[English] A Dwarf's Burden

This is the backstory of Durak Durak-Tun, a dwarven Slayer character I'm gonna play on Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay with some friends. I wrote his backstory and thought it could find its place here.

I’ve always felt unlucky. I had no reason to at first. Born as the only son of a hard-working and relatively prosperous weapons merchant of Barak Varr, the only port in dwarven lands and hands, I grew up in comfort, maybe even opulence some would say. But there was a feeling, gnarling at the back of my mind when sleep would come find me.

My confidence, and by extension my entire ability to interact with others has always been a source of worry, even angst at some points. I could see it in the eyes of my father. Being a shy kid is one thing, but how would I be able to take over his business and haggle with my greedy compatriots with such lacking in eloquence and the likes? As one can imagine, my popularity with the feminine gents of the port wasn’t much better either.

And so, as I reached me twentieth birthday and my few friends wandered the inns of the port for celebration, they pushed me, so that I would push me luck in turn. Walking and staggering from one thirst-quenching place to another, I saw her. A ship had just coasted, loaded with what seemed like cloths of all textures and colors. I recognized the artisan’s crest as per my education, even through me blurry eyes. And on the deck stood this elven maid. She was not like other elves I had read or heard about, nor the ones I occasionally met when my father had to strike a deal with the arrogant bastards. No, while she had their grace and beauty, she was also strong, she seemed fierce, as if she was willing to prove to the whole world that what they thought about her people was but a fable.

As I was visibly gazing at her, me friends walked up to her and before I realized what trickery they were trying to pull, she was invited to join us in but an hour, when she was done with her work. I was too far to hear her answer but saw her glance in my direction before a radiant smile curled her lips. I was almost paralyzed in fear for the next three taverns, drinking but half of what my friends were gulping down.

She found us as we were leaving the third one. I gathered what courage I had, wiping the ale off my beard and bowed, introducing myself and stutteringly asking for her name. Nalariel. She extended her hand and as I carefully took it in mine, I could feel myself shake. Her hands were certainly not as soft as silk was, as sailing had slightly worn them out. But compared to those of my usual companions, they felt like the warmth of a brasier during the winter of Kislev. She followed us for the rest of the night, as I was doing my best to try and not to impair her skin.

The rest I’m afraid is what brought me where I am right now. She was kind and funny, with witty humor that I particularly appreciate. So, as ale and my heart were giving me the wings of confidence, I only tried to keep her attention, at first with boring stories of my childhood, then besting everyone at the table, and at the inns, in drinking contests. My thoughts were clouded, and I didn’t realize all I was doing was making a fool of myself.

I woke up the morning after, naked, on the cold floor of a cell. I shamefully heard that in my drunken state, I had defaced a number of buildings of powerful tradesmen and lords of the port, even setting two stores ablaze, before throwing my clothes in the water, defacing a shrine and picking up a fight with guards. No one even remembered my sweet Nalariel, and my friends had been arrested as well. My father came, to retrieve me I thought, but didn’t seem to bear the look of an angry parent. He seemed sorry, but mostly ashamed. He told me the damage that I was responsible for could only be amended one way. I was to become a Slayer.

The morning after, I was sent on my way with a rusted axe my father had kept in our house, intended to defend ourselves should we get robbed. The first few months were atrocious. I had never left our city and to be thrown into the wild like that was a torture. I was petrified at the idea of pathetically dying of cold or starvation, instead of in a glorious battle like Slayers are supposed to in order to redeem themselves. Being alone, I didn’t have to eat in too great quantities. Hunting with an axe is a difficult task, so I rapidly learned how to stop being picky. Sometimes you have the chance to eat dear, sometimes rabbit, or bird. Sometimes you eat after running into a small group of bandits.

As I kept walking, climbing the Worlds Edge Mountains, ever further North, I finally reached Karak Kadrin. Many guards along the way saw me, as I lowered my eyes in shame. They’re here to protect caravans of merchants, but they are well aware of what a lone dwarf on this road means. Karak Kadrin impressed me even more than I anticipated. They say it’s an inexpugnable fortress, and I can only believe so, seeing the canons and bolt throwers garnishing the great exterior wall.

I stayed there a few days after taking my oath, in a chamber much like a cell, in Khaz Drengi, preparing for the task ahead, and leaving my past behind, except for the shame. My head was shaved, safe for the recognizable crest, and dyed orange, as the tradition wills it, and I carved my name, alongside those who have come here in the same pilgrimage as I over the millennia. Durak Durak-Tun. And I departed, seeking only death.

For 15 years now I have been wandering the lands, killing creatures in search of a death that continuously escapes me. Between hunts, I drink. I kill animals and monsters, selling their hides, claws, whatever people want, so that I can eat, and drink, to numb the guilt. I told you I was unlucky. Even the stars refuse me death, as I was born under the sign of Wymund. I roamed with adventurers in the past as I assume greater number will take us to greater danger. Several groups of various sizes and abilities. They never knew why I thirst for death, neither shall anyone ever know. My shame will remain secret. My various companions have never lasted long. I yearn for danger, but they’re too weak, they die too quickly, or sometimes try to take my release away from me. They never make that mistake twice. I am alone now, once more. Alone with one last bottle and my dear Nalariel, bloodied and sharp.