Zeroth Velkyrr The Hill Dwarf

Zeroth and Rocks

 In the rolling hills of Thundertop, there lived a hill dwarf named Zeroth, with more years under his belt than a sturdy oak has rings—seventy-three, to be exact. His heart was ever captivated by the humble nobility of rocks. To Zeroth, each stone was a storyteller, a keeper of secrets, and he, a devoted listener to their silent, stony tales. His days were a symphony of clinks and clatters, his pickaxe the conductor's baton summoning forth the music of the earth. He'd marvel at the patterns in the petrified wood and the stoic splendor of the sedimentary strata, while his clan kin would jest, "Zeroth, you've got rocks in your head!" To which he'd chuckle and reply, "Aye, and a grand collection they make!" The other dwarves couldn't fathom his disregard for glittering gems. "What good's a rock without a sparkle?" they'd rib. Zeroth, unfazed by their quips, maintained that each diamond's heart was rock, each ruby's soul was stone. It was the uncarved, unpolished stories of the earth that were his true treasures.

One particularly fine day—or was it night? Time tends to blur in the depths of the mines—Zeroth happened upon a rock with a hum. This wasn't your garden-variety rock. It defied gravity, content to float by Zeroth's side like a loyal, albeit silent, companion. The floating rock had quickly become part of Zeroth's peculiar charm, alongside his habit of conversing with geodes as if they were old friends at the tavern. His comrades had grown used to his eccentric ways, barely batting an eye as the rock levitated beside them, a silent sentry on their adventures. It was during one such escapade, as they were gathered around a crackling campfire, that the stone's hum crescendoed to a warmth that could fry an egg. Zeroth, deep in indle thought, didn't notice until the rock suddenly burst with stardust. From the cosmic glitter stepped forth Grimbli Stoneforge, as spectral as a moonbeam and twice as surly. His beard was a nebula, his hard hat a ghostly crown. "By the hammers of my ancestors! You, Zeroth, have the essence of me, Grimbli Stoneforge, architect extraordinaire of the Dwarven Spire!" he proclaimed, pointing at the bemused rock.

Zeroth peered at the rock, then at Grimbli, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well, I'll be... So you're the chap who's been making my pack float? Handy for the uphill treks," he mused with a lopsided grin. Grimbli's attempt to facepalm was met with the realization that spectral hands made for poor physical gestures. "How, in the cavernous deep, did you not question a FLOATING STONE?!" Grimbli's voice was tinged with a disbelief that suggested he was reevaluating his afterlife choices. "I've always fancied a rock that could follow me without a leash," Zeroth replied with a nonchalance that made a nearby bat snicker. Grimbli let out a sigh that stirred the campfire into a temporary frenzy. "Once, I crafted pillars that touched the sky, and now I'm tethered to a rock whisperer who names every pebble he meets."
Yet, as their paths converged into one, Grimbli couldn't resist the odd allure of Zeroth's unvarnished charm. There was something about this rock-obsessed dwarf that intrigued the ancient architect, despite his frequent mutterings about the decline of dwarven craftsmanship. So, with a hum and a shimmer, Zeroth continued his trek, Grimbli's astral form riding shotgun in the stone. Unbeknownst to Zeroth, he wasn't just ambling through the hills—he was accompanied by an observer of history, now floating by his side, offering silent commentary on their escapades.