So I expanded on the bullet points you had and wove it into a story easily!
Hope you enjoy what I have!
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A small town that sits at the base of one of the Greypeak Mountain ranges, with a beautiful, soothing river running nearby. The small town had earned its name because once, a very long time ago, flecks of silver ran through the rivers coming out of the Greypeak Mountains.
However, the Hill Dwarves who live in Silver Iron were not so welcoming to outsiders. This had a lot to do with a nearby town. Llorkh was one of the most important westernmost outposts for caravans for the Northern trade. The city came to be because of the veins of gold and silver found in the Llork mines, but after a handful of decades the mines had run dry and the town was left abandoned to fall into ruin which attracted unwanted occupants such as goblins, orcs, and bugbears, until a bandit king came and took it over. He spread out his men using the abandoned town and mines as their fortress, raiding and marauding and recruiting. One day, Stone Giants appeared and smashed the town into rubble.
Dwarves of all kinds, including Hill Dwarves, have a long memory; and while typically more forgiving than their stone cousins, the Hill Dwarves of Silver Iron could not so easily forget the constant raids and assaults done on Silver Iron. And Dwarves, naturally being stubborn, refused to leave their home. Blood was shed, many lives were lost, until the Stone Giants arrived to put the Bandit King down and destroy the cursed city.
For Firesteel Lighthammer, as a Hill Dwarf, he was curious about the lives of adventurers. Though unwanted in Silver Iron, with scowling glances cast their way, if they brought gold with them, an outsider could stay a few nights, knowing that the people of Silver Iron would get richer and charge them outrageous prices. It was during some of these times where Firesteel had heard numerous stories from humans and elves, and even gnomes and halflings, about some of the wonders – both beautiful and horrifying – that they’d seen in the world.
Bored of the simple life he had led in Silver Iron, Firesteel packed up a few necessary belongings and decided to go out on the road, despite the protests and concerns of his family and friends. But life as a novice adventurer was not an easy one, Firesteel quickly learned. Food was scarce when he traveled on the road since he was not well trained at hunting. Pricing for rooms at Inns were expensive and he was quickly running out of what little money he had. He began selling some of his own belongings just to pay for a night at an inn. He took a job in different towns, assisting blacksmiths, but would eventually grow tired of it since that’s what he had spent his life doing in Silver Iron, so that the quality of his work dropped and he would eventually be fired. Each stint at blacksmithing was shorter than the last.
He finally fell on hard times, and was soon living in the alleyways of different towns until a Half-Orc named Bythorn, who led the Locksmith’s Guild in Highstone. Bythorn saw Firesteel as a sturdy Dwarf who had been mistreated by society, down on his luck, with nowhere to turn, and no way to easily get back home. Those, Bythorn knew, were the best ones to recruit into the Thieves Guild, because they would embrace the chance at being welcomed and taken care of.
As a part of the Locksmith’s Guild, Firesteel and the others, successfully robbed several high profile caravans, eventually getting the attention of the local authorities who began actively hunting down the Locksmith’s Guild members, going as far as using Bounty Hunters to find and kill members of the Locksmith Guild.
This did nothing to slow down Bythorn’s hunger for riches; if anything it seemed to only drive him on further, his Orcish blood thriving on the danger and the notion that he had gained so much infamy and attention. During one of the heists of a local noble, things took a drastic turn when the noble, anticipating he would be robbed by the Locksmith’s Guild eventually, had hired a group of mercenaries to defend his home. The mercenaries, an organization known as The Shadow Walkers, mostly vicious Rogues and Assassins, who set their greed aside of stealing, for employment opportunities, took down quite a few members of the Locksmith’s Guild. Firesteel had been injured in the ambush, and had tried to hide in the nearby bushes, but was caught when the Noble, a human named Hauren Darksky, moved the bushes with his rapier and smiled, “Well, what do we have here?”
At the hands of Hauren Darksky, Firesteel was imprisoned and made to be a slave. Hauren forced the Dwarf to forge weapons and armor of high caliber, which Hauren in turn sold to the local infantry of guards for an outrageous price. Firesteel was beat if he slowed down, rarely permitted to sleep, and fed only rotten food. He knew no one would ever come for him. His family and friends had not heard from him in years, since he left Silver Iron. And the Locksmith’s Guild motto was “If you get caught, we don’t know who you are” so they would not be coming for him either.
Firesteel had caught word that several slaves were hiding standard equipment (stealing a knife from the table they would clean up, here and there) and that they were planning a rebellion. Firesteel knew that many would die in this rebellion, especially if the Shadow Walkers were still employed, but he knew it would be his only chance to escape Hauren – one way or another.
During the rebellion, as Firesteel predicted, many were killed. But the Shadow Walkers were no longer employed; it’d been just normal guards which gave the rebellion a better chance. Many of these guards were not aware that so many slaves were bound to Hauren’s greed, and some of the guards even allowed some of the slaves to escape without putting up a fight. Firesteel was one of them, and when he escaped the manor he ran until the darkness of exhaustion consumed him and he collapsed on the side of a road. Even as the darkness consumed him, his fear that pounded his heart was that he had not gotten far enough away to escape Hauren.
When his eyes fluttered open again, the light stung his eyes and it took a moment to adjust to his surroundings. An Elf, a woman, placed her hand on his chest. “Rest easy,” her voice was soothing and beautiful, “you have been malnourished for quite some time and your muscles and body are recovering from the poisons and toxins in your body.”
Firesteel’s eyes closed again, feeling safe.
For weeks, he was tended to, until he regained his strength. The female elf, a gorgeous, tall, frail looking woman named Neila Highmoon, had checked up on him every day and brought him food and drink like he’d never tasted before.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Inside the Church of Lathander,” Neila smiled.
“How did I come to be here?” he sat up, wincing at the clenching pain in his stomach. He’d not realized, until now, how badly he had been malnourished during his time as a slave of Hauren.
“Some people found you on the side of the road, put you in their wagon, and dropped you off here,” she explained.
When Firesteel was finally able to stand and walk without pain, he spent his time around the Church, improving some of its structure. He helped expand a portion of the building and showed several of the members how to use a forge and create weapons. During this time he also attended the numerous sermons that the Church performed.
He approached Neila and asked, “Can anyone join the Church?”
She smiled, “Anyone can. But to become a Priest, you must open your heart to Lathander, the God of Rebirth.”
“The God of Rebirth,” Firesteel repeated the title. The compassion; the kindness; the love; the caring. Firesteel understood now that everything he had endured up until now had been for a reason. It took everything to lead to this moment to be reborn.
That night, Firesteel prayed for the first time in a very long time, to Lathander, hoping to reach the ears of the god and embrace his change. The next morning, Firesteel woke up with an energy he never felt before. They was an extra spring in his step as if he had eaten holy food that gave him this extra energy. Neila pulled him aside and smiled, “I have a gift for you.” She took him to her room and on the bed lay armor he had forged, with the symbol of Lathander. A shield and war hammer also bearing the mark of Lathander was on the bed.
“A new dawn,” she smiled, “and a new rebirth. Welcome to the Order.”