Description
A finely chiseled sculpture, mottled granite, defines
the skin of this svirfnebli. The complex hue of his
body leaves little comparison but to the subterran rocks
which create their homes. Although of certainly short
height, by almost any terms, the three-foot form does
not seem easily dismissable. The thin, balding hair
is equally gray and falls flat towards the skull, making
it almost a forgotten after-effect. The eyes, however,
shine in contrast to the otherwise stony exterior with a
gemlike luminous, perhaps amethyst, quality. The imagery
of gems in stone is, likely unintentionally, carried through
in his garb, which is voluminous and dark, hiding rather
than revealing matters.
Role
The Past of Fendracorl
Added Wed Aug 3 06:52:25 2005 at level 17:
The depths of the world serve as a source for many things
in life. Some plunder for gems and wealth, without any
realization of the limits. Others view it as a ground to
build up forces for assaults upon the topside. Others
view it as a simple home of decent folk. Common folk,
miners and mages, guards, gilders and gemsmiths all living
their lives in a mostly sheltered home. Many leave the
stoney home, looking to see more than the rock above,
seeking to aid others, seeking to battle others, seeking.
The depths change slowly for the Svirfnebli. Long lived,
and long at home in Cragstone, they do not rush quickly
into action, but rather like the stone they work, slowly
mold the world, their city, through orderly actions,
careful thought and deed.
Fendracorl grew up in Cragstone, he has always lived in
Cragstone, and that is simply the way of things. He does
not dislike his home, does not dislike his life, in fact
he considers his homeland the best of all that he has ever
heard or seen--not that he heard much, outside a fitting
education of the world at large. However, he does not
know what his place should be. He is no miner. Oh, the
heft of the axe is certainly fine enough, he strikes the
rock precisely, exactly, but it is not him. He is no
mage, no artisan, and standing a post alongside the warden
is both honorable and noble, but that too does not move
him, resonate within him as it should.
He has little desire to leave Cragstone. It's not that he
fears the open sky, necessarily, but well he isn't certain
the he will care for it. Leaving is not an easy choice,
the unknown might well be worse than the known--but to
accept a life just because there is not another easy option
would not be honest to himself, or whatever post he took.
Looking about the Holy Caverns, he knew he would return
though a question arose if it would ever truly be his home
again. He waited till night fell. Letting the shroud of
dark cover the sky, only pinpoints of light sparkling like
gems, he strode out, into a new life.