Magician Bestowed

An unusually tall and thin dwarf, he seemed well suited to work requiring greater dexterity than strength. Myrgat seemed uneasy dealing with people, but his craftsmanship was undeniable. He traveled with another Dwarf who seldom uttered a word. Thorl recalled that Myrgat called this Dwarf "Ugger." Whether it was his name, or meant something else in the Dwarven tongue he could not tell. In any event, Myrgat, being a Dwarf of slight build, clearly used Ugger as security. While a person of ill will might be tempted to intimidate Myrgat into a better trade, or rob him on the roads between villages, few would have ever wished to tussle with Ugger. He was built no more stout than any other Dwarf, but had a demeanor that was altogether unpleasant. Everything about his appearance was intimidating. A large scar curled from above his right eye, down his check and onto his chin. A dagger stuck in his belt, with Dwarven runes marking the blade and many nicks and scratches in the hilt that spoke of frequent use. An axe of fine Dwarven smithing was strapped across his back, held in place by thick leather straps. Studded gauntlets gripped his forearms and thick gloves covered his palms. His boots were of a leather thicker than most, and the toes were covered in metal strips. Thorl suspected him to be a mercenary or guardian-for-hire. In his mind, he had reasoned that "Ugger" was Dwarvish for "guard."

Amandis Thorl did not know if Myrgat, or his companion, Ugger, were residents of Rock Cliff. He knew too little Dwarvish to communicate very effectively with them, and although they seemed able to speak the Trenian language common to the valley, the Dwarves seemed reluctant to say much at all. They conducted their business quickly, offering a fair deal for their crafts without attempting to gain more than their goods were worth. In general, Thorl enjoyed his dealings with the Dwarves that happened across his farm. He gained a few useful items, some unique decorations from time to time when his yields would allow, and rarely felt that he had gotten the worse of the deal.

From the time he turned his horse towards Rock Cliff until nightfall, he tried to clear his head of thoughts of home, but found he could only relate his thoughts of Dwarves to the work he was not finishing on his farm. As the fields of the valley gave way to the forests of the hills, he rode along in silence. He marked time by counting his horse’s steps that were no longer emitting a muddy, squishing sound but gave out a gravelly crunch as the path became increasingly marked by pebbles and stones. At times he dismounted and walked alongside to stretch his legs and save the animal some strain.

The sun had been warm, and he decided to forego building a fire when he came to rest for the evening. He was becoming aware that he would need to forage for food or hunt small game in the days ahead if he wanted to keep his supplies up. Having barely prepared for his journey, he had only a warm cloak, a spare tunic, a hunting bow and arrows, a knife for cleaning game, a little oil and a small lantern, a tinderbox, a few small sacks filled with loaves of bread and dried fruits, and skins for collecting water. He had also grabbed his sword and a sharpening stone. The sword was a relic his father had given him when he was a young man, far from sharp and showing rust.