Character History

Arnljot Hammerhandson

Arnljot Hammerhandson was born in 1311 to Hammerhand Klemperson and wife Trala Nottirsdottir. Arnljot was the only child born to these dwarven parents in the town of Lillehammer, Norway. Hammerhand was the local blacksmith to the town and his mother was the shaper of metals. Together they created some of the best weaponry and armor in Norway. Arnljot grew up in a mostly human town. A few dwarves traded here but very few. A few gnomes and halflings and only the very occasional elven ranger. Arnljot went to school with humans, learned from humans, played with them and became best friend to a human named Tor. Tor and Arnljot were inseparable for a time. But Arnljot learned a quick lesson, Tor and he took different times for them to grow up. By Tor's twentieth birthday, he was married. Arnljot was still considered at best half grown. Tor ended almost all their conversations with "Would you grow up already? I don't have time to play ball." Arnljot became kind of isolated. The children that he would like to play with teased him about his beard, the people he grew up with didn't want to any fun things anymore. Arnljot grew reclusive. Hammerhand noticed this and took him to the blacksmith shop, one day where his mother and he worked under a locked door. As they always had, since he could remember. He was amazed when he saw his mother, staring at a piece of metal, no tongs or other equipment in hand and it was shaping itself into a sword. His father just smiled and proceeded to sit down on a chair in front of the forge, pick up a hammer mentally and pound a rod of hot steel in to a flattened almost sword like shape. All this from 10 feet away. It was astonishing to the young Arnljot to see hammers, steel, wood, charcoal and all the other things a blacksmith needed, flying around the room in a strange symphony. He just stood slack-jawed and never asked a question all day. For two years he watched and finally asked questions, but his parents told him to never speak of such things outside of the smithy. They warned him that humans and especially dwarves would never understand. He obeyed and tried to learn what they were teaching him. He found he could do simple telekinesis but nothing on the scale that is parents could, some telepathy he thought, just a bit, maybe. Either that or he was daydreaming way to hard. But fire and flames, that he understood. Fires would spring up on wood piles with just a glance. It was a fun time for him. Being destructive was so easy, it was being creative that was hard. His parents tried very hard but after 10 years they gave up. Arnljot had the gift all right but it wasn't a gift that his parents could teach him. His parents had money, being the best and nearly only blacksmiths in town, they had accumulated quite a sum. Using but a bit of that money, they purchased land several miles from Lillehammer, built a cabin for Arnljot and left him there to practice his new found skills. It was a wise choice. The forest would never be the same after all the explosions that were created out there. But it was a fun time for Arnljot. Destruction could be fun. A few years he practiced, honing his skills, so that a mere passing thought wouldn't start a brush fire.

Tor's daughter came running to him, one day. Was she already 16? These humans sure matured so quickly. Arnljot thought himself to be very young yet but here was his friends daughter. She visited on occasion, mostly to get away from her parents and her siblings. Teryl this day, came running and out of breath. Hammerhand and Trala were in trouble. Dwarves had come, lots of them and they were taking them away. You ran down the path toward Lillehammer. A Dwarven patrol met you halfway down the path.

"You Arnljot?" The dwarven commander asked.

"What have you done to my parents?"

"That answers that. Not that it matters. Your parents are to be taken back to Oslo for their crimes. You as well. But unfortunately you resisted arrest. Kill him."

"By your command, Captain Devilinson."

Three soldiers stepped forward, weapons drawn. You did the only thing that you could. Launch your assault of Psycionics. One of them died the others were badly burned. The captain retreated quickly. You ran after, pursuing as quickly as you could. He beat you back to the village. There were too many. Dozens of Dwarves all over the town. You caught a glimpse of your parents being hauled away. They were ducking and covering as people, friends some of them of the family, threw rocks and sticks at them. They yelled obscenities, but mostly the word witches, warlocks were spouted. The family blacksmith shop burned in the distance. They were taken to the local jail. You left. You couldn't go back to your house, they knew where you lived. You ran to Tor's house. Tor seemed surprised to see you.

"You need to leave, Arnljot. Its not safe for you here." Tor said very sullenly.

"Tell what they are accused of. At least."

"They are accused of a murder fifty years ago. This Devilinson, reports to some other dwarf named Erlot. He claims to be an advisor to the King of the Dwarves in Sweden. They are taking your parents back to Sweden to stand trial for the death of the old king, fifty years ago. They came after you. I sent Teryl to warn you."

"Thanks for that."

"They are leaving tonight, Arnljot. Don't try and save them. There are way to many."

"I have to try."

"I know." And Tor closed the door.

Nightfall came. You watched them take your parents out of the town. Here a great many of the dwarven guards left, heading east. Now was your chance. You stood and then sank back down, slowly as a group of slight figures walked up to them.

"We have found them." Devilinson said.

The lead figure, pulled back the hood of his cloak. A dark-skinned elf. Drow you father named them. Mortal enemies of dwarves it was stated. But here were a bunch of them.

"Fifty years late, Captain." The drow nodded to him and then turned to the other dwarf that remained behind, "Erlot."

"How were we to know that they had mental talents?" Devilinson asked.

"They escaped a drow prison, once. You had to realize that that very fact pointed to some ability, not normally associated with dwarves. How many of you normally possess such talents, Captain?"

"None but these two."

"Where is the other?" The drow asked.

"He resisted, Faylon, and died for his trouble."

"Did he show any talent?"

"He died very quickly. Who knows?"

"That was foolish. Now we will never know if the exposure can be passed from generation to generation." Faylon turned to the other five drow behind him.

"Malin, Drani, Helphon, Attend to the stones." Three of the other drow, turned and left.

Faylon turned back to the Dwarves, "Erlot, did the drug work?"

Erlot nodded, "like a charm, they are docile and their talents suppressed for a time."

"It is time to go then. We will return them to King Klemper the II. He and his wife Shoraz, the Queen will be quite pleased to see them."

You followed them to a group of standing stones in the woods. You had seen them many times before. The three drow that were ordered before were there. They held 3 pale green rods in front of them. Faylon and the other two drow drew theirs as well. The dwarves were placed in the middle, then each drow entered in one by one. As they did a mist started to form after the 3rd one passed through, by the sixth, the mist erupted around them. You sprinted after them, intending on passing through the mist to follow your parents, where ever they were going.

"NO" the voice was your father's hammering you in the head. "Don't follow us. There is nothing you can do now."

One of the pale green rods shot out from mist and landed in your hand.

"Take this to Lisbon, Portugal. Take it to a human female named Calles. You will need it. Hurry. Don't come after us Arnljot. Do the only thing you can. Avenge us."

The mist drifted away, leaving just stone standing in the night. The rod held but one symbol on it. Nothing that you recognized at the time but through your travels to Portugal, you found it to be the drow script for the number 4.

Lisbon, Portugal October 10th 1347. It's a dark night, a late summer storm approaching out from the sea. Lightning is popping on the horizon. Calles is human female cleric for the goddess Epona, she only recently got here herself. She looks like an acolyte to you but your father knew best. Tonight you will encounter her.