Arnbur, Son of Arnrór
Clan: Longbeards
Age: 132
DOB: 2887 T.A.

117 years after the fall of Erebor, Arnbur was born the fourth son of Arnrór and his wife Frelia. In his growing years, Arnbur was raised strictly by his father, who taught him diligently of the history of the dwarrows, the art of the forge, and the skill of the blade. Arnbur was mesmerized by the tales his father told him as a boy - the tales of the ancient glory of the Longbeards and their lost kingdoms in the Grey Mountains.

For, after the fall of Erebor, Arnrór became very much obsessed with those lost Dwarven Halls. With so many dwarrows in exile throughout the west, he feared that there would be no home for his children if the Longbeards stood idly by. He felt that there was only one way to stave off the annihilation of his people: to reclaim there lost homes. For years, he would go to the chambers of Dáin II and plead with him to send an army to take back what Durin's Folk had lost, but his words were never heeded.

Therefore, in the spring 2927 of the Third Age, shortly after Arnbur's fortieth birthday, Arnrór could wait no longer. He rallied his family and 300 dwarf warriors and their families who were loyal to his cause, and departed from the Iron Hills to retake their ancestral home in the Grey Mountains. The company became known as the Reclaimers.

When they arrived, they found those old mountains crawling with Goblins and Drakes and all manner of foul creature. For the nearly eighteen years, the Reclaimers fought valiantly against the evil that now infested the sacred Halls of Durin. Arnbur became a mighty warrior in those forsaken mountains, slaying countless orcs, goblins, and beasts. He surpassed even his elder brothers in the art of war.

However, victory was never reached. Each day they fought, there was another battle to be had. For each orc they killed, two more came the next day to take his place. Each death among the company of dwarves was severely mourned and noticed. Their plight seemed to be growing desperate, and Arnrór, the leader of the company, grew old and could not lead as he once could.

On a cold day in the summer in the year 2941 (It was always cold in those lands), scouts of the dwarven company returned with ill news; a mighty army of orcs was mustering in the mountains close to their camp. The evil army grew day by day, and Arnrór knew that his company could not hope to defeat them. It was soon after this that Arnrór decided that he must send messengers to Dáin Ironfoot, lest they be overrun. At the behest of his wife, Frelia, Arnrór chose Arnbur, the youngest adult dwarrow of the company, to be the messenger. He told his son to travel as quickly as he could, for the very fate of them all rested with him.

Arnbur set out on his pony that very night. He rode hard and fast, carrying only two thirds the supplies he would need to make the journey. it took several weeks, but finally, he arrived at the foot of his birthplace. He rode like mad directly into the chambers of Lord Dáin II, and immediately asked for an army to be sent to his father's aid. However, fate would not smile upon Arnbur and his quest that day.

For Dáin had only just received word of another plight of another company of dwarves; Thorin Oakenshield had slain the dragon Smaug and reclaimed lost Erebor. They, too, needed aid for their enemies drove in around them. Dáin found himself at the fork of two paths; two choices, but he only had the manpower to make a single decision. He ordered Arnbur to leave his presence, as he pondered his thoughts.

For three days, Arnbur pleaded with the dwarrows in the Iron Hills, but his begging would ultimately go unheeded. Dáin mustered an army to march to Erebor, not the Grey Mountains. Arnbur, desperate, had to be dragged out of the Halls before he finally relented. Broken and deeply sad, Arnbur took his pony and supplies to return to his father. He felt the tinge of failure creeping all around him as he made his way back to his family and friends.

Upon his return, Arnbur was greeted by only silence and smoke. The camp at which his father's company resided was ransacked and reduced. Frantic, Arnbur searched the camp for those whom he held most dear, but could not find them. For months, Arnbur searched the land for his company. After much toil and loss, he found them.

Inside the crook where two mighty mountains met, a natural pathway had formed. There, the company had retreated from the rampaging orcs until the path became too thin and they could retreat no further. There, Arnbur's family and friends had been slaughtered mercilessly by orcs. Arnbur wept for days at the loss of those that he loved. After grieving until his tears froze upon face, Arnbur buried the whole of the company and erected a small stone monument in remembrance of Arnrór's Reclaimers. after he had brought honor to those that had passed to the Halls of Waiting, Arnbur left, hoping to never return to that place.

Arnbur wandered for two years before he stumbled upon the now reclaimed Thakulgund. He found it's glory bitterly ironic; Mahal would have these halls filled with the merriment of the dwarves, but not the halls that his Father had fought and died for only a few days ride from there. He remained in Thakulgund for some time, and upon hearing that Erebor had been restored, he traveled there. He lived at the Lonely Mountain for several years, meeting his uncle there and residing with him. However, he found his heart too bitter to reside in King Dáin's kingdom, so he left once more to find a place where he could call home. For fifty years, Arnbur traveled, sometimes as a sellsword, sometimes as a merchant. He never settled down once, and his travels took him to many strange places. In this time, he went as far east as the Sea of Rhûn and as far South as Helms Deep. He saw much of the world, and grew mature and wiser in his wanderings.

Eventually, a chance meeting with a dwarf named Raggolgrimbob led him to knowledge of the Kinship of Durin's Folk. At first, he found himself too bitter and resentful of his own people to want to join. But over time, his heart was softened grew once again to be proud of the Longbeards, just as his father had been. He accepted Bob's offer of a place among the kin and now, to this day, his axe and hammer serve Duinn and Durin's Folk. You'd never find a dwarf more proud and loyal than he.