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Old 03-31-2013
DurinRustbeard's Avatar
DurinRustbeard DurinRustbeard is offline
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Join Date: May 2008
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DurinRustbeard is a jewel in the roughDurinRustbeard is a jewel in the roughDurinRustbeard is a jewel in the rough
The Road of Return

*note: It has been 4 + years since I've written on these forums so forgive me as i am abit Rusty.*

The dwarf dressed in fine tailored clothes rested his face on his manicured hand as he rode in a carriage on its way north. The sun filtered in through the coach's window while his strong and nimble fingers laced into the deep of his well tended beard. The eyes of this dwarf looked distant as they observed the passing scenery. His mind in a swirl of thoughts, battles and speeches some nearly six years ago. The carriage kicked suddenly shoving his propping hand as well as his body towards the center of his seat and away from the carriage window. In regaining his posture he pressed with his hand against the padded seat and was reminded of the bit of parchment that was folded and clenched in his free hand. Once upright and bobbling along again his dazed stare went to that hand and the parchment.

Using his thumb and forefinger he slowly opened the folded note to reveal the simple and dis-concerning message within. In short dwarven script was written “You're needed!” followed by the seal of crossed axes behind shield and flaming skull. It was the symbol of the Skullcleavers. His mind echoed the name of the band of dwarves which he had aided in coming to a place of some prominence in the northern city of Sundren. Even though his business in Mirabar had been quite heavily paced in the five, nearly six years since he had departed Sundren he could not ignore this message. The letter came with no signature, nor true information of origin, and he was quite surprised that this message had reached him at all.

When he had left the group they were in the sturdy hands of Gloirin Ironforge a powerful dwarf whom the cleavers had decided to be their Captain and leader granting him their finest armors and enchanted goods. Kilinar had himself served as a steward of sorts, his more wordly perspective proving itself useful on occasion as compared to the thick headedness of many of his kin. Combine this with his mercantile skills, craftsmanship, and wizardry and he was atleast within his own mind a suitable adviser and confidant to the Skullcleaver's leader. Kilinar had been raised as any good dwarf would be in Mirabar, the city of Dwarves and Men. He had lived there for twenty four years before making a friendship in Silverymoon that would forever change the perspective and understanding of his now one hundred and sixty one year life.

He had become the apprentice to one of the many who practiced the arts of magic within the diverse city of Silverymoon, Gem of the North. It was there that the young and moldable mind of a clever dwarf was given a wider view of the world. Simply being born in Mirabar aided in this since unlike many other cities which the dwarves of Faerune called home since it was a city of dwarves and humans. His disposition to other races as well as his understanding.......

His thoughts were interrupted as another jostling of the carriage sent him sideways and some of the contents of his pack toppling off the other seat across from him revealing the beautiful glimmer of mithral armor. His brows furrowed and with a heavy sigh he opened the carriage door reaching up to hold the jam of the door for support while he leaned out to survey the reason for the more constant disruptions. A glance to the rear of the caravan revealed the stone that was nearly as large as his head that the driver had apparently ran strait over. “Apologies Kilinar” came the seasoned voice of the man who drove the team.

“The road grows more rugged each day as we continue north.” the unseen driver continued, obviously aware that Kiliar had opened his door and was causing the carriage to lean slightly as the dwarf stuck his body out one side. “Tis no probl.. Gah!” the dwarf had started as he turned to regard the forward portion of the carriage so that he might speak in the direction of the driver's location. The branch that struck Kilinar luckily was a young one with plenty of spring to it, although the dwarf was spitting pine needles from his mouth while brushing his beard frantically with his free hand.

“Branch!” the driver called back right as Kilinar regained his forward concentration, the taste of pine still permeating his mouth. He yanked himself inside right before another branch of pine, this one of slightly thicker growth slapped and then rubbed the side of the carriage, depositing some of its needles in the opening of the coach. “We'll be to the next stop for this day soon good dwarf. Until then you may want to keep yourself inside.” the driver chuckled. “Indeed!” The dwarf agreed, quickly reaching out, closing the door, and plopping to a sitting position while fishing his finger in and along his gums extracting a pine needle and flicking it to the carpeted coach's floor.
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Last edited by DurinRustbeard; 03-31-2013 at 02:30 PM. Reason: Spelling, note
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