The Nature of the Universe
Hammer of the Mountain, Tempest of Arrows
Raised in the mountains above Iltkazar my clan has long served as the sentries of the lands surrounding the Mithril Kingdom.
For generations, my clan has kept the lands clear of Orcs, Goblins and other manner of filth in the land of our ancestors. From harsh mountains to the quiet forest floors and the silent tunnels of the Underdark I’ve cut my teeth on many a foul creature who should dare step uninvited into the Mithril Kingdom. That is, until the dark shadows of some unknown evil begin to creep into the lands. Crops begin to wither and die, the veins of ore turned to mere stone and the very gems of the earth turned to dust. My people turned to the elders in this dark time to seek guidance but to no avail, and in our darkest hour my brother Vorgrod came back with grave news…
Nearly ten years ago it’s been since he had been out on a scouting expedition. For nearly one month he and father Vrethguard were to patrol the eastern slopes where we heard of some Orc parties spotted near some outposts. I had heard nothing from them until Vorgrod came back with the grimmest of tidings. On the back of his mount lay the body of our father, wrapped in his grey cloth. My father and brother ran into a band of Orcs and silenced them, all but one. The lone survivor was an Orc Captain, with an arm of Cold Iron. He told them of the evils coming and gave heed to abandon our post, lest we suffer the same fate of the rest of the Kingdom. He spoke of the evil responsible for our ills, and it was coming in full strength. Marching on us was a countless army of the undead, along with bands of the remaining Orc and Goblin alliances looking to take the lands of the Mithral Kingdom for the “shinies” and “streaks of silver knash”. Before my father could relieve him of his head a hidden Goblin dove from a tree and knocked him off balance. The Orc Captain slashed his throat with a blade mounted to his Cold Iron arm, and fled while my brother slayed the Goblin filth. Vorgrod knelt over our father to listen to his dying breath. He gave to my brother our Clan’s symbol of strength, the finest Mithril Hammer wrought by our Dwarven ancestors, before passing onto the next world.
Over the next few years, my brother and I held off what was first Orc and Goblin raiding parties, then mixed with undead support the parties grew too large for us to handle alone. Falling back to the final fort outpost nearest the entry to the kingdom we stood alongside a company of 500 strong Dwarves. After battling for nearly a fortnight, we were overrun. What was left of the company fell back to the tunnels leading to the Underdark, where they may hide behind great walls and gates guarded by the remaining armies of the lands. How long they may last, no one knows.
After the battle I sought my brother amongst the ruins only to find his dead mount bearing the banner of our clan, his bow, and our family hammer. I feared the worst, but seeing signs of a struggle and drag marks I knew my brother was alive. I tracked the trail of the suspected Orcs that took him to their camp and waited until the dead of night where I slaughtered them all, save one. The filth told me they took several dwarves captive, one bearing the sigil of my clan. He spoke of a stronghold in the North, commanded by an Orc with an arm of Cold Iron. The Orc that killed my father had taken my brother prisoner. This talkative Orc claimed that the Cold Iron Orc was bestowed some otherworldly powers by a Lich King in order to spread chaos through the lands of the Dwarves, and granted him use of his undead armies.
For years I have tracked down parties of Orcs, Goblins and Undead in hopes of getting closer to this Cold Iron Orc in his stronghold. My skills as a Ranger granted to me by my father now honed, I believe I am ready to slay the wretch that has brought so much ruin upon me. With my brother’s bow, and the hammer of my clan I ride my mount to claim vengeance.
My enemy knows of me. They fear the hammer of my clan. They fear the silent flame cast from my bow. Some call me Hammer of the Mountain, others call me the Tempest of Arrows. They will be dead before having the chance to ask me of my real name.