I am Pyotr Stonegrim, child of an exile who died givin' birth ta me. A dwarf child in a human city, raised by outcasts of all races in the community. I learned the way of sages from Lengatr, a crippled cloud giant, and was taught the craft of masonry by Karl Stonegrim, the human man who took me in. Golan Vivaldi, an exile mercenary of my own people taught me how to fight.

	So ye see, I'm the child of exiles and outcasts. And I aim to make a home for the children of exiles and outcasts. Did ye know that no dwarf that is not part of a clan with it's own place in a Mountainhome may have a true dwarven name? And that applies to their descendants as well? Did ye know that half-elves born to a human mother are frequently abandoned by one of their parents, and very well might only have come of age when the other parent dies? I aim to make a home for these and more. A clan for me and mine, that takes in those others would leave behind. Where all that matters is a person's actions in helping the community forward, where folks give according to their ability and receive according to what their community can give back.

	I've seen a lifetime of injustice. It's more than enough to push me forward. Reason enough to depose petty tyrants and merchant lords, and bring folks up to what they could be if there wasn't a boot on their neck, aye?

	Steel and magic will get me there. I've seen where adventurers come from, how those that succeed by the sweat of their brow and talents return home laden with gold. I've also dug the graves and carved the headstones of those who failed. When I was a wee lad of 15 winters, I saw the bounty from taking down an evil merchant lord that was working with a demon with my own eyes.

	It was more than enough coin for me to start my own Mountainhome and clan.

	A few things stand in my way. Monsters, a need to master a few magics, Probably some established Clans and Mountainhomes. Maybe some buncha nobles that need to be mounted on pikes anyways.