Into The West

[Josh3738 3137]

 

The silence was unbearable as the darkness closed in. Not a bird sang and no step echoed all along the road. The trees stood tall and still, casting shadows down the length of path. A soft glow drove back the darkness as Zahrer stood silently before the gates of Khaz’Varekan. Running a hand along the face of the stone he walked slowly onward into the depths. Carvings of glorious battles and ferocious monsters decorated the walls of the fortress city. Runes of power laid carefully into the walls cast a dim glow that illuminated the way forward.

Upon reaching the large anvil within the main smithing chamber, he slowly ascended the steps to the top of the object. At the top, he placed his hands gently on the surface, running his fingers across the intricate runes and pictures depicted on the old tool. Reaching forward, he fumbles slightly with a latch before drawing it back to reveal the bulk of the centerpiece. With careful fingers, the dragon egg was lifted gently into the air. Gazing at it, he slowly turned the relic in his fingers before storing it away in his bag and turning from the darkened anvil.

Gasping, Zahrer sinks to one knee, pain evident in his every move as his eyes begin to water. Gripping the edge of the steps and leaning heavily on them, he tries to raise himself to his feet. With a cry he sinks to his knees once more, slamming his fists into the stonework beneath him. On all sides the lava of the great forge poured into the depths below the platform, occasional flashes of fire shooting into the air. Turning his head to the side he watched in silent sorrow as the fire once more danced in visions before his eyes.

The first moment he arrived in the Grand Kingdom dominated his vision as a small dwarf slowly scaled the steps to the mountain hold of the Dwedmar. Pictures of glorious battles with the orcs and volcanoes engulfed in fire and flame flood his memories, only ceasing when his tears blurred his eyes.

Finding some fraction of strength left in him, he stands shakily and starts to move from the hall. He reached the courtyard before the cells and the tombs when again the visions took him. Sinking to his knees in agony he watched as the Dwarves arrived in Anthos. Countless old dwarves and friends stood before the throne as King Omithiel held the Arkenstone high in hand, declaring a new age for the Dwarves.

With no warning, the scene again shifted. Grand King Thorin Grandaxe stood proudly atop the table in the Cloud Temple Library. In one hand he held a simple torch, in the other he held the burning remains of human peace terms. Zahrer smiled, tears streaming down his face as if the shouts of “Kavir oz Umros” still rang in his ears. He watched in quiet sadness as the dwarves marched from the hall, heads held high and armor shining brightly in the sun.

By some miracle he again found the strength to stand, bracing himself on the railing overlooking the river of lava. He moved slowly, wiping tears from his eyes as he watched battle after battle and glorious event after glorious event pass through the flames of the fire below. Bracing himself on his warhammer he moved towards the lift. Scenes of Kal’Ithrun and Kal’Arkon loomed in his vision as he pulled on the lever. The splendor of the two cities passing before his eyes as the lift traveled upward.

He reached the top of the lift and walked slowly out into the night air. Turning slowly he faced the old hall he had once called home. Sinking to his knees, visions of the Red Realm danced through the air. The final battle at the Cloud Temple dominated his vision as he watched the ballista built by his own hands fire the Golden Lance into the breast of Setherian. Tears of anger and sorrow began to blind his vision as his beard began to shift on his chest. Long tendrils of the beard growing outward in spiraling loops as they began to wrap themselves around the heights of the gateway. A scream tore itself from Zahrer’s throat as he strived to concentrate, the tendrils tightening around the stone causing it to crack and fracture. Boulders tore loose from the walls as he slowly destroyed the entrance to the city below.

 

With another scream his connection broke, visions of Kal’Agnar playing out before him. As the remains of the stands gateway slowly tumbled into a pile of rubble, his magic faded away and the great growth of beard receded. Scenes of torture and suffering at the hands of the undead brought pain such as he had never felt before. He lay on the cool earth gasping for breath as his memory turned to the shining relics he wore into battle to retake the city. His sword cast a blinding glow as its magic combated that of Khorvad’s followers.

 

 

And there he lay, motionless and weeping upon the cool earth as the countless memories and visions slowly diminished into one. In a long row before him, Zahrer’s family and friends stood watching. He clung tightly to the earth as he slowly rose to his knees to look upon them. The faces of Dizzy and Onar stood more pronounced against the crowd. The familiar faces of Lathros and Duregar moved forward to stand beside them and still more moved to join them. Thorin, Igor, Odin, Dreek, Wulfgar, Wulfric, Fili, Fimlin, Sharr, and still countless more stood shoulder to shoulder with these old friends. To one side stood Dagor and Dared, both wearing gleaming metal rings. They stood with their hands outward as if to show off the pieces of jewelry.

Looking slowly downward once more Zahrer noticed the ring on his own hand. The corundum gem shining brightly despite the lack of light around him. Curling his fingers around it he mutter quietly to himself, the tears beginning to dry on his face. A familiar warm glow shown on the ground before him and six other rings appeared on the ground before him, having vanished from the fingers of their keepers across the realm. Reaching forward with a gentle and loving hand, he raised the rings from the ground, removing his own and storing all seven in the same pack as the dragon egg.

He again looked upward to see the faces of his family. The visions before him smiled as he watched them. A single tear trailed down his face as his gazed passed over every image. Perhaps he would have sat there forever, watching and waiting for the day his friends would all return.

A warm hand settled itself on his shoulder and he rested his own hand against it. As he did so the visions before him faded until only one remained, offering him a warm smiles before it too faded.

-=-

-=-

The dwarves awoke the next morning as they had all other mornings. If one were to look out from Kjell’s pass they would stand silently, gazing on the scene before them. A thin line of smoke rose lazily into the sky on the right where the banners of Clan Irongrinder burned to ashes in a single pile. On the left, a thick column of smoke trailed along the edge of the horizon. A single steamship sank soundlessly from view as it traveled onward.

As far as they looked, the dwarves found no sign of Zahrer or his family. The wagon piled high with their belongings was gone, the tracks leading from the far north to the dock where the wagon sat abandoned and empty. To those who looked closely, a note was pinned to one of the wheels.

“Though nobody would care to hear this speech while I was here, perhaps you might hear it now. I joined the Grand Kingdom back when we were confined to the lands of Elysium. I served as a Grunt in the legion under various Grand Marshals. I sat everyday in that guardhouse. Every damn day… I worked hard as any honorable dwarf should ever hope to and earned my keep. I was promoted and promoted and still I did my duty without thought for pay or thought for greed. I looked up to those around me and served to give my life for the Kingdom at any given moment. I fought in every battle since the taking of Storm’s Crossing and have even had the privilege to command a few of them.

I was given a bunk in the legion barracks of Kal’Azgoth. Here I worked tirelessly to earn the funds to purchase a clan hall for my kin. As I had not done in over sixty years, I took up the name of my clan...Irongrinder… I bought myself and my family a clan hall and it was here that I had the unspeakable honor to meet my friend and kin, Dizzy. Together we as a clan built up our name to be spoken as those who give everything to the kingdom and expect nothing in return. I kept a log you know… To calculate how much the kingdom would owe me or how much I should rightly be paid by it. Upwards of a couple hundred thousand minas… And to tell the truth, I still keep that log. Not to one day hand it in like some winner cashing in for a prize. But to show proudly, at least to myself, all that I have done for this kingdom. All I would so willingly continue to do.

Dizzy was soon elected Grand King following the death of Thorin Grandaxe. Oh how he was a good leader. A true king to the end even as the golem parts corrupted his body. I was made a lord for my outstanding service to the kingdom and served in that position for many, many years more than I probably should have. But at the same time, it was the only way to get what I needed for the kingdom. To protect it. To nourish it.

I got married, though back in Thorin’s reign to the daughter of my old friend Duregar. She was a truly remarkable lass. Her eyes shone like diamonds, sparkling full of life. Together we had a son...Relel. A fine boy he would have grown to be. Though where he is now, I cannot say. I was not there for them. I stood proud and mighty at the trenches of Thoringrad leading charge after charge and holding the line against the human invaders to protect the Kingdom. To protect them…

My wife died without me by her side. The healer said it was some sickness though I could never be sure it was not grief. A part of me died the day I came home. Relel was gone and I went alone into the tombs to weep over my beloved’s stone coffin. I suffered every day from then on at the thought of her…

Despite my suffering I continued to serve my king and my gods. From the plains of the Fringe to the sieges of the Red Realm I fought and bled for the kingdom I would die for. We arrived in Athera and the fighting continued and continued and it was all I could do to keep us from drowning in our own blood. Then, after over a century of bleeding for my kin, I was crowned as the Grand King. Too short a term did I serve before my own flesh and blood was convinced to vote against me. The lords stood silently from their chairs and spoke their decision. So I took the crown from my head where it should never have been. To be removed in such a way...after all I had done. After all I had seen. After all I tried to do. Nothing…

To those who read this letter I ask that you share my story to those who ask of me. I was removed from my service to the Grand Kingdom for marrying an elf. I take no shame in it nor should you. Love is a gift given to us by the Brathmordakin to show our true passions. To show our true strengths. To show our true hearts. I tried as I could to make you all see that, and nobody listened.”

Looking at the paper here, you notice the dried circles where tears fell during the writing of the paper. It is evident in the slight change in writing and the tears that the following portion of the letter was by far the most difficult to write for the author.

“I am no longer whole my friends… The pain I feel is not that of a simple cut or a battle scar. The pain I feel is not something I can describe in relation or in mere words. As I write this to you, I smear the ink and ruin the paper with my tears. I weep for my Urguan. I weep for the Dwedmar. And most of all, I weep for the darkness that engulfs me. It is no easy thing to accept betrayal kinsman, so I must move on. Don’t try to look for me and don’t expect a hasty return. If you take away anything from this letter let it be this.

 

Remember me for my deeds. Remember me for my friendship. Remember me for my love.”

The paper is signed with a simple Z and the seal of Clan Irongrinder dominates the bottom of the page.

 

Flipping the paper over, you notice the sketches that depict older times. Better times...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Dreek 1633]

A whisper is sent scuttling to the wind, as Dreek gazes on from the halls of the dead. He gazes, forlornly watching as a hero among Dwed had his life recounted. It was a breathtaking tale as he allowed his mind to linger over the parchment, soaking in Zahrer's hardships and donations to the Dwarven cause. He saw Zahrer's place among the ancestors, a place beside his former comrades, a Hall brightened with Heroes.

[Bobby123 115]

A small sad smile crosses his mouth, a small tear forming in his eye "Ah ye 'as an good un lad, sad t' see ye go, but time 'as passed since deh days weh build dat fuckin b'ack mawl crossing" He chucking remembering all the good times he had with Zahrer "Eh c'nt ye still owe meh deh position, For dat eh 'ave t' visit ye, fair well friend. Sad t' see deh back 'o ye" Again more tears form around his eyes as he turns to walk off with Alikis

[Tirenas 677]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZSFNmnNiOA

Uldar reaches into his belt pouch, fumbling with something. He pulls it out, allowing it to be illuminated by a nearby candle. A signet ring he had made prior to his resignation as Lord Steward. Having heard of Zahrer's departure, he begins to think of the decisions he had to make, his mind slowly turning to the topic of the past Grand King's removal.

As a scholar of the Dwarven history, he was always disgusted upon reading the manner in which Kings were thrown aside akin to a rusted blade. Yet when standing within that throne-room, he had known then that it was the necessary decision, as had those been of his predecessors. To persist soundly loyal to the Grand King or to carry out his duty as a Lord of Urguan... To remain loyal to the Grand Kingdom and its hallowed constitution. 

Uldar places the ring away, the concerns he had been worrying of since past. He moves off, going out into the night to collect his thoughts.

[yopplwasupxxx 5946]

"By Yemekar, he be finalleh dead." Relel, son of Zahrer, mumbled, keeping warm before the fire admist the frozen tundra.

[Legoboy7984 3155]

Agnar Grandaxe looks at the note with a tears slowly going down his face. "Farewell, Old Freindah." Agnar looks up at his fallen brothers and sisters

[Watty_Banker 172]

Stark

 

Bardel mutters

[JVQ 1719]

((Dope post Josh, gotta love that Annie Lennox song

[James 425]

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