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I saw Balin yesterday. At the time I visited, the stewards were dusting the furrows in his face and some the more brittle ends of his black beard chipped off and shattered like glass on the stone floor. One of the inconsolable and nervous beardlings kneeled and hurriedly picked up the shards of hair which crinkled as he touched them. Tears streamed down his cheek and a whimper was even audible. The Longbeards standing nearby grumbled at the sad state of the clan.

The Lord has not moved for a month, his body frozen in a precarious balance between life and shadows. We believe a spell of death has held him prisoner within his own body. We fear his soul is imprisoned beyond these halls. 
     We had been carrying gold the clan won and uncovered in the southern wastes. Balin pushed the throng hard on the march through the lifeless lands, but when he knew that escape from the pursuit was no longer possible, he turned our forces about and the throng fought a difficult engagement with the undead of Khmer. A blast of magic ripped through the ranks of the Red Glaives and carried six hallcarls along with Balin through a distant dimension and away from the field. We desperately searched for three days in the bone filled fields. Finally a group of miners found his crystalline body in a quiet mountain valley with three others of his house dwarves. They were carried home and Balin was set upon his seat gazing glassily down upon his longhall.

 Despite looking desperately through volumes of our revered and ancient texts for a rune to cure Balin, nothing availed. The runes were hammered remorselessly every night for forte week, but one after another failed or broke before the Death magic of Khemri. The Lord's body and armor slowly gained a purple lacquered appearance and even the stoic longbeards began to weap before the once mighty dwarf.

As the first fresh snows fell on the high peaks, Volundr, distraught with his failure to protect Balin in battle, ashamed by his new failure to free the Lord, stepped out through the gate with carls, thanes, and warriors trailing behind. They set out for a cure for the frozen Lord.

At night, before the long table with the clan seated at dinner and the hearth blazing, The Bad-Carl, Igorri sat amongst his dishonored Red Glaives. They had fled before the onslaught of Treekin and Hydras. They could not raise their eyes, least address the throng.

Many hoped Dvalinn would appear. He had not been seen in this hall since the last snows melted in the valleys. The ancient runelord was most steeped in runelore, some even say he has studied books of elflore. Surely it is within his power to liberate Balin, but at last he has never appeared in Blainin Hall since the snows of last year.

A week ago the sons of Fimur Thurid, Theodoric and Kragg set foot through threshold of the door. The two strode proud into the hall tailed by dwarves. Fimur had been banished  by  Balin's father many years before and disappeared into the peaks at the World's End in an attempt to find Olin's Bane. He always held a tenuous claim to the Thurid throne and insisted on his preference to Balin. Now the thanes had mustered to their banner, The Royal Banner of Grimanr of Norn, the very banner that served as ensign to Thurid Kings until Olin. It had been harbored by the ancestors of Fimur.  Now it bore the resolute challenge of the Fimurssons' to the voiceless Balin.

And they bore other things. Kragg had found the despairing Volundr and his band in the rough hills beyond to the southeast, in the wastes near Barak Varr. In search of some way to redeem Balin, they fought reptilian soldiers and giant ogres. They were rough engagements and news came that long-suffering Grimnir had been wounded by poisoned darts, than gored horribly in combat with saber cats. When I retreated to my cell that night, I shed tears thinking of the slayers that I shared the hard campaign trials and trails. So many of late Erikur's company who often yelled, sung, called out and grumbled as they set out to either forage or enter battle, now they were ruined and their spirits entered into those halls beyond this kingdom of light. The thought of their now dead voices filled me with sadness to think of these dark days at Blainin.

Before retired I said a quiet prayer to Valaya to aide Grimnir wherever he was to be found, hopefully still within the borders of Sun and Earth.

Tonight Igorri sat slumped with not one hair of his raven beard visible above the eaves of the Oak table. His eyes did not rise to meet anyone and his hands were kept leery distance from his bierstien. The carls about him kept quiet, drinking slow and long at their mugs. When the thanes and footmen entered,  none of these once mighty dwarves looked up to acknowledge the newcomers, and no one else approached the head of the table to pay their respects.

The bierstiens rose and fell, drumming a rhythm morose and somber. There were no cheerful songs. Only a singular drunk voice sang in a waxing voice a bawdry song not worth the beard of any respectable dwarf.  Between the broken notes and belches, the small spaces of quiet reminded the hall of the absent melodious voice of Trude. Since she had been struck by the caress of black magic from the same fell sorceress who had cursed our Lord, she had been missing from the company of the hall. The hall's warmth suffered and suppers were ever more a drudgery.

Argyle's company had arrived the night before and through the night and late this afternoon he had been seeding the throng with news of the wildlands and trails beyond the border and sowing hope in hearts. I came to his place next to the fire, his cloak caste on the pine planks where he slept several hours this morning. His grey beard was neat again after being dried in the heat of the hearth. The smells of the woods and  campfires were on him, but his armor gleamed above his stained clothing.

I asked him, "Good Argyle, Elf-foe and Elf-friend, pray tell me what reports beyond these hills. Is there word of Volundr or of Dvallin? Are our friends well? How are the traveling merchants and the prospectors in the foothills of Appuchini and the Black Peaks? Do our enemies stir on our borders? And what of your elf friend? Do the halls of Lord Talonveriel ring with friendly or hateful voices?

Seeing me, the dwarf gave me a bemused smile with his bushy eyebrows first, then with his teeth worked into a wide smile he spoke with his brows  bouncing at every word. "My dear Foris, my heart is warmed by your sight. The last I saw you were recovering that book of your from under a severed hydra's head and and overturned cannon. Did you get your book out? It seems my business took me away I could inquire.

Well I am glad the histories of our clan are still being recorded without fail. I understand you to be a most devoted historian, so I will not fail to recollect what is pertinent to that book.
   I will tell that I did not encounter Volundr anywhere. I was actually unaware of his departure.  I suppose he is not the only dwarf of our clan to take the present condition of our lord with grievances. I hope we may enjoy his company soon. As for Dvallin, there is word from Burkam, who I happened upon in Blackfire Pass. It was whispered in the woods that he has been traveling as far as Barak Varr in search for a remedy to death magic and he is making his way back to this hall presently.
  Our friends in the Empire and at Karak Norn are well, but as they get word of our Balin's condition, they seem to begin to search for new purveyors of their goods and address their orders to other foresters and miners. The merchants passing to and fro also have begun to claim that they are waylaid by bandits where the trails pass by the rough hills and woods. Some grumble they are rotten and mercurial men from the Empire and others say it is avaricious elves from the forest. The most rotten of all this may be appearance of wild breasts in the woodlands and plains to the east. Burkam has observed many hundreds of them collecting the glens in the wild.

As for the fair-maiden Talia, I have not glanced her once since I last sighted her flying on the back of Erikur's Bane. They say she is lost in her hunt for her sister. There are many moments I have devoted to the mystery of her and her quest. Before we parted company, I passed a letter to Burkam addressed to the elven-mistress. They say Burkam is known well in the woods and the dwarf passes for a wood spirit. He surely can pass on the letter but it may be awhile before I receive a reply."

Cool stuff, and very well written. I could definitely tell it was the voice of a chronicler relaying events before I got to the direct mention of Foris.

Awesome stuff! You nailed the Dwarf atmosphere. I am honored that one of my characters was included.

Thanks for the support, my Wood Elf friends and opponents!

Sorry I'm so darn long winded.

Where has my quill been?!!! I have missed so much and now I must hurriedly put down what has passed before my untidy mind forgets about what has occurred upon this hour in the mess. Oh, I must excise this lethargic behavior if I am ever to be worthy of our this tome. Ah, now, before I forget.

I had finally removed myself from a book written at the direction of the master runesmith Dwan who had lived in the time the last Thurid King, Oin, and was headed to the mess with the intention of breaking my afternoon fast. As I approached the hall dwarves were pushing out of the various passageways all in the direction of the same mess. I closed the book and put it firmly below my arm and began to pick up my own pace thinking there must have been news one of ale casks had been discovered to be leaking and suddenly fearing there would be a shortage. As I turned into the last corridor before the main hall, I could see the the lanterns and candles were all lite, and rising into the air like steam from boiling a cauldron was uproarious and vehement language. Now I lost all composure as befitting a chronicler and I pushed between the pressing bodies of various dwarves taking up places about the hall and table, helping themselves to what drink and vittles that they could get hold of and raising their eyes and ears to the spectacle before them. The moment I finally stepped into the light of the flame-lite hall, the beer steins and voices all went up in a great cheer.

I stood up on what seemed to be a fairly stable stool and raising my sight above the caps and matted heads of the clan about me, I saw the head of a great Ogre that was decapitated and blue and grey with death and putrefaction. The lids about the eyes were pulled half closed. The black tongue, wart covered and long dried, hung from the mouth. The flies crawled out the mouth and over the yellowed teeth and flew about the head as crows fly about a tree in a late autumn evening. At that moment I lost my appetite.

"And this is the head of a hellcat-riding champion that our stoic faced in combat. The monster on the mountain cat's back stood three spans taller than the brave dragon slayer and looked down upon our heads. Now he only stares at Dwarven feet and kisses our floors!"

Kragg Fimurrson hurled the enormous, smelly head to the floor where smacked the stone with a sound of akin to ripe apples chucked to the side of a cider bin and the black-blue bile smeared in streaks upon the floor.

"And when we thought our trials were over fighting Ogres and giant mountain cats, unbelievable and terrible lizards barred our path. So we did battle again. Look upon these grotesque creatures. They have sharp teeth, chameleon eyes, and scales tough as links of metal." He threw two new heads to the floor beside the Ogre and snorted. "Huh. Although it gave them no succor when our axes and hammers met them in combat. The slayers piled them high so they fought upon the dead beasts as if mounting a rampart."

Now the crowd pushed in to inspect the exotic, colorful beasts. The heads dazzled in blues and greens found in jade. One dwarf shouted when one beardling behind him spilled his beer down his collar, and when he spun to shout, he jostled another youngster's stein and his beard was soaked.

If the commotion of the two beardlings trying to escape the wrath of the master dwarf wasn't enough amongst the crowding viewers, now the companions of Argyll began to take interest and wended their way from their camp at the far end of the hall. From each of the entrances the comrades of the Fimurrsons streamed in, making their way to the plates of remaining food and the lines before the kegs. Among them I recognized many faces that had left with Volundr the winter before.

Now Jorn, a master tanner from Izor spoke, "Nice prizes, Kragg Fimursson, but I'm sorry to say you don't know how to cure and keep them. The reek is so that even the ravens above this hold are sure to notice."

Kragg didn't take this to kindly. "And what do you know of braining skins and leathering? My brother Theodrik owned a pair of boots made by your hands and it did last him past Barak Varr on our many marches."

Theodrik sat quiet on the bench, quenching himself on the ales in the hall and made no motion at the mention of his name. He continued to let his younger brother proceed with the grandstanding as he satisfied himself.

Next it was Crowstaff to speak, "They are splendid trophies, but do bring any news from the East? What of Grimnir and Volundr?"

Kragg's gaze turned to the wizened longbeard, but he did not lower it respectfully. "Grimnir's body had been terribly scarred by the mountain cat and battered by the brute's club, yet, that slayer's spirit is unbreakable. By some miracle, surely the grace of Valaya, the old slayer recovered within a fortnight. I've never seen such a rugged dwarf before, nor one with such a indomitable spirit, as he picked up his axe and returned to his trials limping but walking once his gashes has patched. He was aiming to assist Theon Thurid in clearing the highways over the Black Mountains. Last I heard he was battling forest demons in the passes.
   As for Volundr, I can make no account. He fought in our ranks when we ranged against the terrible scalies, but he disappeared from our ranks soon after. The runesmith was dispirited and depressed to say the least, and certainly was poor company about the campfire. He may have set out for the Eight Peaks in search of some salvation."

"That salvation is Balin's freedom," reminded Logan the Hauberk, Argyll's companion, to Kragg and the assembled throng. Kragg glowered at the interrupting dwarf. Argyll stepped up beside Logan forming a defiant line to Kragg.

"It ever grieves me, too, that the Lord remains incapacitated. Any true Thurid clansman feels distraught by his current condition, but the realm remains. And everyday the things this clan has gathered, hoarded and created remains in peril as our covetous enemies remain." At that moment Kragg turned his gaze upon the gathered dwarves. "At this moment our troubles multiply. If Balin's sleep wasn't trouble enough, in the lands to the south there are Orks!"

It was now Theodrick who stepped forward. "It was I whose eyes saw this. I led a party of rangers across the fields to the south in hope of forage. But the towns of men are barren and the timbers of the houses black. There was no barn left stocked, no granary with grain, or cellar lardered for miles about. And beyond the ridge above Tus' Crossing, a wretched stockade has been erected by the Orks. Beyond that wall lie a multitude beyond a thousand of equally wretched hovels. The streets where once the town Tusville existed now is buried under the filth those terrible things make of what was once good."

Now the shocked throng began to murmur followed by grumbling and then clamoring. Blood rushed to the heads of the dwarves and their wrath was awakened. Old dwarves began to announce the old grievances suffered by generations long past at the hands of Orks. 

At the height of this wrath Theodrick exclaimed, "Prepare the siege engines! Don your armor! Grind your axes! I will lead the host against their ramparts!"

Out of the warlike cheers came the reasoning voice of Argyle. "Do you forget yourselves fellow clansmen? Where are you going? Have you forgotten we are going to battle without our Head? The Host is leaderless so long as strong Balin's arm stays in Blainin Hall." He cast his eyes over the throng trying to instill them with mission to their first resolution. He now turned to the older Fimursson. "You ranged beside me, Theodrick. Do you forget that together we fought off Dark Eldar corsairs? You dashed their champion while I fought another. We were their in defense of the clan and in service to our task. You owe loyalty to..."

"I owe NO loyalty to you, Argyll!" yelled the older son of Fimur.

"To Balin!" retorted Argyll.

"I have known only the road. There has always been mud and dust on my heels and cloak. I have slept every night sheltered by only trees and pitch and soot filled tavern roofs. I have known even the disdainful eyes of the lowliest masters amongst the menfolk. Ever has my axe fallen upon the enemies of this clan, but I owe no duty to the Blood of Balfour who threw my father into the muck and cold of the wild and reduced his sons to homelessness!"

Sensing their disloyalty exposed Kragg boomed once more, "Greenskins on our border!"

"Where is the blood of Balfour if leadership is espoused from their line?" yelled Theodrick. Balin was still on his throne and eyes searched for the hidden black beard of Igorri.

Suddenly the crowd parted and a forest green banner of the Thurid clan appeared amongst us. It was born by Trude and we all gasped at her sudden appearance.

"If the Blood of Balfour is needed in this decision, then I will speak," announced the bannermaiden. "The banner of the clan will not rest in Blainin, but instead it will march on this Orkish threat."

A cheer went up and and the clan was at war.


For five days we have pushed our guns and engines through the sodden winter roads. Mud fills our boots and we are miserable in the nights, but deep inside our thirst for revenge keeps us resolved.
    We finally rolled the guns over Tus ridge and we sighted them on the Orkish ramparts. Theodrick waits with greataxe in hand on the crest for the first morning rays and the first call of the war-horns.

Good stuff, suitably Dwarfish! Dwarfy? I didn't know your kind had maidens in your armies. Anyway, congrats on your victory over the Ogres and good luck with the Orcs!

Thanks for reading, the compliment and the Luck, Underdweller. I like following your story, too, and I hope our fiction shall cross paths and have some plot entanglements sometimes.

I removed myself from the apothecary's tent well after the advent of darkness. I had been attending to a merchant from Tilea, Aeron Oakenhelm. During the melee in the streets of Tus he had received a blow from an Ork choppa across his face and neck. I had been in the rank to his back and grabbed his falling figure, dragged him for several hours through the breached ramparts, across the littered, muddy field and finally over the ridge to our camp. The dwarf had groaned for some time, but finally he was quiet and resting. The faces attending nearby were grim and finally bade me to leave.

I walked over the ridge again, now draped in darkness and descended down the far side. The mist rose from the sodden marsh as the cold winter air settled on the battlefield. There were dwarves, the young and the less honorable, along with poor townsfolk picking across the fields. Their torchlight silhouetted the debris of shields, spears, fallen banners and corpses upon the canvas of the rising mist. An urchin leapt over the dead ranks of goblins before me, his pockets very evidently stuffed with rummage. Off on the border of the torchlight an axe could be heard mercilessly dispatching an unfinished enemy.

As I reached the breach, I found Kragg perched on the  rampart, legs hanging into the space blown in the defenses. He was lighting his pipe and when he was done he passed the match to several longbeards and dwarves who had joined him. Each comfortably sucked on their warm pipe once it was glowing. I joined them, borrowed the match and lite up my own worn, scrapped brass pipe and handed the match to the engineer beside me. He used it also and then pocketed the match grumbling something about the scarcity of good cord.

The streets beyond the ramparts were now cleared of corpses and wreckage. Dwarves and surviving townsfolk had thrown up fires in the street with the collapsed ork hovels and shared what beer there was to be had in the town. As they celebrated living, a song sprang up in their company, the sonorous voice of the maiden Trude leading the raucous chorus.

Safe and Sound at home again
Let the wind roar Jack!
Safe and Sound at home again
Let the song roar Kragg!

Long we toiled on the winding trail
Now we're safe in town again.
Don't forget your old campmate
Falyee Ralyee Raylee Raylee Roo!

The chorus periodically broke into salutes to other names and with each passing refrain the lyrics became further convoluted, however singing was increasingly more earnest.

Admiring the throng of dwarves and men Kragg spoke, "Did any of you hear my brother's words this morning?"

Most of the company just kept sucking on their pipes, content not to speak, but the engineer apologetically replied, "I believe he spoke this morning while my cannon were bombarding the walls. I'm afraid our banging muted his speech."

"It is a shame then. I thought my brother spoke well." Kragg turned to the gunner and spoke to him half-seriously, "I think you should say something to my brother. He hates it when I interrupt him for a moment. Once I interjected while we spoke to a master of a town. He harbored a grudge against me for three years and suddenly struck me over it one night while we drank in a tavern."

The hammerer nearby grumbled, "I wasn't aware any dwarf could ever get a word in while you speak."

Kragg bent over his pipe and glowered at the longbeard who spoke, smoke furiously rising through his nostrils and moustache. Then he broke out laughing.

"I suppose so!" he agreed. "I wouldn't want anyone thinking I didn't have a thought in my head or not worth the knots in my beards."

Now the crowd was being accompanied by a fiddle and pipe. A quarreler began to beat the regimental drum and the dwarves and menfolk began to dance. Trude skipped and was passed from partner to partner as the crowd cheered her and her partners on.

Kragg drew a long draught from his pipe and then musingly spoke, "Some maiden that Trude! Did you see her violent and wreckless temperament today? Facing a mob of black-caped fanatic gobos she without hesitation raised the standard and war cry and led our band into the teeth of the onslaught. We had no choice but to follow the standard. Sure enough, the chained fanatics emerged, three of them flinging themselves like a moving fence before their ranks. She and every last dwarf in our ranks new those lunatics would emerge but Trude didn't hesitate to consider the danger or redress the ranks. Instead she and the rest of us following rushed by those maniacs. I heard the swirl of the chain, iron ring and bones crack but not one of the Red Glaives paused. Our impetuosity carried us into their ranks with the regiment of jobbers following us. I hardly recall the fight itself because without hardly raising my hammer twice the craven creatures were racing about pellmell in disorder and flight."

"Ah, it was extraordinary," the scarlet robed longbeard leapt in excitedly. "I couldn't believe the numbers of panicked gobos racing this way and that between our ranks. I could hardly raise my hammer fast enough."

The engineer had taken off his beard rings and undone his knots. As he listened he had been combing his beard.  He now spoke, "It was a glorious view from the hill. I had been sighting my guns but between our shots I observed the advance and charge. While your ranks scattered the goblins in the rise, to your right the slayers made a remarkable charge and caught the savage orks descending from their ramparts. Our half-clothed brethren took on the near naked savages. They cut down the Orks still holding up their giant spears. The captain of Erikur's veterans, Gotrex of Norn, cut down the savage ork boss. The orks took to flight and they raced into the breach our cannon had finally managed to punch through."

The expert gunner stopped to pull out a tough knot, then adjusted his pipe and continued. "On the far side of the wrecked wall you could see the figures of human mercenaries. The sell swords must have lost heart at the sight of the fleeing greenskins pursued by our slayers. They also fled and for a moment there were only flying enemies before our dwarves.

The sight of a giant emerged through the dust and smoke. It was terrible. Bleeding from the head and shoulders having been struck by a rock from our mongrel, it literally leapt furiously into the ranks of surprised slayers. Oh, it was one of the most awful sights! It jumped and danced amongst the slayers. A few were tossed and many more were crushed under foot. The dwarves desperately struggled with the giant and the mud. This afternoon they dug up several dwarves from under several feet of mud where they were crushed or drowned. A horde of goblins poured down this very slope and fell upon the injured slayers using their cruel knives to finish them."

The engineer was silent and we sat quietly while sucking on the remains of the tobacco in our pipes. The moon and stars now light the area and I inspected the breach where the fore mentioned fight had taken place. Suddenly the cold winter air wrapped about us and we felt lonely and sad.

"It was a terrible loss," muttered the Hammerer. "But they were brave."

"That is indisputable," Kragg added. "Their deaths and the loss of many comrades today is lamentable. We shall burn their bodies, send their spirits off to Grimnar, Valaya and halls beyond, and mourn them as proper, but not one dwarf died today in vain. The town is free. The ork camp burning at this moment and the their horde is in retreat."

The engineer tapped out his pipe and emptied it on a shattered stone. He finished his story. "It was then that the champion Ulther, one had snapped off by a blow already, raised his axe in his left hand and struck mightily across the ankle of the giant. It roared and fell and Ulther leapt at its neck with his axe held high and came down upon its artery. Blood spewed forth and the giantslayer and the marsh this breach was soaked in the hot blood. Our lives and ages may pass, but let that be a deed that is not forgotten."

Great stuff! Enjoyed the battle account and hearing the deeds of the mighty and heroic. I must say you write dwarf atmosphere vera nicely sir.

Thanks for reading it Koji! Sorry it is so darn long-winded.