Deep in the northern ranges of the Steamwall Mountains lies a unique tribe of dwarves forced into a terrifying twist of fate: The Fianawar. Buy Time of the Dragon: https://www.dmsguild.com/en/product/16960/time-of-the-dragon-2e?affiliate_id=50797
Transcript
Cold Open
Traumatized by subterranean fire demons and scoured from their underground homes by the apocalyptic fires of the Cataclysm, this ancient race of dwarves has developed a terrifying, generational phobia of the deep earth.
Intro
Welcome to another DragonLance Saga episode. My name is Adam, and today we are venturing into the rugged northern ranges of the Steamwall Mountains, near the Tiderun, to explore the Fianawar dwarves. I’d like to take a moment and thank the DLSaga members and Patreon patrons, and invite you to consider becoming a member or patron — you can even pick up Dragonlance media or get $10 by signing up to StartPlaying.Games using my affiliate links. I’m referencing the Time of the Dragon boxed set for this information. If I leave anything out or misspeak, please leave a comment below.
Discussion
Like all dwarves across the face of Krynn, the Fianawar trace their lineage back to the master god of the forge, Reorx. Following the Scattering of the People by the Graygem of Gargath, they wandered south, carving out peaceful, prosperous homes beneath the low mountains near the Aurim Empire. For centuries, their lives were calm as they dug deep mines in search of valuable iron ore.
Everything changed in a single night when the Cataclysm struck. The structural plates of the Steamwall Mountains tilted and violently heaved. Torrential rivers of molten lava surged through the established mine shafts, incinerating everything in their path. The roofs of great caverns buckled, crushing entire communities, while subterranean vents split open to spew suffocating clouds of sulphurous fumes. Forced to flee to the blinding light of the surface, the surviving dwarves set up rude, temporary camps, fully believing they would return once the tremors stopped. However, early scouting patrols sent back into the deep shafts vanished without a trace.
Over the next century, the Fianawar attempted to resettle their underground home several times, but every foray met with immediate, gruesome disaster. Unstable passages collapsed into boiling lava pits, and burst fissures spewed scalding, poisonous gases. Worse still, active horrors began to hunt them. Fire demons leaped from flaming pools to drag victims away, and children vanished from the torchlight. When miners accidentally unleashed pressurized subterranean lava streams, the survivors retreated to the surface with horrific tales.
After several centuries of deadly failure, a profound psychological shift occurred. The repeated trauma instilled a mass cultural terror of the deep earth within the populace. Today, the Fianawar are completely agoraphobic regarding the underground. They are permanently resigned to a life on the surface, utterly terrified of the dark realm their ancestors once ruled.
Despite their permanent exile, the Fianawar despise surface life. They hate the bright sunlight, the open expanse of sky, freezing rain, and summer flowers. They possess little talent for farming, though they till the soil simply to survive. To keep their smithing traditions alive, they dig massive, open-pit mines to scrape away surface deposits of ore, though working under the open sky offers them little comfort.
To shut out the open air, the Fianawar build squat, blocky structures from heavy stone blocks in deliberate imitation of their lost caverns. These houses have thick sod roofs and virtually no windows. Each village operates as a smoky industrial hub, stoking smelters that belch thick, black smoke. Rerouted mountain streams turn massive wooden wheels to drive heavy mechanical triphammers, while carrying away the settlement’s garbage further downstream. The outskirts of these towns are defined by towering mounds of slag and cinders, fading directly into scraggly fields of root vegetables like beets, turnips, and rutabagas.
To other dwarves, the Fianawar are highly distinctive. Life on the surface has made them slightly taller and leaner than their underground cousins, their bodies tightly wound with gnarled, hard muscle. They possess fair complexions, though their skin is rarely visible beneath layers of soot and coal smoke.
Because the volcanic mountain streams are filled with sulfur and harsh minerals, the Fianawar seldom bathe, and soap is virtually unknown. Meals are eaten with bare fingers directly from a common cooking pot, using long beards and heavy leather aprons as napkins. Because washing clothes in the local water makes the cloth stiff, scratchy, and foul-smelling, they favor durable leather garments. A male dwarf spends his day at the forge wearing a stiff leather apron, which serves as a sacred symbol of his societal position. Conversely, Fianawar women wear long white linen dresses, permanently stained a yellow-brown hue by the mountain water and beautifully embroidered with mythical scenes of their lost history.
For battle, the surface-bound lifestyle of the Fianawar grants them one massive advantage over their regional neighbors: an abundance of masterfully crafted metal armor and weapons. Each village funds and maintains a centralized public armory, housing enough high-quality gear to completely equip every able-bodied male at a moment’s notice.
A typical armory contains field plate armor, finely woven chain mail, leaf-headed boar spears, and hefty swords. Societal rank and military standing dictate who receives what gear. The heavy noble infantry dresses in elaborate plate mail, wielding large shields and swords, while the lowest common soldier enters the fray in no less than a full suit of chain mail, utilizing a smaller shield strapped to their arm so they can thrust with a heavy spear.
Outro
But that is all the time I have to talk about Marak Kender. How would your adventuring party handle a village of paranoid, soot-covered dwarves who treat a simple cave or dungeon entrance like a gateway to absolute hell? Leave a comment below.
I would like to invite you to subscribe to this YouTube channel, ring the bell to get notified about upcoming videos, and click the like button. It all helps other Dragonlance fans learn about this channel and its content. Thank you for watching — this has been Adam with DragonLance Saga, and until next time, remember:
I am a Knight of Solamnia. I am the hand of Paladine, of Kiri-Jolith, and of Habbakuk on this world. You are on Krynn. You are mine, Queen of Darkness.
