"Well then, I'll tell you anyway, for those who haven't. I'll tell it as my mother told me, and her mother told her before her."
He inhales, positioning himself a little straighter, and letting the air resonate slightly in his throat.
"T'was the Age of Exploration when Dwarves first came to Numolber. They came late, after the men and the fey. Seven of them, there were, in that first wave. They say that they were sent by Moradin himself, who took a form of stone in the old lands, to bring his arts to the people starting here."
Another inhalation, and Garrick's eyes settled on the horizon in a gaze of remembrance.
"Now the seven had no easy task before them. They came by ship, a trial as fierce as many to come for a people of the earth, and they landed in the town they now call Sota, weary to their cores. That was a land wholly of men then, with their varied ways. They tempted the seven with fine grains and sweet freedoms, for the women then were fine indeed. Two Dwarves were lost to their frantic ways, and that is why there are Dwarves in the South.
The five remaining, downhearted, then travelled North through the mountains, for what hope had they of bringing the Stone to a land that could break a Dwarf. However, these were not kind mountains. Goblins and giants ran amok amongst them, and the snows threatened the travellers each night. Unspeakable evils came from holes in the earth, and on one night, two more of the dwarves were dragged beneath it, where even the Stone could not hold them. They say even today, there are dwarves in the darkness, though no mortal has seen them for millennia.
Only three made it to the North. there they found the fey. Whimsy and danger ran hand in hand throughout the forests, and the fey made for them a great feast. Tired as they were, the Dwarves did not notice the fey's games and snares until it was too late - for they were blunt people, straight and honest, and the fey laid traps with their tongues. Two more dwarves were trapped there, in the North.
The last Dwarf lost hope then, and wondered southwards, into the great desert to die. But as he came to collapse, he saw a peak in the distance. At first, he believed it to be little but a mirage, but as he came closer it remained solid. Two more peaks rose on either flank, and in their centre was a spring. The last Dwarf drank from the spring, and gave thanks, for these were good mountains, and here the Stone might be found. And so he dug, and on his foundations a city came to be built. His name was Torish."
Garrick paused for a moment, corners of his mouth raising up. "I feel the tale may have been embellished slightly over the years, but what can I say."
"Anyway, ages passed, and Meztorish became the core of Numolber. Here, in this forsaken land, a prosperity was reached which surpassed even the old lands. But overnight, it all vanished.
Some stories tell of a civil war. Others of the conspiracies of a great dragon. What is known for sure is that no one heard from Meztorish again - or the other lands, for that matter. Numolber was stranded and divided in the space of days.
Fifty years ago, my people gave up on Meztorish. For the hundred years before, the desert had swallowed our expeditions, and the Dwarves gave up." The neutral tone slips, an edge of bitterness creeping in.
"For all their talk of dwarven ways and their history, they gave up.
Garrick's eyes remain fixed, but they are hard now - almost angry, but certainly defiant. His hands are clenched tight where they rest, and a moment passes before they loosen and colour returns to their knuckles.
"I do not intend to do the same."
((NB: Non-canon story))
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Topic: snip (Read 15269 times)