fit to use it. Money isn’t as important to him, so he feels no loss it denying someone a sale.

As for himself, Greycore continues to scour the lands for his own weapon. As a weaponsmith, he defines “Weapon” as something specifically created with the purpose to injure or kill. Yes, most anything could be used as a weapon, but they are not inherently weapons. He does not see the same attunement between armor and those that wear it, thus Greycore tends to sell armor to anyone who buys it. He, himself carries around a massive body shield in which he uses in combat in both offense and defense (Shield Charge). His right hand is empty, however, as it waits for the day that he finds his own weapon.

Many of his tutors have told him that perhaps a Heartblade would be the answer to his curse, though Greycore disagrees with them. The fates, in his mind, would not allow him to craft the perfect weapon when he has nothing to begin with. Greycore believes that if he were ever to create a Heartblade, he would have had to first discover what kind of weapon it was…and that is still a mystery to him.

Bio:

Often mistaken as “Gregore” by more civilized Name-Givers, Greycore has only recently left The Land of Blue Sands where his Liferock, The Zephyr Stone, rests in the Scol Mountains. “The Land of Blues Sands,” named by his people, had recently become a contested area for Troll and Ork clans, each seeking the natural defenses the mountains provide as settlements for their own race’s growing presence. War broke out between the two factions and soon the People of the Stone were forced to take up arms to defend The Zephyr Stone and the surrounding land they called home. At first it was the Troll’s attempt at taking the land for themselves, but soon the jealous Orks saw this and engaged, causing a skirmish on three sides. Greycore was subjected to war the very instant he emerged from The Dreaming. The Liferock knew the urgency in protecting its people, and thus The Dreaming fell short for a handful of Obsidimen whom were called to arms by their Motherstone in its time of need.
The crude, mostly stone weapons of his people barely held back the onslaught of invaders. Greycore watched as his brothers fumbled with the quickly-fashioned and unwieldy tools of war, to which only a few of the ancients knew anything about. Greycore continued to observe as the Orks and Trolls fought, noticing the few with fluidity, balance, and control in their style. He scanned further as the over-confident fell over themselves, attempting to wield weapons far to large. He continued to examine those that weren’t utilizing their full potential, having selected the wrong weapon.

It was at that moment that Greycore found his gift.

There is one weapon for everyone. Perhaps in some it is a weapon type. In others, it is a singular entity. Greycore could see this. It isn’t to say that the wrong weapon is useless to the individual, more so that the right weapon is far better. The fortunate few whom had selected the correct weapons synchronized on a level beyond normal observation. There was an attunement that Greycore saw in everyone on the battlefield…and he immediately knew who was to be reckoned with. He dug through the weapons at his disposal, whether they be the stone weapons of his people or those of the fallen Orks and Trolls, only to discover the curse that came with his gift.

Greycore could not find a weapon that synchronized with him.

The curse laid heavy on his shoulders, as Greycore picked up each weapon he felt no link whatsoever. He could not even find something on a mediocre scale, enabling him to at least assist his brothers in defending their home. The curse drove him into a state of madness, unable to even swing a weapon in a wild fashion. He was useless with a weapon, but he was still an Obsidiman, and the People of the Earth could not allow their enemies to triumph here.

Greycore found a shield off of the body of a fallen Troll and immediately began shouting orders to his brothers in the voice of stone. He pointed out the weak to them. He traversed the battlefield, defending himself with the massive wooden barrier while consolidating his fellow defenders on each target. He would see an Ork in a state of nearly perfect synchronization with his weapon and would send 5 of his brothers to engage him. Another Troll lumbered by, unable to steady himself with warhammer in hand. With no attunement he would be easily taken down by one Obsidiman. Greycore even knocked one Ork to the ground simply by overpowering the clumsy raider. A stomp from his heavy foot ended the Ork’s life.

The invaders retreated in what would be their only attempt to seize The Land of Blue Sands. It would not leave the people feeling safe, however. Greycore immediately took an interest in weapons off all kinds and studied with the settlement’s smith. Their knowledge was limited and not well kept thus little time passed before he was just as skilled a his smith brother. Greycore soon set off to further his knowledge of crafting weapons in hopes that he would return one day to The Zephyr Stone and be able to craft the perfect, synchronized weapon for each of his brothers. None would dare challenge his people again.

Greycore

Dissolution of Pneuma ZhaocaiChanchu