An excerpt from The Depths of Norhaven: A Complete Guide, Volume Two – Of Gauth and the Coming of Thoran Proudshield, by Alerdy Parlyle…… I am often asked why, considering the hardships we have all faced in the Depths, did we follow the Dwarves in the first place? Would it not have been better to last it out on the Surface after all? To this I respond: it was not impossible to live underground – it was impossible to live anywhere else.
Nothing made this clearer than the Wyrm Queen herself. In 97AD she moved at last to lay waste to Norhaven. It was Thoran Proudshield, then a young warrior armed with little more than courage, who dealt the Beast the grievous blow that drove her off. But our Warlord’s victory was costly, and the City-Sanctuary was ruined.
Thus, as the people abandoned the surface, Gauth became – as it still stands today – the Bastion of Civilization and Order in the Depths. This is why Gauth has swollen to be the most populous of all the Colonies, and why more and more people continue to seek shelter in the mine-turned-city.
It was not always this way, however. In 171AD Alfgar Deeptunnel succeeded his father, Gnypli, as King of the Dwarven City-State. In one-hundred-and-eleven years of rule, Alfgar grew increasingly paranoid and tyrannical. Hundreds were banished from the City on mere whims and immigration outlawed, spelling a long slide into decline that threatened to destroy everything Gauth stood for. It is with a shudder that I contemplate what might have happened had Alfgar remained on the throne – but he did not. For, to our fortune, in 336AD our hero – Thoran Proudshield – having spent ninety-six of the interposing years himself in exile, came to the aid of his people once again. His coup was flawless: Alfgar and the entire Deeptunnel Clan were themselves banished upon pain of death. Gauth re-opened its doors once again, and her honour and glory was restored.
Owing to their noble Dwarven heritage and influences, Gauthians are a tough, hardy people, unafraid to make a stand against the evil that besets them. They make for fine craftsmen and finer warriors. The Oathsworn, Gauth’s sword against the darkness, have earned a fearsome reputation for their punitive raids against the threats of the Depths (As compared to Gauth’s shield, the Wards. See Volume Eight: Of the Regions Below & Volume Nine: Of the Surface, for more information on these threats), whilst the weapons and armour produced by the Ironhearts are without equal.
A polytheistic religion dominates, centred on Eradus as the gatekeeper to the wisdom of ancestors…
In GauthIt was early in the morning, too early for folk, a time when most people would much rather stay in the comfort of their beds. Dora Alefist was different than most however, and this was the time in which she thrived. An older, though very energetic Dwarf, she was already up and about, having just dressed herself in her plain clothes for for the long day ahead of her. Evaluating her appearance in her small hand mirror, allowing herself only a single moment to grumble about her graying hair, she put on her cheerful, pleasant demeanor she would be making use of for the next several hours. Heading down the narrow stairs from her bedroom, her home became her workplace, a small diner where she served food to the hungry, hard working miners of Gauth.
The first shift of miners, those who were crazy enough to be up as early as Dora, would be on their way out to the mines soon. Setting up dishes and eating utensils, cutting up fruit, frying eggs and ham from the Gauth farmstead, Dora's work was that of creating what would be a small feast for a half dozen hungry workers. Unfortunately, there were a dozen hungry workers, and Dora had to stretch very little to last a long time. It was a lot of people to squeeze into a small area, though Dora looked upon the bright side; it was 'cozy'. After all, space had to be rationed, though Dora dressed the diner up nicely with various Warrens nicknacks, and an occasional wooden carving she purchased from a merchants he knew in Avera's hope. If Dora could be defined by one trait, it was her incredible ability to make the best of a less than optimal situation, perhaps due to her Dwarven stubbornness that kept her from ever giving into unsavory circumstances.
Brushing aside the curtains, she looked out the window, and in the darkness she saw the many familiar figures marching towards her door, right on time. In a moment, the handsome though aged face of Gildar Greyaxe would step inside first, and with a pleasant smile would say, “Good morning, Dora. How can we repay you for another fine meal?”. This would elicit Dora's typical response, “A beautiful Summer day sure would be nice.” as she would gleefully go about filling plates and making light conversation with the miners.
Today was different, however. Gildar Greyaxe did not step inside first, instead, a much taller human had. Accompanying his miner's uniform, the man wore a grim expression as he silently made his way toward the table. He was easily recognized as Sam, another of the dozen miners who ate there every morning.
“Hey, what's going on? Wheres Gildar?” Dora interrupted, seeming confused by the unusual scene in front of her.
The man paused, turning to Dora, and simply stared at the cook for several moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was uneven, “You... you did not hear? No one told you?”
Too many thoughts rushed through Dora's mind at once. She opened her mouth, and all that poured out was a startled, “What?”
“There was an accident at the mine last night, Dora. There was a cave-in...”
***
A dying lantern provided the only illumination inside the cramped, cavernous chamber. Around it huddled two filthy, exhausted humans, accompanied by two Dwarves who were in no better condition. A middle-aged human with long dark hair, hanging over hollow gray eyes searched desperately through an old, ratty pack, looking for his canteen of water. His skin was worn and pale, even more so than usual, considering the living standards of the day. Though obscured to some degree by the darkness, several scars painted the picture of Robert Mitchell's laborious life.
Beside him sat a much younger, and also calmer, woman with short cropped auburn hair. She was not muscular, she was thin and no taller than the Dwarves nearby, very clearly out of her element. Despite this, she managed to keep her cool. Her bruised knuckles were tightly wrapped around a mining pick. She raised a hand to wipe away beads of sweat that made their way down her forehead, and shook head head. “We can't dig our back out. Not with the three of us,” her words came slowly, between short breathes, “Not without the tools on the other side of the cave-in.”
“I believe you are correct, Kara,” came the raspy voice of Haran Stonebeard. Clearly the eldest of the group – by quite a large number of years, he was just as clearly in charge. A greying beard betrayed his age, though his tenacious, muscular body seemed to belong to a Dwarf much younger. Many often joked that Stonebeard's face was chiseled out of solid rock (his name was quite a coincidence), as it did not present itself with a ride range of emotions. It did, however, provide an enduring sense stoicism to his companions. As he spoke, the others looked toward him, they all held a great deal of respect for the Dwarf, who was always willing to share his wisdom. “All we can do at this point, is pray the Gods lead help here to find us.”
Beside Haran lay another Dwarf, Gildar Greyaxe, one who was much younger, and tragically, one who likely had much less time to live. A sturdy and strong-willed Dwarf indeed, he had unfortunately sustained injuries during the cave-in. The best efforts of the three in treating the wounds only allowed Robert, the most experienced, to proclaim, “The trauma will take him in a day, likely less, if we do not get him out of here soon. But it's not as if we arn't all going to die here anyway.” The dire situation had not managed to dampen Gildar's humor, which most would say to be his defining characteristic. It had, however, become much darker and uneasy, highlighting the dread that hung in his mind.
“Yeah, and that they bring us some ale, too!” Gildar joked, eliciting a quiet laugh from those around us. “At least, enough for the three of you!” Gildar added, with an anxious chuckle. Silence followed.
The silence was broken by a loud thud, the sound of the now found, and also empty, water canteen slamming against the rocky wall. Its owner stood up, his voice making his frustration apparent to all, “I want out of here.”
“We all do, Robert” replied the raspy voice of Stonebeard.
“No no,” came the man's rapid response, holding up a finger, to silence the Dwarf. Fear for his life had temporarily replaced his respect for Haran. “Not as much as me. I don't want this, I never wanted this.”
“None of us-” began the young Dwarf, only to be interrupted.
“You are meant for this! Both of you. Underground. This is where you belong, not me.” Despite all of Robert's anger, he did not speak the words with venom, but seemed as if he was simply stating a fact.
“She and I? We don't belong underground. I don't want to live like this, not anymore. And I've already lived through too much to die like this.” He began to pace, as best as he could in the little space he had to move. “Not down here, in the dark, like a rat. I would rather die up there, than down here. What about you?” He extended a finger towards Kara.
She hesitated at first. “Sun... and fresh air, would both be nice for a change. We'll get the chance though. We'll get out of here.” Her fingers nervously ran across the mining pick in her hands.
“No. No. No.” Robert shook his frantically, repeating himself over as if the others were having trouble hearing him. “No. And let me tell you why...”
Greybeard sighed as he momentarily tuned out the voice, knowing that Robert was too frightened to take seriously. He was concerned though, about how his attitude was influencing the morale of the others. Looking down at Gildar, Haran saw the pain and hopelessness continue to take hold. Glancing towards Kara, he saw the young woman's composure finally begin to crack. They needed to get their minds off the situation they were in, and find some tiny bit of hope to focus on.
Clearing his throat to silence his distressed companions, he extended a hand towards the woman beside him.
“May I have my pick back? I would like to tell you a story about where I am from, Gauth...”
****
“When I was just a young Dwarf – and yes, there indeed was a time when I was young, before Gildar says anything, I of course, grew up in Gauth. You have all seen it from afar, and probably been inside of it too, so I won't patronize you with what you already know. I cannot tell you how much I love the city, my home, and the people there. The Dwarven architecture, the friendly people, the temples to the Four, I thank Amaros everyday that I am a Dwarf lucky enough to have been born here. That is, if I couldn't be born after things warmed back up a bit.”
Stonebeard let out a hearty chuckle that he hoped would help to continue lighten the mood. As he looked around and noticed that the atmosphere was still quite grim, he cleared his throat and quickly continued his story.
“So back in Gauth, we have a tradition, a rite of passage you could say, in which all children partake in to enter into adulthood. We call it Soul Forging, and it requires a child of Gauth to go out into the mines and return with a piece of ore. Afterwards, it is up to them to purify and to then forge the ore into a new possession, a sword, a shield, a ring, or in my case...” Stonebeard hefted his pick into the air as he spoke, “...a mining pick. I of course went through this tradition, and this is the very same pick that I made back then.
When it was time for me to go through the Soul Forging tradition, I set out early in the morning, heading out into a set of caverns that are not too far from where we are now. With me I took some basic survival supplies, a canteen of water, and the mining tools I would need for the task at hand. It was more risky back then, you understand, as the mining operation had not expanded as far out as they have now. A lot of dangerous creatures that lurk out there and far below us, at one time were not much further away than we are right now. To come out here, all alone, was foolish of me, especially with just the small blade I took with me for protection.
I was bold, and foolish, and a little greedy. I had thought if I went somewhere besides the mines, somewhere that we hadn't set up to mine yet, I could get myself a large piece of ore to haul back to the city. No, we didn't need a lot, usually; how much did I really need to make myself a pick, anyway? But I could brag about it, and I brought home not one, but two large pieces of iron I dug out myself. And then...”
Stonebeard trailed off, looking thoughtful.
“You must believe me when I say that I am not proud of the person that I was back then. By Thoran's beard, I was a collop! A talented miner, but a giant collop. I knew I was a great miner and a blacksmith, and I wanted others to know it. The purpose of this tradition was to practice those skills that were important to those of us in Gauth. Mining and blacksmithing were what had allowed Gauth to prosper, and to even exist in the first place. This experience brought us closer to our ancestors, and gave us a physical connection to our society. I did not understand this though, rather than being a learning experience, I saw it as an opportunity only to brag about myself.”
As Stonebeard stopped to take a drink, Robert took the opportunity to interject. “From what I've seen, you Gauth people love to brag about everything. What's the problem?”
Stonebeard chuckled as he set the canteen back down. “Oh, we do like to boast very much, as we are very prideful of our accomplishments. To not brag at all would be very unusual. But this trial is very important and sacred to us, it is something that we take very seriously. I do not feel that I treated the entire matter with the respect I should have.”
“But you have obviously changed since then. You seem very respectful and thoughtful of the entire tradition, now that you look back.” Kara spoke up as she knelt beside Gildar, reexamining the Dwarf's wounds. She occasionally squinted at a tome on the ground beside her, doing her best to read it in the little light provided by the nearby lantern. “Why is that?”
Stonebeard grimaced. “It was that same day, actually. I was hungry and decided to get something to fill my stomach with before I sat down to work at the forge. I stopped at this small place that served up pretty nice food, where I sat with a few friends and confidently told them of my accomplishment. Confident may be the wrong word to use, it as more... arrogance. And a young Dwarf who worked there at the diner called me out on it, saying I was missing the whole point of the tradition. It was a test of adulthood, yes, but that did not mean there were still not things to be learned from it. Her words stuck in my mind as I purified the ore, and eventually made this pick, and I like to think it helps to keep me a little more down-to-earth.”
***
Dora stood upon a mound of rubble, and behind her stood dozens more, all armed with tools to dig out their friends. Having been to work for hours, cynicism had tightened its grip around many of the diggers, as they began to doubt that any of the trapped miners could possibly still be alive. When ever anyone raised this question though, they were quickly silenced by Dora, who poured hope and optimism onto the others as she tried to smother the flames of skepticism.
In truth though, Dora was starting to have thoughts of uncertainty herself. Haran was experienced and smart, and more than anything else, he was careful. When young, he was incredibly reckless, Dora knew this, but she also knew that he had learned from every mistake he had ever made. He was resourceful like that, and that is what Dora focused on. More than anything else, she knew that if anyone could survive a disaster like this, it was Haran Stonebeard.
“Look! Over here! I think we might have made it through!” As Dora heard this, her heart dropped. Sliding down the rocks and stones around her, she bolted towards the sound of the voice. “I need help digging over here!”
Dora helped. Being so close, she dug as fast as she could, praying to the Four as she did.
Subrace: Gauthian-Gauthian Human
-Gauthian DwarvesHumans and Dwarves by far make up the majority of the population in the Gauth. Due to the colony's history as a Dwarven mine, Dwarven traditions have influenced its local culture. More than any other race living in Gauth, it is the humans who have adopted wholesale many traits traditionally held to be 'Dwarven.'
Gauthians as a people are extremely proud and militaristic. Generally speaking they are relatively open and friendly to outsiders - so long as such outsiders behave. Heritage and honour are as important to all Gauthians as the necessity of copious drinking. Like Dwarves, Gauthians are stubborn and don't like backing down even when the odds are against them. They also don't like having to make rash decisions, and generally prefer to take their time when it comes to decision-making
Gauthians are sturdy people - men and women alike tend to be muscular. Dark hair is common, ranging from blacks and browns. Red hair is seen as a sign of luck, and it's very rare among Gauthians. Men tend to have -hair-, big, manly beards and mustaches and lots of body hair - very bearlike, almost. Eyes range the gamut, though are often dark.
Almost all of the other races can also be found in Gauth, though without the numbers of Dwarves or humans. They also tend to preserve their own cultural traditions and values. For the most part, Elves prefer to live elsewhere, though there are some in Gauth in very limited numbers.
(Although there are only two Gauthian subraces, characters from other races may also be citizens of Gauth. The two subraces represent that humans and Dwarves are the most influential and numerous.)
