[35 / 4 / 1]
Quoted By: >>6364854
You are a dwarf, proud, sturdy, strong. Your race has a rich and ancient history, though you know few details of it. Life finds a way to keep one from sitting down and hitting the books. On your end, it was the constant need to keep food on the table and learn a proper trade.
You do not live in a dwarfhold. In fact, you live rather far from any dwarfhold. This is the city of Anbenncost, the largest city in the Empire of Anbennar. Though there’s all kinds of creatures here, it is ruled, and mostly populated, by humans. You were born and raised here, yet your parents used to live in a proper dwarfhold, the hold of Khugdihr, far to the northeast, at the mouth of the great Serpentspine mountains. It was lost to the Greentide, a great invasion of orcs led by one Korgus, who was killed by a shieldmaiden by the name of Corin, who then supposedly rose to godhood as Goddess of War in the Cannorian Pantheon.
You don’t know much about all of that either. It all comes from rumors, hearsay, sermons… The older dwarves told you most of it, and they are spiteful and bitter about the fall of Khugdihr, you nodded along when they recounted the story of their battles against the orcs and goblins of Korgus but that’s all it was to you, stories and tall tales from your elders. You didn’t fight in the collapsing tunnels of Khugdihr, you didn’t desperately march through the depopulated wastelands of Castanor to reach Anbennar, you didn’t face the initial backlash from the locals when they saw the hordes of refugees at their gates, you didn’t struggle to adapt to strange customs and find work among those who hated you just for being there.
It's not that your life was simple either. You are the son of refugees, and a dwarf, in a city that hasn’t yet fully accepted dwarf-kind among them. They’d much rather you left for one of the Cannorian holds, those that were built among mountains far away from the Serpentspine and thus were unharmed by the Greentide. Maybe it’d be best to live in one of those holds but it would be a hell of a trek, and you heard many rumors that they’re not accepting newcomers. They’re full, they say. Well, Anbenncost and its people also insist that they’re full to the brim.
So, if they’re full, then you’re going to make a life of your own as an adventurer. Adventurers are the kind of folks you hear magnificent tales about, they fell evil and restore good. That’s what the tavern songs and bard tales say but you know it’s not so simple. It’s grey, really. You need coin to live, and sometimes the people hiring don’t have the interests of all that is good and well at heart yet they still need a good sword to take care of their issues.
Good, bad, you’re not really sure what your path is going to be, but it’s going to beat slaving away as a menial in the docks of the city for the centuries of live you have yet to live.
You do not live in a dwarfhold. In fact, you live rather far from any dwarfhold. This is the city of Anbenncost, the largest city in the Empire of Anbennar. Though there’s all kinds of creatures here, it is ruled, and mostly populated, by humans. You were born and raised here, yet your parents used to live in a proper dwarfhold, the hold of Khugdihr, far to the northeast, at the mouth of the great Serpentspine mountains. It was lost to the Greentide, a great invasion of orcs led by one Korgus, who was killed by a shieldmaiden by the name of Corin, who then supposedly rose to godhood as Goddess of War in the Cannorian Pantheon.
You don’t know much about all of that either. It all comes from rumors, hearsay, sermons… The older dwarves told you most of it, and they are spiteful and bitter about the fall of Khugdihr, you nodded along when they recounted the story of their battles against the orcs and goblins of Korgus but that’s all it was to you, stories and tall tales from your elders. You didn’t fight in the collapsing tunnels of Khugdihr, you didn’t desperately march through the depopulated wastelands of Castanor to reach Anbennar, you didn’t face the initial backlash from the locals when they saw the hordes of refugees at their gates, you didn’t struggle to adapt to strange customs and find work among those who hated you just for being there.
It's not that your life was simple either. You are the son of refugees, and a dwarf, in a city that hasn’t yet fully accepted dwarf-kind among them. They’d much rather you left for one of the Cannorian holds, those that were built among mountains far away from the Serpentspine and thus were unharmed by the Greentide. Maybe it’d be best to live in one of those holds but it would be a hell of a trek, and you heard many rumors that they’re not accepting newcomers. They’re full, they say. Well, Anbenncost and its people also insist that they’re full to the brim.
So, if they’re full, then you’re going to make a life of your own as an adventurer. Adventurers are the kind of folks you hear magnificent tales about, they fell evil and restore good. That’s what the tavern songs and bard tales say but you know it’s not so simple. It’s grey, really. You need coin to live, and sometimes the people hiring don’t have the interests of all that is good and well at heart yet they still need a good sword to take care of their issues.
Good, bad, you’re not really sure what your path is going to be, but it’s going to beat slaving away as a menial in the docks of the city for the centuries of live you have yet to live.
