Mrin Olaramorndin

Mrin Olaramorndin hails from the displaced clan of Olaramorndin. A clan of refugees, much reduced in numbers from the time of Mrin’s grandfather when they had a hold to call their own, yet proud still and strong in their own way. The majority of the clan travels the north between dwarven holds, staying for a decade or more practicing their craft, until the elders of the clan determine it is time to move on. Though on each move some stay behind to maintain the Olaramorndin holdings spread throughout the north and provide any needed upkeep or monitoring for their clients. For the rest of the clan it is on to the next holding, again and again, a cycle repeating for over four centuries. Some wonder when the clan will seek to reclaim their ancestral home from whatever tragedy may have befallen it, but when asked the elders merely shake their heads and grumble that it is not yet time. The runes have not determined it shall be so. The fates are not aligned.

 

In the year 1429 DR, the year of ten terrors, Mrin was born to the clan during one of their stays at Mithral hall, jewel of the dwarven cities in the north, and there he stayed for the first fifteen years of his life. His early youth in Mithral hall was a wonder all young dwarves should experience for the craft and beauty of the holding were beyond reproach and showing none of the scars of its occupation only a century and a half gone. Though the caution and wariness still remained in the minds of the clan and they paid the clan well in gold and hospitality for their runes of warding and divinations. Still, it was a beacon to the dwarves of clan Olaramorndin, a reminder that one’s ancestral home could be reclaimed from whatever dark may claim it. It was here that Mrin was educated in the ways of rock and stone, where he learned of the metals and riches found below and the connection all dwarves had with the heart of the planet within which they were forged. Then, just as the first wisps of a burgeoning beard began to grow on Mrin’s chin, the elders declared it was time for the main clan to move on.

 

So it was that the clan then journeyed south and east overland skirting around the edges of the glimmerwood. Their pace was slow but steady for their seers guided their progress with frequent divinations on the weather and the safety of the roads. The clan had a brief stop in Silverymoon where Mrin first laid witness to the wonders that can be wrought by magic. It was not the shining buildings or lovingly integrated nature the city is most well known for among the other races that caught Mrin’s eye but something deeper. Carved into the foundations of the city itself and of most interest to the clan, The Mythal, a ward that defies understanding even for those past their fifteenth year, a relic of ages now past and a warding of immense power. Mrin was enraptured by the flowing rune work and quite hum of magic at work. Though only a passing few weeks did the clan stay in Silverymoon before continuing their journey once more skirting the Glimmerwood until the clan came to Citadel Felbar. Though it was not here either the clan intended to stay or so the elders claimed. Still it was two years the clan spent checking in with their holdings and visiting with the people of clan Warcrown.

 

During this time in Citadel Felbar, Mrin began his first lessons in the magics of clan Olaramorndin, the runes that the clan used to both predict what was to come and defend against that which would do them harm. Still too young yet to truly begin his magical training his lessons mostly consisted of theory and history. Though Mrin remembers a time his grandfather took him down to The Runegate to show him the 32 deadly runes that defended Citadel Felbar from invaders. His education continued even as the clan began their journey once more for what was their true destination in this migration. Famously unwelcoming of visitors was Citadel Adbar, but it was the rare dwarven stronghold indeed that would turn their backs on Clan Olaramorndin when it came calling. So it was that the clan settled into their holdings and Mrin’s first clan migration came to an end.

 

It was within the halls of Citadel Adbar that Mrin began to fully grow into his beard, his body fully matured and, now he had the strength to properly wield it, Mrin was gifted with his first axe. There were few places in the north better suited to train a young dwarf in the finer points of axedwarfship that Citadel Adbar for there was not a dwarf in the hold who had not spent their requisite years learning the trade of combat. The Iron Guard of Citadel Adbar made sure that when the horns were sounded there would be more than enough capable hands to take up axe and shield to defend their walls. Combat training in the morning with the dwarves of the citadel and lessons on the histories and magics of Clan Olaramorndin in the evenings left the middle of the day free for Mrin to explore, read, and drink with the other youths of the citadel. It was like that, that another thirteen years passed and once again the elders declared it was time to sojourn.

 

South this time to Sundabar the clan ventured, a city with dwarven roots but now more human than dwarven. Still there was need there for the magics of Clan Olaramorndin, for there was need everywhere for the magics of his clan, and so they went. It was here as the clan settled into their usual routines Mrin began to delve deeper into the magics of his clan and here he managed to weave his first spell. His youthful fascination with the runes of The Mythal and The Runegate pushed Mrin to spend most of his efforts learning the clan's trade in warding and security, leaving the divination to those of the clan more in tune with the weavings of fate. Not that he could entirely escape the lessons, the elders would not have that. So he set his axe aside for now in favor of quill and parchment and the magic that made his clan what it is. They spent an unexpectedly short time in Sundabar for the elders declared it was once more time to depart after only five years in residence. Mrin was happy enough with this decision as, though the city was likely once a grand place, the number of humans that now called the place home had surpassed that of dwarves and Mrin was not sure he was a fan of their company.

 

Another journey across the north landed Mrin back somewhere familiar as the clan once again stopped in the territory of clan Battlehammer. Mrin reveled in his return to Mithral Hall as he had fond memories of running the halls in his youth and watching the great workings of their smiths and masons and now, of age to wield hammer as well as axe, Mrin began another facet of schooling all proper dwarves must undertake. So, despite his growing aptitude with spell and rune it was here that Mrin was taken in by smith and mason and shown the basics of their trades. For where could a dwarf of Clan Olaramorndin inscribe a rune if there was not a smith to forge the blade or breastplate, or a mason to cut the stone with which one might build their homes. Mrin spent days under the tutelage of masters of all kinds learning the workings of hammer and chisel, even working with some few gnomes who called the halls their home and learning of their clockwork contraptions. So it was that another twelve years passed, though as time went on Mrin stepped back from the tutelage of the crafters of Mithral Hall and spent more and more time with the elders of his own clan. The magics called to him and with his aptitude the clan knew that Mrin would not be a warrior, nor smith, nor mason nor whatever else but a true scion of the clan, a mage.

 

With merely two years remaining to Mrin’s age of majority the clan once more set off on to journey to a new holding, this time east around the Lurkwood along the spine of the world to Mirabar. Here the clan settled into their new home for the time being while Mrin finished his finaltutelage under his grandfather and the other elders of the clan and upon reaching his age of majority was named a true Abjurer of clan Olaramorndin. With the usual pomp and ceremony traditional to the clan Mrin was hosted at the high table during a feat and received the run mark of abjurer upon his right cheek. Now of age and a fully fledged contributing member of the clan Mrin took to his duties with gusto, warding and securing the homes and valuables of the wealthy. It was less than a year into his new work however that he was called before the elder diviners of the clan. He was needed elsewhere, his fate was set and it drew him away from the main clan to ply his trade in human lands. He would go to Neverwinter and meet with the few of the clan that made their home there, he was to work and wait and in time he would be approached by a friend of the clan. Gundren Rockseeker held Mrin’s fate and perhaps the fate of all clan Olaramorndin… though perhaps not. Divination was not a perfect art, that is why the clan practiced both it and Abjuration. For what one could not foresee one could prepare to defend against. So it was with a disgruntled mind, yet head held high that Mrin left to live among the humans and other varied races of the Sword Coast, until he was called upon by fate. A shield of clan Olaramorndin ready to see what might unfold.