Veromos the Holy Shaman
Veromos created on 11th of April 2018, and is currently 22 years old (100 hours played).

Title: the Holy Shaman
Gender: Male
Level: 50
Class: duergar shaman

Background history:

  1. Being "special" - posted at 2018-04-11 09:08:18
  2. Class dismissed - posted at 2018-04-11 09:14:45
  3. The journey - posted at 2018-04-11 09:22:32
Being "special"
Veromos grew up in a typical rough life for any duergar. His father was dead before he was born, killed for his gambling debts. His mother was a whore - an ugly one at that, who had nothing but him. She named him Veromos, meaning Perfect, hoping he would someday grow into it but her disappointment grew from his birth and he would hear about it everyday. He was constantly ridiculed for his looks and lack of ability, pointing in others their superiority. "Look at the king's sons, now those are cute boys! Nothing like you." During one of her "business visits", the moans of animal lust became violent. His Momma was raped and murdered by the customer who then came staggering out of the bedroom calmly to smoke with Veromos. The eager young duergar stared in the eyes of his mother's killer, carefully placing his words for he was a witness... "Momma dinna want the Eternal Abyss." The man chuckled darkly, pulling heavily on his cigar - he was well dressed, obviously a political official of some sort. "If ya want somethin' from someone, juz take it. Us bastards were born in filth, it is our greed that pulls us out tah riches. 'Member that." The man walked out, still debating if he should kill the boy, as Veromos asked oddly "What is it you liked of Momma?" The man grinned, stating in rememberance "Her tongue, kid - like a snake... One helluva bitch...." As he left with a wink. Veromos went into the bedroom... His mother laid there with a sickly gaze in her eyes, her throat bruised heavily from being strangled. Using his bare hands and all his effort, Veromos ripped out her tongue and held it in his mouth - it was too big, but he would keep it. Rummaging through her things, he pulled out a needle and spool of black thread. He began to sow the tongue to his belt as he hummed his favorite tune. Momma always liked to sow...


Description (commended):

The gruesome, portly duergar before you could only be described as "patched" - various body parts including pieces of skin, teeth, and hair have been stitched onto his body replacing what was once his. A beautiful dwarven beard, still connected to the rotting flesh of it's previous owner has been grafted onto his chin. Stretched to cover his entire neck is the ebony skin of a drow female, the scars of the stitches still filled with puss from recent work. Jarring out from his mouth are two orc incisors, their placement locked over his existing teeth with fishing hooks that pierce his gums. His original hair has been completely removed and replaced with the coarse orange hair of a fire giant, lightly stained with blood and stitched directly into his skull. His eyes have been untouched, their cloudy gray color in a glazed stare as he admires his surroundings. His armor fits his body fashion, patched together from the fallen in battle with no apparent care for matching attire but only what he desires. Gripping his weapon tightly, you notice his right hand has been completely replaced with a hand of an ogre - the size obviously too big for him but its strength is unmatched. A foul odor, resembling a decaying carcass, slowly starts reaching into your nostrils.


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