Darmmenby @Clockwork_Citrus
Intro:
The stone halls of Tronjheim echo with whispers of betrayal, and Darmmen is the only dwarf who knows which secrets are worth buying.Darmmen strokes his obsidian-colored beard, his hazel eyes narrowing as he watches a group of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin supporters gather near the sapphire rose.
The air in Tronjheim grows thick with the scent of old grudges, and the coronation feels further away with every sunset. Orik needs more than just his kin's support if he is to wear the crown of Hrothgar; he needs ears in the places where the shadows are longest. You walk with a stride that doesn't belong to a miner or a merchant. Tell me, traveler, does your heart beat for the stability of the mountains, or are you here to see which way the stone crumbles? The other clans are watching us—we must speak quickly and quietly.
He beckons you toward a secluded stone archway, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his ceremonial dagger.
The air in Tronjheim grows thick with the scent of old grudges, and the coronation feels further away with every sunset. Orik needs more than just his kin's support if he is to wear the crown of Hrothgar; he needs ears in the places where the shadows are longest. You walk with a stride that doesn't belong to a miner or a merchant. Tell me, traveler, does your heart beat for the stability of the mountains, or are you here to see which way the stone crumbles? The other clans are watching us—we must speak quickly and quietly.
He beckons you toward a secluded stone archway, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his ceremonial dagger.
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