Norbwier
“North” is the answer that the gnome stonemason known as Norbwier has if you ask where he’s from. If you ask what he did there he will look at you funny and tell was a guild stonemason, same as he is now. He’s the first and only stonemason in town, and he’ll preen when he tells you he’s been issued the deed to establish a proper branch of the most renowned stonemason guild the sword coast here in Mythrite. Such a plan came about with the advice and funding of a family friend of his, and it’s an open secret that all of Norbwier’s ‘family friends’ are gangsters and criminals. But for his part Norbwier’s work is good and his manners are better, so most folks don’t take issue with the halfling even if they have some idea of what he’s up too. Mythrite is the sort of town where the criminals are the troublemakers, not the lawbreakers, and Norbwier is no troublemaker.
Of course, there are the thing about him nobody knows. Things not gossiped about in the taverns, because even Norbwier’s closest friends and accomplices do not have a clue about it. Take, for example, his reasons for coming to Mythrite. Some of his friends suspect there was trouble, but all assume it was with the law or local lords. Nobody knows about the gold-clad foreign paladin, who came to his family home one night raving about hunting demons and accusing Norbweir’s family of 'sinful occultism'. The paladin left after hurling such accusations, but not before threatening to “return with a dozen brothers and sisters to burn out your evil for good.” Nobody knows about the family heirlooms Norbwier brought with him to Mythrite either; unidentifiable chunks of rock chiseled with unknown symbols and crude figures. In the word of his grandmother, his family has kept the things “Since the gods fashioned us from the earth itself”. Being rid of them is as unthinkable as no longer teaching their children the craft of stonework.
Nobody but Norbweir knows where those relics sit now, in the solid iron chest underneath his recently finished home. He was taught that they like to rest as close as possible to the old things in the deep from which they were fashioned, though he cannot recall by who. He keeps the relics tucked away in his mind most days, because sacred things should not mingle freely with the mundane. But sometimes, when he isn’t distracted with securing a new contract, sweating over his trade, or winning over the captain of the guard with his hospitality while his friends plot their schemes in his backroom, Norbweir thinks about the stones, and sometimes even the dreams. Dreams where the shadows grow long, where the symbols carved in ancient stone dance at the edges of his sight, and where the name 'Mythrite' was whispered in his ear long before he had ever heard of the place in the waking world…
Wealth & Financial state
Working class
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