This kind hearted old man oversees the day to day running of Dwarrowdwelf and is the stronghold's primary caretaker when the party is away
This kind-hearted old man serves as the quiet backbone of Dwarrowdwelf, overseeing its daily operations with a steady hand and a patient heart. Acting as the stronghold’s primary caretaker in the party’s absence, he ensures that supplies are stocked, fires are tended, and the halls remain clean and welcoming for their return.
Once a stonemason and builder by trade, his hands still bear the callouses of a life spent working with hammer and chisel. His face is lined with age, framed by a neatly trimmed white beard and thinning silver hair. A pair of round spectacles often perch on the tip of his nose as he pores over ledgers, maintenance logs, or old maps of the region. Though his joints creak and his back bends a little more with each passing season, he moves with a quiet purpose that speaks to years of experience and deeply rooted discipline.
He is soft-spoken but commands quiet respect among the staff. His wisdom, drawn from a life of labor and loss, often comes through in quiet counsel rather than grand speeches. Many of the younger workers seek him out not just for instructions, but for stories and guidance. He remembers Dwarrowdwelf before it was reclaimed—when its halls were choked with dust and ruin—and has taken great pride in restoring it to life.
Despite his age, he is no stranger to danger. In his youth, he served as a shield bearer in one of the border militias, and while he rarely speaks of those years, the old steel glint in his eye surfaces when the stronghold is threatened. Though he rarely lifts a weapon now, he is fiercely protective of the home he has helped rebuild and the people within it.
To the party, he is something of a grandfatherly figure—always ready with a warm meal, a quiet word of advice, or a gentle reminder to rest. His loyalty to them is unwavering, and though he never asks for recognition, the strength and stability of Dwarrowdwelf owe much to his quiet, unwavering presence.
Once a stonemason and builder by trade, his hands still bear the callouses of a life spent working with hammer and chisel. His face is lined with age, framed by a neatly trimmed white beard and thinning silver hair. A pair of round spectacles often perch on the tip of his nose as he pores over ledgers, maintenance logs, or old maps of the region. Though his joints creak and his back bends a little more with each passing season, he moves with a quiet purpose that speaks to years of experience and deeply rooted discipline.
He is soft-spoken but commands quiet respect among the staff. His wisdom, drawn from a life of labor and loss, often comes through in quiet counsel rather than grand speeches. Many of the younger workers seek him out not just for instructions, but for stories and guidance. He remembers Dwarrowdwelf before it was reclaimed—when its halls were choked with dust and ruin—and has taken great pride in restoring it to life.
Despite his age, he is no stranger to danger. In his youth, he served as a shield bearer in one of the border militias, and while he rarely speaks of those years, the old steel glint in his eye surfaces when the stronghold is threatened. Though he rarely lifts a weapon now, he is fiercely protective of the home he has helped rebuild and the people within it.
To the party, he is something of a grandfatherly figure—always ready with a warm meal, a quiet word of advice, or a gentle reminder to rest. His loyalty to them is unwavering, and though he never asks for recognition, the strength and stability of Dwarrowdwelf owe much to his quiet, unwavering presence.
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