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#Post#: 90--------------------------------------------------
A Dwarf Story
By: Erwinfoxjj Date: January 10, 2013, 6:02 pm
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[center]A Dwarf Story[/center]
This is a tale about a group of Dwarves who depart the comforts
of their stronghold to search for a lost ancient city filled
with riches and the rarest metal known to all Dwarfkin, Mithril.
It is a work in progress and my first serious attempt at a
feature length novel. I would love to here your comments and
critiques, that is what makes us better is it not?
#Post#: 149--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Dwarf Story
By: Erwinfoxjj Date: January 11, 2013, 7:58 pm
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[center]Chapter I[/center]
The echo of pickaxes rang out through the cavern hall creating
a sharp tempo. With each swing of the pickaxes the Dwarves
chipped away large pieces of stone. Other Dwarves pushed
wheelbarrows up and down the halls, adding a constant squeaking
sound to the fray of chipping. Loads of stone and ore were being
removed from the mountain and dumped in the wheelbarrows where
they would be taken to the massive smelters in the stronghold.
The collection of sounds would be nothing more than noise to any
other beings, but to Dwarves it was a beautiful orchestra that
pleased their ears.
The Dwarves wielded shovels, pickaxes, and hammers in their
effort to remove the minerals, but one Dwarf was oddly out of
place. He wielded a pen and a stack of parchment, upon which
drawings were made. They were maps of the caves and tunnels,
constantly being updated as the tunnels were expanded and new
caverns were breached. The Dwarf carrying these was also a
rather odd looking Dwarf compared to his fellow black bearded
brethren as his beard was a copper shade of red. It was braided
into two long braids, each one weighted with hefty intricately
designed gold bands. His hair on his head was the same color and
was in a ponytail, this hair reached no farther than his
shoulders, which only stood four feet from the ground.
The Dwarf scribbled away at his maps, shifting lines and
removing obsolete lines, creating small entrances by wetting the
ink and removing it with a towel. His hands moved and his eyes
were focused, occasionally glancing around to update his memory.
He was an excellent cartographer and at the bottom of each map
was a name, Strori Ironbaen. He came from a long line of Dwarven
cartographers on his mother’s side and an even longer line of
distinguished warriors on his father’s side. His family was well
known throughout the Stronghold as was he, and well respected at
that. Dwarves happened to keep excellent and detailed memories,
with which they would be able to recall any families misdoings
or dishonors as well their feats and respect.
“Brother!” shouted a Dwarf, also with the strange copper hair
and similar facial features, most notably the large spanning
forehead and bulbous nose. The Dwarf approached Strori with arms
spread wide open for a brotherly embrace with a grin that showed
from ear to ear.
“Beyll, my brother! How do you fare this day?” asked Strori who
had put down his pen and papers opening his arms for the
embrace.
“Well you know, I can’t complain.” Beyll chuckled deeply.
“Aye, I know my own brother and I know he could complain in the
best of times.” Strori shot back in a joking manner. Both
brothers grabbed each other tight and squeezed hard. “What
brings you into the mines dear brother?” Strori asked on a more
serious note.
“A matter of business as it was, to be honest.” Beyll explained,
“I don’t know if you heard the news, but we have mined through
into ruins.” Beyll was clearly excited. He was one of the Skalds
who were responsible for chronicling the entire Dwarven history
beginning before the ancient Dwarves up to the present.
“Aye, another one of those roads from what I heard of it.”
“Yes, brother, another Undermountain Road. But this one is
different.” Beyll was clearly in an excited state and trying to
get Strori up to the same level as he.
“Oh yeah, does this one go somewhere instead of to another
cave-in?” Strori thought he was quite the clever Dwarf but in
fact all previously discovered Undermountain Roads had in fact
led to cave-ins of dirt and stone which went for miles.
“No.” at this Strori began listening more intently. “We believe
from the ancient runes and design that it leads to Mazgroth.”
“Dear brother that is nothing more than a fairy tale.” Strori
rolled his eyes at the mention of the city again. As it were he
had heard the stories many times before, mostly from his
brother.
Mazgroth was an ancient Dwarven city of lore that was built on
top of a mountain under the mountain, one made of Mithril.
Mithril was the rarest of all the minerals and the only mithril
the Dwarves here had was in possession of the Jarl and his
private guard. The metal was supposedly so strong that it would
break the blades and armor of any other metal in a single blow.
Such was the myth and legend at least.
“Nay, Strori. We have physical proof. The sigil of Mazgroth was
discovered on a breastplate of mithril! And look here!” Beyll
retrieved a small tattered book from his satchel. The leather
was torn and breaking and holes showed in certain areas. As
Beyll revealed the cover to Strori he had no choice but to
believe him now. The sigil of Mazgroth showed clear as
torchlight on the cover, a mountain peak atop a mountain peak
with the ancient rune for Mithril inscribed in the second
mountain. A few artifacts had been found before with this sigil
but none had been linked directly to Mazgroth.
“By the Nivadon, Beyll, do you know what this means?” Strori
asked redundantly. Of course Beyll knew what this meant; he who
controlled the Mithril controlled the Undermountain. “We must
gather an exploration party at once and chart the road, it may
lead to Mazgroth!”
“Dear Strori, we already are beginning to assemble one now. I
have deciphered what I can from this text. It appears to be a
journal of a Mazgroth patrol. The roads at the time were
littered with Goblins and the patrol appeared to be twenty or so
days out from the city on an extended patrol. There is evidence
of a feral goblin attack; the remains of the Dwarves had Goblin
crafted arrows in them.”
“Amazing brother,” Strori was more excited than he wanted to
admit he was, “Who is on the exploration party?” he asked out of
curiosity.
“Well, brother, you are I do hope.” Beyll caught Strori off
guard with this news, and Beyll could tell he would need to do
some convincing. “Look Strori, no other Dwarf makes as fine a
map as you do. If this expedition is supposed to be successful
we need an exceptionally accurate cartographer. Not to mention
someone with as fine a fighting record as yourself.”
Strori knew his brother was correct on both accounts. He had
studied under the Master Cartographers of Gildrall, the
Stronghold. He had won numerous battles against creatures of the
Undermountain and trained with the Jarls guard. Still he was
unsure if he wanted to go out so far from home, so far from the
familiar. All the while a small flame grew inside him, one that
had been burning, slowly but surely, since he was a young boy
listening to tales of the Skalds. All at once it was determined;
he would not pass up an opportunity such as this.
“Yes, Beyll.” answered Strori firmly, “I will be your
cartographer. Let us tell mother and father and begin
preparations.” The pair left the tunnel together, both excited,
but both somewhat afraid of the unknown.
The pair navigated their way out of the mining tunnels with
fair ease, passing through caverns and maneuvering around
scaffolds. After no more than thirty minutes the brothers
arrived at the gates of Gildrall. The exquisite carvings of
serpents and warriors in the stone were made many centuries ago,
but looked to be as fresh as the day they were carved. The
stones were carved directly from the mountain and earth thus
making them quite nearly impenetrable. The actual gate was a set
of flawlessly forged Barthite bars, a metal so black it
disappeared to most creatures’ sight. The rolled bars
interlocked with each other to create a solid gate that had
never been penetrated before.
Two Dwarven guards stood vigilantly at the gate clad armor that
gleamed in the torchlight with runes carved into the thick
metal. The Dwarves recorded great feats and also placed runes of
protection and might on their weapons and armor with the belief
it would bring them blessings of the gods. The Dwarves
recognized the brothers and bowed a deep bow of respect to them
before signaling with a whistle for the gate to be raised. From
behind the walls Dwarves cranked giant wheels that held the
chains in place and the blackness in front of them slowly
revealed the torchlight from inside the stronghold. Strori and
his brother began to walk through the gate but one of the guards
grabbed Strori’s arm before he could make it through.
“Good luck, lad,” said the guard who sounded gruff and many
years older, “I have been on the Roads and there are no safe
havens, take caution of the shadows.” Strori was puzzled, how
did this Dwarf know he had volunteered to travel the Road?
“Aye, I will be sure to head your advice. Thank you.” Strori
bowed and continued on with his brother, quite puzzled but
waiting until out of earshot to confront Beyll. “What in the
snowy hells was that about, Beyll?” Strori was a clearly
perturbed by what he thought his brother did.
“Well, you see Strori,” this was Beyll’s classic opener when he
was caught, “Someone may have announced that you had already,”
Beyll was slightly nervous, “volunteered.”
“Bloody Axes, Beyll!” exclaimed Strori, “You can’t go
volunteering me for things! What if I had been adamant about not
going?”
“Honestly, Strori, we both know you weren’t going to pass this
up.” Strori sighed in frustration as he knew, once again, his
brother was right. Strori would never let the opportunity of an
adventure pass by him.
While Strori’s urge for adventure had also been strong he had
also wanted to separate himself from his family. He wished to be
respected and honored for what he had done, not known for his
last name and what his ancestors had done. Ironbaen, it was a
name he had come to despise at times as the mere mention of it
would force Dwarves into a deep bow of respect. Strori hated
these formalities and would have rather been a pariah so he
didn’t have such high expectations held of him.
Strori and Beyll traversed the high and wide halls of the
stronghold, carved smooth out of the mountain itself with more
runes and depictions of great events that had happened in
Gildrall. While the Dwarves could see in the dark just as clear
as they could in day they still enjoyed lighting and torches
lined the halls. Halls shot off the corridor and turned making a
maze, but for any Dwarf raised in the Stronghold it was no more
complicated than swinging an axe. Finally they followed enough
halls and passed through enough rooms they reached the Vein, the
main passage that cut through the stronghold connecting all the
sections of the mountain.
The Vein began in a rather tight room in this part of the mine
so that any invaders were easily bottled in a deathtrap. From
here it stretched out over the Stronghold Deep, the distant
bottom of the mountain. The Deep was where many warehouses were
and excess materials stored, but it lay a mile below the
Stronghold. The giant column that held the bridge was crafted
from the mountain itself and was adorned with jutting statues of
Dwarf warriors. Serpents snaked came out of the Deep and wrapped
themselves around upwards. The bridge itself was also carved
from the mountain and sanded to a smooth finish. There were no
signs of wear or tear due to the fact the Dwarves were
meticulous about keeping structures and tools in top shape for
maximum work. The ceiling of this massive cavern was known as
the Misty Veil where clouds lingered and occasionally rained.
In the center of the cavern was the heart of the
Stronghold, a bustling town carved from a plateau within the
mountain. Some of the buildings themselves were carved directly
out of the rock while others were built from stone carried in.
In the middle of this town was a grand castle that oversaw the
entire cavern. The battlements and towers reached high over all
the other buildings with statues of long dead Dwarven warriors
carved out of the walls as if they too watched over the town.
From the town came the noise of urban life with pack animals
hollering and people talking over one another. Wheels squeaked
on wagons that pushed their way through crowded markets and
guard’s armor rattled and clunked as they patrolled the many
streets and alleys that connected Gildrall.
#Post#: 282--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Dwarf Story
By: Erwinfoxjj Date: January 13, 2013, 10:13 pm
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Strori and Beyll made their way across the Vein and into the
city where Strori was greeted with cheers and praises for his
bravery to volunteer. They made their way to the Amethyst
District where the most reputable Dwarven families lived,
segregated from the commoner Dwarves by a stone wall. The
banners that hung from the walls were a deep hue of purple, a
rare dye in the Undermountain. After another ten minutes of
traversing the streets the brothers were at the door step of
their fairly lavish dwelling. They entered through the hefty
metal door, upon which a runic inscription read “House of
Ironbaen”.
Inside the home was a cozy stone sitting room decorated with
quality wood furniture from the surface. Large stone tablets
were set into the walls with runes describing the family’s
history and honors. In the middle of the room was a fiery hearth
in the floor that kept the sitting room quite warm. On the wall
was a delicately crafted banner bearing the sigil of House
Ironbaen, a blue field upon which was an exquisite axe atop a
broken sword. Beneath this were the ruins that read Ironbaen,
the runes glowed faintly with an arcane spell. Strori and Beylls
mother and father sat on two large thrones made of a rare
redwood and detailed with gold. Precious gems were inset in them
and reflected the torchlight beautifully.
“Sons,” their mother said with a motherly smile on her face, “It
is so good to see you both this day.” The brothers took turns
giving their mother a tight hug and kiss on her cheek.
“Strori, Beyll,” said their father, “It is good to see you once
again. I take it you are you doing well in the tunnels?”
“Aye, father.” replied Strori, already wary of his father’s
intentions with his words.
“I assumed as much when all you do is draw and, work” his words
cut deep into Strori and his face flushed red with anger. He
knew his father wanted a fight, as usual, since he disproved of
his son being a cartographer. Strori’s father was Lokier
Ironbaen, the famous warrior who was the only one of the Jarls
Guard to survive the battle of Idrassi Pass.
“Not now, Lokier.” snapped Stroris mother. She glared deep at
him before regaining her previous demeanor and looking to her
sons. “I am so very proud of you for volunteering, Strori.”
Strori glanced at Beyll quickly and he returned the look with a
smirk wide across his face.
“Yes mother, it is my duty to assist the stronghold and bring
great glory to House Ironbaen.” Strori looked into his fathers
grizzled and greying eyes. Should he find such danger in the
Undermountain he knew no prayers would come from his father.
“Well it is time,” said Beyll, “We must get you geared up and
ready to go.”
“Wait,” stopped Strori, “So soon?’
“Aye, Strori. The longer we let word go that we have found the
Mithril City the more competition we shall have. We must get you
ready to meet the other members.” Beyll explained.
The brothers exchanged departing gestures with their parents
and left the Amethyst District for the stronghold in the center
of the city. They moved through streets of cheering citizens and
were showered with praise for their bravery. When they arrived
the stronghold gates were open and the Jarl greeted them in the
Proving Grounds of the Stronghold. He was an aging Dwarf with
white hair and a thinning beard. His eye sight was quite poor
and he squinted permanently to see just the blurriest and feint
images he could of the world around him. His garb was made of
splendid silks made from rare spiders and dyed in a glowing dark
green ink. Atop the Jarls head he wore a crown of pure isithral,
a bright light blue gold that was solid and impossible to forge
in anything but the hottest forges of the Dwarves.
“My Jarl,” the pair said as they bowed low to a knee in respect.
“Ah, sons of House Ironbaen,” the Jarl said in a raspy voice, as
if time had already begun its working at removing this living
corpses remains, “It is so good to hear of your selfless service
to the Stronghold. Your names will forever live on in the annals
of our people. May you carry with you my prayers and blessings,
Strori Ironbaen, as it is my honor to forge you Strori Ironbaen,
Hammersmith of the Mithril Expedition.” Strori was shocked, and
all but the Jarl could tell.
Strori had volunteered to go, but to be the leader was
unacceptable. He couldn’t be held responsible for anything that
happened to the other members, and if all but him were lost he
would never be able to return alive. The Stronghold would surely
banish him and brand him a traitor and a coward, sentencing him
to a life outside the hold in the dark of the Undermountain.
Strori also knew there was no way out, it was a Forging, which
meant the Jarl proclaimed it and so it would be. Strori Ironbaen
would be the Hammersmith, or leader, of the Mithril Expedition.
The whole idea made him a bit sick to the stomach and worry
overcame him.
The Jarl dismissed him and Beyll began to walk towards the
armory entrance where he would ready his brother and introduce
him to the other members of his party. He was thirty feet away
before he noticed Strori still standing in the same spot with
locked knees and a thousand yard stare, petrified and thinking
of all the worse possibilities, no of which included his own
death. Beyll grabbed Strori by the arm and yanked him along to
the armory where they were let in by the guards at the door.
Inside the large room Strori regained his composure in the
silent room. Arms and armor hung on the walls and were stacked
in barrels. Swords, axes, spears, and crossbows all sat ready
for Strori to choose while piles of armor were laid out for him
to examine which was best. Strori also noticed three other
characters besides he and his brother in the room.
#Post#: 285--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Dwarf Story
By: Erwinfoxjj Date: January 14, 2013, 12:26 am
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The first Dwarf Strori noticed sported a large beard of coarse
grey hair that wrapped around his belt several times to keep it
from brushing the floor, and still some of the hairs still did.
He has a bald crown that reflected the torchlight in the room
and thinning white hair encircled it. He wore on his dark blue
tunic a large metal circle that was dark green, upon it the
sigil of the Jarl himself, a Kraken of the Undermountain Seas
wielding a hammer and wearing a crown. This man, Strori knew,
was one of the oldest and most capable warriors, in the same
league as his father. The sigil was only worn by the Jarls Guard
or former members of the Jarls guard, and this made Strori feel
safer but also uncomfortable, he did not know if this Dwarf
would listen to someone so much younger and inexperienced.
The other metal device that held this Dwarfs burgundy cloak had
several odd runes on and the ancient symbol for mountain. All at
once Strori also recognized this symbol as that of the Mountain
Seers. The Mountain Seers wore these gold badges proudly and
were honored by all the Dwarves, even the Jarl himself looked to
them with much respect. The Mountain Seers could speak to the
stone and communicate with it, they would negotiate treaties
with the mountains and could even persuade them to move from
time to time. These dialogues could take a hundred years before
the mountains answered or agreed to something. Now it had been
two hundred years since the last mountains talked, falling
silent after the Great Rifting Earthquake that tore many of the
mountains asunder. Strori was in the presence of one of the most
revered and well known Dwarves of the entire Stronghold, Erik
Greymaul.
The Dwarf looked at him from under his great bushy eyebrows and
nodded to him with friendly yet stern gesture. Strori returned
the simple nod of a greeting with a bow of respect. It wasn’t
long before Greymaul approached him without a single word and
stood in front of him, looking deep into him with a scouring
stare. It was strange but Strori could almost feel him digging
through his very thoughts and determining his opinion of him,
without even a single question. After a short moment of this
Erik then looked Strori up and down, examining his every feature
including his clothes and unique copper hair.
“Strori Ironbaen,” he finally said in a deep and bellowing
voice, “Son of Lokier Ironbaen, Survivor of Idrassi Pass, Son of
Matiltha Ironbaen, daughter of the great Jurgen cartographers.
Brother of Beyll Ironbaen, the Skald of the Mythos.” He paused
and waited for Strori’s recognition of these facts, of which he
gave with a simple aye. “You are to lead this expedition then. I
have been tasked by the Jarl himself to guide you in your
mission.”
“It is a great honor to have you by with us, Erik Greymaul,”
Strori said, “I will take your guidance and wisdom and hold them
both near so that we will all make it back, safely.”
Another Dwarf came forward, this one many decades younger than
Erik Greymaul, “My sword is pledged to you, Strori Ironbaen.”
While he was many years younger he was still an experienced
warrior, his numerous battle scars could attest to this as could
his trophies of goblin tusks that dangled from a necklace he
wore. His hair was cut rather short for a Dwarf but his brown
beard was neatly braided into two long tails that tied in a knot
at just above his belly but below his chest. He wore no
remarkable fabrics or signifying medallions making it impossible
for Strori to place exactly who he was or where he came from.
Strori did note the goblin teeth as an obvious symbol of his
warrior rank.
“And I will wield it with great care,” Strori replied to him,
“May I ask your name, warrior?”
“I am Kindel the Hunter,” he answered proudly, “I have spent
many years in the Undermountain and have slain numerous goblins
and other foul beasts that would take kindly to our demise. I
know the Undermountain and what lives in it, and I can tell you
if a certain mushroom will kill you, heal you, or make you hear
colors.” Dwarves were clumsy with humor and it was clear here
that Kindel was no exception to this.
Strori made his best attempt to chuckle and replied in kind,
“That is good to know if we should ever need to hear the screams
of the goblins black hides.” As expected Kindel made a
halfhearted laugh, bowed, and stepped back to the burning hearth
in the back of the room.
The last Dwarf in this room was a young one, younger than
Strori by at least two decades. He had a beard that stuck out
from his jaw like the hard bristles of broom, and as the same
bright yellow as one. His head was shaved close except for a
single thick top knot of hair which stood up with great help
from a golden cylinder that held his hair tight. The War Knot
was a ponytail of hair held upwards by young Dwarf warriors to
signify their station as they were not yet able to braid their
hair. Each braid in a Dwarf warrior’s hair symbolized an enemy
slain in battle, and fresh recruits had not yet seen battle.
“Throy Runeshield,” he began from across the room, “Son of
Harold Runeshield, Defender of Gildrall.” He stood defiant with
arms crossed and a puffed out chest, Strori already marked as a
possible trouble maker from his demeanor. Young Dwarves were
full of pride, especially ones from such well known houses as
Runeshield.
“Aye, it is good to have you someone with such fortitude and
stubbornness.” Strori knew what he meant by it but the foolish
Throy took it as a compliment and showed a small smirk he
quickly hid with a scowl. He looked over this motley crew of
Dwarves that would be his expedition party, weighing his odds of
survival. For him, he thought it was quite in his favor, now he
just had to rely on his brothers translation of two thousand
year old journals.
“It is my pleasure to introduce myself to you most respectable
volunteers.” Strori began speaking to the group assembled before
him, “I am Strori Ironbaen. I am a Master Cartographer of
Gildrall and have documented many thousands of miles of tunnels
and caverns. I am tasked this day with mapping the Undermountain
Road and finding the lost city of Mazgroth. With you men by my
side we shall be the first Dwarves in two thousand years to see
this city on the mountain under the mountain.” It suddenly
dawned on him the enormity of his task. “If we can find this
city, we shall control the Mithril, and he who controls the
Mithril controls the Undermountain, just as ancient legends say.
Now I ask, is each of you willing to die for this cause, are you
willing to follow me into the unknown for the greater glory of
Gildrall?” Strori asked and he was answered with a resounding
cheer from even the most prideful Dwarf and the oldest Dwarf.
#Post#: 394--------------------------------------------------
Re: A Dwarf Story
By: Erwinfoxjj Date: January 16, 2013, 10:49 am
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[center]Chapter II[/center]
The night of the meeting the Dwarves had ate merrily together
and drank, becoming quite acquainted with each other. They then
went to bed for the last time in the Stronghold before their
expedition. Strori found sleep difficult to come by as all his
worries were reassured in his mind. After many restless hours
the Stronghold horns were blown to signal the start of another
day and Strori was quick to leave his bed. He got himself
dressed in his trusty hide clothing which he wore to work in the
tunnels, the material being quite sturdy and yet to rip. He then
prepared himself a healthy breakfast, since only Nivadon knew
when he was going to have another warm meal.
He was keen to relax enough and enjoy the smell of popping eggs
and the sound of sizzling bacon, all over a nice cup coffee. He
sat in his small stone house, not far from his parents in the
Amethyst District, and simply enjoyed the peaceful morning in
comfort. He thought about the materials he would need and
planned out which if his mapping tools he would need. It was a
soothing task for him, simply thinking of something other than
his or the other Dwarves demise was enough for him. By half past
eight he was finally ready with his pens and paper packed neatly
in a backpack with more than enough room for other supplies.
Strori departed his home and pulled the sturdy wood door tight,
locking it and tucking the key back in his pocket. His parent’s
home was the next and final stop before making his way to the
Stronghold to equip himself for the journey. He came to the
manor only to find his mother and father both standing on the
porch of the house waiting for him. Beyll stood close to them.
“I have spoken to Erik Greymaul and will put my trust in him.”
said Lokier, “He deems you worthy and believes in your spirit
even when others may not.” Strori was truly shocked by his
father’s sudden change of attitude. What could Erik possibly say
that would change his father’s mind or opinion?
Lokier disappeared into the house briefly and Strori began
after him before his mother placed her hand out with a loving
smile for him to stop. Strori did as he was told without
argument or even second thought. His father returned shortly
after from the house with a sword in hand, one Strori knew much
of.
“This,” Lokier began, “Is the sword of House Ironbaen. Forged
from the strongest steel dug forged in the Great Furnace, edged
with the purest and rarest Mithril, Ironbaen is the sword, and
we are Ironbaen. It was my blade when I went into service for
the Jarl and now it will be your blade as you go into his
service once more. It is my honor to give this to you Strori
Ironbaen, Son of Lokier.” The only words that struck Strori were
the last three, Son of Lokier. Rarely had his father called him
his son, and never had he ever bestowed upon him such honors as
this. The sword of House Ironbaen, for Strori to take into the
Undermountain, it was the most amazing thing he could dream of.
“I will strike down those who oppose us and use it to defend
those who would ally with us. It is my honor to go in service of
the Jarl, father.” Strori and Lokier both locked eye contact,
but in a different light this time. No longer was it a battle of
glares and fire, rather it was the same look that two men made
when a mutual understanding was reached, as well as a mutual
respect. When one has so much to lose all past grievances are
typically cast aside.
“Go now, Son,” said Matithla, “and bring great honor to us all.
May my prayers guide you and may my bread fill you.” She
retrieved three thick loaves of bread from a basket that sat at
her feet and handed them to her son. They were hardy loaves of
Red Grain Bread, so thick they would feed a human for a day, or
a Dwarf for an hour. He smelled the bread, still warm to the
touch and steaming, but he could not eat now. He thanked his
mother and held her tight, and noticed she actually was
squeezing tighter than he was.
Beyll then came down off the porch to his brother with the same
wide grin as he had in the tunnels. He spread his arms out and
embraced Strori with a brotherly squeeze. Then from a pocket in
his sagging sleeves he retrieved a rather large magnifying glass
and handed it to his brother.
“From our very own collection, brother,” Beyll said, “A device
enchanted from the ancient arcane magic, this will allow you to
read any ancient Dwarven scripts in the common Dwarven tongue.
Please bring it back as it is now, they are very sparing and the
last enchanter died some many years ago.” Strori accepted the
gift and took it carefully, placing it in the very top of his
backpack.
“It is my honor to take these things with me, dear family.”
Strori said, “Now I must depart for the Stronghold. We leave
shortly and there is much work still to be done. I shall return
with great fortunes for our house and for Gildrall.” Strori
bowed and let his beard hairs brush the floor before recovering.
With bread in his backpack, a sword on his side, and a magic
magnifying glass in his pouch he departed the Amethyst district
towards the Stronghold at the center of Gildrall.
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