GOBHA GRA-UMHA
the wandering Orsimer
apprentice of the art of metalsmithing

"Metalsmithing. A fine, honourable craft. It matters not if you're making an artisan chest plate or a simple iron blade, you approach each the same way - every piece is your finest work! The metallic smells of the forge, heavy with sweet wood smoke, sweat, leather... it gets me every time. Working the forge is the most rewarding and satisfying feeling, for there is nothing to compare to smithing. Nothing.

"I started the craft at a young age. We were all the same - boisterous, mouthy young Orsimer bickering and fighting for attention, trying to impress. But when it came to smithing, I listened. I watched. I asked more questions than the others. I practiced almost every day - casting iron, beating and shaping iron pauldrons, brazing metals, tempering a steel blade, fixing axe head to handle and finding that it balances perfectly... over and over again the principles of metalwork were applied, until it became second nature. The forge-wife could see I had an appetite, could see the passion and care in my smithing. She obliged me. I could not have asked for a more understanding teacher. There is still much to learn, and that pleases me, because the long journey to becoming a mastersmith is one I desperately wish to take. Aye, the hammer and anvil suit me well."

I STAND BEFORE YOU...
A proud face, strong jaw with dark, stern looking eyes. Cares not that she isn't one of the 'pretty' Orsimer. Not particularly tall, but quite muscular and powerful for her age. The stink of graft, the forge and a recent life lived under canvas follows her around. Simple, worn, functional clothing, though more often seen wearing a heavy, blackened apron.

THE FEW WHO KNOW...
Deeply passionate and knowledgeable about her craft. Less intense and formidable than her appearance might suggest. Enjoys the company of others when it suits her. Very fond of strong beer, a roaring fire and occasional raucous behaviour to be found in the taverns and inns along the road. And yet despite this jovial mien, she carries a painful burden - a burden of loneliness, sadness, of loss and of broken kinship.
"My home was a small, simple stronghold made with thick, dark grey timber. Isolated, far from the main trade routes and only accessible by a narrow track, it sits high up in the hills with views of The Reach to the east and Craglorn to the west. I can still see it very clearly in my mind. Every timber, every stone, every step we took from the valley below to the main gate above - I know it all. The harshness of the mountains offered protection and very few ventured our way. We kept to ourselves, living in relative peace, though maintaining our sense of duty to the clan, living in unity and strength, as is our way.

"The clan was small by comparison with others, but the longhouse would quickly fill in an evening when Orsimer would gather to feed, and to drink. Often the forge-wife would tell us tales of fighting, of working the forge, of a life seen as outcasts by many. And sometimes, just sometimes, she would speak in hushed tones of other places, of other smithing practices in distant cities. Stories of other Orsimer working in far-flung forges. A life outside of the massive, grey palisade wall that defines our boundary. Hints and glimpses of a previous life, we thought. Maybe she was wrong to mention them, but i'm glad she did, for it stirred something in me. It made me question what I wanted. It made me question my sense of place."

OUTSIDE OF THE FORGE...
Powerful arms mean Gobha can hit hard. Prefers hand axes with light shields. Naturally protective of her kind, though holds no real grudge with or disinterest to any other race. Happy to share a mug of ale with anyone, just don't ask to share her food. Has no magickal abilities of note. Proud, occasionally intense, but considerate and 'decent'. Can be moody and quick to temper, though this soon dissipates at the threshold of a forge.
"I left the stronghold almost twelve years ago, just as the forge-wife had done.

"It was a choice I knew I might face - the clan, or the chance to better myself at the forge. I pity others who have had to decide, for the guilt still sits with me. And yet, it isn't a weakness to seek change. It isn't a weakness to stand alone. The Orsimer feel sorrow, regret and hurt just as much as other races, though maybe we don't show it. Just don't mock me for it; the last yellow-skinned elf to do that to me lost the ability to speak...."