The Beardless Dwarf

[Clownbaby]

Korak crossed the surface from Waterdeep in the direction of Undercliff and soon came upon the village. The bald dwarf rubbed his smooth chin covered in runic tattoos. "Umgak.." the dwarf spat as he looked upon the wooden walls and rooftops. He'd heard that dwarves could be found in this place, but they clearly had no hand in it's construction. This was the shoddy work of manlings. The armored dwarf hefted his mining pick with his filthy hands and let it rest on his sooty pauldron as he stepped through the gate.

The dwarf grimaced at anyone who dared make eye contact with him, his scarred lips splitting to reveal black and rotting teeth. It didn't take long for him to find himself in an ale-house quenching his thirst. If there were dwarves about, this was the best place to find them. If the patrons had any questions about the dwarf, they didn't ask. Dwarves in general are not known to share their business but Korak knew there was a look about him that warranted extra caution. Not that he would mind anyone asking him about his business or appearance, he loved a good bloody fight.

Soon enough a few dwarves shuffled in, one of them called Bromm. He too did not ask Korak any questions, but was glad to have a dwarf with the skills to mine among him. The rumors of the dwarven ruins were true and they needed all the help they could get. Korak would join them on the next expedition into the ruins, his first time entering a dwarven hold since his exile from Ammarindar.

The dwarves entered the tunnel that lead into the hold and for a moment Korak felt something he had not felt in many years, he would look upon a dwarven hold once more, but it was a bleak place. A dwarven hold should have blazing hearths, it should be filled with the scents of meat and beer, but there was only shadow and dust. There was no drone of the mines to be felt through the rock. Long gone were the sounds of clans, the ale-songs, and the revelry. It was then Korak felt a kinship to this place, as if the state of the hold was a reflection of himself.

Korak snarled as a trog came into view. He roared and leapt into battle, his mattock striking down into the skull of the reptile who crumpled before him. He yanked the tool free and gore sprayed in a fountain before him. Through the mist he could see more of the trogs gathering. "Defilers!!" He shouted as he hefted his mattock.

The dwarf was a lost cause, but this hold.. This was something he could restore honor to. Or at least die trying.