A Dwarven Shaman
What? Where am I from? What does that matter to you? … Fine. Get an ale for the both of us. I was born and raised in the Godtorn Mountains. Yeah, that’s where Clan Cannat hailed from. I learned the ways of the elements from a young age — the ways of the earth, the dust, the snowstorms. Often I would go alone to speak with them, even when others of my kin would fear to go outside.
Sometimes the trips could last for weeks on end. Upon returning from my last trek, I saw what happened to my people while I was gone. Actually, I saw what didn’t happen to my people. One day, my people didn’t eat dinner and just left it on the tables to rot. One day, my people left kegs of ale tapped to go to waste. One day, my people stopped tending the fires to keep them warm at night. One day, my people vanished. Even the rocks refuse to talk to me near my former home, to tell me what happens. Even the wind remains still.
Since then, I’ve been searching for answers. Searching for what happened to my clan, my family. Yet it turns out I’ve stumbled onto something bigger than myself, and whether I want to or not, I’ve no real choice as to whether I shall help or not. And besides, maybe helping with the seals will help me find the answers I want.
And should ill have come to my clan … well, someone will be hurting.