A dwarf working the stone to his will is content. All is well in the world when he has a pickaxe, a mountain, and a plan. And so Dalin was content, his strong hands gripping the rough wooden handle of his pickaxe. Every swing of his labour-hardened arms was bliss, and each clang of the tool on stone was like music to his ears. Zan Goruz, the Red Horn was the place whose rocks had called to him since his whiskers were thin. Now, as he carved out a place for himself in the mountain, Dalin couldn't help but feel that he was finally home.
I thought I would share some of the progress I have made on my little place in the mountain. It has gone through a couple of redesigns, but is now finally beginning to take shape. I hope to establish a small but lasting dwarven community, and establish loyal friendships with the other dwarven factions as well as non-dwarven factions. Enjoy!