Kyrion Rhek, Dwarf of the North

[barakaguru]

Arriving at Cormyr’s borders happened more expeditiously than expected. It felt as though the Northern winds still swirled about Kyrion’s cloak, and they seemed to finally die away in the milder climate.

It had been days since he had spoken a word, and he would mildly stammer in the days ahead as he again reintegrates himself into the society of others…

A gregarious loner, she had always called him… the only dwarf amongst a tribe of humans. They had found him before he had even come of age—alone and nearly starved to death in the Northern wilderness. Trusting no one with his tale, not even the gentleness of the human womenfolk, they hadn’t learned of his fate… and the fate of his clan. He could barely think of it… being as unspeakable as it was.

They be all dead… all! An’ I couldn’a do it! I be jus’ a wee lad, too wee ta lift Da’s shield! …where it lay… where he had dropped it at me tremblin’ feet, near where he too be fallen…

Aye, an’ it be too late, to be sure… they be all dead a’ready… all dead… all…

Where his father’s savagely battered shield lay on that plain that day—amongst the cruel orcish clefts, amongst the broken steel, the broken bodies of his entire clan—he peered into his future as he walked away from his past, making one promise: Never again would he be helpless to defend those he loves…

[barakaguru]

After having spent many months in Cormyr, Kyrion had established strong ties--to humans, no less, as had become his pattern after the destruction of his homelands.

The girl Aria had grown into a woman before his eyes. He always marvelled at how quickly humans can change, and the wizard girl was no exception. Much she had gained in power. She no longer was that helpless fresh blossom left alone to her fate within the depths of the catacombs in Isinhold. Her seeking protection behind Kyrion's stout and steady form had seemed as natural to her as it did to him... it inspired further courage, feeding his Gorm-inspired strength to keep his shield-arm high.

Perhaps the dwarf had grown too attached to Aria. Perhaps he didn't have a choice. It's not like he could leave her to the chaos of Cormyr as her so-called companions had done in the catacombs. Cormyr had far more twists and dark corners than those haunted halls had--and they both knew it. So it had been forged. A dedication with a bond no less strong than that of paternity. Kyrion would see no harm come to her; not if he could stop it.

But things had quickly changed.

Aria's War Wizard training made Kyrion nervous from the start. He knew right away that his influence and ability to protect her had begun to wane. He knew one day he would have to let her go. She had become fiercely independent, and who was he to get in her way? It should have been more than he could wish for. But something didn't sit right. There was something about her methods of interacting with others, especially those who held different values. He wouldn't call it ruthless, but he could not help but think it relentless. At this point, all he could do was hope she would remember all he had taught her. But hope was not something that was always in good supply in this dwarf's mind.

As he knew she would, Kyrion, with mixed emotions, saw Aria become a War Wizard. He knew at this time he needed to do what was most difficult to him. He needed to let go of the one who would be the closest thing to family that he could ever hope for. He needed to leave Cormyr for a time. For both of their sakes.

His months away from Cormyr--from Aria--were overshadowed by the past. It haunted him as he walked the lands that he previously called home. No longer were there scorched patches of razed farms; no longer did the cruel shafts that pierced the lands act as a gruesome reminder of the fallen. The broken shells of the lost souls themselves had been long ago picked over by birds and other carrion, and now nothing of them remained.

As he walked in silence, he did so with heavy heart. These were the lands of his clan. An ancient line of which he was the last. He looked about through blurry eyes. In the centre of what was once a great provider of prosperity, which had been plucked away by orc and giantkin, Kyrion stood and spun around slowly, looking about the far reaches.

It was as though his clan had never existed.

After a much-needed break from the hectic life in Cormyr, Kyrion had re-evaluated his reason for being. He was inspired by where he had come from and what he is... and now, what he must do. It was time to return to his new home, his new family. But never did he expect the welcome he received--or the lack thereof.

A tale of murder sent a chill up his spine. He could not believe what he was hearing; yet, his source was most reliable: murders carried out by the hands of a most deadly force...

...his dear, sweet Aria...

[barakaguru]

So it was.

Having spent more and more time on his own in the Stormhorns, looking for answers behind what had destroyed his life back home, Kyrion had finally found what he was looking for.

He found the orcs.

Yes, the orcs. The ones that had routed his clan.

Carrying with him, even with the heavy burden of his memories, Kyrion had brought a secret. His reason for coming to Cormyr was specific: He was following the tribe of orcs that had spilled the blood of his clan and had laughed and feasted as the rest of his bloodline seeped into the now-barren and scorched soil.

Trusting his story to only a few of his closest friends, even fewer knew what he intended to do. Even then, it wasn't apparent he was doing anything at all. What was apparent was that he was spending increasing time in the mountains--time alone--and going off without even telling anyone.

He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk them. He would not see his loved ones destroyed violently. Not again. Not ever. He could not impart to others what he intended to do.

And now, he would do just that. He would pay the orcs back in kind. He would stop their path of destruction. He would end their evil ways.

A dwarven vendetta is the worst kind.

He found the tribe of orcs pared down to quite little. A few warriors, archers, gatherers, and their chieftain, Trugok the Bloodletter. It was perfect. They were ready for the taking.

They had left the North to come to Cormyr not long after they destroyed Kyrion's clan. Despite their previous might, they lacked foresight and had razed any fertile lands in their area and had become nomadic. They landed at the Forest Kingdom after learning about the Cormyrian orcs' being able to actually stage wars against whole cities.

But they came too late, and now they were few. Soon they would be none. Or so Kyrion had hoped.

A one-dwarf army he had seemed--a shield so strong, an axe so sharp. He had obliterated the orcs, though he sustained grievous wounds. The final battle had been the most brutal. He fought Trugok one-on-one and it was then he had sustained the worst of his wounds. Trugok's greataxe was mighty and smashed heavily upon Kyrion's shield. He was the toughest orc he had ever faced.

And then something happened. Whether it was fate handed down by Gorm Gulthyn or simple luck, Trugok stumbled on a rock after losing his balance while raising his axe. He fell backwards and tumbled off a cliff, landing in a large thicket.

Kyrion took this as a chance to finish him off, and he drew his mighty bow...but Turgok never showed himself again that day....