A Dream Dashed Out

[Dreek 1633]

 

A breeze rippled through the perilous icy peaks of what was once Kal’Agnar, showering snow upon the lone figure placed upon its slopes. A Dwarf stood staring across the ruined city, his white hair falling apart, and his blue eyes gazing off, as if remembering the past. The Dwarf shook once, thinking back on his life before.

He had grown up in Kal’Urguan, born under Iron, a symbol of strength in that age. He grew up among his clan, sheltered from those citizens that were beneath him. As he grew, tragedy struck. His father was slain, and his brothers executed by a crazed uncle. It was then that he saw the first truth. The results of his clan’s actions were made clear. Rewards to the ambitious, and torture for the content.

The days of Aegis passed, offering the young Dwarf a time of observance and careful prayer. He had been blinded by the strength of his old master, and was led back into the shadows. The young dwarf could not expect the unthinkable to happen, his master was sealed away, lost to his worshippers. He wandered then, reentering the society of his kin, and to his surprise, found an individual who accepted his past, and agreed to keep it secret. They lived on within the Grand Kingdom, watching it rise and fall, offering a new hope for the old line of Kings.

The age of the warring nations came, the time of Asulon. The young dwarf had grown up, and had conceived his own beardlings, three popping out within a decade. Overjoyed was this Dwarf to finally have those he could call his own, the revival of his ancient clan. Much to his horror though, his wife, their protector, was slain. The battle over the beds left his wife slain in hers, a gruesome sight for their children. It was then the dwarf grew in anger once again, retreating from society, and teaching his truth. The truth of anger and rage was inducted into his children, planting the seeds of Khorvad within them. The beardlings grew, gathering their strength and chosen professions. Slowly, they grew, producing more members of the clan, biding their time to strike.

The land of frost was the first step in this dwarf’s plan, he had sent his son to watch the Grand Kingdom. The son known as Darenth watched over these Dwarves, inciting and guiding the Aengul Ondnarch in the attacks. For a time, Ondnarch ruled the city of the Dwarves, keeping Darenth as an advisor. The time came though, and Ondnarch was struck at by the Dwarves, shattering the dreams of Darenth and his father. Quickly this ancient clan went into hiding again, praying with all their fury, hoping for a sign.

A sign had come. A purest being had revealed himself to the dwarf, inviting him to reveal the Ironborn again, and take the glory and rights his true name had. Velkan stood up among his clan, rallying them and others to rise. The armies of Khorvad stood once again, with his fiery aura at their side. Up, and up they rushed, slaying their kin and enemies once again. A quick climb brought them to the Obsidian Throne, the seat of the Second Empire of Khorvad. Velkan had reached his dream, retaking the birthright of the Ironborn. He had known all along though, something was amiss.

The city had been sacked, his sons slain, and his dream dashed. Nothing was left, a soulless shell. An embodiment of fury and pain, chained to the will of Iblees.

Velkan continued to gaze upon the city of Agnar, taking in the work of his kin for the last time, Velkan buried a note by his side.

The path of the Ironborn, plagued with strife, accepted fully neither by Iblees or their kin. A cursed clan to be born in. The error lies in the roots. To plant again, new roots must be grown. Let my name die with me now, may a Dwedmer never be cursed with a name such as Velkan again.

A rush of wind blew by, showering the mountain in a brisk shower of snow. As it passed, a skeletal body lay in the snow, resembling that of a dwarf.

 

[Kardel 1054]

 

The muffled sound of snow being trod upon resonated throughout the snowy peak of Mount Thahn. An old dwarf pale as death, wearing robes so grey that they seemed to be but a play of shadows on the white snow, slowly made his way through the thick snow crowning the mountains of Kazadrin. Thick leather boots shuffled through the white matter. . .making little sound.

 

Shuffle. . .shuffle. . .shuffle. . .crack. . .

 

The old dwarf stopped, as he heard a noise similar to twigs breaking under weight. He looked around, perplexed, and heard the soft but present noise once again.

 

. . .crack. . .

 

He looked at his feet, seeing a skeleton's arm bone split in half under his weight. Barely any flesh clung on to the bone, now blackened by the cold. Kardel looked perplexed; he had come to the mountains to look for Elf's Hair Vine, and instead found what he thought were bones.

 

"Troll bones? Nae. Armakak be nae dat guud ta me. . ."

 

Kardel brushed some snow away from the blackened corpse, as he recognized it by stature and clothing that it was a dwarf. By it he found a note, written in moist papyrus, the ink barely legible.

 

". . .may a Dwedmer never be cursed with a name such as Velkan ever again. . ."

 

The elder looked at the corpse, seeing its whips of pale hair blow in the wind lifelessly. He looked at the note again, and shook his head. Here he had the body of Velkan Ironborn. Should he dishonor it like this dwarf's kin had done to his own kin, or should he do the opposite, and bury it Stone to Stone?

 

Kardel remembered back to the words of Zahrer in Hiebenhall.

 

"We are nae Umri. . .we are nae Flays. . ."

 

The old dwarf though about it, as time seemed frozen in his thinking. He then took the body, slinging it over his shoulder, and took the note. 

 

Slowly he began his descent to the foot of the mountain, using a gnarled branch stiffened by lightning to make his way down until he saw a mass of dirt suitable for digging. And so he dug. He dug all day, making a deep grave. . .all the way to the stone of the mountain. Kardel rolled the body over into the grave, piling dirt over it, and using a rock to compact the dirt.

 

The elder gathered a number of rocks and branches, and lay the rocks by the grave in a pattern resembling that of Yemekarr's hammer. He then proceed to roll a large stone over to the head of the grave.

 

Kardel dusted off his hands as the sun set in the distance. He then looked at the note in his hand. It would be eroded to fibers if it was left exposed in the wind, so he pressed it against the rock, and channeled mana into the words, as the were etched in the stone behind them, forever a reminder of the Ironborn dictator. 

 

Above them, the pale one etched an engraving in vernacular, promptly reading:

 

Here lies Velkan Ironborn. Traitor to Urguan. Worshipper of Khorvad. Kin of the Dwarves.

 

Let Yemekarr choose to save him or damn him.

 

The engraved words of the note are listed after.

 

A bouquet of thistles is lain by the grave. 

[Bobby123 115]

Azvar sits up from praying, he hears muffled steps of another walking behind him, the click of the metal boots on the floor, feeling a hand press on his shoulder he turns, looking into the eyes of his brother, Kavrren simple says "He is gone" , Azvar thicks quickly, no, how is this possible! He knew his grandfather had been away but dead? Never? But deep down he knows, the words his brother speaks are true. 

 

Later Azvar and Kavrren walk out of the city, they descend the steps into the moral plain, there armour clinking, there swords swinging at there hips and  look of fire is etched onto there face's, Azvar turns to Kavrren saying "We will avenge him brother"

 

 

 

Sharr slowly slides his hand over the marking on the large stone he found covering some kind of opening? He reads to words, feeling the tingles of some recent magic used to etch the words into the stone. Reads the words the slowly shuts his eyes, twisting his hand round little sprouts start to form of the thorns-

 

After a few minuets of word the stone is now surrounded above and below, around the sides with thorns, but as Sharr turns to leave a kaleidoscope of colours bloom out of the thorns, the roes taking up the top half where as the harsh thick thorns are left bare at the bottom

 

Sharr knows the flowers have bloomed as he walks off he says into the wind-

"You may 'ave bin traitor in life, followr of deh wrong gowds, but ye fought 'ard n' well, ye are an honerbal mun. Deh Brathmodikin will judge ye but day will remember dat der is beauty in deh eavil, even in one so eveal such as him. Everyone must rehmemeber as deh gowds remember it too"   

[ThumperJack 927]

Demagol reads the engraving on the strange stone he spotted while walking to the city. His bright orange eyes close, then open, he brushes some snow off the top, and slides out a piece of Thanium, he slides out a small pickaxe, and cuts a indention into the stone above the engraving, he places the Thanium into it with a small click. Demagol puts a fist against his chest in a sign of respect.

 

"Oi woul' 'ave followed ye. Oi woul' fough' fer ye. May Dungrimm 'ave merceh on ye, fer it is nae yer fault."

 

Demagol walks off, singing a small song Doomforge funeral song.

[EndlessWord 10]

*The Watcher Cries at what was lost and what was yet to come.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

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