Post by Dorin Racbur on May 23, 2013 22:04:22 GMT -6
After several days in heated argument after argument, Dorin finally had enough of Riverton and the river preacher who controlled it. All in all he should feel lucky to be alive and not behind bars though in truth he never really broke any laws he just had a few ‘disagreements’ with Brother Naerel the twice born as he calls it, who happens to be the legal voice and founder of Riverton (a minor detail). Now he finds himself walking along the West Sellen River toward his next destination a city called Tymon roughly 240 miles away with just a few days of rations and little ale left to drink.
“Aye the bloody bastard goin on ‘bout Hanspur this and Hanspur that.” He would rant to himself while drinking the last of his ale on his long journey to Tymon. “An’ who does he think he is? Trying tae force a dwarf into a water baptism to the rat God? I tell ye I’d shove me hammer up es boney elven arse before I go near that damn river.” Not many things make the devote follower of Torag grumpy though one thing will get him every time. He had now finished the last of his ale with at least 2 more days to travel with scarce rations left. “Damn. Me mug is dry an’ I have less food left than days to travel. If this ain’t a test from the Father of Creation I don’ know what is.” He would force himself to march on until he heard the cries of battle from the arena city of Tymon.
With a tired sigh he walked into the city and after getting some food and res, eventually made his way to the smithy looking for work.
Smine’s Weaponworks was what the sign read on one of the largest shops in the city. Most here would say this is the most important shop as it is the only shop that provides quality weapons made by the dwarven master smith named Holgarin Smine. A weapon bought here is often called a ‘smine’ and is often credited to a gladiator’s success in the arena. Dorin walked into the busy shop boldly knowing what he was looking for. After lengthy discussions with Holgarin, Dorin would find himself going on an adventure to prove his mettle before potentially gaining a spot on Holgarin’s apprentice list. As it turns out, Holgarin happens to be the River Kingdom’s venture-captain for the Pathfinder Society and he had a mission a cleric of Torag would be perfect for. He said “I had a feeling you would show up soon, the Father of Creation gave me signs one of his followers would come to my shop looking for a job. This follower was needed in Mosswater. Go to Mosswater and record what is currently going on then come back and you will have a spot at my forge.”
What Dorin didn’t know is Mosswater was overtaken decades ago by a family of aquatic ogres. The city was in ruins and every attempt to gain it back had been unsuccessful or short lived. All Dorin knew is his mission is to go there and write in a log book what he sees then report back to Holgarin.
The trip to Mosswater was an uneventful one and it was nearing dark by the time Dorin made it within eye sight of the lake where the ruins resided. The first sight was enough to take his breath away; he had never seen anything of the like. The entire lake had a pale white glow to it, something he had never seen. He wrote in his book and walked down to the water to investigate. The entire lake was covered in small plants that were glowing in the moonlight. Dorin was so enthralled he did not hear the ogre coming up behind him as things went black.
By the time Dorin woke up, it was now daylight outside mid-day by the looks of it. He had no idea where he was other than it was no-where near Mosswater. His head pounded as if it were an anvil being beaten upon by life’s hammer. He was alive and somehow well aware of what had happened, the ogre came up without warning and hit him in the head with a large club repeatedly yet he was somehow alive. It would be a little while before he would notice the mark on his wrist. He would have to look twice to finally comprehend what he saw – it was a holy symbol though not one from the Father of Creation this one looked like a comet swirling from a spiral, it was the mark from the Lady of Graves. Pharasma had for some reason given him a second chance.
Dorin let out a loud nearly ear-piercing scream (at least as loud as a dwarf can get). How can this be? His creator was the Father of Creation, not some lady of the graves. What does this mean for his relationship with Torag? Where is he now? These are questions that must be answered. Distraught and confused the dwarf began looking through his bag for his ale.
“Aye the bloody bastard goin on ‘bout Hanspur this and Hanspur that.” He would rant to himself while drinking the last of his ale on his long journey to Tymon. “An’ who does he think he is? Trying tae force a dwarf into a water baptism to the rat God? I tell ye I’d shove me hammer up es boney elven arse before I go near that damn river.” Not many things make the devote follower of Torag grumpy though one thing will get him every time. He had now finished the last of his ale with at least 2 more days to travel with scarce rations left. “Damn. Me mug is dry an’ I have less food left than days to travel. If this ain’t a test from the Father of Creation I don’ know what is.” He would force himself to march on until he heard the cries of battle from the arena city of Tymon.
With a tired sigh he walked into the city and after getting some food and res, eventually made his way to the smithy looking for work.
Smine’s Weaponworks was what the sign read on one of the largest shops in the city. Most here would say this is the most important shop as it is the only shop that provides quality weapons made by the dwarven master smith named Holgarin Smine. A weapon bought here is often called a ‘smine’ and is often credited to a gladiator’s success in the arena. Dorin walked into the busy shop boldly knowing what he was looking for. After lengthy discussions with Holgarin, Dorin would find himself going on an adventure to prove his mettle before potentially gaining a spot on Holgarin’s apprentice list. As it turns out, Holgarin happens to be the River Kingdom’s venture-captain for the Pathfinder Society and he had a mission a cleric of Torag would be perfect for. He said “I had a feeling you would show up soon, the Father of Creation gave me signs one of his followers would come to my shop looking for a job. This follower was needed in Mosswater. Go to Mosswater and record what is currently going on then come back and you will have a spot at my forge.”
What Dorin didn’t know is Mosswater was overtaken decades ago by a family of aquatic ogres. The city was in ruins and every attempt to gain it back had been unsuccessful or short lived. All Dorin knew is his mission is to go there and write in a log book what he sees then report back to Holgarin.
The trip to Mosswater was an uneventful one and it was nearing dark by the time Dorin made it within eye sight of the lake where the ruins resided. The first sight was enough to take his breath away; he had never seen anything of the like. The entire lake had a pale white glow to it, something he had never seen. He wrote in his book and walked down to the water to investigate. The entire lake was covered in small plants that were glowing in the moonlight. Dorin was so enthralled he did not hear the ogre coming up behind him as things went black.
By the time Dorin woke up, it was now daylight outside mid-day by the looks of it. He had no idea where he was other than it was no-where near Mosswater. His head pounded as if it were an anvil being beaten upon by life’s hammer. He was alive and somehow well aware of what had happened, the ogre came up without warning and hit him in the head with a large club repeatedly yet he was somehow alive. It would be a little while before he would notice the mark on his wrist. He would have to look twice to finally comprehend what he saw – it was a holy symbol though not one from the Father of Creation this one looked like a comet swirling from a spiral, it was the mark from the Lady of Graves. Pharasma had for some reason given him a second chance.
Dorin let out a loud nearly ear-piercing scream (at least as loud as a dwarf can get). How can this be? His creator was the Father of Creation, not some lady of the graves. What does this mean for his relationship with Torag? Where is he now? These are questions that must be answered. Distraught and confused the dwarf began looking through his bag for his ale.
