Appearance:Ahmet-mose stands roughly 6’6” tall, and weighs a hefty 272 lbs, unarmored. His long, slightly curly, black hair comes down to just past his shoulders with silver and black silks woven through it, which also act to keep it from coming forward and getting in his way during battle. The same silver and black silks weave throughout his long black beard that comes down to his chest. His cheeks and side burns are smooth shaven, his beard consisting of just the chin and around the mouth. His shoulders are very board, and his chest deep, his muscles are those of someone who works them a lot. He has very little fat on his body, most of it muscle from years at the forge and then years adventuring. His eyes are a very bright blue, and seem to catch whatever light there is, which makes for a very intimidating glare at times. He has a very dark complexion, a lifetime spent living in the desert darkening his already dark skin. Numerous scars crisscross his body, the tell tale signs of years spent adventuring, and not all of those years in as thick of armor as he wears now. The most noticeable scar is the one that runs down his face, diagonally across the bridge of his nose from his hairline to mid-cheek. He is very fond of telling the story of how he received that one from having too much faith in the word of a Sphinx.
Fully Armored:His armor gleams in the light, a glossy sheen to it despite the lacquering that has been added to it to give it the coloring and pattern of the rough sand of the wastelands. When he wears the armor, it covers him from head to toe, the coloring helping him to blend into the desert sands. The helm is open faced, allowing his long beard to flow down the front of the armor, and the armor is expertly jointed to allow greater freedom of movement than such armor normally allows. He carries a large wooden shield, with a section of Brass dragon hide stretched over the wooden frame, a metal reinforcement around the edge and metal studs expertly placed across the front to increase its damage potential were it to be used as a weapon. His hammer is probably the one most definitive thing that he carries, as few carry such a weapon. It is a double headed warhammer, and especially large for such a weapon. Most men would wield it in two hands, if then, but Ahmet-mose carries it easily in one hand, even though it is nearly as tall as he is. The shaft of the weapon is ringed in a series of circles of very finely carved magical glyphs, which form the basis of the grip. Where the two heads meet the handle, a large glyph is inscribed, starting on one head, continuing across the shaft, and ending on the other head. A sage that he once took it to claimed that the glyphs were an ancient form of writing, but the sage was unable to decipher the glyphs, except for the one on the head, which he claimed stood for the word ‘Hail’, as in balls of ice falling from the sky. A specially made sheath for the weapon hangs from his back, a long tube, held firmly by a series of leather straps across his body. The tube is just slightly shorter than the haft of the weapon, and keeps the hammer heads of the weapon over his right shoulder when sheathed. The shortness of the sheath makes it easy for him to get a starting grip on the weapon to pull it quickly to hand when needed.
Desert Travel Outfit: When travelling the Desert, Ahmet-mose looks like most other desert travels, in a long billowing cloak with hood and loose fitting clothing to keep the desert sun off of him, only his eyes showing through the wrappings. His hammer is, as always, strapped to his back within easy reach, and a large pack hangs off his back as well, his shield strapped to it.
Relaxed: When not braving the harsh desert winds and heat, and not off adventuring, Ahmet-mose wears simple clothing, the same billowing cloak as he is travelling hangs from his shoulders, hood down, and he wears a very simple tan colored sleeveless shirt, a pair of tan breeches, and a pair of sturdy tan boots, a pair of leather bracers on his forearms laced tightly. As always, his hammer hangs from his back, or is close at hand, while the rest of his equipment is generally stashed wherever he is staying at the time.
History:Ahmet-mose had a hard life from the beginning, which only served to toughen and strengthen him into the legend he has become. He grew up in one of the newly made Ptahmenu strongholds in the Heart of the Blacklands, raised by his father, a Ptahmenu craftsman named Ahmet. Once he was old enough to swing a hammer, his father set him to be an apprentice at the forge, seeking to make him into a ‘Proper Ptahmenu’ as his father was fond of saying. This is, of course, because Ahmet-mose is a Ptahmenu in Heart and mind only. His body is that of a Pesedjer. He is very dark skinned, with long black hair and a thick dark beard. His eyes are blue, a rarity among his people that marks him out all the more. He is very tall, even for a Pesedjer; standing 6’6” tall and weighing in at roughly 272 lbs. Years at the forge have thickened his already broad shoulders, and deepened an already strong chest. Despite his best efforts though, his father was unable to teach him the art of the Forge, finding that his Pesedjer son had no talent for the craft of the people. However, this has not kept Ahmet-mose from plying his trade now and again, often times taking to a local forge for some peace and solitude, losing himself in the rhythmic hammering of the craft, though his work never turns out as anything more than mediocre at best.
He was left as a babe on the outskirts of the Ptahmenu city. His father, upon finding the babe lying in the desert grasses wrapped in silk linens, took the babe home to care for it while looking for its parents. Upon unwrapping the silks, he found a note.
To whomever finds my son,
Please, take care of him as if he were your own. I know that he is not of your people, however I hope that you are able to look past that and raise him with your strengths and values. I cannot care for him, as much as I might wish to, and the only thing I can do for him is to give him into the care of the noble and strong Ptahmenu. Please, help my babe, I beg of you.
All my thanks,
The rest was smudged beyond recognition. Whether this was purposeful or not, it was unclear. Regardless of the intent of the mother though, Ahmet was indeed a strong and Honorable Ptahmenu, and his wife had died many years ago in a desert storm, lost to the wastes, and they had never had children. Ahmet saw this as a gift from the god Ges, a chance to have a family once again, without breaking his oath to his deceased wife. And so Ahmet took him in, raising him in the traditional Ptahmenu manners, teaching him the cultures, the language, the trades, as if he were a true Ptahmenu. As such, the boy grew up strong and hardy, like his father. Unfortunately, his life span was still that of the shorter lived race that was his biological heritage, and as such he grew quickly. In a short 20 years, he attained his full adult height and maturity. In that time his father taught him many things, including how to fend for himself in the desert, and the fighting techniques of the Ptahmenu, along with the lore of the area and the history of the Ptahmenu.
After 20 years of living with the Ptahmenu though, his curiosity into his own true heritage got the best of him. Packing up his few belongings, and the hammer and shield that his father gave to him, he left the only home he had ever known and ventured out into the desert. For weeks he travelled the desert, never stopping in any one place for very long, until he arrived at a great market city, full of many different races of the desert, and of places beyond. He spent several years there or at least working from there. He spent a lot of his time travelling, usually as a guard for various caravans coming into and out of the area, working as both guide and guard. After many years of doing that, he went off into the desert, seeking adventure, seeking to leave his mark on history. And he has done just that.
Over the years, the stories of his exploits have become somewhat of a legend to outsiders, stories told of the 'Giant Dwarf' that roams the desert, carried by the wind and sands of the desert itself, protecting the inhabitants of the desert and travelers alike from the dangers and evils that crop up in the wastelands. They tell of how he defeated a monstrous troll that somehow thrived in the desert, terrorizing the unsuspecting villages and travelers who had never seen the likes of such a creature, taking its ring as his only trophy after defeating it and burying its severed body in four different corners of the desert. Shortly after that, the stories say that he had the finest suit of armor crafted for him, the likes of which had never been seen before. The armor covered him from head to toe in a dark, extremely hard metal that he had retrieved from a meteorite that had fallen from the heavens, defeating the monstrous serpent that had come with it in the process. Armor of the like is rarely seen, due to the dangers of wearing such types of armor in the extreme heats of the wasteland, and his armor even more so, being made of such a dense metal. However, the armor does not seem to bother him in the slightest, and he is rarely seen without it. Even when he isn’t wearing it, it is said to appear around him, materializing on his body in a whirl of sand, on command from him, as does his shield.
His hammer, it is said, was once owned by a Frost Giant named Ulthar that terrorized the northern trade routes for many years, destroying entire caravans and all but bringing trade north of the Desert to a halt. Ahmet-mose is said to have gone there and waited for the Giant, challenging it to single combat, taking naught but his armor, his shield, and the hammer his father had given him when he left the Ptahmenu city years ago. Ulthar, laughing all the while, agreed to the challenge made by the strange man, and proceeded to meet Ahmet-mose’s first strike with a swing of his own that shattered the smaller hammer into bits. Ahmet-mose, angered greatly, is said to have beat the Giant down with nothing but his shield, using it to devastating effect on the creature, first smashing the things knee caps to bring it to size, then crushing its ribs, and finally finishing it off with its own hammer, crushing its head into shards of ice, due to the magical properties of the weapon. He claimed the weapon as his own from that point on, effortlessly wielding the giant warhammer with one hand.
Once, in his travels beyond the sands of the wastelands, he came across a town ablaze, its citizens running to and fro in panic. In the center of the town was the cause of the crisis, nothing less than a fully grown brass scaled dragon, its fiery breath responsible for the flames that engulfed many of the buildings in the town. When the dragon saw him approaching, it opened its mouth wide, sending a screeching blast of flame forth, blackening the ground further. The fiery breath engulfed Ahmet-mose, wrapping around him and licking at his backside as he pushed forward through the blaze, the wooden slats of his shield charring from the intense heat that they were repelling. When he had pushed through to close enough, his right arm brought the hammer up in a powerful under hand swing that slammed the dragon’s mouth closed, snapping its jaw and preventing it from issuing forth its deadly breath. The dragon, in intense agony, spun away, sending Ahmet-mose flying away. With a snap of its wings, the dragon took flight, steadily gaining altitude as it spiraled tightly around the town square. Pushing himself to his feet, Ahmet-mose didn’t let that deter him. Taking his shield that lay next to him on the ground, the straps having snapped from the force of the impact with the dragon’s tail, he pulled it back like a discus thrower and hurled it skyward, sending it spinning like a top through the air. The heavy shield, weighted around the rim with a steel reinforcement, caught the dragon right where its wing connected with its back, snapping the bone that ran up the length of the wing. Unable to stay in the sky, the dragon plummeted to the ground, snapping its neck upon impact. Taking the remnants of his shield, he had a new one fashioned from the hide of the fallen dragon and the shattered remains of the shield that felled it, by a smithy from that very town.
But no one really knows the truth behind all of these stories. Some say that they are pure truth; others say they are nothing but pure fiction, concocted by the man himself to further his reputation. Most though believe that they are simply stories, like any other, with truth at their core, but embellished upon over the years to make them more enjoyable to tell in a tavern over a cold mug of ale, as most people enjoy doing. No one knows for sure though, besides Ahmet-mose himself and those that witnessed each individual event. And even he seems to be fuzzy on the details, perfectly content to laugh and joke and embellish every story even more, making them sound like ridiculous accidents of dumb luck, rather than skill and bravery.
These days, Ahmet-mose adventures less regularly, but in a more organized manner. He spends much of his time in taverns, without his distinctive armor on, catching up with friends and listening to other’s stories, hiding in the ambiguity that he gains without his trademark items, enjoying a bit of retirement. Some people still recognize him, for he is never more than arms length from his hammer, and many recognize it. But even then, he laughs and brushes it off. When he does adventure, it tends to be with a small group of companions that he has gained over the years. The group is diverse, including a wide variety of different people’s and abilities, and is never dull. A pair of brothers, spellcasters both, brings the power of the magical arts to the group from the Far East. A Desert Elf, deadly fast in both movement and with his weapon, acts as a scout for the group, and another sword arm during battle. (More additions planned as more people post definitive characters……….Let me know if anyone dislikes how I describe their character, or if for some reason you aren’t going to already be a member of the group. I am only making this addition, because Communism said that we apparently all knew each other for quite a while.)