The Lost Mines of Phandelver
Don't call me "Rey"
Cleric. Dwarf. Stoneseeker. Soldier.
Reydigade, known as “Reyda” to her friends…
Aboard the ship traveling to Neverwinter, she had this to say of her upbringing:
“I was borne into a loving family of petrologists and masons in our cherished home of stone. We carved tables of alabaster, decorated sign posts with obsidian, and forged causeways of basalt. We were highly regarded in our clan as experts in identifying and crafting any stone we came across. And like all who seek, our passion for stonework turned to journeys for stone. And Gundren, Tharden, Nundro, and I were the best of the best.
“On one such trip, back when we were all about 60, Tharden came blundering back through the cave with a chunk of Trachyte in his hand, ‘Brethren,’ he stammered, shaking evident in his outstretched hand. ‘Flip it.’ I don’t know if it was his tremors or something deeper, but the stone rocked and turned over right before us. And in his hand glowed the brightest opal I had ever seen embedded right there in the trachyte. Gundren, always the leader, was the only one in motion before I tore off down the hall.
“She was stunning. Her opalescence shimmering and twisting in the fire glow of the lava below. Our eyes danced and gleamed as we stood over cavernous edge. Each breath an hour as the great distance and perils between ourselves and the stone became pebbles on the pathway.
“We set out our tools and set up our jump. Nundro and Tharden stood as near the stone as the lava would let them as I rushed towards them. My footsteps felt like heartbeats – One, two, three – I leapt into the air, planting my feet in their hands as they launched me towards the stone. My lips thinned and my teeth bared and I swung the stonepick in my hand. Crumbling wafers of stone chipped and melted into the lava flow from where my pick met the Trachyte. But I didn’t care. I’d made it onto the stone.
“After a short time, only Gundren remained on the ground. Our lookout. Our eyes. No good team works blind, and when you’re working the stone, ain’t much but the stone yer gonna be seein. But ain’t a one of us prepared for Nundro’s axe to hit that opal. Nor the rush of hot air come blowin’ from deep inside that cave soon’s he did. The sound of that crack – it was like the whole world was splittin’ open. Like the seas had split and crashed back together. Like we were the clouds and it was the lightning. We held on, but then the whole hulkin mass o’ the stone started to break loose. The lava below rushed up to meet us and we scrambled to make it to land. We landed hard, but an outcropping of stone grabbed and pulled me downstream. Gundren broke for me while the other two struggled to their feet.
I walk in the Light, worshipping Marthammor Duin, the god of wanderers, travelers, and outcasts. I wear his symbol on a necklace of iron and silver: