Ebon

Gorg is a stocky, broad-shouldered dwarf in his later years, with a build shaped by decades of physical labor. He has a thick beard that’s mostly grey with patches of dark brown, usually left untrimmed and uneven. His hair is thinning but still long, tied back loosely. His skin is rough and weathered from years working at sea, with a pale undertone beneath the sun damage. His hands are calloused, fingers slightly bent from old breaks, and always stained with oil or salt. He dresses in simple, practical clothes—usually a worn wool shirt, heavy trousers, and an old canvas coat with rusted clasps. He often wears thick-soled boots and carries a folding knife out of habit. Gorg doesn’t wear jewelry or decoration, but he keeps a small brass token—possibly from the storm device—in his coat pocket. His face rarely shows much expression, and his eyes are a faded blue-grey, usually tired-looking or distant rather than alert.

Gorg is a man built of contradictions—both proud and ashamed, both rich and hollow. While he once thrived on camaraderie and daring exploration, the storm changed him. He has grown paranoid, deeply private, and uneasy around others, especially fellow dwarves. He fears their questions, their judgments, and their memories. Although he lives in wealth, he finds little comfort in it; it isolates him as surely as guilt does. Still, Gorg possesses a streak of sharp cunning and watchful intelligence, particularly when it comes to the weather and the sea. He has a quiet reverence for nature’s power and a deep distrust of fortune—both good and bad. Occasionally, glimpses of the old Gorg show through: a dry wit, a love for engineering, a fierce loyalty to those he dares to care about. But these moments are fleeting, and always shadowed by silence, secrets, and the question that even he may not want answered—why was he the only one to survive?

Gorg was born and raised in Port Perka in a working-class family. He didn’t stand out—he was quiet, practical, and generally kept to himself. After basic schooling, he took a job on a salvage crew, doing underwater recovery of old Grondar tech. He was never close to the rest of the crew but worked reliably for years. One job took them further out than usual, looking for a rumored piece of weather tech. They found it, but on the way back, a storm hit. The ship didn’t return. Gorg washed ashore a few days later with injuries and the device. He handed it over, was compensated, and bought a small house by the water. No one pressed him for details, and he didn’t offer any. He’s now retired, living alone, avoiding most people—especially other dwarves. Some think he knows more than he says. He doesn’t seem concerned either way.