Need a character background written up?

[Tawmis]

So, my character just died. So I'm bringing in a new one:
Warforged envoy
Cleric of the forge domain
Worshipper of moradin, God of dwarves and the forge
Name: powerhammer
This wardrobes fights with a war hammer and a shield, and carries a pyroconverger, basically a flamethrower.
Moradin is the creator of dwarven kind, just about all dwarves worship him, as he crafted them from stone with his own hands. Powerhammer was made by the dwarves, specifically, the holy crafters of moradin, the most referred of all dwarven smiths. The dwarves consider him to be the natural progression of life, moradin made them from stone, and they have now made power hammer from stone. Moradin himself is immensely proud of both his people for their work, and of the warforged they made.
So, powerhammer is pretty robotic, but still sentient, but he does follow "prime directives" and a strict code set by moradin.
His prime directive is to protect what is good, defend what is right, destroy evil, and create beauty. Oh, and to protect the religion at all costs.
He's considered a dwarf by all dwarvish people, he was made in a dwarven forge, brought to life by dwarves, and follows their god. He's a dwarf in their eyes.
Also, among his prime directive, installed by the dwarves, is a secret directive given by Moradin upon his indoctrination into the church:
While others forge steel or gold, powerhammer is to forge something greater. While others temper blades and strengthen walls, he is to temper life. His directive from moradin is this: to find people who are strong, both in mind, body, and virtue, and temper them. He is to forge these worthy souls into blades harder than diamond, to stoke their fires of hope and faith, and make them into heros that will shine like polished armor in these dark days.

So yeah, that's my character. I know it's a lot, but I know you work best when you have detail. To give you some info about our game, we're currently running from a large horde of demons, undead, and dead friends brought back in a crude semblance of life to kill us. We've so far lost 4 pcs, 3 died in game, one died so someone could switch characters. The only three surviving original party members are pissed and want revenge. So, that's the darkness were facing right now. If this is too much for you, or you don't like all the info, then don't bother with it, thanks regardless!

This was fun to write!
I had never DM'ed or played a Warforged (I did not care for the Eberron game world).
But it's cool that the Warforged have carried over.
Someone else in here had a Warforged character background; so that was my first time taking a stab at that.
Naturally the Warlock mentioned comes from someone else's origin I wrote on here. I love leaving strings for DM's to tug on for additional adventure ideas.
Also if you're familiar with Dragonlance you should probably catch the reference (there's a few; two fairly obvious; one a little more hidden).
As always, please give feedback! Whether you liked it, loved it, hated it - I want to hear the honest truth!
In the meantime, enjoy!
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The legend states that Moradin, God of the Dwarves, was born of stone and metal and that his soul was the eternal fire that lit the furnace for which he forged the world.

I look at my hands, decorated in the blood of my enemies, flexing my fingers. I am alive, and yet I am not. I pick up my war hammer and wipe the blood of the orc lying on my feet on his tattered leathers, his skull crushed so hard that his spine had ripped out of his back.

I was born of stone and metal.

My name is Powerhammer and I am a Warforged.

I do not have a heart or organs, but inside me burns a fire that keeps me alive.

I do not need to eat, drink, breathe, or even rest. I was made by the strong and powerful Dwarven Clan known as the Embers of the Forge. It had been Moradin’s Chosen, Clerics known as Sonnlinor, who had spent months forging me into what I am now; a living weapon.

Prime Directive: Protect what is good. Defend what is right. Destroy evil. Create beauty.

The Dwarves who forged me treat me as one of their own; and though I need not drink, they designed me so that I am able to process liquid. I do not suffer from the effects of intoxication but I understand the merriment and joy.

The battle cry of another charging Orc brings me back to the present. The Red Eye Orcs have long been trouble for the Embers of the Forge. The marauding Orcs have made constant attacks on our home; their leader, an Orc Warlock named Oragin Doomhammer believes that the Embers of the Forge is hiding some great secret.

As the Orc charges, I raise my shield and bash it into him as he charges me. Stunned he falls backward, trying to regain his senses. At my side “a weapon of the forge” directly powered by the flame inside of lit up. It’s a weapon called a pyroconverger, and with a simple press of the weapon, it’s like a venomous snake spewing fire. The orc screams as his dry, crumpled leathers immediately catch fire.

As he flailed about on the floor, I picked up my war hammer and silenced him forever. The Red Eye Orcs were retreating now but they would be back. They always come back.

For tonight, we celebrated at Old Man Flint’s Fireforge, a small tavern with a tremendous amount of heart. Dwarves clanked their mugs in celebration, each describing how many orcs that they had killed tonight; and each time they repeated their version of the story, the amount of kills went up by one or two each time.

While the others celebrated, I sat in the corner. There was something wrong. I couldn’t explain it. One of the Sonnlinor had once described the sensation of “knowing something wasn’t quite right” as a sense called Instinct.

I was having an Instinct.

Despite having fought off the Red Eye Orcs, yet again, I did not find the typical satisfaction I normally felt. I could not celebrate with those who had called my “brother.”

As the night progressed, the celebrations slowly waned, and Dwarves left to stumble their way back home. Jasper’s voice awoke me from my internal thoughts as I delved into this sensation I was feeling. Jasper placed his hand on my shoulder, “Are you not going back to the Cathedral?”

I looked up at Jasper and could not answer him.

Jasper smiled warmly. “Do not worry, my friend. You are always welcome to sleep here.”

Sleep. Jasper knew I did not sleep, but when it was peaceful, I would disconnect from myself and “shut down” – similar to “sleeping.”

When Jasper blew out the last candle, I let the darkness swallow me whole.

Then I saw it; a horde of undead; a horde of demons; and brave warriors fighting against friends who had been raised as a part of this undead army.

“It is time,” I heard a voice whisper. “Your hidden prime objective is now activated.”

My eyes flared open and I found myself walking, almost uncontrollably, in the middle of the night.

This horde of demons; this horde of undead; they would pay.

I will put them down and send them to their maker.

Just as my own maker had whispered those words in my mind.

“It is time.”