Born deep within the mountain halls of Khazdrum Hold, he was raised among blacksmiths, miners, and stoneworkers who valued hard work above all else. His father was a respected armorer who forged weapons for the clan guard, while his mother worked as a mason helping maintain the ancient tunnels and halls beneath the mountain. From a young age, he was taught that every dwarf earns their place through discipline, loyalty, and skill.
Unlike many dwarven children who dreamed only of becoming master smiths or warriors, he was fascinated by stories of the outside world. Traveling merchants and wandering adventurers would pass through the hold bringing tales of ruined kingdoms, strange creatures, and distant cities beyond the mountains. He spent countless evenings listening to those stories instead of sleeping, imagining what lay beyond the stone gates of his home.
At the age of thirteen, he began apprenticing under his father in the forge. Though talented with metalwork, he often struggled with patience and discipline, preferring action over careful craftsmanship. Still, he proved himself capable with a hammer and surprisingly skilled with a hand axe, eventually earning permission to train with the younger members of the clan guard.
Everything changed when a tunnel collapse trapped several miners deep underground during a routine excavation. Ignoring orders to stay behind, he joined a rescue effort alongside older dwarves. Though reckless, his quick thinking helped save two injured miners from a flooded chamber. The event earned him both praise and criticism: praise for his courage, criticism for disobeying direct orders and putting himself in danger.
Now, at sixteen years old, he has finally left the mountain hold to see the wider world for himself. Officially, he travels to gain experience and represent his clan honorably. Unofficially, he wants to prove that he is more than just an impatient apprentice living in his father’s shadow. Armed with basic smithing skills, stubborn determination, and a youthful sense of adventure, he seeks coin, glory, and stories worthy of being carved into the stone halls of his people one day.
The mountain road was quiet except for the sound of boots scraping against loose stone. Cold wind swept through the pass as the young dwarf adjusted the strap of the pack resting on his shoulders. Snow still clung to the cliffs above, though spring had already reached the valleys below.
For three days he had traveled alone since leaving Khazdrum Hold, determined to prove he could survive without the constant watch of his clan. The journey had been uneventful until he spotted smoke rising in the distance near an old trade route checkpoint.
As he approached carefully, hand resting near the axe at his belt, he found a merchant wagon half-broken beside the road. One wheel had shattered against the rocks, and several crates were scattered across the ground. A nervous human merchant argued with two hired guards while a pair of horses pulled against their reins in panic.
Then the dwarf noticed the real problem.
Fresh claw marks scarred the wood of the wagon, and a trail of blood led toward a nearby cave entrance hidden among the rocks. Whatever attacked the caravan was likely still close.
One of the guards spotted him approaching and called out, “You there! If you can swing that axe, we could use the help!”
The young dwarf paused, eyeing the cave entrance carefully while gripping the handle of his weapon. This was exactly the kind of trouble he once dreamed about while listening to adventurers’ stories back home.
Now he had to decide whether he truly was ready for it.
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