Guardian grew up in the northern mountains of Norland. Deep underground his mother and father raised him like a dwarf. Strong morals to stand by everything he believes in. He grew up in the mines, carving ore from rocks by the day. Spending the nights with his fellow minors in the pub. Following the fall of the dwarves, he decided it would be best to leave the mountains and find work, ale, and adventure on farther horizons.
The traveller has just arrived in a small town. As they look around, their gaze is met with run down houses and shops. They duck into one of the shacks, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the small room, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town?" She begins, then pauses to study their face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a chair, “Where do you come from? What do you hope to make of yourself?”
Guardian looks down at the dingy seat, but shrugs his shoulders and drops into it anyways. "Well I was searching for the ale house, but any conversation is good conversation." But Guardian frowns, her words seeming to sink in and raising his eyebrows at the old woman, though he decides to indulge her conversation for now.
He looks down at his rough hands on the table, "I hail from the mountains of the North. Having spent the last 30 years going from the mines, to the tavern, and to sleep just to do it again in the morning was a life I did not enjoy living. I am on the search for fresh ale, new faces, and new adventure." Guardian sighs but continues on "The only goals I have for myself is to forge a legacy my kids will be proud of, something I can look back at and know I never faltered from my morals, never gave into pressure." his face hardens at the thought, as if even the thought of straying from his morals disgusts him.
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