The day was cold, really, really cold. It was cold enough to turn your breath into a dense fog with every exhale. It was cold enough to turn the thickest beards into icicles and Jack Frost bit at fingers, toes, and any exposed skin. Only the hardiest and toughest could survive the harsh, cold, and dangerous locale of Dun Morough.
Dwarves were, of course, the most obvious and prevalent example of this rule, though Gnomes were a surprising example as well. One would not expect it, but they had strength of will, and wit of course, to invent ways of battling this cold. Alas our focus is not on the Dwarves, or the Gnomes, of which one could go on for ages about, but upon one particular Dwarf.
A loud grumbling was heard as daylight broke through stone and glass windows into a beautifully carved stone bunker. Various dwarves tossed and turned in their beds as the warm sunlight hit their face. Some got out of their beds easier than most, lighting the braziers, torches, and fireplaces that lined the bunker. There were three sections of the bunker, each carved out of the natural rock face of the mountain it nestled against.
The first was obviously the entry way. A set of stairs that is long and broad, though not very tall. Dwarven legs and gnome legs aren't very long, rather short and stubby. This ran for a good thirty feet in length, ten feet down, and roughly ten feet across. The second was the main room that housed the dwarves whom weren't busy fighting outside. A large forge was nestled in the middle, with torches lining the walls. There was not a single window in here, though the forge emptied into a great smoke stack. Sounds of deep voice in chatter, laughter, and the clang of the blacksmiths rang out through the second chamber.
The third chamber was the resting and infirmary quarters. Various beds were strewn about, furs on straw mattresses, and some were thrown upon the floor. Though there is one particular bed we will focus on to start this story, a bed large enough for a small man….or a large dwarf!
Deep grumbling came from the bed as the furs were eventually thrown from a dwarven body. A pair of soft cloth undergarments was the only decent piece of clothing upon the form. Broad shoulders, barrel chest and abs, large and well developed arms and legs defined the body. Strong muscles rippled along his frame, much as the muscles beneath a wolverine or a bear. Dwarven skin was worn by wind, bitten by frost, yet it still had a dark almost tanned color though slightly on the grayed side. Face was framed by wild unkempt black hair, and a full black beard that reached below his chest. A broad, blunt, and several-times-broken nose rested in the middle. Eyelids lifted to show a pair of young, keen, and bright green eyes looking around the room. Broad forehead crinkled as thick eyebrows rose, and then lowered.
"Ach! Ey slept in!" Deep voice rumbled like thunder, Scottish accent apparent as the beard on his face.
Large body and legs swung over the side and his large feet thumped onto the ground. Dwarf grabbed a pair of buck hide boots, buck hide trousers more suited for underneath armor than actual wear, and a black cloth tunic with the symbol of Ironforge upon it, as well as a white stitched outline of a silhouette of a hand grasping a pickax. It was the symbol of the clan Mineshadow, whom produce some of the best miners and blacksmiths.
The large dwarf wrestled on his boots, pants, and tunic. Hands busied themselves in his beard to make two long and thick braids, clasping silver cuffs on the ends to keep them from unraveling. Making his way up one of the double flights of stairs that lead to the resting area, he was greeted by a couple of dwarves. Walking to a table that was set with ale, biscuits, and wolf meat, he quickly poured himself a mug of ale, and made a biscuit and wolf meat sandwich. The meat was tender, and warm, tasting of hickory smoke. A smile touched his face as he wolfed down his food. The ale was better, Thunderbrew Ale to be specific. Dwarves are notoriously picky about their ales, and happen to be quite the experts, but none so much than the Thunderbrew Distillery.
With a few more sandwiches to satiate his large appetite, as well as a few more mugs for a warm heady feeling, his feet lead him outside. Instantly shivering as the wicked cold pierced his tough hide, chilling him to the bone, and the wind whipped across his face forming ice crystals on the silver cuffs on his beard, his beard itself, and on his face too. "Ach! Light damn this unforgivable cold!" Curse muttered under his breath, the fog of his hot breath turning to crystals before they hit the ground.
As the large dwarf walked around, you would notice that he wasn't just a head taller than the rest, but chest, shoulder, and head taller than them all. At a first glance he would look like a heavily muscled human, though his face and dwarven build would give him away. The dwarf had to be at least five foot two, maybe five foot three.
As he walked around, a voice would pierce the air. "LIGHT DAMNIT BELVIN! GET YER ARSE OVER HERE!" Dwarven voice pierced the air as easily as the cold pierced the flesh of all dwarves. It wasn't something you became immune to, just accustomed and build a tolerance.
Belvin, so that was his name! Belvin Mineshadow, it seems. Dwarven names made up of a given name, and their clan. Thus our Hero has been given a face, a name, and now the adventure can truly begin!