Moira

I was born Moira, of the Rockfist clan. I was the first daughter born to my father, after 10 male children. I always thought I was an average female dwarf, though my father always said I was such a little hellion that my mum had to become an angel to watch over me. I never understood that, but my brothers and father were constantly telling me it when I would get into a little bit of mischief.

My family are all stonemasons, and I was given a chisel and hammer before I could walk – well, given them after I took them I guess you could say. I don’t remember this, but my father said that I crawled into his workshop and just grabbed his old set and started playing with them.There are small chips in the floor and walls I apparently made to support this.

By the time I was 10 years old, I was able to carve designs into stone as well as many human stonemasons, or so my father said at least. I was fascinated with the symbol of Wor from an early age, and I would carve it into any stone I came across. My father decided to bring me with him one day when he was going to build a dozen new bookshelves at the temple of Wor; there were so many books on every subject that I’m afraid I got lost in the written word that day. The clerics humored me, and allowed me to read as my father and brothers were working on the bookshelves.

The labor was intensive, and it took almost two years to carve the bookshelves into the stone walls of the temple. I was 12 when my family was finishing up the work, and I had developed such a strong love of books in the two years that we (ok, they – but I gave morale support!) had been working at the temple that I was considering asking father for permission to stay at the temple and study religion.

Well, I was considering it until one of the clerics was rushing around the room and ran headfirst into the ladder my father was standing on. The ladder fell, and father went crashing to the ground with it. That was the first day I’d ever seen father cry – his legs and one arm were bent at the wrong angle, and the bone had broken through the skin of one of his shins. I ran to him, crying.

I don’t remember what exactly happened after that – I was so focused on my father’s face, and wanting him to be better. When I touched his hand, I apparently was praying that his wounds would be healed – and Wor healed him completely. I heard the assembled clerics (I don’t know how long it took to heal father, but when I was done there were about 6 clerics standing around us) gasp, and begin speaking quickly with my family about being chosen and needing to stay and train.

My family left me there, of course. They would visit every week or so for the first year, then the visits tapered off to once a month as they needed to take jobs so they could eat – I totally understand that, but I still cried from missing them so much. When I turned 20 they began visiting only once a year, and then once every 3 years, then every 5. By the time I turned 40, they had to stop visiting completely. I remember father’s last visit so clearly – he spoke to me of how he and my brothers wouldn’t be able to visit anymore, as they had been hearing rumors of the great comet coming, and the call had come to return and lock themselves into the mountain to wait out the apocalypse. I wasn’t yet ready to leave the temple, so I wouldn’t be able to return home.

He then spoke some weirdness about exchanging spoons with the mate of my choice, and not to even consider exchanging spoons with anyone who wouldn’t be able to spar with the family for at least 8 hours straight, as anyone not able to do that was too weak for me. At the time this completely confused me, and the poor clerics at the temple had to try and have several awkward conversations about dwarven mating rituals with me, from their understanding. I’m still not sure what all the fuss is about with mating, but I was told very emphatically that I should stop asking about that, and I had all the information I needed - I would understand when the time came.

About ten years later I received a letter from a colleague I had met many years before. The letter was bloody, and contained only a single question. She asked: Why do you think you were chosen by Wor? I haven’t been able to answer that question, as I still don’t know and none of the clerics I have asked had any idea where to even begin looking for the answer. The messenger who delivered the letter regretfully told me of my colleague’s death at the hands of some rogue brigands. I left the temple shortly thereafter, in search of the answer to that question.

I am now Moria, of the Rockfist clan. I am 55 years old, and was chosen by the almighty Wor himself for some mysterious purpose. I was taught by the clerics of Wor, and every passing scholar to visit the temple of Wor during the 38 years I spent there. I left the temple five years ago to explore the world, and to figure out why I was chosen by Wor, and what I was chosen for.

Moria has a deep-seated, irrational fear of Henri and his affection for Tachius....