Gathering of Fates
Minotuar Runepriest of Moradin
“My name is Legion, for I am many… dwarves tall!”
This minotuar stands nearly 9 feet tall carrying a hammer nearly as tall as he. His muscled frame is encased by a suit of scale mail and his arms and face bear intricate tribal markings dyed into his fur
“Well boy, looks like its time for you to go.” the dwarf spoke in a thick scottish accent. “Moradins blessings upon you lad.” With a firm lap on the hind quarters, the minotaur was sent out of the cool stone tunnel and into the warmth of day, the first of the sun he’d seen in quite some time. From the tunnel behind him and the guards balconies above and around, the dwarves of the Rockfire clan urged their adopted cousin to go forth. Legion straightened his back and took a long moment to enjoy the familiar voices of his home.
Raising his hammer high and letting out a mighty roar, he relishes the last proud cheers of his friends and family as he marchs into the open wild, his journey only begining