I doubt i'll get too far with this, but, it's a little bit of fun in any case.
Prologue
The birds were singing their Spring-time songs, the sun was shining, and the chipped stone wheels of the caravan were rumbling as it tumbled along slowly across the glade, pulled by a pair of Ox.
What a wonderful day it was for the seven dwarves. A song on their lips and high hopes in their hearts. The group had been sent out by the Mountainhome to a location several days of travelling to the north-east. The area was known for its savagery, but also for its high count of mineral deposits. Gold, Iron, Silver were among the few found in scouting parties.
The Expedition Leader, Tirist Iliddodók by name, a local, stuttering clerk and tradesman, was lying comfortably in the back of the caravan, his eyes closed and his bushy beard flapping him in the face at the rare gust of wind.
At first the other six, whom had to walk, grumbled at Tirist’s lazy ways, but soon got over it at the offered armful of Dwarven Ale.
The party had set out a ten-day ago, and were nearing their destination – each of them expecting to see the designated hillock to appear at any moment.
After some time, the party’s song became to lessen as their surroundings suddenly changed at some point. Trees became twisted and leafless, grass took on a grey-purple hue and even the sky seemed to dull.
“Bah. We must be nearin’ the place by now, I can smell it,” grumbled Dóbar, the angriest dwarf any of the others had ever seen. He had a tongue as sharp as an Adamantine Sword, tended to boss people around and seemed to have an unhealthy hatred for Tirist Iliddodók.
Even though none of them liked him, they had all known him for quite a while and had learned to heed well his warnings – plus, he had an eye for detail in carpentry.
Indeed, the place did look foul to the age-old dwarves, a sure sign they were nearing to where they were to make their new home.
The trees continued to become more twisted and the sky darkened as the sun set behind them. As the sun released it’s last beam of light, the hillock was revealed to them – sending up a (quiet) cheer from each dwarf.
Tirist pulled the Oxs to a halt, hopped from the back of the open-topped caravan with Urdim Inethlun’s axe in hand and threw the thing into the ground.
“A new chapter of dwarven history begins at this place, Ingishokol-” He proclaimed loudly, receiving a slap upside his head from wise old Dóbar.
“Ye’ll bring down the Sasquatches and worse upon us ye darn fool!”
The others couldn’t hide their sniggering as they unpacked their equipment. Tirist crossed his arms and bobbed a tongue from under his beard at Urdim’s back, drawing another round up sniggering.
Dóbar clapped his hands to gather attention, beginning his routine of bossing everyone around to their duties. Tirist didn’t mind, Dóbar knew what he was talking about.
In any case, he didn’t want to wind up with a booby-trapped bed from the rageful Dóbar.
Tirist didn’t seem to want much from life except a comfy bed, it seemed.
* * *
Several uneventful days later, the expedition had gotten some-way with their new home. Their fish were plentiful, supplied by one Iton Ibeshcilob and processed by his companion, Itan Logemkib. The beds were cut and sized, and the tunnels and rooms dug out by Unib Ustuthudiz.
Yes, they were in quite a fine location, once the depressing scene of the overworld was out of sight. Each seemed much more productive when they weren’t worried of a monster rushing at their spine at any moment.
Tirist even had his own office, fit with a stone chair and matching table – which he seemed to use as a dining room more often than a working table. But then again, he had barely come out of the place, probably in fear of bumping into Dóbar, joked many of the others.
Urib, the miner, had discovered many rich sources of gems. Indigo Tourmalines, Blue Garnets, Yellow Spessartine, Honey-Yellow Beryls and even Kunzites.
Not only that, but veins of Galena, Sphalerite and Cassiterite had been found in the cliff-sides. Most of which were useless without a stronger ore such as copper or iron.
Nethertheless, it was a good start, Tirist had assured them.
The dwarves were to expect a trading caravan to arrive in the summer, so it was decided that somebody should cut the gems and make them ready for trading.
Oh how Tirist groaned when he was elected as the temporary cutter. A threatening glare from Dóbar changed his tone soon enough, though.
The small mountain, more a hill than a mountain, was sat next to a freshwater lake, which gave the alcohol-dependant dwarves an emergency drinking supply, as well as a great fishing spot.
Urib had even cut out a section of the mountain’s foot next to the lake, large enough for the Iton and Itan to gather and clean the fish they caught.
One time, Iton had nearly fell into the water in fright as a Carp stared at him Malevolently from under the quiet lapping of the waves as it swam on by.
Of course, the wisest decision in this case, was for the fisherdwarf to throw his rod into the water and run off screaming, startling the Fish Cleaner and causing him to nearly lose a finger as he worked over a quite-dead turtle.
As the fisherdwarf had charged down the tunnel, arms waving and running as if the devil were chasing him, his attitude suddenly flipped and he walked back to the lakeside, idly picking his nose and flinging it at the tunnel wall.
Itan, the fish cleaner, could only shake his head in dismay.
This was going to be a long day.
Chapter 1
The Caravan Arrives
Spring passed by uneventfully, and summer bloomed even the darkest of the terrible-looking area. The boulders in the pass had been rolled out of the way, allowing passage of any caravans, whilst Tirist had filled three bins with glistening, sparkling gems.
One morning, as Tirist stretched his short bones and closed the door to his room behind him, he bumped into one of his fellow dwarves.
He turned to apologize, only to be met by the snarling visage of Dóbar.
“What’re ye playin’ at? These tunnels’re emptier than me mudder’s bed and ye’re still able to bump into me!”
Tirist looked around for some excuse to escape, but the tunnel was truly as empty as he had so etiquettely described it. He could only shrug.
“Shouldn’t ‘av yer wide-loaded arse in front of me door then, should ye?”
Dóbar howled and dived for him. Tirist dodged to the side, Dóbar crumbling the bedroom door and going through it.
Tirist knew that wouldn’t stop him. Tirist ran down the corridor screaming, Dóbar chasing after him, arms wide.
Tirist turned a sharp left, sending a stone carrying mason by the name of Mistém in a spin and a drop, who’s anger was soon replaced by an honest laugh as Dóbar came around the corner next.
“Serves ‘im right fer knockin’ me over!” Mistém justified, picking up his cabinet-to-be load, and continued to the Mason’s Workshop.
Tirist sprinted up the stairs, took a right, took a left, then another left, hopped over a cage trap and ran on for the exit. Dóbar, ever the fast, was easily catching up to him. He dived at Tirist’s back, roaring. The pair went diving through the doorway to the outside, to land unceremoniously at the feet of an Outpost Liaison.
The liaison raised a bushy eyebrow.
Tirist was soon to his feet, as did Dóbar, whom sent a fist into Tirist’s cheek, sending him to the floor once more with a nasty crunch.
“I ain’t fat, I be big-boned se’s me mudder!” The carpenter stormed off, the liaison helping Tirist back to his feet.
“I’ll take it that was that Dóbar, eh?”
“Yup,” Tirist replied, rubbing his sore jaw.
“I hail greetings from the mountainhome-“ The liaison began, but Tirist just wandered off. The visiting dwarf sighed and fell in line, grumbling “Not again…”
Tirist had cats and stones to count, after all. Much more important than any silly trade agreements.
And so it was, the liaison following Tirist around for the next couple of days, sometimes getting a mouthful of words out every once in a while.
On the third day, the clerk had ordered the bins of jewels and a couple of crafts up to the Trade Depot. He had even, surprisingly, pulled his finger out and done some carrying himself.
Dóbar was there, waiting for Tirist to get to trading, his arms crossed and a sneer on his face, as per usual.
Tirist sighed and, with heavy shoulders, plodded over to the waiting and unpacked caravan. Dóbar had been hanging around eagerly for this time since he saw a pretty pair of Steel Greaves that the caravan was packing.
Tirist pointed out the greaves first in attempt to create a smile on Dóbar’s face… which wasn’t going to happen. He also picked out some kegs of ale and beers – drawing cheers from passing dwarves – then finished his choice off with food, a much-needed rope and to balance out the weight of the gems, some unneeded ore.
The trading was done, the five-keg of beer was nearly empty as soon as it was unloaded (Due to a feasting horde of dwarves) and the ores were thrown into a pile.
Dóbar soon donned his new shiny greaves. Any other sane dwarf would be beaming with the acquisition. Dóbar was facing down, pulling his greaves up with curses even a demon would gasp at no less, his face obscured. All watched him expectantly, but as his hairy face came up, the ever-eternal scowl was still there.
“The hell ye starin’ at? Y’all gone sissy on me, watchin’ me get dressed!” He accused, sending a wave of laughter across everybody.
Dóbar simply scowled and stormed off, looking rather ridiculous in his dirty, grubby, bloody and wet clothes, his shiny greaves seeming out of place.
“Tickles yer toes!” One of the drunken dwarves said, taking another mouthful of the stuff.
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Topic: !!Novelistic!! A Dwarven Tale (Read 1964 times)