(Archive) Old Hunter D'jura

*"My past is irrelevant. Im here now. And it appears the fight isn't over for me just yet. So until something manages to put me down for good; I'll be here; cleaning my cannon." - Djura talking to inquisitive members at the Guild of Salt.*

## History

D’jura was born on the continent of Stormtide, to a average pair

of dwarves. They lived in a tranquil village

on the outskirts of their kingdom, earning a humble living as farmers to raise their son. And all was peaceful for a short while in the young dwarf’s life. But Stormtide was still a dangerous place years ago; and prone to attacks from its vulnerable position to the east where it lied edging up against the untamed wilds of the continent.

Behind the scenes, a force did strive to protect the embers
of humanity at stake beyond the walled cities. A guild dedicated to the god of
the hunt, civilization, and order; Garuuk. They fought against all manner of lycanthropes, vampires, giants, trolls, and the tides of undeath that battered remote settlements. All under the guise of night. But as years passed, the guild had grown smaller. Hunters fell more and more often to the rising tides. And settlements became all to familiar with the corrupting taint of evil. One such village was D’jura’s childhood home.

By day, all was normal. But at night, Vampires rose to
convert others to their unholy cause, and feast on the unsuspecting peasants.
The hunter’s guild arrived in numbers after a few weeks of reported disappearances.But it was all too little to late. The Vampire spawn outnumbered the guild. To contain the outbreak…. the guild was left with no choice. They burnt the entire village into cinders.

Djura’s parents died in the blaze, but thanks to quick thinking by his late mother, the swaddled child was found unharmed by a lone hunter as he followed the sound of a child’s cries. D’jura was tucked away in a shallow water trough; and mostly untouched by fire. While the guild was not
usually known for their mercy; they decided to take pity on the child, for they had made a lone survivor of him.

As for the Guild itself; things had grown even more bleak. Faced with the repercussions of their desperate action, the Kind exiled them
from their workshop in the capital city, and out into the wastes to continue their crusade without thanks, nor the blessings of Garuuk. Each paladin that had helped to contain the outbreak was without their divinity when the fires had settled. After a long and dangerous journey into the belly of the wilderness, the Hunter’s eventually founded a new workshop, and started developing new ways to combat the beasts of the realm. Left with no divine power; they instead turned to new fantastical methods of weapon craft; making massive firearms and blades, designed for a mortal man to take on something far beyond his or her own size. D’jura was raised in this isolated workshop by the others and became a smithy over the course of years. Though the mystery of his arrival there was never revealed to him. The work was dangerous and more desperate than ever for the guild. But the new metalworking methods still held merit. D’jura did not stray from his post as he grew older, and instead worked harder and harder to develop more weaponry for his brothers in arms under the tutelage of the elder
smiths. He had a semblance of happiness and comradery in his life. Even if it was desperate and lonely work sometimes.

Years passed, as did his teachers, until eventually D’jura, was the lone custodian of the workshop; while others spilled blood upon the fields. By the time D’jura was an old man, he was one of only a few remaining Old
hunters to have survived the exile. The rest had been adopted through bonds forged in battle, or circumstance.

But as they did in the times of old, tides of beasts rose once more. A massive creature of fur and fang took offence to the bastion of
the hunt; And came tromping through the woods to put a stop to its incessant gunfire, and the clanging of hammer to anvil. The giant lycanthrope was truly a sight to behold, as it stood far beyond the height of the workshop itself.
Ingenuity and firearms or not…. the guild never really stood a chance once it
had been awoken. One by one Djura’s brother’s and sisters fell fighting the beast; until finally the workshop came crashing down around him; torn to shreds
when the Lycan reached its walls.

The old dwarf felt a crushing weight, followed by what he could only assume to be the wet sensation of his own blood spilling out. But a quiet end never came to him.  Eventually the crushing weight lifted, after what felt like an eternity in dark. D’jura found himself surrounded by the smell of salt, and the sounds of ocean gulls. Washed ashore on the strange beaches of the Reach; where perhaps, there was still need of an old hunter yet…

After his arrival, D'jura worked to protect Imyasari, the elven village, from a terrorist attack. Afterwards, he saw the people of Caeth Shaeras were in need of a protector. Taking up the mantle he never could in his previous life, D'jura was present with cannon in hand to repel the assaults on the Elven Capital. Eventually he went on to become a Saltborn councillor for the Guild, working to protect the city from tearing itself apart in civil war, as well as focusing their inward focus outwards, toward the curse of the nameless god. If humanity is to survive it, D'jura thinks cooperation between kingdoms may be the only way...

## Appearance

D'jura is an unusual looking sort of dwarf by conventional standards. His grey hair is usually tamed and trim, while his

facial hair is always nonexistent. D'jura shaves with religious regularity; citing the need to separate himself from an unkempt beast. His clothing looks nearly as old and battered as him, as he still wears the tattered grey leather cloak and shawl, from his time across worlds.He is also never found without his cannon, a behemoth of a weapon, covered with divine sylvan etching and made by D'jura's own hand. It has felled more than just beasts as of recent, but it's job smiting evil is fulfilled nonetheless.

## Friends

Vespa - "She's a touch naive. Which is why I worry about her so much sometimes....but that elf has a heart of hold beating underneath the sugar coated exterior. I think when she completes her training, the reach will have a powerful new protector indeed."

Pepper Brinescale - "I used to think Dragons were just mindless beasts before I arrived in Caeth. Pepper helped prove to me that a dragon can care for the embers of life and civilization just as much as any other sentient race. She's an invaluable asset to the saltborn, and the Guild of Salt. As well as a good friend. Even if she probably thinks me a crazy old fart sometimes...."

Julius Dragonwood - "A fellow gunslinger. And he's been around to help out a lot recently. Seems like an okay guy."

Ashlynn - "She made me the saltborn councillor in a desperate moment. I wasn't thrilled at first...but it did make a difference in turning the political gears that needed unbudged for the elves to see the curse beyond their walls. And getting the queen back safely. Even If I was no direct help in that process; Im grateful the little girl survived it all."