Heroes of the Lore Backstories

Brunthar

“Bored”

Brunthar Gra’nit slammed a large horn of dwarven mead down on the rickety wooden table. The old wood groaned in protest as Brunthar looked around the noisy tavern. Located just outside the Ironside Mines, the Yellow Canary was a miners tavern, packed to the brim with loud, drunk dwarves. Like many miners taverns, the Yellow Canary opened its doors to all sorts of patronage; from the tired miners at the front of the bar, to the skulking rouges in hoods at the back.

On this midsummer eve, Brunthar found himself in the company of a ragtag group of miners and treasure hunters, out in pursuit of what initially seemed like a tall tale. Whispers in the miner town of Coal Harbour spoke of a rare vein of ore within the Ironside Mountains. Brunthar was an experienced miner, as expected from the scion of house Gra’nit. The mature dwarf had eaten enough salt to know that the ore spoken of would at the very least be valuable. That in turn meant gold, and gold was good.

Brunthar adjusted the thick leather straps on his breastplate and reached out for the large warhammer by his side. Using the weapon as a prop, he got to his feet and looked around. The older dwarf at the table was bent over a map, no doubt trying to locate the rare ore. The other two younger dwarves, as expected, were nose deep in their drinking horns. Brunthar grunted in disgust and cocked his shaggy head at the door.

“Mines”, he said as the stout dwarf made his way towards the door.

—------

The party of five made their way deeper into the belly of the Ironside Mines, with Torren the Elder leading the way. Still hunched over the map, Torren reached a hand out to halt the party. The three dwarves in the rear slowed their pace, and Brunthar walked up to the navigators.

“Lost?”

“Dwarves do not get lost”, the old dwarf grunted.

“Map says there should be a narrow opening right here..but unless me old eyes have turned to rocks”, Torren peered over the map, “I’d say we’ve had a cave-in”.

Brunthar groaned in exasperation as he walked over..

“Well”, he looked over to his stout, dwarven companions. “Make yourselves useful”.

---

After backbreaking hours of excavating and lifting rocks, the party revealed the mouth to a cavern. While the serpentine path ahead left much to the imagination, a faint glow emanating from the belly of the carven gave the party hope that they had in fact found the objective of their quest. Bolgard the dwarf let out a deep chuckle, tightening his grip on his pickaxe as he ventured further into the cavern.

As the party turned the corner, the path opened into an atrium within the mines. Veins of a shimmering ore ran across the walls and ceiling of the atrium, stunning to behold. Bolgard edged towards the walls, running his fingers along the cold stone. The dwarf’s eyes opened wide with recognition of the precious material beneath his fingertips.

“Vol’garmand!”, he said with a gasp. “This is –”

“Deity ore”, grunted Brunthar. The son of house Gra’nit was familiar with the rare metal, having seen one such Deity Armour stored within the Gra’nit armoury. If the party were able to harvest even half the Deity ore in this atrium, that would fill house Gra’nit’s coffers for years. Brunthar reached for his pickaxe and looked expectantly at the rest of his company.

“You’ve heard the tales. The mountains do not like brave adventurers poking about in its belly. And it certainly does not like –”, he grunted as he took a hefty swing at a vein of ore. The pickaxe met stone with a shower of sparks and a loud ring of metal on metal. As the ringing subsided, a low rumble began to take its place. “-- when we try to take what isn’t ours”.

With a low scrape of stone on stone, the loose boulders around the cavern were pulled into the atrium as if by some magnetic force. The boulders stacked and organized themselves in two vaguely humanoid shapes before remaining absolutely still. Brunthar felt static electricity in the air as the thick hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end.

Old magic, the dwarf thought to himself.

As if right on cue, green runes etched themselves into the heads of the two stone golems, and the automatons sprang to life. Torren the Elder instinctively backed away, he was too old to be swinging a hammer about.

“Mountain is angry”, Brunthar said with a grunt. Reaching towards his warhammer, Brunthar looked back at the other two dwarves in his party.

“Listen up lads, let me show you why they call me --”

With speed betraying anything expected of Brunthar’s stout form, he leapt towards the first golem. Bringing down the mighty warhammer, the dwarf bellowed his warcry.

“-- The Fist of the Mountain!”

—------

As the sun set on the Ironside Mines, the party of four dwarves emerged pushing wagons full of shimmering ore. The quest was a success, and Brunthar already had the design of a marvelous piece of armour in mind. Yet as the dwarves made their way back to the tavern, Brunthar could not help but feel a sense of disappointment. The joy of such raids were too fleeting, for Brunthar longed to be challenged.

Reaching out towards his warhammer, Brunthar gazed upon his taut forearms. Barely a scar on these arms, in decades of adventuring. Perhaps it was time to leave the mountains in search for a better quarry. He had heard tale of a place, down by the God’s Trench. A tavern nonetheless, Gods knew the dwarves liked taverns. Perhaps here he would learn about The Dungeons, and meet a few fools willing to test their mettle.

Perhaps the quest was foolhardy, nobody came back from The Dungeons. But Bunthar Gra’nit was not nobody, the Fist of the Mountain would carve his name in history as the master of The Dungeons, or he could paint its walls with his blood.

Either way, Brunthar thought with an audible grunt, it sounded like an adventure.