Rurik Hammertower

Knight of the Undergates

Hail to ye! My name is Rurik Hammertower, of clan Hammertower, one of the clans who helped to craft the Undergates. I am in my mid-fifties, and youngin by dwarf reckoning, brought into this world by Gorn and Ethelia Hammertower. Crafters and workers of stone they are, some of the best in the world. The Hammertower clan themselves are responsible for the upkeep and maintenance on the Undergates still after these many years, and the family worries over even the tinest of cracks.

I myself found out from an early age that I would not follow in my fathers footsteps, much to his chagrin. My hands were too slow, too clumsy for the masonry work, so I spent my youth carrying this and fetching that, whatever the elders on the walls needed. What little education I received was learned under the watchful tutelage of other Hammertowers as we worked on the Gates.

One thing I did learn at an early age was loyalty. Lotalty to clan, to friend, to family, to dwarves everywhere. I was never one who was quick to anger; far from it. Whenever one of my comrades would find themselves embroiled in a situation they could not extricate themselves from, I seemed to always be there lending a helping hand, or even a fist if it was needed. But dont get me wrong, I was never some blood-crazed brawler. I never hit a man when he was down. I never resorted to cheap tricks like so many others. And I would always use my head before I charged into a tumble. Seems this all was noticed by my elders.

It happened when I and a few friends were visiting the Griphon Feathers Inn. Some spilt ale and several already drunken dwarves quickly turned hostile. A surly one with a beard as red as a rose took a shot at one of those who were with me, and I ended up intercepting the blow and shrugging it off. The blows that followed stung, to be sure, but not a one felled me. I had only a mind to protect my wronged friend and those with me.

After my fair share of bloodied noses, cut lips and bruised knuckles, one of the older men in the Inn came over to me and asked that I speak with him. He introduced himself as Borgen Hammertower, an uncle thrice removed from my family on my mothers side. We walked a while, and he spoke of me devoting myself into protecting those around me, to adhere to a code that was as precious as life; to be a wall against the evels of the world. I nodded, thinking this sounded all well and good, and so began my training to become a Dwarven Knight.

I devoted year after year to the grueling training. It toughened me, made me stronger. Also, it allowed me to leave the stone masonry work for something that more-or-less suited me. The things I learned at that time I thought foolish, especially when it came to manipulating the field of combat. But through hardship and trials, I learned that every lesson was a shining jewel that was polished and handed to me for my own keeping.

Later, after I was accepted into the Knighthood for the Hammertower Clan, I found that Knighthood was boring. Day and night I patrolled the Undergates, finding naught but vermin. The patrols were becoming tedious, and I longed to prove my worth to the Knighthood. My prayers were answered one day, and I was sent off to investigate several dissapearances from a rural Dwarven town. However, it seemed, Fate proved to be a cruel mistress, and I never made it to my destination.

Alignment: LN

Race: Dwarf

Place of Origin: Citadel

Contributor: Justin Philport