The Creator's Calling

[Zezimus 1523]

The Creator's Calling

 

 

As the sun dropped from beyond the horizon, a foreboding silence filled the great dwarven hold of Kal’Ithrun. Dim lights flickered throughout the hallways, while mice scurried from corner to corner, searching relentlessly for any food left from the long days of feasting. As the dwarves slept soundly, the city was seemingly tranquil and undisturbed. Yet it was within that the dwarf, Morgrim, turned and fidgeted in his bed almost ecstatically as his dreams became plagued by nightmare. Suddenly his eyes lifted open as he lay awake, his face coated in a warm layer of sweat. He proceeded to take a small ragged handkerchief from his bedside table, laying it over his forehead as he listened to the rapid vibrations of his heart beat. Though his hands shook violently, he took a wooden pipe from within the drawer aside his bed and carefully placed it between his teeth. Taking a lighter from off of his bedside table, he attempted to set the end aflame but to no avail as the lighter fell from his grasp upon the cold stone floor with a loud metallic ring. Cursing beneath his breath, Morgrim snatched the pipe from his mouth and slammed it down upon the table.

 

Lifting himself to his feet, he stood aside the fireplace, his brown eyes gazing on into the flames as they gently illuminated the features of his face. He was surprised. For the first time in many years, he had felt what it was to experience a true and inescapable fear. He had dreamt of the days when he was young as he looked upon a burning city of Kal’Urguan. The cries of the damned still resonated clear in his mind to that day. Suddenly however, his thoughts became distracted. He looked into the fire, noticing a peculiar shape beginning to form among the flames. He thought he had seen the gaping wide jaw of a beast and in that moment a sudden and shrill cry begun to tear at his mind as he tried desperately to cover his ears.

 

 

He staggered backwards, roaring in dismay as his right hand lowered to unclip his war axe from his belt. Yet as he looked back towards the flames, the face had subsided. Left was only the crackle and hiss of the hot embers as they continued to burn through the firewood. He turned around, his hands locked tightly as he stood within the centre of the room. Though unsure of the true nature of what he had seen, he could not allow such fears to overcome his will. Lifting on a suit of plated iron armour and draping a thick coat of wolf fur over his shoulders, he set out along the western roads. For high atop the mountains, there stood the great shrine of Yemekar. In this time of desperation, he felt he had no choice but to seek the creator’s guidance.

 

Outside Kal’Ithrun, a storm was brewing from the southern coast. Rain gently beat down upon the dwarf’s armour as he mounted himself upon a large war horse. Yet the hour was late. Very few dared travel the roads for fear of what could lurk within the darkness.  Though the trail was long, he eventually reached the base of the mountain and peered up towards its summit. It was high among these peaks that the first dwarves who had landed in Anthos had erected the shrine to Yemekar. Morgrim made the ascent up the side of the mountain, using his axe and orc tusk dagger to scale along the steeper surfaces. As he eventually reached the top, the storm had blown north, encompassing the stretch of sky that stood above him. After a short climb further up the rock face, he found himself kneeling before Yemekar’s Shrine.

 

 

Thunder tore throughout the skies as the dwarf slid a small, gem encrusted ring from off of his finger. As he nestled it upon the snow, a great bolt of lightning fell before him, the blinding flash startling the mountain dwarf. Within that very moment, all fell to darkness. The sound of the wind was drowned by the great cry of a thousand lost souls, condemned to an eternity of anguish and despair. The light of the world faded. Left was only the harrowing call of damnation.

 

As his mind became shrouded in mist, images flooded before his eyes of destruction, fire and ruin. Great beasts and creatures of the darkness brought a shadow upon the world, consuming and devouring in their wake. Torn were the very fabrics of the world. As the mist begun to fade, Morgrim watched as the sons of Urguan and Horen fought amongst one another, uncaring for the fate of the world. Yet there were those who resisted the onslaught. These warriors charged head on into the hordes of the scourge without fear or regard for their lives. Almost as if he were there, Morgrim looked on as the figures became ever clearer in his mind. A banner stood behind them, the distinct black cross, emblazoned on a sea of white. With that, the dwarf awoke to find himself lying amongst the snow, the morning sun warming his pale skin. He had likely been unconscious for some time.

 

 

As he eventually found his way down the mountain and traveled back to Kal’Ithrun, he did not forget what he had seen there that day. The warriors he had envisioned, brave and unshaken in the face of danger. Were these the true heroes of his destiny? It was only a week later that all became clear to him. Making his way into throne room of Kal’Ithrun, he knelt down before the Grand King and his Council. “Ye majesteh... Ah ‘ave envisioned ah callin’. Ah purpose bestowed upon meh baeh t’e creator ‘imself. Ah mus’ beh granted pardon tuh continue mah uwn path.” Explaining his situation, the Grand King granted Morgrim clemency that he would not be hunted in the name of the Kjell Act if he took upon the duties of fighting the dangers of the north. For if it were the creator’s bidding, it would not be for any mortal being to lay question to.

 

With that, the dwarf thundered from the great halls of Kal’Ithrun, his iron boots crashing upon the ground beneath him. For if he was ever to truly repent his sins, it was his sworn duty to uphold the creator’s bidding. He would venture to the very gates of the nether if it were to absolve him. Now with his trial laid clear, he had only his destiny to guide him onwards.

[VonEbs 1224]

((Isn't this herecy...))

[xSPULLERx 240]

Grand King Indago Stormhammer can't bare to hear the news once again.

[Zezimus 1523]

((Isn't this herecy...))

 

((Lol nah, in what way do you mean? Morgrim believes that Yemekar /the Creator or just the Creator as the humans would call him are one and the same. Both religions are in fact very similar in beliefs but different in practise.))

[iris1612 1780]

((This is quite an epic. Very well written, and it sent shivers up my spine. Exellent work.))

[TEEbrown 348]

[Always one to tie up loose ends. ;) ]

 

Bazian blesses his nephew Morgrim on his journeys throughout Anthos.

[Supertimmy4ever 19]

[make more of these tales for your ventures, I am curious]

 

*Longbeard just shouts to Mogrim*

 

"Kick sum arse fer me tu!"

[bungo 3965]

traitors...

*makes a -.- face

[Dreek 1633]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.