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[WinstonInExile]

The sky is black as an orc's blood and a torrent of ash rains from the The Unkempt Barb onto the surrounding countryside. Those walking through this land are almost knee deep in the carbon remains of Armok's exhalations. It is the six hundred and seventy eighth five hundred and thirty fourth forlorn era, his time of rest and slumber. Nine years he sleeps on the southern pole of the world restoring his divine spirit so that he may have the energy to make his pilgrimage to Shalrot to pay homage to the creator. The universe is an infinite hierarchy of superior and inferior beings with the gods closest to Shalrot holding great sway in the planescape. We are near the edge of the wheel of creation.

Along Scim's March, Adrioh and his pupil Vestin make their way toward the provincial capital. Their faces and bodies are covered from head to toe, only through a filtered slit can they see. It is known to all mortals that Armok's ash brings the rot to wherever it touches and that the rot spreads quickly and painfully until it reaches the brain or heart. But even without the dangers of the ash this place is frigid and already it is beginning to snow. Vestin is not from this realm, he fears the ash and the depth of it around his feet. "I don't wanna fall through!"

"You won't as long as you stay on the main paths boy!" Adrioh exclaimed over the loud drone of wind, in time he hoped the boy would throw off his fear

The Ashlands was Adrioh's home, he had grown up here among the dwarves after being abandoned by his parents, whoever they were. The ash was just a sign that he was near friends and family, that the old village of his childhood was just through the wilderness or a few days journey over those hills. To the dwarves it had been a refuge after the migrations of orcish hordes and human tribes came pouring in from the east. But there were no dwarves left of those ancient generations who prayed toward the north in reverence to the saint-mother who had led the clans from the north pole to the temperate savannas near the equator. No, the present generation only prayed to the idols of commerce and material wealth, they no longer armed themselves with the blood-axes.

The wind picks up and brings even greater walls of ash and snow over the frozen surface of the road. Adrioh thinks it time to settle down for the night, "The gray beard is turning young!"

Vestin figures that means its time to find a place to sleep for the night and reminds his master about the inn they passed about half a mile back. Adrioh orders Vestin to climb onto his back so that he can jog, the weather is getting worse by the minute.

It only takes a few minutes for the aging but still strong Adrioh to come to the inn. "Noml's Shirehouse" the sign reads over the door, "All patrons welcome except goblins, orcs, and imperials". Rather progressive place he thinks to himself. His dwarven inscription on his left cheek bone will give away his loyalties for the locals...he hopes.

[WinstonInExile]

There are few candles lit in the shirehouse, wax probably being too expensive for whoever owns this place. It was dim and the scent of sweat, ale, and roast proliferates throughout the room. Adrioh expected a bit of an awkward moment filled with silence and blank stares but nothing of the sort happened. He guesses the patrons were either too drunk or distracted to pay any attention to what they probably dismiss as just a tall dwarf and his slave. There is only revelry in this inn, old dwarves describe comrades of old battles fought in wars long over and tell ancient folktales that they remember from their childhood. Young dwarves describe the bosoms of selkies and gossip about the latest from the latest incursion by the orcs into Imperial territory. Most of them seem to be heading northward to the wars.

This is not a good place for Vestin but its better than freezing to death Adrioh supposes. He walks to the bar and asks if any rooms are available. "There aren't any for humans, didn't you read the sign?"

"It says for imperials not humans, i'm not an imperial." Adrioh explains while pointing to the inscription on his cheek

The bartender is weary and refuses to give a room but concedes that they can stay inside until the weather breaks, for the boy's sake. So they take a seat next to the fire and bundle up together. Sitting near them, around the blaze are three old dwarves, ancient looking covered with cloaks bearing some obscure clan mark that Adrioh doesn't recognize. As they sit one notices them and beams a friendly smile. "Saluations, why don't you take a mug of ale?"

"Ah, much appreciated friend!" Adrioh knows better to refuse ale from another dwarf

"What brings you to the Ashlands?" the ancient man asks, his face reminds Adrioh of scarred leather

"The boy and I are traveling to the capital to begin work for an old benefactor of mine, the boy is my apprentice."

"Oh I see, what work do you do?"

"I'm a painter." Adrioh felt a welt of pride pump through his heart

"Amazing, i've never met a painter in these parts!" the ancient takes a sip from his mug before asking, "What do you paint?"

"Scenes and figures from the Sagas."

The other two ancients have now stopped their conversation and are smiling at us. The oldest looking one, a man dressed in the most ragged cloak with an Imperial cap strewn with cat bones, the ancient method of warding off discontented spirits, spoke up to the instant silence of the other two. "Young man..." he paused for a moment to take out a thick book from his satchel before continuing, "Have you heard of the Saga of Mestthos Ibruk?"

Adrioh had heard vague references to the place, the first dwarven settlement of the Ashlands, at least thats what old mystics and ancient looking men in inns say. He remembers only that it existed on the edge of the world right on The Unkempt Barb and that it produced many great heroes and villains of The Scattering. He figures that the ancient wishes to tell a few stories which he doesn't mind, maybe it'll give Vestin somebody to look up to and emulate. Irregardless, Adrioh is a bit curious to hear about this place, The Citadel of Ash.

"I've only heard whispers.. i'm always in need of new material for my work, perhaps you can regale us with a few lines?"

The oldest ancient takes Vestin into his arms, the boy feels an unusual warmth for him. Meanwhile others around us begin to listen, they hold the man in high esteem obviously.

[WinstonInExile]

The ancient begins to speak from memory the first lines of the saga.

"Aslettin Hepinod, the greatest of King Egrid's generals defeated in the Wilderness by the orc horde of Benrrog led his battered army back to the capital and
for two months they marched and fought against orcish raids. Until they arrived to the ruin of their beloved citadel of anvils, destroyed and pillaged by the orcs but this disaster did not bring them to tears for these were great warriors hardened by dwarven resolve and battle. Aslettin knowing no other way ordered his comrades to gather supplies and survivors before turning westward. The next morning Aslettin spoke before his army and the remaining people of the capital....

There is no sorrow in my heart, the spirits of the fallen have given their resolve to me from the afterlife, their courage and will! The gods have provided for us a vision of a better life in the west, on the edge of the world where there be no orcish or imperial army but only a land of ale and roast plentiful! Let us venture there and settle this land and establish for ourselves a new kingdom!

Some decided not to go with Aslettin and journeyed north. There were a few brooding souls who having given up any hope decided to go east to die fighting against the orcs. The fates of those who left Aslettin are not known. Aslettin not wanting to lose others ordered his followers to begin moving and so they began their journey to the edge of the world, to the fabled Ashlands. Twelve thousand dwarven souls came with Aslettin most of whom were his soldiers, they carried only weapons, food, and all sort of small things that brought them warm memories of the dead. It was a hard march from the temperate lands, beset by orcish raids and harsh weather. Many dwarves starved to death or died of thirst, there was little ale. Young and old kin died by the scores and then middle aged folk followed. Soldiers sorrowfully abandoned clan armor to reduce the burden on their bodies. Those who refused to commit that disgrace died quickly. Aslettin and his followers traveled for four months until they came to the marshes."

The ancient stops for a moment, all eyes are on him. "I will not tell you all what happened in those marshes, it is a saga unto itself. But I will say that Aslettin and his followers journeyed through the marshes for seven years. They battled vengeful spirits, orcs, goblins, and other now extinct creatures. You think the marshes are dangerous today! In those times there was no Imperial guard and even the dwarves greatest of spirit and skill feared them. You can imagine that many lost hope, they perhaps Aslettin had fooled them or was insane. Many abandoned the march and settled the marshes the best they could. Their descendents are the marsh dwarves that we know today, bandits and cowards."

But he continued after this interlude...

"Coming out of the marshes were two thousand dwarves, thin and ragged. Their clothing if they had any left did not protect them well from the winter gusts of this land. Aslettin stood firm and resolute, he had lost an eye fighting the goblins two years before. It was at this moment that the people's saint of the march, Lavforden of Barin, came to    meet with Aslettin. There it was said....

Lavforden: "The people are broken and hungry, we have come seven years and many lengths from our homeland to the wastes. Why don't we try to settle here?"
Aslettin: "You have a good heart I know and yes the people are broken, let us settle here and start anew."

So Aslettin and his followers ended their journey and settled the eastern edge of the wastes, building a new capital and kingdom in which he proclaimed himself king."

[WinstonInExile]

The ancient stopped again. "I will not go into the details of the early history of the third dwarvish kingdom but will inform you all that Aslettin's reign was one of peace and prosperity. He of course had to fight off the occasional goblin army or monster but these things did not hinder the growth of his new kingdom. Kogan Onshen grew quickly and eventually could afford settlers to build new cities. Aslettin ruled for eighty two years before passing onto the afterlife, his successors although not able to reach the greatness of their ancestor were good enough and through many an expedition they settled the lands west of the marshes. It was during the reign of Fath Alathibam the Bold, the sixth after the first did they come to the Ashlands and it is here that we reach the heart of this saga.

Let us imagine seven ragged dwarves from the savannas coming upon the chilly edge of the lower pole after a long journey full of great trials and tribulations.....

A brisk chill breathes through the air whirling about the ashes in tornadoes and gusts. In the distance The Tapered Armors can see the beginning of the Barbs, tall and vast, no mortal has made it through them. They see the same to their east and west, snowy peaks stabbing the sky forever. If they betrayed their oath to each other and look back there is only an endless wilderness breached by the occasional savanna, the common landscape of their homeland. The winds bring no sound of wildlife, there are no animals here. Only their footprints leave signature of mortality on these wintery fields. Frigid isolation brings fear and near hopelessness to the seven dwarves of The Cheerful Steppe.

"Look there a nymph lays upon the snow!" Geshud halts the band and dismounts slowly so as to not startle the creature, "Nymph of the Steppe we bring offerings of peas and lizard meat, may Rithzam bring fortitude and good fortunes to your person!"

The nymph glances at Geshud for only a moment, her eyes jumping from the meat and peas back to Geshud. Her ocean blue eyes deceive her uncertainty and curiosity, she has not seen mortals before. There are no wrinkles in her porcelain skin and an unkemptness possesses the body of her ash colored hair. There is a childlike innocence about her, she knows nothing of the deceptions of the greater world. She hungrily grasps the offerings and eats them to bits before running away.

"I'll be back!" Geshud shouts as she begins to chase after the nymph, her short legs surprising swift

For a moment the two run across a flat plane, the nymph too agile and fast for the dwarf until like a sudden soberness a steep downward slope brings Geshud to a fall. Her body bounces from one spot to another, turning over upon itself until finally she reaches the bottom. The nymph no more to be seen she recovers her balance and looks up to see a sparse landscape of snow and ash covered shrub and trees. She doesn't know what to say when the rest of her band come driving down the slope carefully with the wagon.

"I told you Alath." Geshud continues to stare at the landscape before her, "Nymphs are good omens."

[WinstonInExile]

"Many ages ago the dwarven race stood eye to eye with the tall peoples, we we're strong and many. We sailed among the northern islands of the Varnsrekka Sea in our longboats that cut the water like lighting splitting a tree. In those days we were feared and admired by our enemies and friends alike, there was an awe around us. Titans fell to our axes like Sanguaro trees, dragons blood lubricated the gears and cogs of our machines, and every sunset dozens of peoples lowered themselves flat in the direction of our lord's throne and gave graces that he or she felt merciful to give them an extra day to live. Although we ruled the four elements our glory did not last because a mortal's fate regardless of their power or piety exist solely at the whim of the Pantheon. And to the dismay of the gods we had become too glorious. First came the plague, pits upon pits died, secondly came the usurper Arith bringing discontent among the barons, and to finish us off there came Tilis and his dreadful horde of sea monsters. From that time forth we were humbled before the power of the gods.

But mortality's hubris requires a check equal to equal amount and so as we slayed Tilis and his horde we were punished by a curse. Our empire had disintegrated but we had survived and even in our lowest moment had slayed Tilis, the son of a god lost to us. In anguish his father cursed ours and our progeny's bodies to be the size of our virtue. But even further he dried the wombs of our women forever being sure as we withdrew from our lands that we would have only a future of wretchedness before us. It is this way that we became the Dwarven and it is this reason that we concerned ourselves with virtue and homage to the gods for ages afterward."

The seven dwarves huddle around the fire in their cloaks. Its cold but the Spring is coming to this land soon. Geshud knows her band well and understands the need to hear stories of the past, to supply inspiration and hope to those downtrodden by fate. The Tapered Armors had left forty seven strong five months ago but the Ashlands are filled with terrible dangers. They had set out to make a new start, to settle far away from civilization so that they had a monopoly on any resources discovered. It was thought among her comrades that for all her many virtues, Geshud, possessed perhaps too much ambition. Around the fire the other six thought this and even Geshud secretly held doubts about this journey west but there was no use crying about it now.

"Tomorrow we need to start felling trees and scouting the land for food and minerals." Geshud declares to the hedgehoged dwarves, her teal eyes and round pale face reveals resolution

"So we're settling this place because a nymph shat here?" with a cloud of smoke and a wry smile Alath announces the doubts of the entire group

"Where do you suggest we go? Into the mountains?"

"Yes perhaps, we are a mountain people are we not? There are only hill peaks here!"

"You haven't considered living above the ground, like the Imperials?"

"Sure I have but we need something to trade with when the caravans come this way. I don't think there's a big demand for ash and snow."

"You're opinions are understandable but I must respectfully disagree with you but if you are so determined to keep moving you can do so alone. Your contract will be terminated with no cost to you."

Alath continues smoking his pipe in silence. The others are quiet as well until Morul with a big grin speaks up. "Oh come on you two lets be reasonable here. Now Alath, you know as well as the rest of us that we don't have enough supplies to keep on into the mountains. They may be our natural home but they're too tough for us to settle now. Maybe its time to try our luck with this place? I mean its not a bad location, we have plenty of trees and shrubs. Hell we might even find something of value underneath all the ash and snow!"

The others nod in agreement, they're all tired of travel, its time to make a home for themselves.

"So how about it Alath? Lets stay and try to make something of this miserable place!"

Alath lets out a bit of a sigh and blows out another cloud of smoke, "Shut the hell up, i'll see what I think in the morning!"

Morul grins again back to Geshud who returns a nod, before long all seven dwarves are entered into a deep sleep.

[WinstonInExile]

...Its been a fortnight and the winter has broken into a quickly warming spring, at least now we can sleep without fear of freezing to death...

"What are you doing Sibrek?" Geshud stares between the book and Sibrek waiting for an answer, a look of forced amiability encompasses her face

"Just...taking..a bit of a rest.."

"Alright..well you've been sitting long enough, get back to work."

This temperate land is covered with all sorts of tree from alder to ash and now the distant outpost consists of two stockpiles of food and lumber as well as the beginnings of a living quarters for the seven colonists. There is plenty of wood for now and enough plants to keep them fed for a year. For now though they still live in their holes and eat from their wagon stores. There's plenty of ale to go around though as with all dwarves they make sure there is enough alcohol.

Sibrek continues to write for a bit longer, "..Maybe Geshud is a goblin disguised?.." before she closes her journal and sighs before returning to her felling.

The ancient glared around the large gathering of inn patrons now listening intently to his tale. Even the owner, that old buzzer, was listening and offering free drinks just so she didn't have to go back and take coins. "Before I introduce just Iden we must all understand that this region was ruled by dwarven law, both blood and regal in those days. The king and his vassals had the official say about things, they could send you to prison or give you a dozen hammerstrikes but in the end it was the bloodlaw that was seen to give the true justice by people. The king's law was a way to keep the dwarves in line, the bloodlaw was the commonfolk's way of finding justice. To maintain the king's law throughout the land there would be traveling courts and lawyers going from village to village, city to city and hearing whatever disputes was going on at that current time. It is this profession that fair Iden had chosen in life."

Let's return to the felling shall we...

Fair Morul stands five foot. Her eyes reflects endlessly the green autumn of the eastern savannas but Iden can feel warmth when he looks into them. The mortal heart is alive and well despite the trials of their journey.

"It looks like you're having trouble with that one.." Iden points in the alder tree holding a chipped axe and an exhausted Morul, "I can help if you like, alder is a pretty hard wood"

Morul is too tired to protest and so she steps aside reluctantly.

"You see, you need to swing it this way and hit it at a certain angle." Iden goes to some length to position his body correctly before felling, "Like so..."

"Oh my hero!" Morul gargles her spit and spews it onto the ground

"You have an attitude now but a few moments ago you could barely pick up your axe!" Iden laughs as he continues felling

"Maybe I was just tired after felling those trees over there.." She points to a patch of trees freshly cut nearby

"Oh I see, I could have sworn I saw Alath take those down an hour ago...but I could be wrong...you do look quite manly in that leather!" a smile crawls onto Iden's face

[sbr]

I have read this before.