Old siprit-talker who would rather be at home.


Dakan was born 111 years ago with the milky white eyes of a blind person. However, it was quickly apparent that young Dakan could clearly see the world around him. Elders were called and they easily confirmed that the child had been blessed with spirit sight (no game effect, just fluff), a rare gift that allows some to interact directly not only with the spirits that reside in all things, but also those parts of dwarven spirits who remain within the world after the soul moves on to the after life. Dakan apprenticed with one of the dwarve’s few Sinsear Hàlair or ancestor keepers and eventually took on the mantle for his clan. A position of honour, the Sinsear is meant to serve as a sort of intermediary between the ancestors and the clan, minding the clan’s sepulchres and passing on the ancestors’ guidance to those who chose to seek it.

Well, that’s what it’s supposed to be. Dakan learned quickly in his apprenticeship that his job more often than not consisted of reading people’s needs and giving them trite common sense advice couched in archaic parlance. You see, not all souls leave coherent parts of them in the world and those that do are usually, for lack of an expression both polite and truthful, “strong personality” types and locked in the mind frame of their lifetimes. Far from giving relevant, constructive advice or support, they tended to highlight just how their descendents disappointed them or attempt to bully them in attacking some of the clan’s long gone enemies. As for world-spirits, these are usually quite disinterested in the lives of individuals and think in manners to alien for the average person. Despite the apparent farce, the sinsear serve an important role in dwarven society as a sort of mix between psychologist and keeper of the mores and Dakan was enjoying his life. Sure, sinsear is not a remunerated position, and so Dakan wasn’t rich, but an ancestor keeper has all his needs, lodging, clothing, food, servants, met by the clan. But, then, it happened.

Dakan knew he should have worked harder to stop it; his mentor had taught him that maintaining the balance of his halls was paramount. You see, when a clan is blessed with a sinsear, the spirits are so happy to finally have someone to speak to that they are relatively easy to control, but new spirits can upset this balance. This is why it is against tradition in most holds to entomb dwarves that have been away from the clan for long periods in the honoured halls. But Drimind was the jarl’s cousin and the jarl would not have him in a barrow like some common merchant. The man had circumnavigated the world and seen more things in his life than most men would see in two. He was a bloody hero to the clan: half merchant, half pirate, legendary fighter of gorgons, serpents and what have yous, known for his god-damned gregariousness. It didn’t hurt that he regularly sent treasures back to the clan in support of his cousin’s rule. Of course, the priests, stupid lickspittle, supported the jarl. It was a sombre moment when the body was brought to rest in the honoured halls, but no one’s mood was as dour as Dakan’s, because he could see and hear the loud and boisterous spirit laughing and sharing tales with the members of his little fiefdom. By the time he returned from the celebratory feast, it was too late. Durnik, Durkon and Mellienas (his parents liked elves, don’t ask) were waiting for him. Drimmind’s stories had convinced them that it was time for them to go out into the world and have adventures of their own… through him.

A few weeks of arguing followed during which the trio literally made life a living hell for him, screaming in his ears at all times of the night, manifesting at inopportune times, pinching his servants’ bottoms! Dakan eventually had to fold. As a compromise he agreed to go out for one year and then they would let him return. So he told the jarl that the spirits required a pilgrimage, made a small totem to which he could attach the spirits of Durnik, Durkon and Mellienas (his parents liked elves, don’t ask) and left the clan. He quickly realized that outsiders would not fend for him and that his meagre savings would not carry him very far, so he managed to force a clan member to have him hired on with a caravan to ease his travel.

Dakan is an older, conservative-looking dwarf. His adventuring equipment is obviously of great quality and just as obviously underused. When there are no or few dwarves around, a trio of tankard-sized, slightly glowing, blue-tinged dwarven spirits hang around him, sometimes sitting on his shoulder, sometimes walking in the air next to him and often pantomiming all sorts of arguments (only Dakan can hear them).

Les mémoires de Dakan


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