The Lore of Dwarves

Dwarfs are an ancient people, their civilisation second
only in age to that of the Elves. For all their history, the
Dwarfs have dwelled in halls under the earth, carving
out a large subterranean empire beneath the feet of the
surface peoples who remain largely ignorant of the true
extent of the Dwarfs’ realm.

Tenacious, hardy and determined, an average Dwarf
stands only as high as the shoulder of a man, yet
they are far more massive, broad across the back and
heavy-skulled. The hands of a Dwarf are wide, with
strong fingers whose thickness belies their dexterity.
Their hair tends toward the red, from a deep russet
brown to flaming orange. Their heads are set forward
from their shoulders, giving them a downward facing
countenance that other races unkindly say comes
from the Dwarfs’ never-ending search for gold (those
unkinder still say that it is to prevent the Dwarf tripping
over his large feet, while the unkindest yet whisper it
is because Dwarfs bear such enormous chips on their
shoulders). Their flinty brows, small glittering eyes
and hawkish noses speak volumes about the Dwarf
character – suspicious and insular. Dwarfs do not offer
their friendship easily, and are widely mistrusted for it.
However, once a dwarf does become a friend, he will
prove a great ally indeed.

Dwarfs are stolid and unyielding in all matters, whether
in business or war, and Dwarfs excel at both. “Never cross
a Dwarf” is a common saying, for Dwarfs are sticklers for
detail, and a contract struck by them will be adhered to
the letter, if not always the spirit.
Dwarfs are expert craftsmen, workers of metal beyond
compare, and their Warsmiths experiment endlessly.
Their artefacts are wondrous creations and all, from
jewelled clockworks of marvellous intricacy to new-
fangled black powder weaponry are much sought
after. Their armour and weaponry are the envy of
the world, their technology giving them a superior
advantage in times of war, yet all of it can be bought,
for a price.

Dwarfs lack the sensitivity to magic that Elves or even
Men possess, but there are certain Dwarfs, but a few
born out of every generation, who have an affinity for
fire magic. As soon as their talents make themselves
manifest, these young dwarfs will be spirited away by
the secretive College of Flame, whether they wish to go
or not. Within the halls of the College the raw skill of
these individuals will be hammered like steel until they
attain a mastery few non- Dwarfs can hope to match.
For a fee these powerful Warsmiths will weave their art
into the works of others, binding the awesome energies
of the earth’s interior into the Dwarf’s most potent
weapons by rune and incantation, or harnessing it to
drive the engines of their clanking machines.
Dwarfs have a deep sense of loyalty to hearth and
home and a natural inquisitiveness into the workings
of the world. A Dwarf working upon a new project will
be energetic, and exhibit a demeanour approaching
delight, but at all other times the Dwarfs are a stern
folk, prone to melancholy, especially when they are
their cups, which is often. A drunken Dwarf is not to
be trifled with, for they are as likely to hew a drinking
companion in twain with an axe at some perceived
slight as weep openly about their mother. Never, ever
tell a Dwarf to cheer up.
Two or more Dwarfs together in an open house are
perhaps more predictable and companionable. They
take comfort in their shared woes, and their tearful
reminiscences about home will surely give way to ear-
splitting singing as the evening, and the ale, wears on.
Their songs are of favoured sheep high in the mountain
pastures, sorely missed, or their many and varied kinds
of mine, which Dwarfs will happily spend hours tediously
detailing in excruciating close harmony ballads. They
love to sing, Dwarfs, unfortunately, for their voices are
scratchy and fl at, as tuneful as the scrape of rock upon
rock in the bowels of the earth.
It need not be said that a full choir of Dwarf males is a
potent battlefield asset.

The Dwarf Creation Myth
Dwarf legend has it that they were born from the tears of
the goddess of the underworld, who wept for her lack of
children. Over long ages, her tears dripped from the roof
of her sacred cave, forming a stalactite in the semblance
of a dwarf. The lord of creation took pity on her, and
brought the statue of tears to life. Thus was born the
first Dwarf from stone and tears, and their character
reflects this beautiful, poetic myth.
On the other hand, others say less polite things involving
heroic quantities of ale, a lonely human woodsman
and a particularly short-tempered badger, but it is a
disgusting story that does not bear repeating, especially
in the earshot of a Dwarf.