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 Dvalin, son of Dain I am Dvalin. My father is Dain, the Lord of Khazul-dan and Warden of the Memories. Since I was born, my life has been duty, service, determination. The dwarves wage a war in the darkness, far beneath the feet of the halflings and elves of the sunlit lands. We fight to preserve our records, the memories of our ancestors. We fight to ensure that topsiders aren't outflanked and destroyed. We fight because we have always fought. When the Betrayer rose, the dwarves retreated into their fortresses, warrens of stone and silence. At their height, they were places of grandeur, lit by the light of ten thousand lamps refracted through countless gemstones, until the night beneath the earth shone like noontime. Dwarves were born, labored, and died beneath the earth, never seeing the sun, for who needed it? We had our Memories, the great edifices of crystal engraved with the knowledge of the ancients; our knowledge was writ in stone, not paper. What had we to fear from the Betrayer? On the Night of Breaking, we learned. Agents of the Betrayer, awful creatures of the subterranean night, rose and overwhelmed our defenders. First one Stonehold, then another fell to the unstoppable tide. Lamps were extinguished forever, for his minions do not need light to see. Blood coursed through the canals and waterfalls of Ghan-haran, most beautiful of the dwarven cities. And in each Stonehold, the Memories were shattered. Knowledge beyond accounting was lost forever. It is said the ancient dwarves came from somewhere far away, and the tale of their journey was scattered across the Memories. We will never know, now. Only a bare few of the dwarven cities remain. Their kingdom is lost. Only one Stonehold remains: Khazul-dan, the Shield in the Darkness. It is a martial place, spartan and cold. Only the elaborate carvings show the beauty the dwarves are capable of; they have little time for luxury now. Every dwarf spends a period of time in the military, defending the last extant Memories and the few Remembrancers still trained to read them. There are other dwarven settlements, even further behind the lines-- outposts, mining facilities, even a small city or two-- but if Khazul-dan falls, they will not be far behind. The line is drawn here, and it is drawn in stone, not sand. The dwarves will stand. We have always done so. But... the time has come to admit that we cannot stand alone. My father, Dain, knew this. He sent me, his only son, to join this "Fellowship," for only I have the authority to speak in his name, and he could not be spared. The night-war continues, even now, and dwarves are dying in darkness while we speak. But if we did nothing, their deaths would be in vain. If this Fellowship has any hope of bringing down the Betrayer, then it has my axe and my Thunderer, my will and my blood. The Memories of my people lie but a day's journey from the front lines of this war. It must be ended before they are broken, or the dwarves will have lost their ancestors forever. Dhuran kharag. I will not permit it. My people are engineers and warriors of the highest quality. We build engines of steel and flame to illuminate the subterranean gloom with their thundering. We craft weapons capable of cleaving stone, if wielded in capable hands. I am trained in battle, yes, but also in the secrets of turaghaz, black powder. I have much to offer the Fellowship. And I look forward to learning from it. pre:Name: Dvalin, son of Dain, the Lord of Khazul-dan and Warden of the Memories Look: Hard eyes, braided beard, pale skin, soldier's armor Agenda: Be Brave, Take Risks; Tell Us Of Your People; Improve The World Around You; The Dwarven Craft Stats: Blood +2 [ ] Courage +0 [ ] Grace -1 [ ] Sense +1 [ ] Wisdom +1 [ ] *Iron +2 [ ] quote:Moves: Quorum fucked around with this message at 23:22 on Sep 15, 2015 |
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Sep 15, 2015 22:03
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A Fellowship of literally nothing but lost heirs to various kingdoms. I would play the poo poo out of that. One of them is the last of his line, another one "rules" a kingdom that doesn't exist anymore, yet another got overthrown in a socialist revolution and will get guillotined if he ever goes back...
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Sep 16, 2015 06:32
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Mors Rattus posted:Dvalin, son of Dain, the Dwarf (Quorum): Your people did not believe they could be harmed from without, for their Stoneholds were impregnable. Who betrayed the secret of the dark paths to the Betrayer, and why was it so personal for you? My uncle, Dhorn, grew covetous of my father's power, and sought to overthrow him and take his seat for himself-- along with my mother, whom he had always desired, deep in his heart. Through some art, the Betrayer learned of his and spoke with him in secret, offering him all that he coveted... if only Dhorn would take Varethrax as an ally. Dhorn agreed. My father and his guard learned that Dhorn was gone from the citadel too late. As they pursued him, my mother insisted on accompanying them; she had always been fond of Dhorn, and hoped that she could reason with him, whatever was wrong. They tracked Dhorn to one of the countless narrow, twisting stairways that lead by means of hidden doorways to the surface. By the time they reached the top, two of the three portals had been unbarred and thrown open; only one remained. Words passed between them, then, but what they were my father would never say. In a fit of fury, Dhorn tore open the final bar, and my father saw the sunlight for the first and final time in his life. He also saw the Betrayer. My father claims that my mother stood in Varethrax's way, seeking to bar his passage, but she was tossed aside as though she was nothing. He claims my uncle, seeing this, instantly regretted his betrayal and charged the Betrayer with his axe. He claims he picked up my mother and fled. He claims he does not know what happened to my uncle. All I know is that Khazul-dan was ready for the onslaught of the Betrayer's minions, and the rest of the dwarven holds were not. My mother grew sick, and never recovered; I was born two years later, and the shock was too much for her. She died. I never knew her. My line does not stand against the Betrayer merely because it is our duty. We stand because of our shame as well. If my uncle still lives-- for dwarves weather time like stone itself, if they do not fall in battle-- I cannot say, but if so, I will see him dead for his treachery.
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Sep 16, 2015 20:54
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