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Dorimun was an Amaran from the Homnirah Tribe, born nearly six centuries before the Storm Wars. A giant of a man at seven-foot-three and over four-hundred pounds, Dorimun followed the ways of Whalin as a monk on the Amaran Savanna. A soft-spoken man with a bass voice like thunder, the Homnirahn healer led a peaceful life with his wife and children.
Unbeknownst to all, the goblins had a new ruler. Whether by accident or design, the goblin king Likt was both intelligent and cunning, keeping the goblins quiet until their numbers were nearly unstoppable. Using boring beetles and tor bees by means of nurtured goblin shamans and druids, Likt's forces drove across the Amaran Savanna, consuming everything in sight. In one night, while Dorimun was away, healing an old friend's mother -- the Homnirah Tribe was wiped out. The monk's wife, children, family, and everyone related to him died in one night. When Dorimun found out, he went ballistic. Iron bracers he had worn for years as gifts from his wife crackled with raw electrical energy, tinged with the green of Whalin's rage. Though a God of Compassion, there were limits to Whalin's tolerance. The largest Amaran of all declared war on the goblin race. Aided by his old friend -- a ranger of Elinthar named Nihlinel -- Dorimun set about destroying Likt's rough-hewn empire. Moving more quickly than runners with messengers, the two Amaran blood-brothers began a viscious direct assault against the goblin hordes. Dorimun was unstoppable, so blood-lusted that his iron bracers were bathed in black goblin blood. He ripped off limbs and tore out hearts, as Nihlinel turned the boring beetles and the tor bees against their masters. Likt's carefully crafted plans crumbled around him because of one man. The goblin shamans ran in terror from Dorimun, after several of their spells proved ineffective. The goblin druids were outclassed by Nihlinel's cunning desperation -- a desperation to save his friend's soul. Dorimun was truly crazed, blood-lusted out of his mind and his sanity. Nihlinel had no choice but to convert the animals under the goblin druids, because there was no conscious thought or plan in Dorimun's attacks. Only pure, blind rage and destruction existed for the last Homnirahn. The other tribes at last caught up with the trail of blood and destruction that Dorimun and Nihlinel had left behind. Warriors, rangers, druids and shamans alike were left weak-kneed and nausious by the grotesquely hung bodies the two blood-brothers had left behind. Hurrying to catch up, their spears and darts tore through what little resistance was left behind. The goblin leaders that Likt had appointed tried to reorganize behind the path that Dorimun and Nihlinel wrought, but were cut down by the other Amarans. Finally Likt himself cowered in fear, deep in the tunnels of the boring beetles and the tor bees. What the goblins treasured as valuable lay at his feet -- covered in his urine at every bit of thunder from the earth. Even the goblins knew his name. It seemed as though the giant wings of the tor beetles hummed his name. The boring beetles' legs clawed his name in the earth. Dorimun was coming. The gods alone know what happened in that last grizzly battle. Try though he might, Nihlinel could not keep up with the powerhouse, and Dorimun went into the heart of the goblin hive alone. The ranger was rescued by the Amaran war party, which battled its way through the fleeing goblins, beetles, and huge bees to the remains of the self-styled goblin emperor. Dorimun's heart had given out, after he had his revenge on the huge, almost man-sized goblin. At first, the war party thought that the humming might be the distant echoes of the tor bee hive, or the deep hum of beetles within the earth. But the hum came from the monk's bracers, where the blood of the goblin king bubbled and burned -- the creature's heart still in his hands. Thereafter, the bracers stayed within the line of Nihlinel, until they were taken during the Inquisition. The bracers lost the hum of green electrical energy. They did not lose their power. The iron was blackened in places, appearing as marbled steel and shadow that never tarnished. Whomever wore the iron bands gained a touch of Dorimun's strength -- the very strength that wore out his heart. The bands confer upon the wearer +2 to Strength, up to a maximum of 19, Goriman's strength.
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