Morag Bronzelock

In the lore-halls where young Dwarves are schooled, severe mischief is punished with a traditional ‘Bronze-Locking.’ A length of one of the misbehaving Dwarf’s braids is dipped into molten metal, which is left to set. Pulling at their skin and weighing down their head day and night, the heavy coating is a constant humiliating reminder not to fool about again. The length of braid dipped and the duration it has to be worn before the Dwarf is allowed to cut off the bronzed lock – itself a further ritualized ignominy – varies based on the severity of the offense. Young Staelgund Fikardsdottir was so frequently punished this way that Bronzelock became her sobriquet, and throughout her school days, Staelgund’s braids almost always bore weights bouncing against her knees as she walked. The headmasters could not exempt her from it, lest the other young Dwarves lose their fear of it, even though she clearly wore the metal tips as a badge of pride instead of shame. It didn’t help that long braids with heavy weights made great impromptu weapons – an admitted flaw in this method of old Dwarven discipline. No one judged Staelgund likely to fit in with Dwarven society. And she lived in Port Wretched, where ships from all over the world put in to trade exotic surface goods for Dwarven marvels. She saw it as her destiny to escape the straitjacket of her life and roam free on the high seas and beyond, but first she had to find a way out. Her father Fikard was a widower drowning his sorrows in drink, and would provide little resistance, but her schoolmasters were far more vigilant. Calling in some favors from a few similarly-rebellious friends of hers, Staelgund set a fire in the library that distracted everyone long enough for her to slip out the back and sprint through the darkened streets of Port Wretched toward the harbor. She climbed up the ratlines of the nearest ship she could find and hid among the rigging until in the light of the dawn the vessel put to sea. Eventually Staelgund got tired and hungry, and went to snatch some food. While skulking belowdecks she was finally caught by the crew of Humans, Elves, and Orcs. Thinking fast, she came up with a new name on the spot: Morag Bronzelock. And she told the bewildered, irate crew that they were fools not to know and fear that name, for Morag Bronzelock was a veritable pirate queen, a ruthless killer and hoarder of vast hidden riches. But, said the new-minted Morag, she had suffered grievous betrayal and now was in desperate need of allies to reclaim her status and recover her precious cache of plunder which, she assured them, she would share with them so long as they asked no questions. It isn’t clear why the crew believed her. Many surely saw through her outrageous story. But enough must have been convinced, or else accepted Morag despite her lies out of respect for her sheer ambition and gall. It was enough to earn her a chance, and she took it eagerly. She continued to fast-talk and fabricate her way through a rough and tumble apprenticeship, claiming she had previously been too important to do any of the routine tasks of seamanship. One of her first acquisitions was a heavy slab of raw iron that she demands be referred to as a sword. Never one to be weighed down, she took to it well. Now all that remains for her is to become the outsized pirate queen she fantasized herself to be.