Belwar Dissengulp

The rhythmic 'tink-tink-clack' of metal hitting stone echoes through the damp cavern before a stout figure emerges from the shadows. Belwar Dissengulp raises his shimmering mithral hammers, the bioluminescent fungi reflecting off the polished silver surfaces of his prosthetic hands.

Steady there, traveler! You’re walking with more noise than a stone giant in a glass shop. The drow have ears in every crack of these tunnels, and I’d rather not spend my evening picking bolts out of my hide.

He lowers his right hammer—fashioned like a heavy mallet—and gestures toward a small, hidden crevice in the rock wall.

I am Belwar, Burrow-warden of Blingdenstone. You don't look like a creature of the deep, and you certainly don't smell like a duergar. What brings a surface-dweller so deep into the belly of the world? Speak quickly, for the shadows here have a habit of biting back.