Scales of War
Cleric - Peter Perrinez
Glarin Thunderbelly is a 60 year old stout Dwarf from the southern part of the Rathgaunt Hills, near the Cannath river. The Thunderbelly clan has mined the Rathgaunt hills for its rich iron, coal, and mithril. Though, the clan has had success making weapons and armor, they become legend as a result of their Thunderbelly brew, which they trade as far as Calimshan. Some of the Pashas there, keep many vintage reserves for special festivals throughout the year. This keeps the Thunderbelly clan quite busy. There is a special mineral in the river, which adds to the brews’ mystique as well as the price!
Glarin was all but ready to follow in the footsteps of his father, Grumbar Thunderbelly, but he changed his mind after one spring morning. After the melt from the winters’ snows on the mountains, the rivers were flowing quite rapidly, Glarin was out collecting some of the precious mineral rich water. He noticed something higher up the mountain, glinting in the morning sunlight. He made his way up the rivers edge, to the source of the bright light. What had caught his eye, was the glint of the head of a beautifully crafted waraxe, the like he had never seen. Even in the troves of his clan, there was nothing quite like it. it shone with the golden sun. He hefted the waraxe from its icey blanket, and as he picked it up, he noticed, that there was a reflection in a pool of spring melt near his feet. That reflection was of the hand of Torm, engraved on the head of the waraxe. He knew it instantly. A cleric of Torm whom visited from time to time for weddings, and the like, had this same symbol on his vestments…
He knew then and there, that this must be a sign, his calling. He never quite felt at home, mixing hops, and mash, and spending hours learning the craft of brewing ale. He wanted more. He did spend many hours talking to that cleric of Torm ,Michael Crestfall, about how to be devout, and aid those in need. This Waraxe, must be a sign from Torm himself, a vehicle for Glarin to reach his own place in the world.
With the waraxe in hand, he raced back down the mountain to speak with his family, and began packing for what lay ahead. A life of servitude, and honor to Torm.