Unfettered - Part 1 - Introducing A Dwarf

The tale of Bryne Slagheart is an easy one to summarize; A dwarf leaves home, returns home, and leaves home again. However, just as the quality of any novel is leagues ahead of its description in the words of a reader, Bryne's story poses a complexity both boggling and beguiling compared to his current worldly image. The feared dwarf known as 'Winter Death', with a beard permanently draped in frozen icicle-like hair, began his journeys far different than what his image or titles imply.

To start, Bryne's name was not his first; All dwarves change names upon departure of their homeland. Traditionally, most dwarven families possess names that reference either their work or, more commonly, a mineral or metal. An exiled or departed dwarf must somehow include the word 'slag' in their surname, usually replacing any reference to metal or mineral. Bryne's original surname was 'Eisenhardt', or Ironheart; His original given name was not 'Bryne', in reference to brine, but 'Kalt'. Though somewhat against the norm, the name was quite literal at his time of birth.

Bryne, then Kalt, was born cool to the touch, foretelling the power he'd harness later in life.  Kalt Eisenhardt was well loved, raised properly, and an ever-valued member of the dwarven community. As a craft, he learned to sculpt. His apprenticeship and youth came and went without complication. His first true creation (Another tradition of the dwarves: one's first approved creation was a sign that apprenticeship has ended and self-guided training has begun) was a bust of his father's bald head, perfectly carved from marble. His father used it to showcase helmet designs.

Just short of adulthood(Around middle-age, for a human), Kalt unleashed his innate power for the first time. Whilst chiseling one of his works, Kalt accidentally struck a finger with his hammer. Recoiling and groaning in pain, Kalt quickly pressed his bruised digit under running water. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched, and his mind briefly wandered while he cooled off the injury. He pondered to himself: 'Why does cold numb the pain?' Then, without warning and without will, Kalt's abilities sparked to life. Something snapped within him mentally and emotionally, a sensation he could only describe later in life: He felt, as if for the first time, aware of blood rushing through his veins, he could hear every minute sound echoing off the walls around him, and like he'd just discovered the art of walking. It sent a chill through him; his breath was visible, his body chilled, and his finger was utterly numb. He attempted to withdraw his hand, only to find that it was frozen in place, along with the rest of the stream it was in. In his next breath, every surface around him sparkled as if it'd just been powdered with snow and frost. He was quickly overwhelmed.

Kalt stirred again after what seemed like hours, forcing his tired body back up. Every inch of him stung from the cold. It took some time to gather his focus in the face of pain. Thankfully, he had his tools nearby to chisel himself out of the ice surrounding his hand. Miraculously, he'd avoided frostbite. Kalt had very little time to reflect on the day's events before others came bursting in. With every pipe within a mile now bursting with ice, the dwarven waterworks wouldn't recover for days. Despite it all, Kalt came away chuckling.

Kinetic abilities, hydrokinesis in particular, were not inherited through blood. They were not effortless abilities to hone. And, between this dwarven library and that, they were poorly documented. It'd be fair of any intelligent creature to assume this was grounds enough for a dwarf to leave their homeland and risk traversing the Teal Seas. After all, where else would one find a mentor? If a dwarf had true reason to leave their colony, they could do so with blessings granted they changed their surname in accordance to their laws. This would only be half-accurate in Kalt's case.

Kalt reflected, long and hard, on his newfound power. Dwarves were not strangers to magic; It simply wasn't nearly as valued, in contrast to other races. No honorable dwarf could cast metal melted through magical means, could weave baskets with accelerated hands, or compose poems with a floating pen, and present it as their work. Such affairs were only used in times of war, if that, and practiced in private. Kalt also practiced privately. In time, he could already reliably reproduce the effects he desired. His parents naturally assumed that such powers were tied to a spirit; It'd become a running joke between his mother and father after only a week that his father's crude skills in bed let a second soul slip  in. Had Kalt no desire beyond honing his skills, he could have happily stayed and placed his own brick upon the Great Wall surrounding their land. Kalt saught something different instead; Kalt left to search for an answer to a strange question, one that lingered in his mind since early youth.

He made a dugout canoe. It was hardly adequate for travel over the harsh and frigid seas, but it was hardly the way of dwarves to have a navy at the ready. He found and copied some old tomes written by an elven shipwright and a sailor, found the largest tree he could, and spent the greater part of a year carving the vessel out and preparing to launch. When the waters were at their calmest, alone and ready, Kalt left home. He adopted his new given name from the saltiness of the sea, and in reverence of the sea's great spirit, lest it be his final resting place. He changed his surname in accordance with dwarven laws. He left his mother with a kind and lovingly written letter, and the rest of his fortune after paying for damages to the waterworks infrastructure. He headed northwest, towards orcish and human continents, and where seafaring elves might meet him.

On the third night, Bryne Slagheart sailed directly into a storm.