The Heroes Rest- Neverwinter Fan Site

A dwarven wizard who outgrew stone and silence, chasing the half-forgotten heartbeat of magic from Luruar to the Sword Coast.

The dwarves of my homeland were carved from stone and silence. Their lives rang with iron and ale, but not wonder. I was born different—drawn to the shimmer beneath the world's skin, to whispers that sang where hammers could not. While others dreamed of gold, I dreamed of blue fire. One night, in the hush between breaths, Mystra spoke. Her voice was a heartbeat inside the dark, promising that magic still lived through all she said was gone. I carried that sound in my chest like a buried star. When I left the Silver Marches, the mountains seemed to sigh—half in relief, half in warning. My mentor was a human older than reason, her hair silver as moonlight caught in frost. She called me Mystradreamer because I saw what others forgot. She said, "Mystra's heart still beats, but only dreamers hear it." Now, I walk the Sword Coast following the rhythm in the earth, seeking Elminster, the old sage who once spoke with gods. If he can believe again, perhaps the Weave will stir, and she will rise anew. Sometimes I think of my kin, buried in their tunnels, counting coin instead of stars. They are strong, yes— but strong like locked doors. They mock the mind, worship the pick. I do not hate them; I simply outgrew the stone. It amazes me they have endured this long without hearing what I hear every night—the pulse of a goddess, still dreaming beneath the world.