New Beginnings | A Thora Silentblade tale

In the heart of the mighty Sakhar Mountains, Thora listened with closed eyes to the echoes of dwarven hammers harmonizing with the whispers of underground rivers. Born into a family known for their outcast ways, Thora tried hard to fit in with the rest of the clans by following the ancient tradition of blacksmiths, spending most of their early years mastering the art of forging weapons and armour. Thora’s hands could shape the hardest metals with an innate grace, but recent months had changed things.

When “they” first came, the dwarven standing guard held ground to repel the invaders. But the creatures from the deep kept coming. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week. The creatures of the Underdark, driven by unknown motives, clawed, dug, and slashed their way towards the ancient dwarven halls. As well-trained and equipped as the Sakhar defense force was, their numbers were dwindling. The call went out: all axes needed to join the line.

Thora spent weeks in basic training, trying to keep up with the shield drills and formations. Though not as brawny as some of the other recruits, Thora possessed a unique talent that caught the eye of the training officer. When the other dwarves would practice with weight lifting or grappling, Thora would juggle blades. The finesse with smaller blades, so unusual in the Sakhar Mountains, was a stark contrast to the traditional dwarven weaponry, which made Thora a perfect candidate for a specialized unit.

Trading the familiar weight of a battleaxe and shield for a pair of razor-sharp swords, Thora became an integral part of a select group of soldiers. This squad specialized in less direct methods of combat. Infiltration, assassination, scouting, flanking maneuvers… whatever it took. The Gray Ghosts, as they became known, provided a crucial support to the front-line warriors defending the dwarven stronghold. Thora’s ability and cunning turned the tide of many skirmishes and earned the nickname “Silentblade”.

After years of constant battle, when the invasion was finally repelled, the tunnels and chambers of the dwarven city were filled with the tired celebration of the warriors who had survived. So many dead and so much destruction. But they had survived.

Life could resume.
But not for everyone.

Thora’s eyes opened again, focusing on the pack lying on the bed. The echoes of battle were still there. The rhythmic clang of the forge no longer felt like home, and the prospect of returning to a life of mundane craftsmanship felt empty. Thora knew now that there was more.

Out there, somewhere, there were fellow dwarves facing similar threats. All of Thora’s 125 years had been here, in the Sakhar Mountains. But somewhere in the vast and unexplored territories of Rhime were those who needed help. Picking up the pack, Thora slid a few balls of yarn in, and strapped on the blades that had earned Thora the name Silentblade. It took only a few hours to work through the ancient tunnels and caverns, finding the way to the surface. The sun was blinding. Thora had seen the daylight a few times before, during family visits to the surface, but this time there might not be a return trip. Each step away from home brought back memories of what Thora was leaving behind.

*step*
A mother’s laugh by the fire.

*step*
The sounds of the hammer on the anvil.

*step*
The screams of a close friend as they are torn to pieces by the dark claws of a shadowy horror.

As Thora Silentblade stepped down the mountain trails, a new story was being written.