Description
The most prominent feature of dwarves is often their height, or lack
thereof, and this mature male stands a full head shorter than the
average male. Tight curly red hair tinged with the first hints of
grey clings to his head, and beard is shows the waves of having
recently been braided. His eyebrows are thick but not unkempt, and
he wears dusky leather armor withbits of twigs glued to it every which
way, so that the shadow he casts might appear jagged and
wild. Golden grasses have been tucked into the lacing surrounding
his boots, worn black leather with recently repaired soles. On his
left arm he carries a broad shield featuring a white hammer
resting in a field of swaying grasses amid a ring of trees.
Role
Background
Added Tue Aug 2 15:53:10 2005 at level 10:
Mah earliest memories were in a mountain village with mah
parents, who ran a small smithy working in whitesteel but
trading also in mithril. Ah don't recollect much about it, but
ah could compare it to Akan or someplace nearby, for it was up
in some hills and surrounded bah old growth trees. With mah
parents we'd travel ter a city every now an then ter trade,
and if'n mah father were in a good mood, he'd fill mah head
with stories of battles with duergar and demons below the
mountain and ghosts flitting among the trees. Ah listened to
all d' stories, just like every kid do, and ah took them fer
Truth.
Well, on one sich day the three o' us were bumpin along d'
trail and our cart was rattlin along behind our mule, and mah
nose gits to filling with this reek like boiled boots and sour
beer. Ah'm squint up my face as ah look around to find the
source of the smell, an mah father looks at his wife and
they both start picking up the pace, pullin ol' Sandstone
along like the woods themselves were ter chew them up and
spit them out. An in a way, something like that happened, for
as quick as a gnome can pinch a copper there were figures
around us, orcs wielding crude wooden spears and the odd
rusted weapon, and they descended on us like carrion crows.
Mah father drew his hammer, but he wernt no good at fighting
unless both he and t'other guy were both drunk, so when ah
look back on it now, ah understand why he pushed me away from
the fightin.
As mah mother reached into the cart to pull out a sword, the
leader of those orcs bellowed and everywhere ah looked there
was dust and legs and the business ends of spears. Two o'
those orcs came after me, me ah tell you, the young sapling
that ah was, so when mah father pushed me, ah fell to the
ground and rolled. Ah didn't think ah was so lucky then, but
ah was lucky enough to roll right between Sandstone's legs
and off the trail, and like a little rabbit ah hid under
the brush as the spears those two orcs had for me went into
our mule. See, ter an orc mind, a mule would cook up better
than a mere wood chip like me, but ah was right in hiding
there, fer where the mule was the main course, ah could have
made them a nice pie.
Ah could hear the battle, but ah dint see nothing of it from
the brush, an as ah listened ah heard d' sounds of it change
in increments. At d'first it was the roar and clatter as
d' orcs and mah parents swung at each other, but it seemed
in time like every which one was getting tired, for things
dimmed some, and then there was this loud shout by the orcs
and much hooting. With d' first of my parents down, it dint
take long for mah other to fall, and then ah could hear them
scrabbling through the wagon an fighting each other for spoils.
Lookin back on it now, ah remember hearing the birds calling
to each other through the trees, but it wernt birds that sent
those arrows into that group of raiders. Ah learned later,
after the wood elves showed themselves, that they kin talk
like most every creature if'n they wish, and some of them kin
even talk to the animals and git answers back. Like silver-
haired ghosts they were, and in short order no more orcs were
hooting. Ah might have cried then, fer ah didn't hear mah
parents, either.
With the orcs gone, it wasn't long befo
A pivotal moment
Added Tue Oct 4 22:32:32 2005 at level 31:
.
"Salvator, I have noticed you have been speaking recently in a different
manner." Teramindalel spoke in mellow tones like wooden wind chimes, and
I looked up from the light impression of a doe's hoof in the mossy turf.
. "Ah have been speakin differently?" This track was not as deep
as it should have been, with the sharp tips of the hooves at irregular
depth. "This doe is favoring its left front leg, but ah dern't see why."
. Teramindalel stood close, his trousers almost brushing my right
sleeve, but in my mind he felt miles away. He was dressed in a subtle
brown tunic that could pass for a earth or wood depending on how the light
played upon it, and his boots were flat green that reminded me of dry lichens.
I couldn't see his face without turning to look at him, and I was pointedly
keeping my eyes fixed on the game sign, but I could easily see in my mind
how only his eyes betrayed a hint of emotion. Everything else about him was
so terribly dispassionate, so measured.
. "Yes, you've adopted an accent. Do you think it will bring you
closer to your dwarven cousins?"
. I ran my finger around the edge of the track, feeling the soft edge
tremble and fall away. The deer had passed here about half a day ago, I
guessed. "Ah have no use fer them, sir. They hurt deh Mother to hooerd up
metals and gems to fill storerooms. Their greed knows no bounds, and they
hide beneath the stone rather than appreciating what Thar-Eris gives us.
Ah reject them."
He put his hand on my head then, his fingers cool and their touch
foreign to me as they smoothed my wild locks. Teramindalel had taken me
into his home, but growing up I had keenly felt how I was but a poor
replacement for his own son, being less agile, less adept at wordplay,
inept at even the most rudimentary magicks. Oh sure, I could wrestle with
the best of my hosts, but no standard bow could fit my height, and only
specially-made tunics fit my frame. When we were tutored on Eirrifin's
porch, I tried every time to ignore how different I was, how lonely I felt,
and in that moment all the patronizing stares and poignant laughs and
lingering pain were brought bubbling to the surface by his touch, and my
shoulders shuddered as I silently cried.
. "Salvator," he half-whispered, "dwarves as a whole are not evil,
nor should they be hated. Thar-Eris does not reject them anymore than
she rejects the beaver who clears her forests or the badger for digging
out his den. The living world is made of all things, including the beavers
and badgers and snakes, and not one creature of the natural world is turned
away. Not even dwarves."
. I watched as my tears fell into the sun-warmed earth, puddling for
the briefest of instants before they were absorbed into the ground without
leaving so much as a mark.
. He spoke again, his voice flowing like a quiet forest stream. "I do
not know why you were given to our people, Salvator, but your heart is pure.
It is up to you to find your life's purpose."
Coming of Age
Added Mon Oct 17 19:52:47 2005 at level 51:
. "Father, ah have come as yer have bade meh." I took my place beside
him on the step, the roots of the silver maple that had been magically
shaped over the centuries to become what I called home. Whisps of sweet
smelling smoke spiralled lazily up from his pipe toward the forest canopy,
a sure sign he had been deep in thought.
. We sat in silence as the moon moved slowly across the sky, and I watched
with calm detachment as water trickled from the aquifer over the moss-
covered rocks to wander through the wood. As the leaves above stirred
from the night breeze, starlight glittered in random flashes like distant
fireflies until in the distant east the horizon began to take on a
soft purple hue.
. He then put down his pipe. "I remember when I took you in, my son,
and I remember the frightened boy that has grown...has grown to be the
young adult that sits here before me. You are young in the years of elves,
but I see that your beard has entered its summer. It is time for you to
undertake the Trials."
. I fought the urge to shout with joy even as a tremble of fear rolled
through my limbs. I had felt that I was ready for three winters now, and
each time I had moved to bring up the conversation, Teramindalel had cut
that line of talk with a smooth lesson on the virtue of patience.
. "Go to the Great Tree, and prepare for your ordeal."
Inner conflict & epiphany
Added Tue Nov 8 23:41:09 2005 at level 51:
.
.
I have done as you have asked, Innis, in striving to root out the evil
underlying the Tribunal. I've exposed how the letter of the Spire's
laws are not upheld in spirit, and I have found someone who seems to
understand the depth of the corruption therein.
.
I'd heard that the Village was repeatedly raiding the Spire, so I agreed
to assist Alriac in venturing into Galadon to hunt the duergar. We found
Dolza, Bruckledim, and Surthurr attacking the inner guardian of the Spire,
presumably in yet another attempt to kill Volicitry. Volictry was sorely
wounded and I believe he fled; Alriac and I slew Surthurr and escaped with
grievous wounds from the surviving giant and dwarf.
.
The felar lawman informed me that as we saved him and the Spire from certain
defeat, it would be unjust for him to place a warrant out on me, and so a
middling thief who could defend neither the Spire nor Volicitry felt compelled
to brand me a criminal. Again. This does not trouble me overmuch, Innis, for
I have come to learn that the laws of civilization are not only blind, but
blind to justice. What troubles me is as follows: Volicitry felt compelled
to fight me, whether out of a respect for his position among the Tribunals or
out of the political backlash he would receive should he allow me to go
unchallenged.
.
I told him that I did not wish to fight him, that I wished to avoid either
of us dying, and he told me that should it get to the point of his death
he would flee. I resolved that I would not flee, and the only protective
measures I prayed for were steady legs and an aura, that he might see a
token defense and that his innocent life might be spared. I used no
offensive communes, and I had hoped that in smiting his shoulder with my
mace he would drop his weapon and flee.
.
He died despite my intentions, Innis, for he did not flee and I could not
quickly enough break off the fight. And though his ghost smiled after
and said he could now face his mates within the Tribunal for having tried to
bring me in, I find no solace in his words. A noble, honorable innocent
was slain while the vile, the corrupt, the ignorant walk as respected
members of their society.
.
* * *
.
Who am I? I speak as a dwarf, but it is unnatural to me, and yet I am
not like the elves by whom I was raised. I am more at home in the woods
than underground, but I am more suited to perform the vile work of mining
than the woodcraft I struggled to learn as a child. I have no home, no
kin, no lineage.
.
I do not know what I am. The code of a paladin requires I respect laws
and those who uphold them, but my experience has shown me that the laws of
civilization are meant to ensnare the innocent, obfuscate the intent of
dark forces, and protect the tainted from the Light. I am no paladin who
can somehow ignore the evil around him in blind service to unjust
implementations of the law, and I see little chance of reconiliation.
.
* * *
.
I long for the whisper of the trees and the feel of grass between my toes,
or an earlier time when I played near my father's forge and felt the heat
scorching my face, but the days of simple peace are long past, if ever they
truly existed. The forest of illusion has been cleared to reveal new growth.
.
I gave myself into the