“Take this and RUN! Don’t look back, Don’t wait for me, just RUN!”
That memory is all the boy has of his mother. That and the faded pencil sketch of her and his father in the locket she thrust into his hand that night.
Somewhere between five minutes and five days later they found him. A scared, lost boy wandering alone in the mountains. He couldn’t have been older than six. Most of the party agreed they should give him some food and send him on his way. They were in orc territory and the child would only slow them down, but Dolgrin disagreed. “He’s coming back with us. Janderhoff’s only three days away and he’d never last that long out here. If his folks are looking for him they’ll be bound to come our way sooner or later.”
They never did come, and over the years Dolgrin raised the boy as his own, even giving him a traditional dwarven name – Igmar. Igmar was brought up with all the traditions and customs of the dwarves, learning how to work stone and drink stout with the best of them. Even from a young age, folk would say his ability with an axe was something to behold. By the time he reached adulthood Igmar knew his future lie with the militia. Ten years to the day after he first came to Janderhoff, Dolgrin presented Igmar with his own battle scarred Urgrosh and a new suit of armour. Later that day the boy began his training. Igmar favours a technique in which he uses the spearpoint of the urgrosh to feint before bringing the heavy axehead to bear on his enemies. His skill grew quickly and he soon became a valued member of the city’s expeditionary force.
It was on one of his patrols that Igmar stopped atop a ridge and gazed out into the east. He’d always been proud to be considered an equal to the dwarves he served and lived with, but as he grew into a man Igmar was less and less sure that was who he really was. Out there somewhere was his true home, and maybe the parents he barely remembered. Though he tried to keep these feelings inside, he eventually could hold them in no longer. One night Igmar confessed his feelings to Dolgrin and the elder dwarf realised that while the boy’s home would always be Janderhoff, the man’s was somewhere out to the east. On the third day of Erastus, loaded up with up with provisions, Igmar set off over the mountains in search of his past. He’d sworn he’d be back some day, with dreams of a human family to bring back to his dwarven home.
Surprisingly, Igmar didn't have to search for long. With a spear at his throat an Orc talks quickly, and this one led Igmar to the town of Trunau. The locals at first took Igmar as a little strange, but when he showed his locket to the innkeep Cham Larringfass, the Halfling instantly recognised the couple in the picture. “That’s Darvan and Udara Halfstin, and you must be their boy, Garidan!” The man now had a human name, but besides that the news was bad. Nobody had seen the Halfstins in nearly twenty years, and everyone feared the worst. Out of respect for both Dolgrin and his parents, Igmar kept his dwarven name but adopted his human surname. He would have made his way back to Janderhoff then, but instead he took a look around the beleaguered town. Even if he didn’t remember it this was his home, and right now the place looked like it could do with every pair of hands it could get. Igmar offered to stay for a month and lend his stone working skills to help rebuild from the previous orc raid.
That was two years ago.
