Part 1. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

Part 1. The Story of the Adventures of Roi; a pleasant yet introverted, middle-aged Dwarf who is not intrepid but who has to overcome his fears to begin an unwanted life as an Adventurer.

As his world crumbled around him, Roi experienced familiar emotions that previously he had only a suppressed acquaintance with; fear, loneliness and impotence.

His family murdered in their sleep by a raiding party of Orcs, Roi survived only because he had been at his local tavern, the Stumbling Inn, having his usual one tankard of ale whilst dinner was being prepared. Sitting there nursing his drink, he had been one of the last to respond to the growing commotion outside, relishing his ale after a familiarly easy day in the gem store he worked at. He became intrigued and looked outside and witnessed an unfamiliar energy and noise outside; from the shouting of multiple voices he could pick out the different tones denoting panic and or indicating orders being given. Amongst this the quick shuffle of feet as the local town guard sauntered down the alley, southbound towards his plot of land. He was torn between finishing the last quarter of his ale in the deserted tavern, or go and investigate. He was normally neither curious or inquisitive, those traits only caused trouble and he would usually let others deal with problems. But the crowd were moving away, southbound and that was where he lived.

His house was aflame and initially he thought that Thelma had had an accident whilst cooking and was wondering whether he should berate her about this, or whether she would need comforting. Confrontation was not a strength of his, so he decided to approach his house, through the crowds and find and comfort his wife and two children, Thogran and Thalgrim, who would undoubtedly be inconsolable and in tears. Emotions he didn't want to deal with. But as he approached and the crowds saw him he was stopped by their faces. Anger and pity were etched in their expressions, why did he suddenly feel guilty? He adjusted his hearing as brethren were addressing him; "I'm so sorry". "Fucking cowardly, shitty greenskins". Alternating tones between pity and anger and it then hit him smack in the stomach; his family were no more, the fire was the remains of his life, taken in his absence.

After weeks of moping (Roi figured he was allowed to be self-indulgent over this) his friends visited him less and less and he was left alone with his thoughts. They were divided between memories of the past and concerns for the future but neither were particularly practical. Apparently the Guard had smashed a few greenskin settlements in the nearby mountains in retaliation and as a warning to not approach again, but there was little else anyone could do for Roi now. He was living in the annex to his burnt out home and some local craftsman had begun making some repairs, initially with enthusiasm and vigour but now with a more detached air and and less dedicated commitment. Time passed slowly. Roi understood why. He felt like he should have some sort of grudge to bear to his family's murderers, but they were just faceless, angry and vicious monsters to him. Certainly that's how he pictured them in his terrifying dreams.

The fear, loneliness and impotence which had always been there in his life, just stifled, were now oppressive, overwhelming feelings; baggage that burdened him with every thought and movement, every plan or desire. He was sitting in a donated chair (how he missed his old one), famished but with no motivation to feed himself from anything in his larder. How did all that food get there? When was the last time he gathered his own food? When did he last show any kind of initiative or intent? Why was he festering here, the town-folk completely accepting of his detachment and malaise? Was this it for him now?

He shot up, put on his leather boots, rummaged for his old leather satchel and filled it with provisions from his larder. He went out to the old barn where an old wooden shield hung on the outside doors and snuck around to Kharmur's neighbouring house. Kharmur was asleep snoring in his rocking chair on the porch, so Roi tiptoed past and into his house. There above his fireplace was the shiny mace that was his pride and joy, from when Kharmur had been captain of the Guard. A brief moment of indecision from Roi, after all it was stealing, but somehow he thought that Kharmur would understand. He lifted the mace off it's fixings and marvelled at it's weight, lighter than expected but satisfyingly heavy. And off Roi walked, past Kharmur, whose eyes were now slightly open and whose mouth was slightly wider with a grin and towards the bridge that marked the edge of the town.

Roi, setting off on his adventure.

Roi, having second thoughts...

After a little chat with himself, he sets off once again, determined to be intrepid.

And some closer-up photos showing Roi posing in the photography studio: