Post by gorirah on Nov 18, 2013 14:36:56 GMT
Scarne Gol Dolvak was sixth-born of Brokk and Nora, a wealthy couple of Clan Dolvak in the city of Iron Spur. Named after the mountain peak that shadowed the family silver mine in the foothills of the western spur of the Galena range, he also bears the name of his great grandfather, Gol, who founded the family business. Though it now lies depleted, the mine once stood as a backbone to the business which now prospers from a range of refined metals, enchanted gemstones and mining machinery.
Gol was a ruthless businessman who succumbed to a feverish gold greed in his later years, he expertly used the contract laws to entrap others and enrich himself. His firstborn son, Guern, grew up unsettled by his father's blatant nature and by the time he inherited the business, its reputation was starting to exaggerate that of the Dolvaks. The business had expanded significantly through independent prospectors in the Vaasa tundra. By fanning rumours of rich strikes and supplying quality mining equipment on credit, Gol had twisted foreclosure on those with promising placers and amassed a host of gem mines and rich iron seams. Now, after more than two centuries, the family trade reaches over Damara, west into Vaasa and south into Impiltur.
Guern was a devoted and highly talented prospector and in addition to the usual techniques, he had also developed his own distinct methods over many years. The subtle flavours of the earth were a speciality, taking indications of ore purity, discerning trace minerals in the water, the geological fingerprint that gave ales and spirits their regional taste. Though he rejected Gol's unapologetic and aggressive approach, Guern and his family including Scarne all embraced the family ethic; That wealth and strength were the measure of a Dwarf, that the end justified lawful means, that the law itself was a tool to be safeguarded and exploited.
As the youngest in the family, Scarne was very much in the shadow of his siblings and birth order was the key to much of family life. With last choices and the watery stew from the bottom of the pot, Scarne did not bulk out as well as the others. One thing was consistent among them, until they had proven themselves they were a business asset first and family second. They would get opportunities to learn, but they would be expected to work all the more to pay for it. It was how the family functioned, and similar with many of the clan Dolvak.
Being the least popular job among his siblings, Scarne was put to work in the mines from a young age. His talents for mining grew as a necessity unlike his interest in Guern's teachings. It was more a path of least resistance at first, for Guern was keen to pass on his talents, particularly in the face of other clan prospectors scoffing at his methods. Regardless, Scarne grew to be genuinely engaged by it, taking a lunchbox full of samples from Guern's collection each day, sucking on them through the long hours with his pick and then reporting back with his estimations of composition and purity.
His father worked as an expert smelter and engineer and, in return for the ore he mined, he was first apprenticed in engineering with the Sappers. It gave a broad range of opportunities, from building winches and gearing for mine lifts, to mechanical smelting pots and brewery vats, secret doors and locksmithing, even body parts for the company golems. He would also take the chance to help his mother barreling Bloodstone Ale in the brewery, or better to sit and watch his easy going uncle Shern at his lapidary work. Shern was a bard, a standard bearer of the military and he would teach Scarne verses of their past as he cut tiny sapphires for bearings or enchanted fire opals for the eyes of watchers.
In line with Brokk's beliefs, Scarne and his siblings had all been brought up in rejection of overt and unchecked greed. They were taught the worth of working to strengthen the whole before the self, whether it be family, clan or race. He was taught that he need not hold Vergadain foremost as many Dolvaks did, outwardly or not, but to embrace what called them. For Scarne, it was a sense of Dumathoin who stirred him in the mines, who resonated not just in the teachings of Guern, but in his Oaths of Stone, to safeguard and enrich his Dwarven people.
When it came to his mandatory military service at 40, Scarne was well suited to serving the Defenders. As with all such conscripts, it was a ten year training period in which the various military arms got recruits for a very low wage. It was an obstinate resilience that saw him through it, a trait that would have him hold others to the letter of what they said, regardless of what they actually meant. His integrity and loyalty, but more so his growing jobsworth nature, led him to be picked for dull guard duties at the company vaults and private offices.
...And there he stood, proudly wearing the clan colours. The low torchlight gave a golden glow to the ornate silver inlaid upon double doors that lead to Guern's private office and treasury. A lone Dwarf guard, crested partisan in hand, whiling the hours at the end of a silent corridor. His jaw moved slowly as he savoured a small rock, a vigilant look belied his contemplation of what his thumbnail was drawing from his nostril. Discarding the inferior bogey that emerged, he shuffled on his feet and shifted his sweaty grip to a cooler section of the wooden shaft.
Crested partisans. They were part of the uniform and along with the ceremonial half-plate, pleated breeches and tall domed helmets, they were quietly thought of by many house defenders as antiquated and pompous. Scarne however would disagree with that, he held his partisan with prominence and looked forward to correcting the next group of merchant guard who would snigger at his attire.
His mind drifted again, the hallway silent but for the piece of hornfel rattling against his teeth. A taste of green diopside became apparent and stirred memories of the verse uncle Shern had taught him when he first found the gem in his lunchbox;
A dawn of leave from city and crowd,
I wander out through mountain proud.
Such a path brings breath to rarefy,
Where rivers of ice groan and sigh.
Steep white fields aflow with our past,
Where brave fathers fought to the last.
Their icy tombs on the night I depart,
Puts steel into spine yet lead into heart.
The halls and mines of old Thostheim,
Echoing picks and songs of its time.
A hearth in earth under frozen shroud,
This land demands its renewal avowed.
(Old Thostheim, by Shern Gol-Dolvak)
The verse told of the old Clan Halls. Gol had been one of the last sons of clan Thost before it was decimated in 1113 DR by the ancient white dragon Ilphaqvaczyryx. The dragon had come in envy for the Thostheim ruby, a radiant 4,400 carat stone that leeched the warmth from miles around and bathed that heat into the feast hall hearth on which it was set.
Further verses described the battles, from the incursion of frost kobolds and their their attempt to steal of the gem, to the climatic spell of the dragon which buried the halls in a river of ice. They told of the escape of the women and children, of whom Gol had been one. They told of the warriors who stayed and defended that escape, who were trapped in the ice as it consumed the halls, suspended mid-battle with the kobolds they fought.
The final verses tell of a young Dwarf named Gan Thost, who saved the gem from the Kobolds and tried to take it to safety, away from the halls. His hope in a draught of invisibility was sound but in his haste he did not reckon for his footprints in the snow. Ilphaqvaczyryx roared and flew down upon him, yet not seeing that he carried the gem, it swallowed him whole. The verse says that Gan took revenge by wedging the gem in the gut of the dragon, that its heat would forever more be a torment of indigestion and a reminder to never eat Dwarf. It says that if a dragon is seen to gout flame from the wrong end, it will be Ilphaqvaczyryx.
A distant voice muffled by the long stone passages took his attention suddenly, pulling him from a daydream of Gan. Stretching his back, the familiar cracking came from his chest and with his posture corrected, he stood in expectation as the footsteps became apparent. Scarne had been given no official notification of appointments and, as the figure of an older Dwarf turned the end of the corridor, Scarne stepped forward striking the butt end of his partisan aggressively on the floor.
"Ye name an bisness? Or I'll be fryin ye balls fer mah dog!" he announced, staring his father in the eye.
Mucky with soot and dressed in a thick apron, Brokk stopped sharply in front of Scarne. Shaking his head, he opened a hand and replied with a disappointed look.
"Spit it out laddie or I'll be bustin ya jaw fer eatin on duty"
Scarne froze, realising he had forgotten something. He grumbled briefly and took the piece of grey rock out of his mouth, dropping it into Brokk's waiting palm.
"It be 'omework" He excused, now caught a bit off guard.
"Suckin rocks on duty?" Brokk paused as he rolled the rock between his fingers, "We'll see wot ye sergeant got ta say about dat, eh lad?" Brokk walked past Scarne and knocked on the doors before turning back to his son.
"Ya gonna be relieved o'duty any'ow, time ya stood on yer own feet fer real"
"Yeah, get in 'ere" The familiar voice of Gol came from behind the doors.
Brokk pushed open the doors and walked into the office while Scarne tried to put on the appearance of escorting him. Behind a large desk of brown marble and dark hardwood sat Guern, richly robed, his grey beard reaching his waist and his face weathered by centuries. Gol's pipe lay smouldering weakly in an ashtray and the earthy odour of the Zahekarin gave a familiar welcome.
"Brokk?" Guern paused a little surprised, "Summat up?" The old Dwarf glanced to Scarne and pointed to a liquor cabinet before snapping his fingers.
Scarne propped his partisan up against the wall and closed the doors before heading eagerly over to the drinks, he knew what this would be about. As with all his siblings, when they had come of age, each would be cut from the family ties and sent out to prove themselves. There would be no concession and no welcome until they could demonstrate success.
Brokk dropped the piece of hornfel on the desk, passed a parchment to Gol and took a seat, relaxing into the upholstery and glancing round to Scarne as he went for the drinks.
"Scarne be due fer provin an I be finkin we sends im ta Cormyr" He gestured to the parchment.
Gol picked up the rock and nodded as he read through the information about the situation in Cormyr.
"Wots ye rock taste of Scarne?" He asked, putting the parchment aside.
Scarne put three down three ornate silver mugs on the desk and quietly half-filled each with Gol's favourite rum as his eyes flicked between the other two.
"Be 'onfel, born of limestone, gots dat smoov taste of green diopside dat would 'ave me diggin fer more."
"An wot else ye may finds in such ..." Gol stared at Scarne, his words trailing off as his eyes flicked back to the emptied bottle of very expensive rum.
"Yer cheeky bugga, drink dat an ye diggin out feast'all cesspit wiv a spoon!" he started, leaving Scarne in a long pause for thought.
"Eitha way, ya pack yer bags and sling yer 'ook in da week. It be Cormyr fer ye an be nay comin back till ye fit fer me liquor."
Gol was a ruthless businessman who succumbed to a feverish gold greed in his later years, he expertly used the contract laws to entrap others and enrich himself. His firstborn son, Guern, grew up unsettled by his father's blatant nature and by the time he inherited the business, its reputation was starting to exaggerate that of the Dolvaks. The business had expanded significantly through independent prospectors in the Vaasa tundra. By fanning rumours of rich strikes and supplying quality mining equipment on credit, Gol had twisted foreclosure on those with promising placers and amassed a host of gem mines and rich iron seams. Now, after more than two centuries, the family trade reaches over Damara, west into Vaasa and south into Impiltur.
Guern was a devoted and highly talented prospector and in addition to the usual techniques, he had also developed his own distinct methods over many years. The subtle flavours of the earth were a speciality, taking indications of ore purity, discerning trace minerals in the water, the geological fingerprint that gave ales and spirits their regional taste. Though he rejected Gol's unapologetic and aggressive approach, Guern and his family including Scarne all embraced the family ethic; That wealth and strength were the measure of a Dwarf, that the end justified lawful means, that the law itself was a tool to be safeguarded and exploited.
As the youngest in the family, Scarne was very much in the shadow of his siblings and birth order was the key to much of family life. With last choices and the watery stew from the bottom of the pot, Scarne did not bulk out as well as the others. One thing was consistent among them, until they had proven themselves they were a business asset first and family second. They would get opportunities to learn, but they would be expected to work all the more to pay for it. It was how the family functioned, and similar with many of the clan Dolvak.
Being the least popular job among his siblings, Scarne was put to work in the mines from a young age. His talents for mining grew as a necessity unlike his interest in Guern's teachings. It was more a path of least resistance at first, for Guern was keen to pass on his talents, particularly in the face of other clan prospectors scoffing at his methods. Regardless, Scarne grew to be genuinely engaged by it, taking a lunchbox full of samples from Guern's collection each day, sucking on them through the long hours with his pick and then reporting back with his estimations of composition and purity.
His father worked as an expert smelter and engineer and, in return for the ore he mined, he was first apprenticed in engineering with the Sappers. It gave a broad range of opportunities, from building winches and gearing for mine lifts, to mechanical smelting pots and brewery vats, secret doors and locksmithing, even body parts for the company golems. He would also take the chance to help his mother barreling Bloodstone Ale in the brewery, or better to sit and watch his easy going uncle Shern at his lapidary work. Shern was a bard, a standard bearer of the military and he would teach Scarne verses of their past as he cut tiny sapphires for bearings or enchanted fire opals for the eyes of watchers.
In line with Brokk's beliefs, Scarne and his siblings had all been brought up in rejection of overt and unchecked greed. They were taught the worth of working to strengthen the whole before the self, whether it be family, clan or race. He was taught that he need not hold Vergadain foremost as many Dolvaks did, outwardly or not, but to embrace what called them. For Scarne, it was a sense of Dumathoin who stirred him in the mines, who resonated not just in the teachings of Guern, but in his Oaths of Stone, to safeguard and enrich his Dwarven people.
When it came to his mandatory military service at 40, Scarne was well suited to serving the Defenders. As with all such conscripts, it was a ten year training period in which the various military arms got recruits for a very low wage. It was an obstinate resilience that saw him through it, a trait that would have him hold others to the letter of what they said, regardless of what they actually meant. His integrity and loyalty, but more so his growing jobsworth nature, led him to be picked for dull guard duties at the company vaults and private offices.
...And there he stood, proudly wearing the clan colours. The low torchlight gave a golden glow to the ornate silver inlaid upon double doors that lead to Guern's private office and treasury. A lone Dwarf guard, crested partisan in hand, whiling the hours at the end of a silent corridor. His jaw moved slowly as he savoured a small rock, a vigilant look belied his contemplation of what his thumbnail was drawing from his nostril. Discarding the inferior bogey that emerged, he shuffled on his feet and shifted his sweaty grip to a cooler section of the wooden shaft.
Crested partisans. They were part of the uniform and along with the ceremonial half-plate, pleated breeches and tall domed helmets, they were quietly thought of by many house defenders as antiquated and pompous. Scarne however would disagree with that, he held his partisan with prominence and looked forward to correcting the next group of merchant guard who would snigger at his attire.
His mind drifted again, the hallway silent but for the piece of hornfel rattling against his teeth. A taste of green diopside became apparent and stirred memories of the verse uncle Shern had taught him when he first found the gem in his lunchbox;
A dawn of leave from city and crowd,
I wander out through mountain proud.
Such a path brings breath to rarefy,
Where rivers of ice groan and sigh.
Steep white fields aflow with our past,
Where brave fathers fought to the last.
Their icy tombs on the night I depart,
Puts steel into spine yet lead into heart.
The halls and mines of old Thostheim,
Echoing picks and songs of its time.
A hearth in earth under frozen shroud,
This land demands its renewal avowed.
(Old Thostheim, by Shern Gol-Dolvak)
The verse told of the old Clan Halls. Gol had been one of the last sons of clan Thost before it was decimated in 1113 DR by the ancient white dragon Ilphaqvaczyryx. The dragon had come in envy for the Thostheim ruby, a radiant 4,400 carat stone that leeched the warmth from miles around and bathed that heat into the feast hall hearth on which it was set.
Further verses described the battles, from the incursion of frost kobolds and their their attempt to steal of the gem, to the climatic spell of the dragon which buried the halls in a river of ice. They told of the escape of the women and children, of whom Gol had been one. They told of the warriors who stayed and defended that escape, who were trapped in the ice as it consumed the halls, suspended mid-battle with the kobolds they fought.
The final verses tell of a young Dwarf named Gan Thost, who saved the gem from the Kobolds and tried to take it to safety, away from the halls. His hope in a draught of invisibility was sound but in his haste he did not reckon for his footprints in the snow. Ilphaqvaczyryx roared and flew down upon him, yet not seeing that he carried the gem, it swallowed him whole. The verse says that Gan took revenge by wedging the gem in the gut of the dragon, that its heat would forever more be a torment of indigestion and a reminder to never eat Dwarf. It says that if a dragon is seen to gout flame from the wrong end, it will be Ilphaqvaczyryx.
A distant voice muffled by the long stone passages took his attention suddenly, pulling him from a daydream of Gan. Stretching his back, the familiar cracking came from his chest and with his posture corrected, he stood in expectation as the footsteps became apparent. Scarne had been given no official notification of appointments and, as the figure of an older Dwarf turned the end of the corridor, Scarne stepped forward striking the butt end of his partisan aggressively on the floor.
"Ye name an bisness? Or I'll be fryin ye balls fer mah dog!" he announced, staring his father in the eye.
Mucky with soot and dressed in a thick apron, Brokk stopped sharply in front of Scarne. Shaking his head, he opened a hand and replied with a disappointed look.
"Spit it out laddie or I'll be bustin ya jaw fer eatin on duty"
Scarne froze, realising he had forgotten something. He grumbled briefly and took the piece of grey rock out of his mouth, dropping it into Brokk's waiting palm.
"It be 'omework" He excused, now caught a bit off guard.
"Suckin rocks on duty?" Brokk paused as he rolled the rock between his fingers, "We'll see wot ye sergeant got ta say about dat, eh lad?" Brokk walked past Scarne and knocked on the doors before turning back to his son.
"Ya gonna be relieved o'duty any'ow, time ya stood on yer own feet fer real"
"Yeah, get in 'ere" The familiar voice of Gol came from behind the doors.
Brokk pushed open the doors and walked into the office while Scarne tried to put on the appearance of escorting him. Behind a large desk of brown marble and dark hardwood sat Guern, richly robed, his grey beard reaching his waist and his face weathered by centuries. Gol's pipe lay smouldering weakly in an ashtray and the earthy odour of the Zahekarin gave a familiar welcome.
"Brokk?" Guern paused a little surprised, "Summat up?" The old Dwarf glanced to Scarne and pointed to a liquor cabinet before snapping his fingers.
Scarne propped his partisan up against the wall and closed the doors before heading eagerly over to the drinks, he knew what this would be about. As with all his siblings, when they had come of age, each would be cut from the family ties and sent out to prove themselves. There would be no concession and no welcome until they could demonstrate success.
Brokk dropped the piece of hornfel on the desk, passed a parchment to Gol and took a seat, relaxing into the upholstery and glancing round to Scarne as he went for the drinks.
"Scarne be due fer provin an I be finkin we sends im ta Cormyr" He gestured to the parchment.
Gol picked up the rock and nodded as he read through the information about the situation in Cormyr.
"Wots ye rock taste of Scarne?" He asked, putting the parchment aside.
Scarne put three down three ornate silver mugs on the desk and quietly half-filled each with Gol's favourite rum as his eyes flicked between the other two.
"Be 'onfel, born of limestone, gots dat smoov taste of green diopside dat would 'ave me diggin fer more."
"An wot else ye may finds in such ..." Gol stared at Scarne, his words trailing off as his eyes flicked back to the emptied bottle of very expensive rum.
"Yer cheeky bugga, drink dat an ye diggin out feast'all cesspit wiv a spoon!" he started, leaving Scarne in a long pause for thought.
"Eitha way, ya pack yer bags and sling yer 'ook in da week. It be Cormyr fer ye an be nay comin back till ye fit fer me liquor."