Aragoth was born into the Dwarves of the North. Father, a Cavern Archer, Mother, a Blacksmith. As a child he was venturous, though not aloud to go out on missions with his father, he tried. Usually he ended up hanging around the miners in the nearby tunnels. It didn't take long before they got him started on drinking ale at which point Aragoth took part in little charades they had between mining and occasionally taking up a pick himself and stealing off with some ores.
He became a miner, venturing through the tunnels in search of riches of the depth. He got bored of this though, unending search without much luck usually, he turned his attentions to sparring with others, eventually enlisting in the holds Militia where he was further trained with a war Axe (one that his mother had made for him). The militia did not tame this irksome dwarf though, with more strength behind him he went off on 'adventures' a lot, still holding around a pickaxe and a spade if something peeks his interest, partially in search of something that would make his comrades thing better of him.
Aragoth was pushed into becoming a Merchant guard, when on one particular trip he caved in a couple personal chambers due to his 'ventures.' In the kings eyes this was the way to keep Aragoth out of trouble, at least around the hold. The Dwarf was both happy and sad about leaving the company of his dwarves. Homesickness hit him, this increased the rate at which he began drinking, which, resulted in more troubles through the caravans travel. Aragoth was careless, more than once putting the lives of the crew in unnecessary danger. When word spread through the stronghold of their troubles, many became angered and Aragoth's reputation within soured. Shunned by even his friends, he was pushed into a deeper depression, he did his best to look forward though.
Prologue: One fateful night came. They had just arrived into Zorbeck, a great trade city of Midgard, this was Aragoth's first view at the amazing clockwork city. The caravan's business was to go down the next morning, so obviously they had time. Comfortable enough in his chain, he did not bother removing it. Aragoth wasted no time getting back to the bar, from there, attempting to converse with all at the game tables as he guzzled down pint after pint. He let himself go through the night removing himself from the inn after some time, switching to another. Not much was to be remembered the next morning...
