Dungrimm's Grip

[Dun_Irongut 104]

Soil always felt homely to Dun. He was at home in the marsh outside of Kal'Dwain, his ramshackle of a library comforted him. Even the specks of dust and the granules of cobblestone that sat along his tables and things, he felt safe.

 

His "mother" had always been a harsh woman whom he sparsely talked about. A Hansetian maid, paid by Darius Irongut to take care of one of the many sons he didn't want. He was often left alone in what might be called a home, although it was never referred to as that. And even there, despite the awful treatment, he felt at home among the books.

 

The room was charming, a torch to light reading in the night. The walls lined with books dedicated to Dungrimm, the Brathmordakin he was named for.

 

As the Grand Merchant, his wealth was beyond what he expected and well beyond the size of Tuvyah, his chief rival. He had a family.   Behind the walls of Holy Oren Empire, he found a friend in Godfrey. He and the Flay began a small rivalry. And for a moment, he was content.

 

The dust along the books jumped as Dun looked to read more about his patron god. A dwarf raised by humans, longing to fit the bill of a dwarf. He continued to read more and more, the concept of "the final auction" enticed him. "Death will be the only time I'm content," he mumbled to himself as he placed the volume he was reading down onto the table.

 

His chief partner in his later life, Raomir, had been a great man to till the fields. He was his greatest achievement and most of all, friend. His apprentice had done much, but when he remembered the frailty of human morality, he retreated, as he often did. Raomir passed away as Dun slept, Dun never hearing the news. He simply assumed after years had passed that his friend had been given to Dungrimm. 

 

The book thumped onto the wood, bits and pieces silently moving down onto ashen-stone flooring. 

 

In his final years of life, he had attempted to fix the kingdom he had finally become to call home. His mind warped by time, he he chose expedience over his clan and joined in the Frostbeard Revolution. Perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps not. He wouldn't live to see the end of it. 

 

The dust settled. 

 

Dun Irongut passed away in his sleep on a cold day, a content dwarf of old age. A traitor to his kingdom. And with no books.

[Skippy 2466]

((F))

[Raomir 1855]

Tomislav Silverblade, son of Raomir Silverblade, walked over to the dead Dwarves body as a frown overcame his face. After finding out about his father and how he died, Tomislav also uncovered a letter, left for him by Raomir. Amongst the various items Raomir left for his son, a letter for Dun Irongut was there. Tomislav never opened it as was instructed by his father in his own letter, where he instructed Tomislav to seek out Dun for a better life. Finally, after 2 years of searching he had found him. Dead.

With a great sigh he heaved the corpse up over his powerful shoulder and hauled him out to some fair land. He dug a simple hole and slowly placed the Dwarf inside. As he covered the hole up, he thought what to do with the letter. Dun was dead now after all, as was his father, he might as well open it. When Dun's body was sufficiently buried, Tomislav sat down and opened the letter.

To: Dun Irongut

Many years have passed since we have parted ways. In the years since we've lost contact I have heard various stories of you showing up here and there, but I have been unable to locate you regretfully. I am currently the Marshal of the Waldenian armies and have enjoyed much success in the recent years. But none of it brings me the joy that my work with you brought me once. Perhaps it is old age taking its tole, perhaps I am not what I used to be, or perhaps it is a mixture of both. I doubt I will ever enjoy life as I did once, in my younger days. I feel like I now know why you were always calmer then I. You, being a dwarf most likely had already experienced many exciting things, I however was experiencing them for the first time.

I shan't ever forget that day when we made contact, a trade agreement regarding naturally grown food. I was the leader of the Farmers Guild of Salvus then, and you the Grand Merchant of Urguan. Eventually you convinced me to come to Urguan and farm for them. I did this for a short time, but our path led us away from the Grand Kingdom in the end. We bought land in front of Kingston and began our business, a Brewery. Unfortunately it's name evades me, but I am sure it had something to do with a Lion! We were the perfect match, a shrewd Dwarven Merchant and a skilled Farmer. Alongside selling our goods however, you started a feud with the Blackmonts, or Flays as they were known then. I personally was not opposed to this as I shared hatred for those knaves as well.

As the Teuton - Blackmonts feud reached its high point, we organized the Salvian Militia and left with the Salvus Shields for the Dreadfort. The battle was long and bloody. We fought for many long hours, at times side by side and at times seperated, as it was my first large scale engagement I did not know what to expect. I was young, reckless and inexperienced but I still was able to leave that battle alive.

Our business was doing well, and our under cover war against the Flays even better. Just as we were gaining considerable wealth and considering retirement, disaster struck. The Flays located our Brewery, trashed it and burnt it down. Enraged we left Oren and made way for the Dwarven Kingdom just as the Oren - Dwarf war was beginning. When the humans attacked, we both stood strong at Nation's Crossing and fought until we no longer could. We had to give way as the legions of humans poured across the river and pushed us backwards. After this battle we grew distant. I joined a radical anti-Orenian rebellion while you continued your war against the Blackmonts. We met one last time in Anthos in Kingston before Orcs over ran it. Since then I have not seen you.

I long to see you one last time before my mortality take me. My son will bring this letter to you, and you can find me in Vanderfell, the Waldenian stronghold in the North.

-Raomir 'Armon' Silverblade

Tomislav grunts slightly upon reading the letter, not fully understanding what his father wrote about as many of the terms were beyond his time. With a nod he placed a wooden grave marker over Dun's grave and stabbed the letter onto it. With that he turned and walked off, to make his own memories.

[Lathros 377]

Lathros shouts, raising his fist, tears streaming down his face, 

"LET GOD 'N MAN KNU T'AT DUN WAS EH SAINT W'O LOIFE WAS TAKEN OUT OF GREED BY TEH BRATHMORDAKIN, T'EY SIMPLEH COULD NAE KEEP T'EIR JEALOUSEH BOTTLED EP INSOIDE, SO D'EY 'AD TO TAKE DUN INSTEAD."

[Aengoth 2890]

"'E wos a 'onorable dorf tuu bof' 'is friends an' 'is enemies."

[James 425]

Grungron Irongut mourns the loss of his only brother through the consumption of ale, this one of the many reasons a meeting among his kin has been called upon by himself. He would mutter to himself within the hall, his aged face locked on the flame centered on the meeting table "Looks loike my kin will 'ave tu carry un da loine ov Belin..."

[Publius 4098]

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