The year is 107 Duuran Era in the Eastern dwarf-lands. Far from the rough western coasts, in the very East of Nórthór lies the mighty realm of Duur, a folk of brave, long-bearded dwarves, noble and kindhearted as none of the other dwarves.
For a long time this folk's king was the king of whole Nórthór and back in those days there was harmony and peace. But decades ago a gruesome king mounted the western realm's throne and brought misery and fear to the coasts of Nórthór. He reigned the shores and havens and enslaved all foreign merchants that durst to sail the Nórthan streams and rivers. And he formed such a strong army that not even the bravest and greatest folks were able to defeat it. But the world is turning and who knows, whether there will be once one or not.
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