Backstory

I found the crystal ball buried in slag, half-melted into the stone. At first, I thought it was useless—just another relic broken by the Core. But when I cleaned it and focused, I realized it still held power.

Sometimes, it works as it should. I can scry a place I’ve seen, or seek out someone I know, and the orb answers me faithfully. It is not constant—its magic feels unstable, like a cracked lens—but when it works, it works well enough.

But other times… it turns against me. Instead of what I seek, I see fragments I never asked for: a ship stranded in ash, a cavern lit by lanterns I’ve never seen, runes scorched into walls I don’t recognize. And worst of all—always returning—I see a face.

Not someone I know. Not anyone I’ve ever met. A stranger, clear as day. Sometimes struggling against the dark, sometimes walking alone, sometimes just… staring, as if they felt me watching.

I’ve tried to dismiss it. A misfiring spell, a flaw in the orb’s enchantment. But the visions repeat, too often to be chance. And when the orb shows me this stranger, the pull inside me is undeniable.

I don’t know who they are. I don’t know why the crystal chose to reveal them. But I know this: the moment I saw their face, my path changed. I left everything I knew behind. I followed fragments of visions, scraps of truth, until finally—inevitably—I found them.

And now here they are, flesh and blood, standing before me. A person I had never met, and yet… I had seen them a hundred times before.

The crystal has not told me why. Maybe it never will. But I can’t shake the feeling that my fate is bound to theirs, whether I want it or not.

Appearance

I’m not the tallest or the strongest you’ll meet — I’m built like most dwarves, broad-shouldered and sturdy, but years of study have left me wiry rather than thick with muscle. My hair’s gone mostly grey, though there’s still a streak of copper in it, same as in my beard. I keep the beard braided tight, with small bits of glass worked into the strands — reminders of the Ember Core, where every day feels like it leaves a mark.

My eyes… people say they look like cloudy crystal. I can’t argue. When I’m lost in thought, I suppose it looks like I’m staring straight through you. Maybe I am.

My skin’s rough, scarred here and there from burns I never bothered to heal properly. I wear simple robes, dark charcoal trimmed with red, stitched with dwarven runes I’ve collected over the years. On my belt I keep pouches of ink, chalk, bits of metal, and whatever else I think might help make sense of what I see.

And then there’s the orb. The crystal ball sits in a brass frame, cracked but still alive with a light of its own. I keep it close. When I set it down, I treat it with care — reverence, even. It’s shown me things I can’t explain, things I can’t forget.

I speak slowly, because words matter. Too many times I’ve seen what happens when the wrong word is spoken at the wrong time.