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You look and see a dwarf

with a rounded head resting on a short bull-like neck,
the veins and tendons of which stand out, as if strained.
His black hair is shaved at the sides, revealing a
long, ragged scar along the left side. The rest of his
hair is greased up and spiked in a mohican style, standing
several inches above the scalp.

Muscular to the point of being repugnant, you estimate
this 4' Dwarf to weigh in around 220 lb. His hands are
calloused, the nails thick and splintered, the knuckles
recently grazed, blood still clotting on them.

Returning your gaze to his face you take in the stubby nose,
the black, forked beard, and his beady slate grey eyes,
flecked with blue.

The battle scarred dwarf is a veteran of countless wars and skirmishes, his grizzled face and stern, unforgiving eyes a testament to centuries of heart breaking toil. A fearless leader, he now holds up his calloused hands in surrender and prepares to back down from another bloody feud.

Rehlina, the Elders proposed your marriage to Thane Kavrik, I…, the sentence is left unfinished as he ducks under yet another barrage of heavy clay pottery.

The man is a toolbreaker father. I swear by Haela he has Duegar blood in his veins AND I'M NOT GOING TO WED HIM

The Revered Sister of Berronar looks sympathetically at the young woman, having met the obnoxious suitor, but the wedding had been arranged by King Emerus Warcrown to bring more clans into Citadel Felbarr and that was that.

Listen lass, we understand yer feelings but the clans needs t' unite more and ye have to play your part or, in the end, we be lost as a race. High Thane Emerus, as ye know, has agreed this arrangement with King Harbomm and you are to travel with a contingent of guards to Adbar

Tears stream down Rehlina's as she drops the pewter mug she'd grabbed, her shoulders slumping in resignation.

Ulfein Ironskull stands guard outside the door scowling to himself, unmoved by the commotion within, his fierce temper keeping curious bodies away. He has been a trusted guard here for as long as he can remember. Sadly that is not very long, as the soldier can remember little. Even as Dwarves go, he is singular in his tasks, the next one being to deliver the unhappy maid safely to her betrothed. Then he will move on.

Flashback
The Orcs of The Severed Thumb had the Dwarves outnumbered almost four to one, and were pressing the advance, throwing crude missiles whenever then got close enough to cast. A sharp twang and an ensuing meaty thud threw the spear wielding leader back several paces, the well aimed heavy bolt killing him instantly. That moment of hesitation was enough for the four battle weary Dwarves. But rather than flee they rose as one and fired their last crossbow bolts at point blank at they charged the startled orcs. Three died instantly, a fourth orc rolled on the rocky trail screaming and pawing at the missile in his guts, conveniently bowling more of his tribe.

What ensued was short, brutal and as messy as only a fight his axes can get. At the end the only voices were Dwarven, and those pained. Hrolf, the patrol leader lost an arm at the elbow, another his thumb, bitten off when he tried to gouge out his attackers eyes, his axe buried in the back of a fleeing orc. The healer was leaning over the last valiant Dwarf, shaking his head. A flint axe had taken him in the side of the skull and he had still stood fighting long enough to dismember three of the green skinned creatures. Unbelievably the warrior stirred, his fingers twitched and convulsed, dragging at the ground, the axe still wedged in his helm.

Still at attention before the door, Ulfein winces at the blue lights before his eyes, clenching his jaws tight as the blinding headache returns yet again.

Spring DR1416

Arrived in Waterdeep, Suzail and places long forgotten…