What happens to a Dwarf when the citadel falls, friends and family killed and things just aren't going they way they should? Strap on the armor, sharpen the blade and charge headlong into a no-win situations, taking as many enemy with you as you can? Maybe... Or maybe, since there is no one left to tell the tale, to sing the songs or perform the toast to your valiant deed, it's time to find a refuge. Time to find a place where a clan can be remade, families rebuilt and oaths resworn.
Welcome to the Alloy Halls, a Dwarven monastery dedicated to helping our wayward and lost kin find their way back to more proper pursuits. Founded generations ago by a small clan of folk who were too young to help defend their original home from a rampaging demon. Originally a series of goblin and orc caves that the youth cleaned out, Alloy Halls now sits as a bastion of opportunity for those lost Dwarves to find a purpose again.
Perhaps it seems odd to think of a Dwarf without heavy plate armor, a sculpted shield and razor sharp axe or massive hammer slicing and dicing, hammering and heaving a path of carnage through waves of foul green-skins. But let me put this image out there. A Dwarf, family slaughtered, clan destroyed, home ravaged, looks at all they had ever been taught and realizes it wasn't enough. Through either soul searching, prayers to a deity or random chance, this lost warrior finds a group who show that there are other paths, other ways. Perhaps all that time spent learning to swing a sword, practicing putting on armor and wielding a shield actually taught the Dwarf exactly how to defeat those things. A controlled hand cannot swing a sword, an uplifted shield fails in its defense against an attack from below and armor cannot cover every vital place on a body.
When a Dwarf suddenly moves much faster than expected itcatches foes off guard. When a cloak is pulled back, not to reveal armor but a history of deeds and training, reverence and commitment, enemies suddenly find themselves questioning their techniques. When a walking staff suddenly becomes a weapon wielded with surprising flair and painful accuracy resulting in looking up from your back or kissing the ground, armor seems a heavy burden when trying to crawl away.
Fists and feet, hard as granite, knees and elbows cutting as painfully as any sword or axe, headbutts that would leave a bull stunned, the Dwarven Monks of The Alloy Halls are here to guide you, to help you, to give you purpose. Yes, you, the one who has lost the path, let us show you a new path, a bold path, a path few of our kind has ever followed.