The Weight of Stone

[Riot 743]

OOC NOTICE

This story is written OOC for storytelling and entertainment purposes only.
No IRP knowledge is gained by reading this work.
This piece is non-binding and does not reflect live RP actions unless explicitly stated elsewhere.

Feel free to react IRP or OOC it Seeing other people in this world react to my stories brings me more fun than the upvotes

 

 

Dorin had learned, over the past two years, what it meant to be pressed.

 

Not struck once.

Not broken in a single blow.

 

But ground down—slowly, relentlessly—beneath the thumb of an empire that did not care how young he was, nor how much he had already lost.

 

Two years ago, his mother died.

 

Not to age.
Not to fate.

 

She was taken by the Empire’s antics—another consequence wrapped in excuses, another name that would never be spoken aloud by those responsible. Dorin had carried that loss quietly at first, as dwarves are taught to do. Stone does not scream when it cracks. It waits.

 

Then came his brothers.

 

He had found them in the mines, in the forges, on the road—three dwarves who bled beside him, drank beside him, and called him kin. They were taken just as quickly. Cut down by the same Empire that claimed order, law, and necessity.

 

This was not coincidence.

 

He made friends beyond stone and mountain. In Cerulia, he watched fields burn and livestock slaughtered—not in war, but in punishment. People he laughed with stood helpless as everything they built was trampled under imperial boots.

 

He saw a princess taken.

 

And worse—
He saw himself raise his sword against his own brothers to stop it.

 

Some wanted her head on a pike. Dorin planted himself between steel and flesh, blade trembling in his hands, knowing that whatever he chose would haunt him. He chose to protect her life. It cost him pieces of his soul that day.

 

He fought alongside orcs who spoke of tearing down their fauna—not for conquest, but to build a battlefield strong enough to withstand the Empire’s advance. Even that, Dorin understood. Survival warps even the noblest intent.

 

Then came the Kha.

 

Friends. Laughing, warm-hearted.... Alive....

 

He watched their bodies torn apart by terror—limbs shattered, lives ended in screams that echoed the moment his own left arm was taken from him. Stone, blood, fire. He was still young. Too young. The pain did not care.

 

One by one, the places he could call home vanished.

 

Kuri-kuni.
Norland.
Iryalen.

 

Even the few friends he made inside the Empire.

 

Severed—not by hatred, but by fear. He understood that too. He did. And yet… understanding did nothing to quiet the anger that festered in his chest. Every step outside Urguan began to feel like a death sentence—for him, or for those beside him.

 

By the time Dorin reached twenty years of age—still a child by dwarven reckoning—he had lost his mother, his arm, his home, and more friends than he could count.

 

Then war loomed.

 

And as if the world wished to test him one final time, he watched a close friend begin to lose his mind—fracturing under the weight of everything they had endured. Dorin stood behind him, shielding him from the cold inevitability of Golems waiting in the dark.

 

He did everything right.

 

And for that, he was mocked.

 

Laughter echoed behind him. Criticism followed his every step. Guests of the tavern acted as though the life on the line was more nucance than worth. And when he saved the life of a fellow Urganian—an orc named G’Mar—his reward was betrayal.

 

His name was placed in the Book of Grudges.

 

Not for cowardice.
Not for treason.

 

But for mercy, frustreration.

 

Dorin’s blood burned.

 

Not with hatred—but with greed.

 

The old dwarven curse whispered to him now—not of gold alone, but of control. Of doing things his way. Of ending the cycle before it took everything else from him.

 

How many more friends would he bury?

How much more of himself would he carve away in the search for home, for kin, for Mina, for gold… for peace?

 

The lessons his mother etched into his heart still lived within him.

 

But beneath them ran something older. Deeper.

 

Stone remembers.

 

This dwarven “child” could no longer afford to be one.

 

Either he would grow—fast and sharp—or he would be crushed beneath the Empire’s weight.

 

For his friends.
For his home.
For his brothers—living and dead.

 

He was done waiting.

 

This crippled child would take matters into his own hands.

[craneia 232]

I love these posts! It has been so awesome oocly getting a glimpse into his inner monologue & thoughts. Also awesome irply to have a character that appreciates and explores other cultures. Has been lovely to see you & Dorin around Iryalen :)