Difonix Roll20: Falcon's Hollow
A stern dwarf with a long grey-brown beard, usually wearing workmans clothing, a leather apron, and a belt full of carving tools. Smells of darkwood chips, tung oil, and mushroom ale.
Full Name: Hrurgyim the Woodcarver
Occupation: Hermit recluse, wood worker, mushroom ale brewer, and freelance Druid
Party: The Falcon’sHollow Fringers (?)
Favorite Weapons: Woodsmans axe; biting remarks; actual biting.
Hobbies: Carving creepy masks, tending to his mulch garden, chasing fey off his moss-lawn.
Goals: Build an army of animated wooden puppets to terrorize local goblin tribes.
Rurg’s story actually begins 250 or so years ago, with the collapse of the theocratic Droskar Kingdom. Rurg’s grandfather Guurgyim, having had enough of the humorless asses running the nation into the ground in the name of their equally unimpressive god, decided to part ways with traditional dwarven religion (“to ’ell with the lot of ’em stuffy stone-bearded moss-guzzlers!”), seeking other avenues of spiritual nourishment. The complete collapse of dwarven civilization gave him all the excuse he needed to up and move his whole branch of the clan from Highhelm to Taggoret (“the air was too damn crisp there anyway… a dwarf needs some proper volcanic ash and fungal spores in his lungs, I tells ye!”), and declared for Gozreh once and for all. Grandpappy Guurg was an accomplished craftsman in his own right, although cleaving to wood; that lesser, more pliant material, looked on by many Dwarves with suspicion as seeming just a bit too “elfy” for their comfort; and soon the small splinter clan (pun intended, ha!) was doing brisk trade working and selling furniture and goods crafter from root wood, mushroom stalk, and the occasional piece of darkwood imported from Darkmoon Vale. Business boomed, the clan multiplied, and their nature-revering ways were tolerated, in no small part due to the large non-Dwarf population living in the city, some of whom were already knew their way around things like standing stones, stag-horn crowns, and mistletoe just fine.
Rurg’s father, Thurgyim, inherited the mantle of patriarch when grandpappy passed and along with it control of the woodworking fortune. Naturally this didn’t sit well with several jealous relations, chief among them Rurg’s uncle (and suspected closeted Droskar-worshipper) Vorgyim. Several rounds of ale-poisonings, back-alley back-axings, some unpleasant exchanges of words, and more axings (this time to the front, sides, and head), and Rurg’s beloved father lay dead along with half the clan, Uncle Vorg was in control of the family business, and a young Rurg and a terrified wild boar piglet found themselves running for their lives, and shortly thereafter swimming for their lives when they jumped into a nearby river to avoid several flaming crossbow bolts and a bottle of alchemists fire.
As luck would have it, rivers flow places, and this particular waterway happened to be the primary route between the logging camps of darkmoon vale and the dwarven border towns in the southern part of the Five Kings Mountains. In short order Rurg and Pigsly Rootchewer were stowing away on a river boat, being savagely beaten and thrown off said river boat, riding a log dejectedly for several miles, capsizing in white water and then being fished out of the stream by a kindly gnome witch with a weasely woodland critter perched on her shoulder. Not having anything better to do with their lives, Rurg (with Pigsly in tow) made his way to a secluded glade on the edge of the woods, built a luxury-grade hermit hovel and set up shop as a carpenter, woodcarver, mushroom cultivator, and freelance druid. He’s been at it for several months now and he’s made a couple of acquaintances beyond his trusty porcine companion and witchy herbalist partner-in-crime that don’t seem more than mildly interested in murdering him, including an addled oft-paranoid hole-digging recluse and a pyromaniac half orc mercenary. Rurg has to admit; the pay in the hermit druid business isn’t great, but you can make your own hours; plus he has the freedom to take time off whenever he wants to flee from assassins or solve mysteries involving flower-induced zombies…
Rurg’s hovel is built into an ancient tree at the edge of Darkmoon Vale; the branches are decorated with numerous ornately carved wooden masks that knock eerily together when the wind picks up, and the tunk of the tree is covered in strange animalistic visages and symbols celebrating Gozreh. These adornments are actually mostly just to keep the goblins away, but they also help to cultivate a certain mystique amongst the loggers and such. Rurg’s prized possession is a small patch of ironbloom mushrooms growing in the root cellar, which he is fairly certain Piglsy is plotting to gobble down the minute he isn’t looking.
Rurg’s druid hovel. He lives in mystical squalor.
Pigsly Rootchewer’s hangry face.
Also, he owns an axe.