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Bramblebeard
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The ongoing tale of Fjord "Bramblebeard" Stonehand, Son of Olaf, Grandson of Norlith, Great grandson of Chlous the Wyrmslayer --
Fjord, in the Runic Tongue of the Kharolan, translates to "Resonance", and what better name by which to call the third son of Olaf Stonehand. As the midwife held up the new borne for his first look at the world, he let out a healthy wail. This first breath of the new life was greeted by low rumbling which shook the ground and appeared to emanate from the very core of the mountain. There was much speculation of what this odd occurrence may herald, but it took more than a strangely timed earthquake to convince the average dwarf that he had just received a sign from the gods, and so this anomaly was soon reasoned away. The most common explanation attributed it to an immense cave-in on the outskirts of the great fortress, several miles from the Emerald's Hall. Though this particular account was widely circulated, most every dwarf knew that true Kharolan stonework does not just collapse. It was more likely that the unexplained earthquake caused the collapse of the tunnel than the other way around. Anyhow, the possible significance of this event was something for the Old Ones to discuss, not the commoner. The average hard working, no nonsense clansman would not sit scratching his head, pondering what caused the tunnel to collapse, but rather begin building a better fixture... and this, for the most part, is exactly what happened.
Fjord had a fairly normal childhood. He lived the better portion of his
life in the Korac Mountains. His immediate family consisted of his father,
Olaf of Clan Stonehand, his mother, Gia, his two older brothers, Durrin
and Runther, his older sister Thella, and his younger sister Haela.
Although not the most clever dwarf, his wisdom and common sense more than
spanned any shortcomings. Although he had a knack for deep insights, he
envied his older brothers. They seemed to pick up on their studies more
quickly and easily than he, and they never failed to point this out to
him, albeit in good nature. Fjord did have his opportunities to
reciprocate this taunting. Whenever his siblings had problems they
couldn't seem to resolve, it was the younger brother they turned to first.
His helpful manner and ability to look at the issue from all angles won
him the praise of his family and friends, and from this he derived great
satisfaction. Fjord was well known for his honesty, intuitiveness and
above all, his ability to out last anyone who dared to test his endurance.
Whether holding his breath, running miles on end, or draining kegs of ale,
he seemed impossible to best. His brothers used this to their advantage,
dragging him along to the local tavern and entering him in any drinking
game they could find. Eventually this became nearly impossible, not
because Fjord couldn't win, but word had spread too far that it was wiser
to drink your coin than bet against Fjord Stonehand. His mother and father continually admonished Durrin and Runther for abusing the kindness and
adoration of their brother in order to con him into completing their
duties around the house, but fjord was blind to this, and cared not one
way or the other. Often times, when Fjord had done another such favor for
Durrin or Runther, they would let him join them in a sparring match. Fjord
thoroughly enjoyed these sparring matches with his brothers, but war craft
and thoughts of battle did not consume him as it did them. He questioned
why creatures fought in the first place. Why couldn't everybody exist in
harmony and strive towards their common goals. Think of the things they
could achieve together! It was during these quandaries and speculations
that his brothers took the opportunity to slip through his defenses and
proceed to lay about him with their wooden clubs. They kindly explained
that people fought to protect themselves, and there was no room on the
battlefield for spiritual enlightenment and philosophical talk, driving
the point home with a teasing bump to the back of his head. When he grew
tired of his brothers' antics, he would find refuge at home, helping his
older sister keep the hearth.
Thella could almost always be found about the home, cleaning or cooking, or some other task to mundane to garner the interest of her other siblings. Fjord loved watching her as she methodically cleaned the dishes, set the table and fanned the fire. She seldom spoke, but always had a smile for everyone. She was most like her father, somewhat quiet and introverted, slow to anger and wise beyond reckoning. She would often tell Fjord stories of lands on the other side of the mountains, and the orc and goblin hordes that the dwarven warriors faced as a daily routine. Then, in the next breath, she would inform him of precisely how long and at what heat to bake a mushroom pie before it was perfected. What fascinated Fjord most about this was Thella's tone of voice never changed. She could have been discussing the end of the world, and if one did not know the Dwarven tongue, they may have mistaken the conversation for instructions on the fastest way to the market.
Haela, Fjord's younger sister, was probably the most unusual one of the family, by Kharolan standards at least. She often spent days alone by herself, working on some new project. Whether she was trying to design stronger dishes, or machines to do the mining, or even a way to propel stones at high velocity through an open tube, she always put her entire mind to the task. On more than one occasion she was teased about the possibility of gnomish blood running in her veins. As she grew older, however, she simplified her attempts, moving away from fanciful inventions and more into practical design. She began fashioning items of extreme beauty and magnificence. Things that, instead of cluttering ones home, served a genuine purpose while retaining their aesthetic value. She herself became more beautiful as years went by, but whether it was her own device, or the overprotective nature of her older brothers, she had not yet attracted a suitor. She simply said that her art required all her attention, and she had no need for a dwarf with more muscles between his ears than his arms. She would usually roll her eyes towards Durrin and Runther during such comments.
The years passed by quickly for Fjord and his rather sheltered life, and he had blissfully ignored the increasing anxiety his brothers were displaying. The announcement was made over dinner one evening. The entire family was there, a rarity these days, since Olaf seemed continually occupied with his duties to the Opal and Haela often times worked through dinner on her designs. Runther stood up, pulling Durrin to his feet as well, and cleared his throat.
"Yes?" Olaf's voice rose, "What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?"
"What? Errrr…I mean, we have made a decision," Runther stammered, "to enlist in the Militia."
"Oh? Really…is this true Durrin?" Olaf inquired as he peered at the younger of the two brothers, who seemed unsure of what to say.
"Yes, we feel we are old enough to chose our own paths, and capable enough to defend our homeland against that which threatens it." Durrin's tone grew in strength, as if it drew power from the bravado of his words.
"Very well then." Olaf replied.
Standing up, he shook each of their hands firmly and told them how proud they would make him, or rather how proud they had better make him.
The next week they received their assignments and began packing that very day. With uncommonly grim faces, the brothers said their farewells and began the arduous journey to the outpost where they were stationed. Neither anticipated the dangers they would encounter while serving their people as guardians of the Underdark, instead their thoughts dwelt on the honor and glory to be had standing against the ever-growing tide of evil that constantly threatened their way of life.
Life went on, relatively uneventful for several more years. Fjord looked forward to the occasional news from his brothers with anticipation. They had become known as the Unbreakable Stonehand Brothers, wherever you found one of them, the other was sure to be close at hand. Apparently this was true in combat also, as the years of sparring practice had served them well, and many a dark elf had fallen before their axes. Olaf had attained something of a reputation with the various dwarven temples, and served as an ambassador of sorts between the factions. Several evenings Fjord would return from the local Armorer's, where he apprenticed for a small wage, to find his house full of clergy. He minded this not at all, and soon became enthralled with the depth and color of the various beliefs of his people. Often times his father would invite him to join the discussions among the priests, for which Fjord was ever grateful. His father was not purely selfless in his invitations, for Fjord had proven adept at understanding and relating the various doctrine and dogma into terms that even the most stubborn clergy found impressive. Again, Fjord's desire for harmony and cooperation manifested itself. He could not understand why the gods of one race could not collaborate. Why must there be a separate temple to every god instead of temples where any of the faithful could worship? Not even Fjord's commendable attempts could convince the older priests that this would be in the best interest of the race. Fjord, however, was blessed with the common sense to know when to keep his thoughts to himself, but he never let this concept fade far from his heart.
Fjord's younger sister, Haela, was the next to leave. About 7 years after Durrin and Runther had left to follow the path of the warrior, a small group of strangers came calling at the residence of Olaf Stonehand. Olaf greeted them kindly and, with typical dwarven hospitality, he invited them in to sample the finest cooking this side of the Deathwaste. It turned out that the two humans were somewhat famous artisans and craftsman, while the other companions were their guardsmen. They had even brought along a well-paid wizard to teleport them here from the famed city of Khezek Tor. They explained that extra expense was worth it to avoid the dangers of travel, and may even end up paying for itself. As they said this, their eyes crossed over to Haela. Fjord had a sinking feeling that this was not a sightseeing tour, and it did not take long for the craftsmen to confirm his suspicion. They immediately brought out a small chest and opened the lock. Inside laid many months wages worth of coins, and a ruby necklace. They went on to explain that they wanted to expand their scope of business and had seen some replications of Haela's work. They were so impressed, that they came straight away to request that she begin her apprenticeship in Khezek Tor immediately. They guaranteed high wages, and would cover all relocation expenses. The necklace was a gift for the Lady of the home, regardless of the answer, and the coins were to cover any lost income that may result from Haela's departure. So convincing were the two men, and so taken by surprise was Olaf, that he was astonished to find himself agreeing to let his youngest daughter leave the very next day. Fjord could swear that the magician had somehow charmed his father into submission, but he was not about to challenge Olaf's decision. Besides, Haela was practically doing handstands over the idea of displaying her unique designs in such a city. No one noticed as Gia quickly wiped a single tear from her eye. She immediately set about fixing some rations "fit for a daughter of clan Stonehand". Even the bold newcomers had not the heart to explain that a single spell from the wizard would have them to Khezek Tor instantly, and there was no reason for the rations.
Things slowed to a relative crawl around the Stonehand cavern. Olaf spent
more time studying the Ancient Dwarven Runes, and accepted the position of
Chief Jade in charge of Records, directly assisting the Opal, though he
was still occasionally called upon to attend diplomatic meetings. Gia and
Thella maintained the house as always. Fjord studied his father's
manuscripts, which greatly pleased his father for a several reasons, not
the least one of which was the more his son entrenched himself in
learning, the less time he would have to consider the path of his older
brothers. But Fjord was troubled. His mother had become distant since the
brothers and Haela had left. He would catch her caressing her ruby
necklace and staring into the fire, humming tunelessly to herself. He felt
he could almost read her thoughts and feel her longing for her children.
Time had taken its toll on Olaf as well. Fjord's father had grown visibly
older, his beard turning silver and his face becoming harder and thinner,
with the wrinkled areas outnumbering the unwrinkled ones. His father was a
torn man. When he buried himself in his studies, he almost forgot time and
place, but at the same time, he worried that his absence was widening the
distance between him and his family. He subtly began training Fjord to
assume his position. Fjord was not as blind as his father seemed to think,
however, and noticed the lengths to which Olaf went to ensure his son
would be a suitable candidate. He was not one to go against his father's
wishes and so Fjord was admitted into the service of the Dwarven clergy at
the young age of 47, under the sponsorship of his father. Good things were
expected, but no one ever expects the unexpected.