Dwarf

The short, wiry people humans call dwarves carry a history shrouded in mystery — and show little interest in unearthing it themselves. They are a people on the move, bound to family above all else, speaking a language thick with hidden codes and double meanings that even scholars can't crack. Old stories — half-confirmed by elves and trolls, who claim to have never encountered dwarves before the fall of Symbaroum — say they were born as worms in the rotting corpse of the World Serpent, given wit by ancient sorcerers to serve as tools. That origin bound them to the world in a way they never forgave, and it shaped them into a people who trust almost no one outside their own bloodline.

Those who've settled among the Alberetorans keep to themselves, asking only to be left alone. To a dwarf, the will of the family elders outweighs the will of any individual — which gives them what outsiders often read as two moralities: one rigid and sacred within the family, another indifferent to anyone beyond it. Their speech remains dense with private idiom, their memory sharp enough to run entire enterprises without ink or parchment, and some say certain words spoken in the old dwarven tongue carry a power that lingers long after the voice falls silent.