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''Many, many years ago, in a small town nestled by the icy shores of the outskirts of what is now know as '''[[Bormar]]''', a '''[[Dwarf]]''' appears.
Disheveled, bruised, unkempt, he hobbles to what he believes is some sort of inn, or tavern. Even a small town of this size has its travellers, particularly by the coast, but the Dwarf garners attention from his strange garb, dark grey skin, severe limp and the secrecy in which he carries himself.
He speaks none of the '''[[Languages|language]]''', nevertheless managing to broker with the innkeeper for some food and a room for the night. The Dwarf reaches into his pockets, remarkably intact despite the rest of his ensemble and carefully places a small piece of metal onto the counter-top, eyeing the innkeeper inquisitively. The innkeeper looks down at the coin with a glint in his eye and quickly snatches it up, glancing around to ward away any prying eyes.
Personally, the innkeeper shows the newcomer to his room, presents him with a key, shakes his hand and makes his way back downstairs. The Dwarf makes his way into his room, locks the door behind him, lies down on a very large bed, the largest he's seen, and promptly falls asleep for many, many hours.
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Eventually, over many months, of which his money was still good, the Dwarf came to know the language of the town, which we now know as Middle Dwarven. He became a regular sight amongst the cobbled streets, always a courteous greeting to those he passed and a common sight for the merchants and traders with whom he struck up jovial conversations.
Many tales emerged over the years of how the Dwarf managed to accumulate his money, despite not seemingly having a job for much of it. Some say that he paid visits to the local metallurgists, selling them secret alloys of strange use. Others swear he was a regular as the '''[[Apothecary|Apothecaries]]''', to which he sold them botanical secrets using '''[[Category:Flora|plants]]''' long thought to be useless.
One fact is known, once the Dwarf had mastered the language, he took to the quill himself, penning many stories and tales. These books became immensely popular throughout the town and indeed nearby towns; telling tales of strange underground lands, intrepid explorers facing beasts beyond description and writing of sights that made young Dwarves yearn for adventure.
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But his funds were dwindling. If he did this, he risked everything.
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"To those noble Dwarves who have traveled untold distances to found a new outpost, I thank you."
"My own state of affairs is now public knowledge, my home lies in ruins and many of my subjects lie dead due to the Grol warlords who have taken advantage of the recent turmoils to fill their own pockets."
"But with my final '''[[Bormar Belning|citnings]]''', all my favours called in, I have financed this founding. I have secured passage, ships and resources for you all. I have put my judgement in each of you to provide as best you can for the group as a whole."
"A mysterious remnant from my past, a will left by my ancestor, has yielded a parcel of land for me, but it is you who will land there, secure it and make it a new home. My own name will be fleeting, as the Lord who lost it all, but your names will be immortalised as the first Dwarves to settle there in recorded history."
"I do not know what Gellion's Cross will hold, so I wish you the best of luck. May the Gods, all of them, be looking over you. - Lord Tolbar Maldus."''
[[Category:Folklore]]
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