The DrukdarogAfter a world changing event put their race at the brink of extinction, these dwarves f

The DrukdarogAfter a world changing event put their race at the brink of extinction, these dwarves followed a divine calling. Leaving their frozen homeland to the northern deserts of Xumai, whereupon they settled near the gates of the underworld. Their divine mandate was to guard the entrance, and ensure nothing could ever escape and wreak havoc upon the world. It was their last chance to begin again, to recapture their once great civilization.As the years passed, they found hardships that even dwarves struggled to adapt to. The desert was hard, blistering winds and sandstorms so strong they could flay a camel alive in minutes. Their once centuries long lifespan dwindled to a third of what it had once been. The dust storms whipping past their skin left cuts, blisters, even burns as the hot sand forced its way along their bronzed flesh. It was not uncommon for them to be covered in blisters, tumors, signs of exposure to the elements. And then there were the other inhabitants of Xumai. Operating on the idea that only the strong survive, the Tribes had taken to slaving, committing nigh forbidden blood rituals, and preying upon travellers and other tribes alike.Faced with both these hardships, the Drukdarog refused to buckle. But as they continued to hold steadfast, a few changes were made. First it was treating prisoners with care and kindness… For they had been shown none, and for all the honor they held closely, that food going to the lone prisoner could save a hungered child. Next their weaponry began to change. No longer meant to cut cleanly, and swiftly, jagged edges began to be used. For even if it did not sever muscle and snap bones, the sand would do its damage upon any open wound. Slowly they took fewer, and fewer prisoners. For their enemies took none, and there could be no exchanges, no ransoms performed.Until finally, they were almost unrecognizable from their fellow tribesmen of the Xumai desert. Hard, cruel, merciless. If you came to trade, you were left with nothing, possibly not even your life. If you came to hunt, there was no quarter. If you survived, you were left exposed to the cruel sands and their razor sharp winds. If you came to beg forgiveness and mercy, you were given the only mercy they would show for any of their prisoners… The lone headsman. Still armed with the sharpest and quickest cutting axe they still held. The last vestiges of their once great culture.Description by Edward Tank - etank.blogspot.comThis is for my RPG setting - the world of Omios Ures. I should begin posting these more frequently! -- source link
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