You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.” ((How do you respond?)) ** Frowns in distrust
"You want my story? Why would you want my story... and why would you expect me. This is strange. I now have questions for you as well, but how can I expect you to release knowledge, while denying you the very same request? Very well. I shall talk."
** Looks at the scrawny chair, and sits down very carefully as to not break it.
"I am, as you see, a dwed, 54 years of age. You would call me a Mountain Dwarf. My clan is Irongrinder, though as they are mostly in the caves, I dont see as many of them as Id liked. Not many generations ago, my family saw the need for the skills of the Irongrinders in the mountains, and made to breathe the high air of the peaks. We have warmed to many of their customs and folk, but have maintained the skills that gave us purpose."
"So I come from the high cliffs, and what do I do here? Gather knowledge. Too limited is my knowing in the way of building machines; my parents sought it best for me to learn and seek new ideas away from the good fire of our home. I crave more. I crave the intricacies of machinery, the wonders of the red dust. To make my people proud of the use of which I can be. Many tales of magic have I heard, but how can you trust what you cannot see, what you cannot touch, what you cannot understand? Preposterous, no! I dont care for that"
** The chair squeaks as the temper and gesticulations of the dwarf makes it rattle. He notices, and takes a breath to calm down.
"I can see why it is referred to as Curse. It can make us move without intent. To me, it always felt like a Drive. A drive to understand. To create. To be useful. I want my coffers filled the same as any dwarf, where I differ is that I will not toil by hand if I can build something that can do it for me. Or for other dwarves. I dont trust others, though. My quest for understanding forces me to acknowledge the value of different minds, though it is, at times, difficult. Especially elves, those dainty, arrogant creatures... No, I will ask questions and hear the answers, then be on my way home to the quiet peaks. Little joy I find away from home. Well, except for ale!"
** Looks up quickly towards the old hag
"You dont have any ale, do you? I could go for some ale... no? Well, my thirst will continue. Where were I...? Ah yes, you insist on knowing about me. Well, outside of certain topics, I have been told that I have a calm demeanor. Also that Im practical and methodical in my approach to life. I enjoy the idea of creating machines, especially those which are useful in nature. Imagine turning Shortbeard and not being useful..."
** Shivers and shakes his head
"No, no, that would be horrible, not for me, I dont want that. Being a drain and burden on the community... I would be nothing. I had an uncle who was nothing. He made nothing, just hoarded and ate and drank and slept. The disgust in peoples eyes... what a nightmare. No, I seek to learn the ways of machinery, for the sake of myself and others. Alas, one cannot only learn from ones father and mother. They told I had to venture down from the mountains to search for... I never truly understood what for. A clue, a whisper, something, anything, that will make them see that I am ready for more than the mere crumbles of knowledge they so far bestowed upon me. And this is what brings me to your dingy town. Now..."
** Sits up in chair
"...I have stretched my thin trust, given you answers, and told you my story. It would be within within honour to ask for you to oblige my inquiries.
So, can we begin?"
