Good Mythical Morning
Hailing from the mountainous kingdom of the dwarves, Grimmorn was born and raised within the city of Hig Bolgar. The city had always been known for its close ties to Thrias, the first and best, of mortals whom ascended to godhood. The fact that Thrias was also the only dwarf to have ascended may’ve had something to do with it.
It was here that the more curious of dwarves found themselves. The closest underground city to the surface world, Hig Bolgar often housed some of the kingdom’s greatest soldiers and defenses, should the land dwellers get bold enough. Rare were the times that the full force of a dwarven army need come to bear, but each amongst Bolgar were always ready. One such dwarf was Grimmorn Stonebraid. A youthful member of the Stonebraid Clan, he’d been taught early on that his kindship had direct blood to the mighty Thrias himself. The validity of this claim, however, was dubious as roughly two dozen clans had often claimed blood relation. So far diluted were the rumors of bloodlines that many clans had taken to bribing local historians or employing their own to refute the claims of other clans.
Grimmorn, or Grim as he was known, was young by dwarven standards and thus had only begun to truly serve the duty all his kin claimed. Trained from early youth to use various sorts of martial weapons, it was the untapped rage that burned within the youth that came to fruition only a few years past. Barbarians, Berserkers, Blood warriors, they had many names when it came to those warriors who could tap into the passion that Thrias himself had. They were both held in a revered status and one of concern and caution as to let yourself give in to the lust of battle could also make you a liability to your comrades.
Those who held this innate ability were also amongst the rare group that would often leave the safety and comfort of the underground kingdom. Whether it was the pressure placed on them from families to prove that
their blood was closest to Thrias or not, many were encouraged to make a mark for themselves in the greater world. The hope in such an endeavor was that their deeds would be sung by the skalds in the hearth and bring true validity to that clan’s blood ties.
So, it was that Grimmorn felt the pressure of his folk to strike out into the world. No great wealth was given to him as he prepared to leave for the nearest city. A set of armor and a Greatsword shaped to resemble the legend of Thrias, were the only luxuries he left with. A backpack full of rations for the hard road and a bedroll for simple comfort, were the only companions. A great journey and destiny lay ahead and Grimmorn would need to rely on more than just strength of arms to ensure his name remembered in the great halls.