The Whitehorn

Long past has the name Whitehorn been heard in the mountain's a name that rouses such Ballads of Hope and Might but also ballads of the Fall and Chaos of a Family long dead.

In Ages Past in the lonely mountains atop the peak there was said to be a proud family of dwarfs so named the Whitehorn. A powerful generation of born Guardians through and through there decedents raised to become the very stone that formed the angled faces of the Mountain, and there elders forged with the wisdom of the Heavens. Named the Whitehorn for there prowess in combat and the fashioning of a single white horn made of solid white gold imbued with Ancient steel these dwarves were never shy to a good battle. With years flowing past like a stream of ages the Whitehorn family name slowly vanished from the Runes of the Dwarven Hall with no scrolls to teach the coming generations of the Whitehorn blood line. And so the Whitehorn name fell to the ages only to be spoken of as a myth, until that faithful day came.

Like any dark evening atop the mountain Dori sat at his throne with his guards Sapping there ale supplies and listening to the heroic melodies of there kin, when a burst thundered through the halls echoing off the solid dwarven steel plinths that supported the hall the war cry burst into Dori’s chamber immediately Dori was silenced and the hall fell to one sound of iron falling upon marble as a figure roamed down the hall taking in everything so delicately Dori rushed forth towards the figure and gazed upon his face the figure lay down to his knee bowing his head and holding his shield vertical standing taller than his body imbedded in the surface was a Whitehorn bound to the shield with thick locks of troll hair and riddled with dwarven runes Dori Placed his hand on the dwarves shoulder and told him to rise. “what is ye birth right boy? Be ye a Whitehorn?” The Dwarf stood “Aye! I Be Raaw Whitehorn ye surprised tee see meh?” Dori’s eyes glistened Ages had passed and legends told but he had always kept a book of faiths locked away in the mountain tomb the book spoke of the Whitehorn name the only mortal copy of the heritage it told of what had happen in ages past. The Book told of the possibility of the Whitehorn’s survival but the matter was never investigated and so the Whitehorn’s were presumed dead.

Raaw clanked about scratching his back while Dori consulted his Book. Raaw stepped forward to say that his father had sent him from the summit to the halls to speak of there survival and that his father couldn’t make it as his bones had grown brittle in the cold and that time was ahead of him Raaw passed a letter to Dori enclosed it read “ I Nari Whitehorn send my Son Raaw Whitehorn to aid in the coming darkness he is well versed in all aspects of the Guardian and though humorous his strength is undoubtedly of pure Whitehorn blood he carries the Whitehorn insignia and family crest branded into his back as the last of this bloodline I wish for you to give him keep in the mountain enclosed is a black rock in return I wish for you to supply Raaw with that witch he will need to learn his craft yours faithfully Nari Whitehorn The Broken Shield.

Dori agreed to Nari’s Dying wish and Granted Raaw the Protection of the Halls. This is How The Whitehorn name Was Rekindled and this is how Raaw Whitehorn Began his Journey into the Shadows of Angmar

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