So my modest campaign has started. Things are looking good so far. If you are interested in checking out our campaign web site, it is at
http://bia.niilo.ca
I'd like to share with you something I put together for one of the characters. We needed an explanation for his dwarf's sudden promotion to clerical status after many years of self-exile. I used it as an opportunity to tie in another player's background - he's part of an isolated Elohim noble family who is protecting a sacred site.
Anyway, let me know what you think.
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It was a blustery and gloomy day. A day where most people stayed indoors if they had any choice in the matter. The smithy was undisturbed by visitors because of this, which made it a perfect day to work. And that made it all the more frustrating that Barak could not seem to get anything done. From problems with his forge to difficulties folding steel, it seemed that the stars were aligned against any sort of productivity this day. Finally, when the handle of his best hammer shattered during one thunderous hit, Barak decided it was time to get away before he wound up burning the whole place down (either by accident or on purpose).
Without knowing where he'd go, Barak grabbed his coat and stomped out the door, irritation still threatening to overcome his thoughts. The sharp wind served to cool him down mentally as well as physically, and he soon found his gaze looking north. His eyes traced the familiar outline of the Angel Spire Mountains, and he soon found his feet marching toward the welcoming sight.
Memories flooded back to him as his legs worked of their own accord. Thoughts of Deep Well flitted through his mind, as well as his departure from his dwarven home, his spectacular introduction to the Ibrahim's, and his many years spent pursing whatever purpose Kilmorph had in store for him. The memory of that fateful, first look at Mordecai was in his head again when he found himself stumbling upon a small ravine that sliced into the side of the hill. A quick look back showed him that he had been walking for some time - he was up in the foothills with a good view of the hamlet of Valentia, as well as the Ibrahim manor which was directly down slope of him.
For some reason, this ravine perked his interest and he crouched at its lip to examine its interior. His dwarven blood came to the fore as he analysed the rock formations, deciding immediately that some significant event such as an earth tremor created this small crack in the hills as opposed to the gradual erosion caused by some long-dead stream. This thought process, probably mundane for anyone other than a dwarf, was very calming for Barak and gave his mind some respite from the more serious thoughts that plagued him on his walk.
After a deep breath he straightened so that he could move on, but as he turned his head he thought he noticed something odd. He looked back down the ravine, but couldn't see it. He turned his head again, this time more slowly, and his astute dwarven eyes again noticed an oddity at the bottom edge. Now knowing where to focus, Barak examined the stone-work with renewed interest, this time shuffling side to side to change the angle of his view. Despite his heritage, it still took some time for him to realise that there was actually a small opening in the ravine wall. Somehow the break was formed in such a way that it blended naturally with either side, making it almost impossible to see from this only vantage point. In all his years, above ground and below it, he hadn't seen anything like it.
The path down was treacherous at best, but nothing could stop him from desiring a closer look. Huffing and puffing, Barak slowly made his way to the bottom and stood squarely in front of this slit in the rock wall. There was room enough for him to fit and so he stepped within. This entrance, as it were, angled back towards the south, the direction of his descent, before switching sharply into the heart of the hill beyond his sight. Darkness quickly consumed him, and he paused while his dwarven eyes naturally adjusted. His hands traced the walls out of habit and not through a desire for support since he was quite comfortable in this environment. As he walked on he noticed two things: the walls became more uniform and smooth, and the floor was descending at about a 10% decline.
As his mind raced with possible explanations for this stone-work, he lost track of time. It didn't seem very long, however, before he could see a light up ahead. As he approached, he recognised the source of the light to be fluorescent underground lichen, and they seemed to be concentrated in a small, naturally occurring room. There was heat and moisture in the air, as well as signature stalagmites and stalactites. Barak weaved his way through the room, on a path apparently worn in the ground, and nearly fell to his knees at the most spectacular site ever to grace his eyes.
A mere two strides in front of him sat what could be best described as an eruption of pure, shining metal. It appeared to pour up from the heart of Erebus itself, and it widened before stopping at his waste height. In fact, with its flat surface, it looked almost like an anvil. But this was not any normal metal, which was obvious even in this light - the colour was unmistakable to any dwarf worth their stones. This was pure mithril, an amount together that he had never before witnessed.
With his breath caught in his chest and heart pounding, Barak slowly approached, his one hand extended. The first tentative touch, as if confirming its existence to his mind, was exhilarating, and this time he did drop to his knees. He ran his palm along the top, the surface betraying no signs of use, but something told him that it had felt the strike of the hammer innumerable times.
Barak then did the only thing that made sense. He prayed. As his words to Kilmorph rumbled amongst the stalagmites and stalactites, many images flashed through his mind - images that he didn't summon himself. And it would be many hours before he moved from his spot.
* * * * * *
There is a legend amongst the dwarves that originates from the long-ago Age of Dragons. It is one of those legends that are so ancient, and so embellished, that even the firmest of believers has moments of doubt as to its veracity. It tells of a humble dwarf blacksmith, Aral, who's name appropriately meant Forge Heart. His talent with the blackened hammer was unrivalled in the region, but he remained with his small, isolated clan and merrily forged mundane items in his modest smithy.
One day his entire clan was wiped out when a titan of Camulos stumbled upon their quaint dwellings. Aral, through luck or fate, barely survived. In a feverish stupor, he fled the scene and the days passed. Just as his will to live was almost completely snuffed out, a pair of booted feet greeted his gaze while he rested on hands and knees. He looked up to see a legend first-hand: the peerless Bambur.
Bambur brought Aral back to health, and then guided the young blacksmith into the underdark. It was there that Bambur gave him his charge. Kilmorph's children were frequently imperilled in this time of the Godswar, and they needed every advantage they could get to defend themselves. Bambur was to teach Aral the finer arts of weaponsmithing, and Aral would become a source of great and magical weapons. Aral questioned where this training and work would be done, and the response wasn't from Bambur but from ground itself. A vein of pure mithril pushed through the ground and formed in front of his eyes into a perfect anvil for his height. Nearby, the ground fissured and heat washed over him as lava and flames poured up just barely below the floor's surface.
Bambur smiled and said simply, "We must begin."
And so Aral worked for his many long years, arming his brethren and their allies with the finest weaponry ever to grace Erebus. There he worked, in Kilmorph's Forge.
Lost forever during the Age of Magic, the Forge has many legends surrounding its purpose and existence. Each legend, though, agrees on one point: in a time of great need, Kilmorph will fan the flames once more and a steady hand will be chosen to resume Aral's work.
Yeah, Foxford already has all its NPC's provided.
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