We were not immediately allowed to enter the fort. Whoever was in command (Later found out that it was a warrior named Splint) had a wise idea to quarantine those entering the fort for a month to prevent deadly plagues from afflicting those inside. After roughly a month of time, when it was clear that none were sick, we were allowed inside. Some might call this paranoia, I call it looking at plagues seriously.
Sadly, there were no school of magic at the time; there weren’t even plans of making one. But I knew it was only a matter of waiting. Eventually, the fort would simply need to tame magic to its will, as while not many of dwarven enemies knew about this place now, their numbers would grow, and grow fast. Even the best gear can only protect a dwarf for so long, and there is nothing to prevent one from getting tired. It would not matter that you killed a hundred enemies, if your arms would not rise to meet the hundredth and one. But what I saw was very promising. For the time, I took up a job of a hauler, so that I could both be useful and explore the Riverrun, meet those that lived here.
Military might have looked pathetic for someone who was looking for battle power, but for me, it was full of promise. They wore mismatched pieces of rusty iron gear, probably claimed from goblins whose corpses lying by the dozens outside. Their weapons were not much better, simple iron crafted by competent, but not great smith. What this all said to me, was, that while being outgeared, possibly outnumbered, they still managed to claim victory with skill and cunning. I also saw numerous traps while hauling scrap from outside, yet another great sign about this fortress. Many dwarves were all about “honor” and “fighting personally”, but Riverruns dwarves were all about killing the enemy.
There were also some non-dwarven inhabitants in the fortress. Namely the plump helmet men, sometimes lovingly called “smurfs” by the locals. What fine creatures they are. Not only they catch vermin, and are edible, but they can also be trained for battle and make workable brewing material. They are like cats, but better in every way. While their combat strength is limited, they are entirely unfazed by loss of limbs. What can be more terrifying, than seeing your opponent, who has just lost several limbs, pick itself off the ground and charge at you? Truly, this place is all kinds of grand.
I have met some rather interesting dwarves too, well, even more interesting that everyone else here. Namely Arcvasti, the local inventior. H had just recently created Greatforge, a special forge for crafting large weapons. It’s harder than one might think, as unless the weapon is forged, heated, and overall worked upon as a whole at once, it will become brittle, a quality not acceptable when item in question is meant to bash things. Another interesting person I have met was actually working as one of the smiths, Tenderroast. He also has some magic talent, a real knack for fire. He also has a character to match his talent, he loves fire and heat, and he is full of joy whenever I see him. He is also waiting for magic program to start here, so that he could burn the foes with his mighty flames. I’m considering offering him to practice an increadibly malicious laughter: on one hand it would be as scary as looking at an angry dragon, on the other hand, some ally might think him insane and fire a bolt at his head from behind. But this is a matter that can wait, Tenderroast is happy working by flames of a forge, and anything magical is yet to start.