Family
My elder sister, Thuryn, is my father’s apprentice in his smithy
My father Dorin is the elder son of Durgin Duringard, my grandfather.
My uncle is Onged.
Social Standing
- We hail from the Stout Forge Clan, known for the deep hearty flavor of our ales as well as the strength and quality of the armor and weapons forged by smiths like my sister and father. Our clan’s village was destroyed by a marauding band of giants when I was just a lad. The surviving members of my clan migrated to the Sky Citadel Janderhoff, which we now call home.
- We kept the lands around for many miles clear of our ancestral foes, the orcs and goblins, and the occasional giant. We were far enough off the Yondabakari River that we seldom interacted with the folk of Kaer Maga or Sirathu, trading instead with our dwarven kin in Janderhoff.
- From village of Krönigskard, is a two-day march north of Janderhoff. Kröngskard was founded by the original members of the Stout Forge Clan, after they migrated beyond the walls of Janderhoff in search of their own land. There, many families of Stout Forge dwarves lived for generations, working the land, brewing ales, and forging high-quality weapons and armor for the markets in Janderhoff and beyond.
Background
Growing up hearing the tales of Onged’s adventures (and knowing that the place next to my father at his forge belonged to Thuryn), I longed to wield steel next to my uncle in battle, or sit next to him at the campfire on one of his journeys, recounting glorious deeds of our ancestors. Onged represented everything I thought a dwarf should be.
While my father trained Thuryn in the smithing skills, my uncle Onged taught me how to fight. I trained with the axe and shield, the crossbow, the war hammer; I learned close fighting with daggers and how to plant my spear against a charging ogre. On my 12th nameday, Onged gave me my very own Urgrosh, the two-headed dwarven weapon with an axe blade on one end of the haft and a spear tip on the other. For the next few weeks, I trained relentlessly with my Urgrosh, determined to become a mighty warrior like my uncle. Then the giants came. It was a chill fall evening, and the villagers were settling in for a quiet night. The hunting parties had left a few days past, needing to range further from the village for game this late in the season, so the village was quieter than usual. With many warriors also out on the hunts, my uncle was one of only a few militia on guard duty. They stood in watch towers at the edge of the village, and were the first to see the toppling trees and hear the giant’s bellows as they began their charge on the village.
They raised the alarm quickly, and any dwarf capable of wielding an axe rushed to the village outskirts to meet the charging giants. My sister Thuryn and I both followed our father as he met up with Onged, who was organizing the defensive line. They exchanged glances and looked at Thuryn and me. Onged pointed back to the center of the village. “We need you to gather the villagers and take them to safety in the caves. Come back and join the fight once the villagers are safely there.”
We tried to protest, but were met with a quick retort from my father to do our duty as we were told. Thuryn and I set to rounding up the villagers and hurrying them on the trek to the cool river caves where we stored our meats during the summer months. The caves were too narrow for a giant to enter, and went deep into the ground under our lands. The trip there and back would take almost an hour, and Thuryn and I both knew the battle would be decided long before we would make it back.
After leaving the villagers in the caves, we ran back on the dark path to the village. I listened with dread growing in my heart as we got closer. This close to the village I had hoped to hear Onged’s booming voice rallying our fighters to slay the remaining giants that hadn’t already fled. Instead, I heard the crash of toppling watchtowers, the snap of wooden roof beams breaking, and the crack of stone on stone as the giants smashed and crushed our village.
Rounding a bend in the path, I almost ran into the brewmaster Olrud. He was carrying my father over his shoulder. Looking past Olrud, I could see a dozen other dwarves trailing behind, either carrying wounded or leaning on each other as they staggered on the path. So few. I did not see my uncle. Thuryn charged past me and went to my father. Olrud set him down with a grunt. “The village is lost, Thuryn. Your father will live, thanks to Onged’s valor.” He looked at me. “Your uncle saved many of us this night, Gorin, but fell to the giants.”
Olrud saw me reaching for my father with one hand, and the Urgrosh strapped across my back with the other. He put his hand on my weapon arm. “Help Thuryn with your father. There is naught but a quick death for you at the village. Don’t waste Onged’s sacrifice. Come. We need help getting the wounded to the caves.” The sound of our village being destroyed rang through the night. I had left the safety of the caves and snuck as close as I’d dared, hoping against hope I’d see my uncle still alive and be able to rescue him. By morning the giants had left, leaving nothing but rubble and some smoking timbers behind.
In the days that followed, the village elders surveyed what remained of our village, and weighed the cost of rebuilding and the risk of remaining in our increasingly dangerous lands against the shame of leaving our ancestral home and moving our clan to Janderhoff. The debate was fierce, with many of the younger voices raised in defense of rebuilding. Likely we would have, had the giants not returned. This time, with the hunting parties having been called back, fewer lives were lost as we fought a retreating action back to the caves. It was decided then that we would send a delegation to Janderhoff and petition the council to allow our clan to move into the Sky Citadel.
The Stout Forge Clan was welcomed into Janderhoff, though the village elders felt shame for being driven out of our ancestral home. Members of the Janderhoff council visited and assured our elders that the dwarves of Krönigskard need not feel ashamed; the lands near to the Mindspin Mountains and the Cinderlands were becoming increasingly dangerous. Larger bands of orcs and goblins were raiding deeper into the plains closer to Janderhoff. Giants, usually ranging in small bands, were increasingly travelling in larger numbers and dealing more deliberate devastation when they attacked. Our villagers belonged in Janderhoff, the councilors said. We should feel our settling here as more of a homecoming, since our Krönigskard ancestors had struck out from Janderhoff when searching for lands to settle beyond the Sky Citadel. Janderhoff was our true ancestral home, and there was no shame in returning. It was a welcomed sentiment, shared widely by our fellow dwarves, and eased the transition of the Stout Forge Clan into day-to-day life within the expansive halls of Janderhoff.
In the years that followed, I continued my training with the militia from my village. First, I honed my skills with older warriors in the sparring yard near our new homes in an area of Janderhoff the council had opened up to our clan. We often practiced strategies to use against giants, and even came up with new tactics to use against the towering foes; some were even adopted by the Janderhoff guard. During these sparring sessions, the older warriors often spoke of seeking vengeance against the giants for their fallen comrades, and for the destruction of Krönigskard. I shared this thirst for revenge, and longed to avenge my uncle. As I grew older, I joined my fellow village militia members in the Janderhoff guard, eventually earning my place on a patrol squad that guarded the road into Janderhoff. My father, now fully healed of his wounds, secured a writ to a blacksmith shop, and resumed training Thuryn in the family craft. Life began to feel normal, though I still missed my uncle Onged deeply. Olrud wrote a song about him, and occasionally would be asked to sing it when serving up a new batch of his famous Olrud’s Alestrom.
When my sister Thuryn completed her apprenticeship under our father, she took advantage of the opportunities a city the size of Janderhoff provides and opened her own blacksmith shop, with Dorin’s proud blessing. She had a keen eye for crafting very finely detailed armor and weapons, and her skills were soon sought after by high-paying patrons. One evening upon returning home from her forge, she carried with her a long package wrapped in fine cloth. It was Krönigskard’s Eve, now a Stout Forge Clan day of remembrance honoring those of our people lost in the fight to defend our village, marked each year on the day of the battle. She laid the long package on our table, and it set down with a clang of steel on stone barely muffled by the cloth wrapping. “This is for you, Gorin,” Thuryn said with a gruffness in her voice I’d not heard before. “Open it.” I pulled the cloth wrapping off and held in my hands an Urgrosh. Larger than the one that Onged had given me so long ago, it was of fine craftsmanship. She had left off the decorative flairs she was so well known for, favoring instead clean lines and sparse embellishment. This was a weapon whose beauty would be in the death it dealt; its axe blade gracefully carving an arc through the air and cleaving a giant’s leg in two, the sparkle of moonlight on the spear head the moment before impaling a towering brute, the perfectly balanced haft spinning from spear to axe in the Giant’s Felling Feint maneuver.
Thuryn seemed pleased with the look on my face as I picked up the Urgrosh. “What will you call it, Gorin?” It was the 17th Krönigskard’s Eve since the giant’s destruction of my village and uncle Onged’s valorous death. I knew exactly the name to give to my new Urgrosh. “Vengeance.”
The Incident
I continued earning my keep patrolling the Janderhoff road with my squad, eventually earning my place as squad leader. The honor seemed hollow to me, though, for rarely did we even draw weapons as we kept guard over the safest corridor in the region. We would spot the occasional orc scout, who would be long gone before we neared its hilltop perch. Months dragged into years of plodding to and fro along the road into the Sky Citadel, performing my duties with distinction.
Finally an opportunity came to let Vengeance drink the blood of giants. A long-range patrol had spotted a large band of giants coming down from the Cinderlands into the plains north of Janderhoff, and the council had order a full battalion out to halt their intrusion. My squad was one of several added to the bolster the battalion’s infantry. We rode out hundreds strong, with archers, and even a battle wizard.
We marched all day and into the night, stopping only for a few hours of rest, then up at dawn to continue. Scouts spotted the giants by midday, and our general ordered a defensive line formed near the top of a hill above a valley in the giant’s path. The giants, maybe 20, crested the next hill and began charging down into the valley as soon as they saw us. Our archers let loose a rain of arrows, which barely slowed the giant’s charge. Then the wizard let loose a fireball that caught the lead giant full on in the chest, sending him to the ground in a bellowing ball of flames. More arrows flew, and the giants charge began to slow as they reached the bottom of our hill. Several smaller giants stopped, and began backing away, swatting the air in front of them to wave off the hail of arrows. I feared all the giants would flee, and saw my chance to avenge Onged fading as the giant’s charge faltered. To be this close to spilling giant’s blood then be denied was too much for me to bear.
“For Onged!!! For Krönigskard!!!” I bellowed, and charged forward with Vengeance held high in one hand. That was all the infantry needed, and the line of dwarves charged forward with me. The giants, seeing a hated foe they could smash with their hands succumbed to their aggressive instincts and resumed their charge up the hill, heedless of our overwhelming numbers.
The battle was quick, and all the giants were slain. My squad felled two of the beasts, and I finally felt the relief of avenging my uncle. Our practice with giant-slaying tactics paid off, and they fell quickly to our warriors. The victory was not without cost, though, as several dozen dwarves were injured or slain. We returned to Janderhoff victorious, and the celebrations honoring the glorious dead lasted long into the next week. Then I was called before the militia leaders.
The order to charge was never mine to give, they said. The victory could have been won without even sending in the infantry, they said. My brash actions cost the lives of dwarves that needn’t have died. I was demoted from my post as squad leader.
I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to day after day of that boring patrol along the Janderhoff road, especially since I would be constantly reminded that I should be ashamed for my actions. I wasn’t, and many of my comrades also felt I had done right. I decided to resign from my post in the Janderhoff militia.
My family understood, though it was the sentiments of the rest of the Stout Forge clan that kept them from feeling that I had shamed the family. I was celebrated amongst our clan, for honoring Krönigskard and ensuring our fallen family members were avenged. Yet I now had no place in Janderhoff, so I began my life as a mercenary for hire. I took jobs guarding caravans and merchants travelling throughout the region, and though I missed my life and family in Janderhoff, I felt freer than ever before.
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