Life Before Puddleby |
I had been born fairly well in the Dwarven Race, Son of good decently wealthy parents. I had 6 siblings older then myself, three brothers and three sisters, I was the baby of the family. My youth was spent in the best schools learning the math and science necessary to carry the family business. My family had been brilliant engineers as far back as was remembered, many of the great and famous landmarks of Dwarven society bare my families mark. My family had a history of being on good standing with the law, there were no exiles in our history and only minor infractions for p ublic drunkeness (laughable offense to a dwarf). The local magistrate knew our family and we were not uncommonly at social events with him. There never was any sign of trouble until the year of my passing into manhood. Several families in the area were homeless due to one of those little local rebellions that pop up every now and then, my family had no part in the rebellion, we had no need to, we would design structures and massive underground halls no matter who ruled. My father, being a kind soul, opened his house to those without shelter. We had room enough, our house was a massive mansion, and in the common Dwarven form of the past, was carved out of a large cliff which commanded a view of the surrounding country. As the uprising became widespread, more people came to seek shelter in our home. The magistrate discovered what was happening and sent a detachment of his troops to deal with, what he must have assumed, was a rebellion head quarters. From an upper window one of our guests spied them coming from afar, fearing the worst we took up arms. When they arrived they began attacking and killing the helpless innocents who were sleeping in the hallway. Those of us who had weapons were outraged, we fell on them with a ferocity that only a dwarf can muster. In the end three of us were left standing me, my father, and one of the refugees who had been a guest in our house, with the |
Life In Puddleby |
There I was a dwarf without a home, I did not know very well how to use a weapon, having used one only in the attack and never before. I slowly realized the strength my small body held. I began to cast around for others like myself, it was then that I met, Jeanne, an intellectual, like myself, exiled to a hard life of fighting. |
