Under Feet of Clay
Lawful Good Sage
Other Names: Sage of Metals
Domains: Artifice, Earth, Glory, Good, Law
Subdomains: Friendship, Honor, Loyalty, Metal, Toil
Favored Weapon: Heavy Mace
Dwarven Sage of Metals, lord of commerce, and creator of charity, Solon is the patriarch of dwarvenkind and founder of Solonos. Guided to the site he was to dig by an oracle of Purosphuros, he uncovered the tablet of the Fire Thief, and learned enough of metals and their properties to rival the godly smith himself. However, Solon considered the knowledge a gift from the Lord of the Forge, and vowed to never forget the honor. He and his miners began to carve the corridors that would become the central city to open the rich veins of the cliff. Knowing his city would become greatly wealthy for their rich mineral deposits, Solon instituted a central tenant that was without precedent in Calopius, which he called Charity. From the wages you earned, a siphon was to be given freely, without expectation of repayment, to the needy, the hungry, the injured, and the elderly. He chose a select group of trusted friends to oversee this process, and so his Mendicants were born. Taking nothing for themselves, they gathered the alms from successful and fed those who lacked. The standard rate of Charity was one in five coins earned was given.
As the city prospered, Solon grew old and jolly at the prosperity of his work. He grew too frail to lift his mining tools, and so took to offering words of wisdom. Around the edge of every coin struck in Solonos is his final, solemn reminder: “Some wicked men are rich, some good poor. We will not change our virtue for their store. Virtue is a thing none can take away, but money changes owners all the day.” Though many of the wealthy resist the Charity tax, it is nevertheless a source of comfort for hundreds who depend on the good will of those more successful than they. The humbly dressed beggar-priests in their woven brown robes and rope belts carry bowls bearing the same saying as the coins pressed into its lips, repeating the edict of the founder as the soft clatter of silver in the bowl announces their arrival through the streets.