Khazron Rustbrew
Posted: Tue May 24, 2011 12:37 pm
Khazron was born in 1302DR, in a small dwarven mine with its own clan hold, and grew up with toy tools in his little hands, and eventually he earned his real tools, and could work along with his clan. And he worked hard, as any other young dwarf, mining and helping out in the smithy, chopping wood to set up the mine supports, he even carved handles for tools and weapons. It was the way of finding out what Khazron would excel in. One should strive to find one's strength, and go for that, and do grand work, to impress and to increase the clan wealth.
The years passed, but Khazron wasn't impressing the elders with his workmanship. He worked as hard as any other, long hours, until he earned his meal and his sleep, covered in sweat and soot, dust and slag. He was more fit for mining than for craft. His work was brutishly done, it did not seem he liked making fine art at all, his work remained only practical, and good enough for that. The elders saw something though, when the alarm sounded, and the mine was besieged by giant rats or by large snakes, or kobolds, even goblins, Khazron really enjoyed fending these creatures off, he even chased them, running after them, out of the mine, and down the hill, and into the forest. The other dwarves were yelling for him to stop, because it was a waste of productivity to chase down an enemy that left the mine itself. And every time he got back he was punished. Such behavior was foul to dwarven society, wasting precious time scrambling down the hills.
Then one time he was not punished anymore, and that was when he brought back a boar that he had slain on one of his runs. He offered it to the clan as a gift, so that he was allowed to eat, and be allowed his sleep. The clan did see an advantage in this, being offered a fresh meal, a meal they all appreciated better than the old smoked jerky they had for oh so long. And thus they told Khazron that he was to become a hunter for the clan. There was conditions though, and one of them was that he was to not draw any attention whatsoever to the mine or to the trade routes of the clan. It was wise to stay out of focus of the world above. There was better food up there, and there was wood, a few good tools, trade, and eventually the gold and gems found their way back down, but there was also envy. Envy that occasionally found its way down into the mine.
The clan was getting rich, and there was word of it once and again. And so the dwarved paid for Khazrons stealth training, he was to hide and move silently when not in the clan hold, and he was trained in the use of traps so he could feed the clan. On these hunts Khazron saw strangers from time to time, and he hid and was silent, and took a sport in that. He had time for this when the traps did their work. He also found some lone cabins and tiny farms, that all look long deserted, and he broke into the places to see if there was things useful to the clan in there. And he became interested in the locks that some of the doors and the chests had. He found the keys at times, but now and then he had to start fiddling with the lock to try to open the sturdy chests. Some keys worked, other times he tried to pick the locks open with pieces of metal. He would dismantle the lock and see how they worked, and he learned how the simple locks were picked. He really enjoyed being successful in this, it was a victory each and every time he opened one, and he celebrated it. The things he found he brought back to the clan along with the food.
But, someone must have watched him, someone must have heard of the clan. And on one dark day when Khazron was far into the forest below, a horde of bandits, gnoll and flind, smashed their way into the clan hold, there must have been a great battle, there were corpses everywhere, everything was broken, and there was not a living soul to see... ...when Khazron came back. He scurried all over the place looking for his mates, his mother and father, his sisters and his brothers, but they were all dead, and lay strewn about along with broken weapons and tools, and valuables were gone. Even the clan treasury have been hauled away, there were tracks everywhere. Kegs were missing, the food supply was gone, even some dwarves were missing. Khazron was really lost, the bandits must have been long gone for a day or two, and Khazron cursed himself, he gave himself all the blame, he went mad, furious, smashed what was left, cursing all the dwarven gods over and over again, cursed himself, cursed the bandits.
He had a breakdown and went mad for a time, drinking what was left of the ale, until he became sick, over and over, until one day he could not be further down. He lay on the floor in the clan hold, alone in the darkness, and started to think, about himself, his life and the ill way it all had taken. He gathered up whatever he could bring and left that doomed place, he left the clan behind that day, forever, and he traveled the roads and learned of the towns and the cities.
He was hunting to feed himself, and he sold meat to farmers, and shared a tale or two. But he never stayed at the farms and villages, he never had any trust in anyone but his clan, and the farmers took him for being a little ill tempered and gruff, and he was. He even found bandits in his traps, and took great pleasure in slaying them. They paid for his clan, and he even hunted bandits, and took their finer belongings and sold them in the villages, and had his fair share of ale with the gold.
And one day he came over some old clan belongings, some really fine pieces that he held dear, but he was alone and such things did not matter much anymore, so he took the chance to go to Baldur's Gate to sell the pieces, as there were more gold to be had there. He enjoyed Baldur's Gate, he felt safe there, he even ventured down into the sewers to kill vermin, and earned a bit of gold her and there.
He met smugglers one day in the sewers, and was offered gold to help out with protection and carrying the goods, and the smugglers even paid the gold he was offered. He learned quite a few trick from those fellows, he learned of Mask and his mysterious disappearance, and of the guild thieves and their power. He also pulled off his own smuggling operations, carefully staying clear of guild ears and eyes. Carrying sealed packages and a larger sealed crate on occation, both in and out and through the city, straight to and from the ships in the docks. At times he was cut off short, at times the guards were after him and he had to drop the goods and run, losing his favor. But, he had gold to keep himself going, and he could even share a meal with someone that had useful bits of information or some trick he could use.
Being a loner was not the grand life he wished he could have, after hearing tales of commoners winning at dice or cards. One might buy a house in town, if one had enough cash to pay for it, the bribes and the scrollwork. Maybe one could even set up a shop or a watering hole on his elder days... One can go far with gold and quite the bribery, if one knows what toes not to step on, and knowing when to shut the yapper. A good thing he was a gruff stubborn dwarf. He might get to wear a bit fancier garment in time.
And now I hope you understand. It is not a small bio, I fancied the story would be a bit more interesting.
The years passed, but Khazron wasn't impressing the elders with his workmanship. He worked as hard as any other, long hours, until he earned his meal and his sleep, covered in sweat and soot, dust and slag. He was more fit for mining than for craft. His work was brutishly done, it did not seem he liked making fine art at all, his work remained only practical, and good enough for that. The elders saw something though, when the alarm sounded, and the mine was besieged by giant rats or by large snakes, or kobolds, even goblins, Khazron really enjoyed fending these creatures off, he even chased them, running after them, out of the mine, and down the hill, and into the forest. The other dwarves were yelling for him to stop, because it was a waste of productivity to chase down an enemy that left the mine itself. And every time he got back he was punished. Such behavior was foul to dwarven society, wasting precious time scrambling down the hills.
Then one time he was not punished anymore, and that was when he brought back a boar that he had slain on one of his runs. He offered it to the clan as a gift, so that he was allowed to eat, and be allowed his sleep. The clan did see an advantage in this, being offered a fresh meal, a meal they all appreciated better than the old smoked jerky they had for oh so long. And thus they told Khazron that he was to become a hunter for the clan. There was conditions though, and one of them was that he was to not draw any attention whatsoever to the mine or to the trade routes of the clan. It was wise to stay out of focus of the world above. There was better food up there, and there was wood, a few good tools, trade, and eventually the gold and gems found their way back down, but there was also envy. Envy that occasionally found its way down into the mine.
The clan was getting rich, and there was word of it once and again. And so the dwarved paid for Khazrons stealth training, he was to hide and move silently when not in the clan hold, and he was trained in the use of traps so he could feed the clan. On these hunts Khazron saw strangers from time to time, and he hid and was silent, and took a sport in that. He had time for this when the traps did their work. He also found some lone cabins and tiny farms, that all look long deserted, and he broke into the places to see if there was things useful to the clan in there. And he became interested in the locks that some of the doors and the chests had. He found the keys at times, but now and then he had to start fiddling with the lock to try to open the sturdy chests. Some keys worked, other times he tried to pick the locks open with pieces of metal. He would dismantle the lock and see how they worked, and he learned how the simple locks were picked. He really enjoyed being successful in this, it was a victory each and every time he opened one, and he celebrated it. The things he found he brought back to the clan along with the food.
But, someone must have watched him, someone must have heard of the clan. And on one dark day when Khazron was far into the forest below, a horde of bandits, gnoll and flind, smashed their way into the clan hold, there must have been a great battle, there were corpses everywhere, everything was broken, and there was not a living soul to see... ...when Khazron came back. He scurried all over the place looking for his mates, his mother and father, his sisters and his brothers, but they were all dead, and lay strewn about along with broken weapons and tools, and valuables were gone. Even the clan treasury have been hauled away, there were tracks everywhere. Kegs were missing, the food supply was gone, even some dwarves were missing. Khazron was really lost, the bandits must have been long gone for a day or two, and Khazron cursed himself, he gave himself all the blame, he went mad, furious, smashed what was left, cursing all the dwarven gods over and over again, cursed himself, cursed the bandits.
He had a breakdown and went mad for a time, drinking what was left of the ale, until he became sick, over and over, until one day he could not be further down. He lay on the floor in the clan hold, alone in the darkness, and started to think, about himself, his life and the ill way it all had taken. He gathered up whatever he could bring and left that doomed place, he left the clan behind that day, forever, and he traveled the roads and learned of the towns and the cities.
He was hunting to feed himself, and he sold meat to farmers, and shared a tale or two. But he never stayed at the farms and villages, he never had any trust in anyone but his clan, and the farmers took him for being a little ill tempered and gruff, and he was. He even found bandits in his traps, and took great pleasure in slaying them. They paid for his clan, and he even hunted bandits, and took their finer belongings and sold them in the villages, and had his fair share of ale with the gold.
And one day he came over some old clan belongings, some really fine pieces that he held dear, but he was alone and such things did not matter much anymore, so he took the chance to go to Baldur's Gate to sell the pieces, as there were more gold to be had there. He enjoyed Baldur's Gate, he felt safe there, he even ventured down into the sewers to kill vermin, and earned a bit of gold her and there.
He met smugglers one day in the sewers, and was offered gold to help out with protection and carrying the goods, and the smugglers even paid the gold he was offered. He learned quite a few trick from those fellows, he learned of Mask and his mysterious disappearance, and of the guild thieves and their power. He also pulled off his own smuggling operations, carefully staying clear of guild ears and eyes. Carrying sealed packages and a larger sealed crate on occation, both in and out and through the city, straight to and from the ships in the docks. At times he was cut off short, at times the guards were after him and he had to drop the goods and run, losing his favor. But, he had gold to keep himself going, and he could even share a meal with someone that had useful bits of information or some trick he could use.
Being a loner was not the grand life he wished he could have, after hearing tales of commoners winning at dice or cards. One might buy a house in town, if one had enough cash to pay for it, the bribes and the scrollwork. Maybe one could even set up a shop or a watering hole on his elder days... One can go far with gold and quite the bribery, if one knows what toes not to step on, and knowing when to shut the yapper. A good thing he was a gruff stubborn dwarf. He might get to wear a bit fancier garment in time.
And now I hope you understand. It is not a small bio, I fancied the story would be a bit more interesting.