Mstwk Backpack with:
Flint and Steel
50 ft Hemp Rope
4x Trail Rations
78g (or 39-whatevers)
Burst Barrier (Ex)
At 2nd level, a tower shield specialist can use his shield to screen himself from burst spells and effects, gaining a +1 bonus on Reflex saves against them while employing a tower shield. This bonus increases by +1 for every four levels after 2nd (to a maximum of +5 at 18th level).
Darkvision : 60 ft
Hardy: Dwarves gain a +2 racial bonus on saving throws against poison, spells, and spell-like abilities.
Stability: Dwarves gain a +4 racial bonus to their Combat Maneuver Defense when resisting a bull rush or trip attempt while standing on the ground.
Craftsman: Dwarves are known for their superior craftsmanship when it comes to metallurgy and stonework. Dwarves with this racial trait receive a +2 racial bonus on all Craft or Profession checks related to metal or stone.
Wyrmscourged: Dwarves with this racial trait gain a +1 bonus on attack rolls and a +2 dodge bonus to AC and on saving throws against the extraordinary, supernatural, and spell-like abilities of dragons. They also gain a +2 racial bonus on Knowledge (arcana) checks to identify dragons and can make such checks untrained.
Weapon Familiarity: Dwarves are proficient with battleaxes, heavy picks, and warhammers, and treat any weapon with the word “dwarven” in its name as a martial weapon.
The surface was dying.
After countless centuries of existence, the world of the sky was no more. Or, at least, it would be soon. Cut off from the rest of civilization – if any of the weaker races had survived – the dwarves of Hazrit set themselves for their final stand. The last clans of the proud dwarves faced down the apocalypse as it should have been – with axe and hammer. Yet the end did not come at once.
The blackened mists that fell over the land surrounded the mountain, consuming many of its passes and crevasses – yet never fully engulfing the mountains the dwarves called home. There was no enemy to fight, no battle to be won. Merely an endless and hopeless existence, waiting for an end that did not come.
But as if the world itself was enraged by the end, Hazrit became a place of terror. Lost brothers drove the living from their ancestral homes, coming in countless droves. Dragons and their kin terrorized the survivors on the surface. Dormant volcanoes surged with fiery fury.
This was the world that Kolgar was born into. A member of the Stonehammer clan, and son of an armor smith, he grew up learning the history of his people. It was a proud history, full of glory and honor. A history that one could not imagine when looking at the battle-weary surface hovels they inhabited. Kolgar embraced the tales of old, and pushed himself to be that much stronger, that much tougher than his ancestors. He practiced his father's trade, though he would never rival him in skill. He trained with both hammer and axe, besting all his peers and most of his elders in combat. He donned the heaviest of armor as though it was paper.
As soon as he was old enough, he joined the guardsmen – defending their meager homestead against wyrm and more. He was a capable warrior, but the fate of the dwarves did not sit well with him. They could not rival the legends he had been told as a youth. Nay, they could not even warm the forges of these heroes.
Kolgar summoned his closest friends – the strongest of their clan. It was time to honor their ancestors properly. It was time to take back the darkness.
Ten warriors ventured back into the plagued mountainside, into the darkness from which the dwarves crawled out so many centuries ago. They fought through their brethren, whose minds were lost to the end of days, vile beasts that had never seen the light of day, and even the earth itself as it rose up to stop them.
Within two day, there were but four of the party standing. But they'd made undeniable progress. As they broke through into a massive underground chamber, magma flows lit the room from above and below. Within moments, an elder fire elemental had burst from the lava to purge the intruders. Raising his shield, Kolgar nodded to his companions. As they moved on, Kolgar charged the creature. He could feel the flames licking his beard, the intense heat weakening the finest arms and armor. His axe did little, and the flames loomed tall over even his hulking shield. Death was certain. Perhaps the others would fall too, although he vowed to give them a fighting chance. Maybe in time, the dwarves could return home and live true, full lives.
Or maybe it was all for naught, and his death was meaningless. Maybe he had failed the heroes in those stories, unable to live up to the legends. Maybe he had failed his clan, taking the strongest warriors on a suicide mission. Maybe there was only more and more death deep within the earth.
But – at least – he could die a dwarf: axe in hand, feet on the ground, and battle before him.