The Journal of Ludoc, Prologue part 2
"The Horn of Parity?" I asked as the wagon bumped along the ground. We had already decided to rename the hills to 'The Furious Hills', in light of all that happened. It still didn't seem real, even though I probably knew the place would get burned eventually. Hopefully, some Dwarves from the city or people from the fields would get wind of all this and flee like us, but we couldn't worry about that right now. "Aye, lad. It's a place I picked out a long time ago; good, solid rock mountains, plenty of trees and wildlife, and even a nearby brook for water." He cursed as he steered the wagon around an intervening tree. "We should be safe there. I doubt the Goblins will be looking in the mountains for a while." I could understand that; they would probably be scouring the countryside for more villages and towns to plunder just like Gloryfissures. But something about what he said bothered me. "What do you mean we'll be 'safe' there, Garth? You make it sound like we're going to stay there."
"Isn't it obvious, man? We're to build a new city, isn't that right, Garth?" All faces turned to look, except the old man. A mason and architect by trade, going by the odd name of Dorfette, had spoke. Garth merely chuckled, and said; "Not exactly, lass. I think we all learned the hard way how that would turn out. No, we aren't going to build a city; we're going to build a Fortress." Vergil laughed at my confused look and patted me on the shoulder. "He's had this planned out all along. Why else do you think he keeps a wagon full of supplies like this?" He took an empty mug from a crate and dipped it into a barrel of frothing Dwarven ale, and clinked mugs in a toast with the one sitting across from him. Shorna, an up-and-coming brewer, known to grow her own dwarven plants in secret for booze, and with wit sharp as hardened steel. She smiled and said; "Maybe he's planning to start a tavern/brothel for those Gnomes he likes so much, eh?" Garth roared with laughter, but cursed anew as the wagon slammed a roadbump, causing the frothing liquid to spill onto their shirts. For once I laughed, and said; "Yeah, and he'll make them lick booze off his chin, no doubt." and everyone roared anew in laughter.
Except one. "Alright, you lot, that's enough! This is serious!" 'Doctor' Baron Baconeer, as he was known, was a former surgeon turned butcher as he couldn't stand keeping focus, having a lot of repressed anger over botched surgeries (in truth, he was more angry he wasn't assigned to autopsy). "Garth, you realize what you're saying, right? Building a new ci-- a fortress? When there's only seven of us?" Garth sighed and nodded. "Haven't any of you ever heard the tales? I'm sure young Ludoc here can relate." I simply nodded and filled a mug of ale.
"From what we know so far, Dwarves lived primarily in the mountains, in vast, secluded enclaves known as Fortresses, collectively called the Mountainhomes. Times were good, and the Dwarves entered a golden age of industry, security and prosperity. They mined all manner of minerals and gems, produced the finest quality of metals, from bronze to silver to iron." I took a drink as one replied. "And steel," said the last Dwarf; Deler, a highly skilled armorer and miner, who always believed in hard work and practical means to resolve any situation. "the crowning achievement of the entire civilization. Steel-clad, highly trained warriors were unstoppable, and most if not all Goblin raids proved ineffectual; until the idiots strained it too far." I nodded at her and continued. "Yes, steel is hard to make, strong as it is. But the real problem started when the ancient Dwarves got so cocky they tried to live like Humans, in their vast, impressive castles aboveground." I sighed; it was true. Dwarven civilization had largely left the ancient Fortresses and was migrating to the countryside and to vast, yet ill-designed cities. This marked the decline of their civilization, for the ones who dominated the caverns and deep places of the world, were no rulers on empty land. The Goblins had proven that. "Before all that, however, the Dwarves had proven so resourceful and skilled that they could build a fortress with only a handful of Dwarves and one wagon of supplies. They could easily reach self-sufficiency status on their own, though it was common for migrants and traders to visit. Small fortresses like that used to dot the whole world, and now they say there's only a handful left, but we lost contact with them a long time ago. I guess they thought us unworthy of being called Dwarves anymore."
Vergil nodded. "That's exactly what we're heading to this place for, isn't that right, old man?" Garth looked back and grinned. "That's right. It's our only hope for survival, as we'd be completely helpless out in the open. I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, but I'm hoping you'll at least agree with me that the Dwarven civilization needs some serious re-education. We're going to be an example; to show all the scattered remnants of our civilization their ancient heritage, so they can once more live in prosperity. We're going to save them from the madness of backwards surface dweller thinking and piss-poor grass wine!" We all cheered and took another drink from old Garth's barrel, while he popped open his own flask. He was very clever to have brewed his own ale and kept it secret from all the thirsty masses in Gloryfissures, I thought.
The sun was rising, casting the landscape in a warm, yellow glow. Trees swayed in the morning breeze, birds chirped and flitted about, and I noticed ahead of us some good-sized mountains, to the foothills of which we were driving. Something awoke in my spirit that day; those beautiful, tall and immovable mountains reaching upwards to the sky seemed to speak to me, 'You are home.' Garth slowed the wagon to a stop, stood up and turned around. "Time to stretch our legs, friends," he said with a grin. "We're here."
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