Post by hoffman900 on Oct 14, 2004 18:46:35 GMT -5
DESCRIPTION:
Tribal tattoos as well as copious amounts of unkempt hairs, grease and mud cover the dark skin of this small dwarf, his feral eyes darting back and forth. The pungent odour of wilderness floats around, reminiscent of hot jungles and wet soil. He grunts and growls, shifting uneasily as he sniffs the air. Suddenly, he lunges at the ground and pulls a fat worm out of his hole. As drool covers his grimy beard, he mumbles a few unintelligible words and clicks his tongue several times, gulping the worm. Then, circling around, he clutches a primitive dwarven axe in his right hand and a crude drum under his left arm.
HISTORY:
Urit, the Slayer of the Dragon that Walks, was a wild dwarf hero of Chult. His deeds of bravery and cunning were many, so it was natural that most unwed young females of his current hunting band wanted to be his first bride. To be the first woman to a male in this polygamous culture was an honour. They all were disappointed when his choice went for the daughter of another band's leader, Ulume of the Rainbow Bird Pond. The hunting band accepted the hero’s decision and life went on.
Though, one available female by the name of Briiss One-eye felt particularly betrayed by Urit’s choice. She wept in secret until the day came where she could strike back at the imagined wrongs.
A hurricane of monstrous proportion hit the Wild Coast near Kobold Mountains (southeast of Chult) leaving Urit and a pregnant Ulume stranded from the rest of the band. Soon after she bore a healthy baby dwarf they name Storn. However, Ulume did not survive the ordeal so Urit was left to tend to the infant by himself.
Wild Dwarves do not form tribes or clans. They view themselves - and other dwarves by extension - as one big family, "dur Authalar", that is "the People". The hunting bands are loose units bringing together ever-changing families and individuals. Urit and his son wandered until they met a new band. The bitter Briiss, scattered like all members of the former band, had found this particular group months before and managed to gain the trust of the lead "talker" and priest, Irl Darkleaves.
Urit had to find another concubine and Briiss worked hard to be the chosen one. They were finally wed and things seemed normal for several years. Storn grew strong and stout under his father’s teaching but close-minded and socially inept under Briiss’ influence. She view the young dwarf as a constant reminder of her previous defeat and silently schemed to bring woe to him and his father.
One misty day, scouts spotted a large grouping of saber-tooths, fierce predators that threatened the safeties of the band. Briiss coerced Irl, an expert in plant-based toxins among his kin, into brewing some strong sedative with a delayed effect. Mixing the poison with the broth she prepared for Urit before each of his hunts, she smiled with evil glee.
Urit, great hero of the wild dwarves, fought well and slew many felines, but this time he felt an overpowering numbness gain on him. He barely noticed the dagger-sized fangs sink in his flesh again and again as he died.
Grief struck the hunting band. With the help of the corrupt shaman, Briiss shifted the point of attention towards young Storn. She wove a tale of how Urit’s son was born of a troll mother. Proof of this, she claimed, was in the greenish tint of his hair. Promptly he was exiled, left to fend for his own despite of his lineage.
Storn crept out of Chult’s jungles barely alive. He trekked through Thindol to the Black jungles then swam across the small Lapal Sea to reach the Mhair Jungles. He ended in the vicinity of Sammarash where he met Tanthalass, a slave merchant for the Red Wizards of Thay. Tanthalass fell in disfavour because of relations he entertained with his "merchandise", so he was looking for a way to redeem himself in Thay’s eyes. An exotic catch like a wild dwarf would so the trick.
Tanthalass lured Storn with promises of a better life in a far away land where his "brothers" would not judge him. The dwarf never had to deal with humans before so to him this tall bearded folk who spoke his tongue - for the slaver knew many languages - and who talked of lush jungles and good hunting was slowly gaining his confidence. He could not, however, convince him to go on this "floating pile of tree trunks" that gently rocked on the docks of Sammarash.
In the dead of the night, the vile merchant woke up poor Storn and weaved what little arcane incantation he knew to coerce the wild dwarf into boarding the Flaming Wind. The red sails swelled, carrying the ship in the dark as Storn fell back to sleep in the small, humid bunk he was given.
The next day the Thayvian boat was far on the Shinning Sea and Trollblood awoke to nasty heaves. Too weak to protest, he kept silent, oblivious to the cages stowed deep in the ship’s belly. He felt betrayed and lost, a stranger in a strange, strange land.
When the crew had reached the strait that led to the Lake of Steam, just between the ports of Suldolphor and Theymarsh, Storn decided to make a run for it and plunged in the salty waters. Nearly drowning he was brought back by Tanthalass’ henchmen and put in a slave bin. Urit’s son was soon overwhelmed with rage and despair. Even though he seemed crushed, it was during this captivity that he learned the few and only words in the common tongue of men. The slaves, reeking, sick, underfed, held themselves together to face the hardships of the journey - and the thoughts of hardships to come.
Through the lake, the Flaming Wind glided to its easternmost shore to the city of Innarlith. There, Tanthalass seek out, in vain, a caravan heading for the trails that went east past Chondath Woods, to reach the Alamber Sea, where he would easily find another ship back to Thay. The wild dwarf had another opinion.
After days spent unmoving, the slavers were getting restless - and sloppy. One night Storn felt the moment was ripe, he had slept all day in his wooden cage and was alert. He gnawed on a bar and even thought it was thicker than a man’s arm, he weakened it enough for the combines push of the slaves to crack it open. He, alone, was small enough to creep out through and passed the drunken guards, stole a few weapons and brought them back to his cage mates. The lot was promptly free and chaos ensued, chaos that the Chult native used to vanish in the open plains. His strides were small but he blended well outside the city.
Tanthalass was furious at his former slave and as soon as he could the thayvian mustered a search party. A recaptured half-elf escapee confessed under threat of torture having seen the small fugitive run towards the northern gate. Storn had flown on the Golden Road and the party pursued. But our hero was relentless and kept to the bushes and tall grass, his diminutive stature shielding him from the prying eyes. Eventually the slavers were held near Fort Arran by an overzealous official who insisted these foreigners had to get a licence. Storn made it, all the way to harbour of Arrabar.
Confused and lost, the jungle warrior thought he had to cross the Vilhon Reach to go back to his cherished homeland. He sneaked into a Turmish vessel heading to Hlondeth. He fed off oat sacks the whole trip, seasickness reducing his appetite to a great extent.
Storn trekked hard through Turmish lands. The mountainous regions of Orsraun where hostile enough for him to go back to the road of Ormath, but he did not dwell inside the city walls, as he still loathed civilization. The wild dwarf met a few adventurous kin from the Great Rift and lingered while, drifting until he reached Teziir. There he heard about the "Forest Kingdom", free and forgiving. He took a ferry to Suzail and on arrival disliked the big city so he took to the roads but find none of these endless green forests he had been told of.
By that time the barbaric dwarf had adjusted himself to the human kingdoms of the north. The weather was deathly cold to him; nonetheless he tried to fit in, despite his social inadequacies. He wandered the wilderness until he came to Isinhold. The place was small, a frontier town not too civilized and where people did not try to exile him for his "trollblood". He took Urit as his middle name in the memory of his father, the great Slayer of the Dragon that Walks, and hope to carve for himself a legend that will honour his bloodline.
Tribal tattoos as well as copious amounts of unkempt hairs, grease and mud cover the dark skin of this small dwarf, his feral eyes darting back and forth. The pungent odour of wilderness floats around, reminiscent of hot jungles and wet soil. He grunts and growls, shifting uneasily as he sniffs the air. Suddenly, he lunges at the ground and pulls a fat worm out of his hole. As drool covers his grimy beard, he mumbles a few unintelligible words and clicks his tongue several times, gulping the worm. Then, circling around, he clutches a primitive dwarven axe in his right hand and a crude drum under his left arm.
HISTORY:
Urit, the Slayer of the Dragon that Walks, was a wild dwarf hero of Chult. His deeds of bravery and cunning were many, so it was natural that most unwed young females of his current hunting band wanted to be his first bride. To be the first woman to a male in this polygamous culture was an honour. They all were disappointed when his choice went for the daughter of another band's leader, Ulume of the Rainbow Bird Pond. The hunting band accepted the hero’s decision and life went on.
Though, one available female by the name of Briiss One-eye felt particularly betrayed by Urit’s choice. She wept in secret until the day came where she could strike back at the imagined wrongs.
A hurricane of monstrous proportion hit the Wild Coast near Kobold Mountains (southeast of Chult) leaving Urit and a pregnant Ulume stranded from the rest of the band. Soon after she bore a healthy baby dwarf they name Storn. However, Ulume did not survive the ordeal so Urit was left to tend to the infant by himself.
Wild Dwarves do not form tribes or clans. They view themselves - and other dwarves by extension - as one big family, "dur Authalar", that is "the People". The hunting bands are loose units bringing together ever-changing families and individuals. Urit and his son wandered until they met a new band. The bitter Briiss, scattered like all members of the former band, had found this particular group months before and managed to gain the trust of the lead "talker" and priest, Irl Darkleaves.
Urit had to find another concubine and Briiss worked hard to be the chosen one. They were finally wed and things seemed normal for several years. Storn grew strong and stout under his father’s teaching but close-minded and socially inept under Briiss’ influence. She view the young dwarf as a constant reminder of her previous defeat and silently schemed to bring woe to him and his father.
One misty day, scouts spotted a large grouping of saber-tooths, fierce predators that threatened the safeties of the band. Briiss coerced Irl, an expert in plant-based toxins among his kin, into brewing some strong sedative with a delayed effect. Mixing the poison with the broth she prepared for Urit before each of his hunts, she smiled with evil glee.
Urit, great hero of the wild dwarves, fought well and slew many felines, but this time he felt an overpowering numbness gain on him. He barely noticed the dagger-sized fangs sink in his flesh again and again as he died.
Grief struck the hunting band. With the help of the corrupt shaman, Briiss shifted the point of attention towards young Storn. She wove a tale of how Urit’s son was born of a troll mother. Proof of this, she claimed, was in the greenish tint of his hair. Promptly he was exiled, left to fend for his own despite of his lineage.
Storn crept out of Chult’s jungles barely alive. He trekked through Thindol to the Black jungles then swam across the small Lapal Sea to reach the Mhair Jungles. He ended in the vicinity of Sammarash where he met Tanthalass, a slave merchant for the Red Wizards of Thay. Tanthalass fell in disfavour because of relations he entertained with his "merchandise", so he was looking for a way to redeem himself in Thay’s eyes. An exotic catch like a wild dwarf would so the trick.
Tanthalass lured Storn with promises of a better life in a far away land where his "brothers" would not judge him. The dwarf never had to deal with humans before so to him this tall bearded folk who spoke his tongue - for the slaver knew many languages - and who talked of lush jungles and good hunting was slowly gaining his confidence. He could not, however, convince him to go on this "floating pile of tree trunks" that gently rocked on the docks of Sammarash.
In the dead of the night, the vile merchant woke up poor Storn and weaved what little arcane incantation he knew to coerce the wild dwarf into boarding the Flaming Wind. The red sails swelled, carrying the ship in the dark as Storn fell back to sleep in the small, humid bunk he was given.
The next day the Thayvian boat was far on the Shinning Sea and Trollblood awoke to nasty heaves. Too weak to protest, he kept silent, oblivious to the cages stowed deep in the ship’s belly. He felt betrayed and lost, a stranger in a strange, strange land.
When the crew had reached the strait that led to the Lake of Steam, just between the ports of Suldolphor and Theymarsh, Storn decided to make a run for it and plunged in the salty waters. Nearly drowning he was brought back by Tanthalass’ henchmen and put in a slave bin. Urit’s son was soon overwhelmed with rage and despair. Even though he seemed crushed, it was during this captivity that he learned the few and only words in the common tongue of men. The slaves, reeking, sick, underfed, held themselves together to face the hardships of the journey - and the thoughts of hardships to come.
Through the lake, the Flaming Wind glided to its easternmost shore to the city of Innarlith. There, Tanthalass seek out, in vain, a caravan heading for the trails that went east past Chondath Woods, to reach the Alamber Sea, where he would easily find another ship back to Thay. The wild dwarf had another opinion.
After days spent unmoving, the slavers were getting restless - and sloppy. One night Storn felt the moment was ripe, he had slept all day in his wooden cage and was alert. He gnawed on a bar and even thought it was thicker than a man’s arm, he weakened it enough for the combines push of the slaves to crack it open. He, alone, was small enough to creep out through and passed the drunken guards, stole a few weapons and brought them back to his cage mates. The lot was promptly free and chaos ensued, chaos that the Chult native used to vanish in the open plains. His strides were small but he blended well outside the city.
Tanthalass was furious at his former slave and as soon as he could the thayvian mustered a search party. A recaptured half-elf escapee confessed under threat of torture having seen the small fugitive run towards the northern gate. Storn had flown on the Golden Road and the party pursued. But our hero was relentless and kept to the bushes and tall grass, his diminutive stature shielding him from the prying eyes. Eventually the slavers were held near Fort Arran by an overzealous official who insisted these foreigners had to get a licence. Storn made it, all the way to harbour of Arrabar.
Confused and lost, the jungle warrior thought he had to cross the Vilhon Reach to go back to his cherished homeland. He sneaked into a Turmish vessel heading to Hlondeth. He fed off oat sacks the whole trip, seasickness reducing his appetite to a great extent.
Storn trekked hard through Turmish lands. The mountainous regions of Orsraun where hostile enough for him to go back to the road of Ormath, but he did not dwell inside the city walls, as he still loathed civilization. The wild dwarf met a few adventurous kin from the Great Rift and lingered while, drifting until he reached Teziir. There he heard about the "Forest Kingdom", free and forgiving. He took a ferry to Suzail and on arrival disliked the big city so he took to the roads but find none of these endless green forests he had been told of.
By that time the barbaric dwarf had adjusted himself to the human kingdoms of the north. The weather was deathly cold to him; nonetheless he tried to fit in, despite his social inadequacies. He wandered the wilderness until he came to Isinhold. The place was small, a frontier town not too civilized and where people did not try to exile him for his "trollblood". He took Urit as his middle name in the memory of his father, the great Slayer of the Dragon that Walks, and hope to carve for himself a legend that will honour his bloodline.