I have spent the last week reading some awesome fiction in here so I thought I would give it a shot myself.
Chapter One: First Chip
The long month seemed at an end at last, as the mountain the sturdy dwarfs were headed to grew ever larger. They had first spotted it earlier in the week, and from this distance it promised to be quite high. They had left their mountain fastness in search of wealth and glory, now this small group of dwarves stood before their fate. Tomorrow they would reach the foot of their new home and hopefully find their fortunes beneath those foreboding slopes. The group settled in for the night, the watch was set, and these dwarves dreamt of a golden future.
The watches of the night are seldom quiet on the road, but tonight seemed to be the exception rather than the rule as Delthan reclined against the wagon wheel. A minor by trade, Delthan was more at home with a pick in his hand than the crossbow that lay across his knees, but every dwarf knew his duty and tonight it was to keep watch, at least until for the next two watches, then it would be his cousin Gimster who sat the chilled watches of the night. Then a sound sleep given the still of this night.
Delthan mused on his plans for the rest of the night, when he realized that the night was still, too still. The fiddle-bugs weren’t playing, the night birds did not sing to each other. Too still, something must stir for their to be such silence. Delthan learned at an early age to trust his surroundings, as a miner, it had saved his life more than once. Now his surroundings were screaming in the silence. He moved to the front of the wagon and woke Elaim Goldenaxe, the dwarf charged with protecting the expedition.
A light sleeper on the soundest of nights, Elaim was wide awake in only a moment. Before Delthan could articulate his concerns, Elaim shushed him. “Too quiet?” Delthan nodded. “Quiet as ye can, wake the others.” Delthan moved off to wake those who slept on his side of the wagon while Elaim moved to rouse the others. One by one, the dwarves pulled themselves from their slumber and readied for a fight.
A fight that did not quickly come. The silent watch passed with no change. The dwarves did not begrudge the loss of sleep, for every dwarf knew that it was shameful to face death in your sleep, better to be awake and bored than rested and dead. As another watch passed, Elaim ordered that the watch be doubled and rest would sleep. Delthan was joined by Gimster, both dwarves nodded a greeting then moved off to keep better watch over the camp. The watches passed and Delthan was relieved by Azgal Stonehammer, a formidable dwarf who was the oldest of the party.
The dawn brought no relaxation to the dwarves. For the last week the road had become easier, less dangerous; this did little to put the weary dwarves at ease. Last night had brought home that the road is not a safe haven, it is the wilderness, and the only safe dwarf is a dead dwarf, and no dwarf in history worth his gold, wanted to be safe. The party ate a light breakfast of eggs, bacon, and hash, before taking once again to the road.
The party wasn’t very large, dwarves only moved in large numbers when they intended to conquer, or someone was offering free ale. This expedition was about finding an economically viable mine, and setting up a new home. Other than the Bronzebeards, there were the Strongbows, Anais and Arathen, the only she-dwarf in the party, the Goldenaxes, Elaim and Doric, Azgal Stonehammer, and Delthan and Gimster Bronzebeard.
Elaim and Doric had set up this expedition in hopes of finding a new mine to bolster the wealth of the realm and the glory of their clan. Elaim was an old friend of Delthan’s father Ovdor, who had been to old (in his opinion) to join the expedition, so he sent his son in his stead. With Delthan, Elaim got Gimster whether he wanted him or not, Delthan had saved his cousin as a child after Gimster fell part way down an old mineshaft. Delthan had climbed down, hoisted the young dwarf on his back and climbed back up. Gimster, out of love and a sense of debt, seldom left Delthan’s side. He certainly was not about to let him go traipsing over the Great Smith’s handy work without him.
Azgal had long been friends with Doric Goldenaxe and did not hesitate to join up. Arathen and Anais Strongbow were the last to join the expedition but were the most eager. They had married but were essentially broke. This was their chance to make a proper start, both as a couple and as a family. This rounded out the party nicely. Anais was a fair hunter that had a reputation for always getting his prize, (some spoke of Arathen as such a prize) and Arathen was a herbalist who grew up in one of the farming boroughs of Mountainhome.
The travel of the day grew steadily upward, a reassuring feeling for dwarves, who preferred life among the mountains, and when the opportunity to travel abroad presented itself, most dwarves passed. The ground grew rockier and the slope continued to angle upward, until, at last, they reached living stone. Dwarves are not burrowers like moles and rabbits, but tunnelers, they delved through living stone to carve out lives of their own, lives, riches, glory.
The party moved the wagon up against the cliff face as the Strongbows headed off to reconnoiter the area. With practiced ease the remaining five dwarves made camp; setting up defenses, laying waste ditches, and stoking up a fire. The sun had barely reached it’s zenith when the majority of the work had been finished. Industry flowed through a dwarf’s veins like blood, and soon the camp was provisioned as well with firewood, local berries and nuts, and a rabbit that should have had the sense to stay out of sight was now sizzling away in a pan as Gimster prepared a stew.
Elaim set about checking the supplies, most of which had made the journey unmolested, but a sack of grain had spoiled and a leg of salted pork had developed a smell. The others busied themselves with little camp rituals, the Bronzebeards sat around the fire telling stories older than the two of them combined, while Delthan whittled as Gimster cooked. Azgal and Doric sat listening to the stories that they had known since childhood, smoking away.
Though all the dwarves were doing something other than watching the tree-line they all were mindful of it, and when the Strongbows returned they were expected. Anais and Arathen reported back that they had seen much game and many herbs and edible plants that could supplement their rations but they could not find any caves. This was a small setback only, Elaim had considered that there might not be any caves around when they set up camp, that is why he had brought two miners with him.
Any dwarf can swing a pick, like an axe or hammer, a pick was something every dwarf-child learned to use, but the Bronzebeards were exceptional miners. Just like any other dwarf, they always know how much stone is above their heads, but the Bronzebeards can find the grain of the stone and ride it into ore veins. It is uncanny how every mine set up and operated by Bronzebeard dwarves yielded the most ore for longer, making them rich and powerfully desired on such trips as this. Elaim had chosen well, Delthan and Gimster were both fine miners by the expectation of their clan.
With the news that their’s would be a fresh start upon the mountain, the Bronzebeards set about sharpening their picks. The dwarves let the Strongbows settle in to some supper while they all quietly prepared themselves. The mining proper would not begin until tomorrow, but the “First Chip” was a special thing, worthy of celebration. So while picks were sharpened, ale was fetched from the wagon, extra wood was fetched for the bon fire, some pork was pulled to be roasted up, and a priest and a mason walked quietly along the cliff.
For most dwarves “First Chip” was a reason to celebrate, but for Doric and Azgal, it was a solemn occasion. It would set the tone for the rest of the colony. This one stroke, if it were not delivered at the proper place, with the appropriate amount of force, the “Chip” would be small and puny, meaning misfortune for the colony and the spells would not be triggered. They knew they must ensure that all went well so that their efforts and those of their kin would not be in vane. The duo paced back and forth arguing over the best spot to begin. Once they had agreed upon the spot, they argued the placement of the runes that would ensure accuracy and power. When the proper runes were in their proper places, the two dwarves joined the others near the fire.
“What shall ye call this place, Elaim?” This was as much part of the ceremony as the swinging of the pick. Elaim made the motions of thinking hard, although he had known what he would call the colony before they had left Mountainhome. He walked over to the cliff face, where they had placed the runes and ran his hand across them.
“Let it be known that this place shall be call,” the dramatic pause, “Grimkrak Mator.” Eternal Fortress of the Golden Soul. The dwarves let out a mighty cheer and Delthan approached carrying a golden pick he had retrieved from the wagon. This pick would deliver the first blow upon the mountain, then be melted down to make the crown for he-who-rules. Elaim took the pick in his hands and uttered a silent prayer to the Great Smith. Lifting the pick high, stretching back, Elaim brought the pick down, striking the stone with a bell like ring. A chunk of stone about the size of a dwarf’s fist fell off the cliff. The world was silent as it waited with the dwarves to see if this would be enough. At long last the Great Smith showed his favour by smashing in a tunnel entrance that would serve as the “King’s Gate.”
As the dust still clung to the air, the dwarves gave a resounding cheer that could be heard all around the mountain. It even reached the ears of a creature that lounged on the broken remains of ox, that was still tethered to the wagon. The distant rumble of the dwarvish cheer started him, but only for a moment. He growled under his breath, apparently they had snuck past his patrols and for some reason were sitting on his mountain. They would pay dearly for their trespasses, but right now, there was a tasty morsel crawling away from him. Man flesh was the best kind of flesh, not too sweet but not too bitter either, just right. He would dine well tonight, and tomorrow he would crush those stupid bearded moles.
**Note**
On dwarves:
-The “First Chip” Ceremony dates back millennium. Over the years it has change little, but the addition of a series of runes forming the arch of the door ensures that the door is created there. The spells tied to those runes are very finicky and it still takes the proper blow to set them off.
The title of King is only given to one who has overseen the delving of a mountainhome. So when Delthan hands the golden pick to Elaim, he is not king, and therefore cannot be called King, hence the title, he-who-rules. There is no law against the owning of crown, just the declaration of kingship.
For a dwarf to become a priest, they spend many years studying the history, laws, and customs of their people, then they begin learning the arts of the priesthood of the Great Smith. These consist of Stone craft (masonry), Blacksmithing, and Gem-cutting. Doric is a Blacksmith, which is why he needed Azgal to carve the runes.
Arguing for a dwarf is natural, and in fact the arguing over the placement of the runes and the spot for the door, are part of the ceremony. Mostly because it happens every time the ceremony takes place, but also because it is part of dwarvish heritage.
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Topic: Grimkrak Mator (Read 1376 times)