The God of War and Valor

War, Valor, and the Honored Dead

The Reavers Path- a List of Doctrines that help to guide those who seek to follow Hrothmunds path of ascension.

A Spear and chained hookblade crossed with the chain encircling them both.

To suffer the cruelty of life is to survive, and survival proves your worthiness of joining me in the Halls of Valor. To end it prematurely is to be a coward, and the suffer eternally in the Halls of Torment.

The Convergence; an event that occurs roughly every 3000 years, where "the Gods walk among men once again."

To find the Rightful Rulers of Ragnias through war and victory   To keep the realms prepared for the inevitable Final War

Hrothmund is monstrously built—towering over lesser beings with a godly physique, he a living engine of war shaped by , millennia of conquest. Despite his size, he moves with brutal precision, his speed as terrifying as his strength. When he calls upon his power, his veins ignite with liquid fire, glowing beneath his skin like the molten iron.

Hrothmund’s body is a fortress of flesh—his skin like stretched rawhide, hardened by war and weather. His chest is broad as a battering ram, arms like the gnarled branches of an ancient tree, and his legs rise like pillars of stone carved from the earth itself. An intense burn scar brands the right side of his body, creeping from forearm to shoulder, across his chest and up the side of his neck— a reminder of his great battle against the Great Dragon

His Red-gold eyes burn like a thousand suns.

Left-handed

Battle Roar- a war cry of unrivaled potential, able to shatter castle walls and bring Gods to their knees, used when Hrothmund was first facing the Great Dragon to bring it out of the sky.   Unfathomable Rage- Bloodlust consumes Hrothmund, sending him into a blind rage of unparalleled ferocity.

A large heavy belt, a fur cloak worn around the waist, reinforced with iron rings and chainmail. Uroksvaal on his hip, the chain wrapped around his left arm and coiling eternally.

Uroksvaal and Rozol, A chained hookblade and a spear.

  He was once Olaf Longarm—a warlord whose reach in battle was said to stretch across fields, whose presence on the front lines broke sieges and silence alike. He rose not from bloodline or prophecy, but from the crucible of war itself, carving his name into the bones of history with iron and fury. Where others saw rebellion, Olaf saw necessity—a world enslaved by flame and dominion could not be reasoned with. It had to be broken.   He was the first to defy the Fireborn openly. While others conspired in shadow, Olaf drew his blade beneath an open sky, daring the gods of the old world to strike him down. They did not—and from that moment on, he was followed. Not out of loyalty, but out of awe.   Olaf’s campaign against the Fireborn was never one of brute force alone. He knew the tyrant could not be overthrown by sword or spell in isolation—it would require a pantheon of mortals willing to become something more. Together with Adaliah, the daughter of the Great Dragon, he set out across the realms to gather those with the strength, will, and insight to stand against the world’s creator.   From the farthest steppe, he rode with Skandros, the storm-warrior who answered only to the sky.   In the frostbitten silence, he found Molrak, the unyielding survivor, who asked for nothing and stood as a sturdy shield-brother.   In mist-veiled highlands, he met Eidhen, the duelist who could not be deceived, and whose blade cast five shadows.   He sought out Vael’Ruun, the mind who heard the world’s song beneath its skin, and listened longer than most would dare.   From a merchant court of stars and scripture, he convinced Naqira, the flame-smith, to turn her gaze from the heavens to the forge of rebellion.   In the deep dreamlight, he sat beside Solonu, who asked no questions, only listened—and joined without a word.   And from among all these powers, only one matched him in vision and command: Elvira Calvestra, who would become Ingemar, the storm-bound queen of Ragnias.   Olaf did not demand fealty. He offered purpose. He did not promise survival. He offered a chance to remake the world.   And they followed.   With these soon-to-be gods at his side, Olaf led the final campaigns against the Fireborn and broke the tyrant’s hold. He led his allies in a titanic battle against the Great Dragon, the Fireborn's God of War. Olaf and his band were successful, and upon the Great Dragons' corpse, he reached into with more than hand and tore from him the mantle of God of War, taking it for himself. When the war was over and the Fireborn cast down, the world was raw, unstable—still burning. It was Olaf who led the Separation, dividing the Realms and anchoring them to the void through Primordia, ensuring that no single will could ever again dominate all creation.   He reclaimed his homelands and founded his Old Kingdom, its name lost to time. It was a realm of cold stone, warrior’s law, and enduring will. There, he ruled for nearly a century—a god not yet ascended, but more than mortal.   His law was simple: strength rules. Tempered by honor valor, only those of his blood, proven in battle, could take his throne. That decree still stands, despite contrary believes.   When at last his mortal body faltered, Hrothmund did not fall. He rose—ascending to a higher plane and crafting the Great Halls, a vast fortress wrought from gold-veined mountain, where the honored dead feast and train until the day of the Final War.   Before his death, his body was sealed beneath the heart of his capital—the Sanctus Bellum. There, Ingemar sealed herself beside him, passing from the world in silence and love.   Their resting place lies entombed in ice and iron, beneath a monolith that is said to hold up the sky.   Some believe that when the Final War comes, Hrothmund will awaken and lead the Honored Dead across the Realms one last time.

The Great Victory- Tore off the wings of the Great Dragon. The Separation- tore existence into thousands of pieces, creating the Realms.

To suffer the cruelty of life is to survive, and survival proves your worthiness of joining me in the Halls of Valor

To endure long enough to see an end to the universe, and be among the last few beings left to battle during the Final War

Hrothmund is honorable beyond compare- his word is as strong and unbending as steel. If he declares his favor for one side of a battle, he will not falter in their assistance. He is also very generous to his family, willing to grant incredible amounts of godly strength to his descendants in their darkest hours, leaving only enough for himself to not fade away and be forced to reconstitute his body.

Hrothmund neglects his role as a father figure in many of his children's and his descendant's lives, acting more so as a God to rule over them than a guiding hand to assist them.