An Old Story - The Beginning

[Josh3738 3137]

The air was damp in the cavern again as the gentle morning rain soaked the valley outside. As good a time as any, the old dwarf took paper and pen from the chest and slid into his worn out old chair by the window overlooking the city.

 

 

It is with a heavy heart and clear memory that I commit this tale to paper. For some time I contemplated the worth of penning out these old stories but it was only this morning, 7th of the First Seed, 1533, that I have finally decided on my course of action. I guess, as is the case in all stories, that it is best to start at the beginning.

 

Elysium - The Beginning

    I came to to join the descendants during their respite on the islands of Elysium and Kalos. Following the eruption of the volcano I had made my home in the mountain halls, offering my services to the legion under the command of those history now speaks of in hushed and revered tones. It was under the command of Thorin Grandaxe that I became a Legion Grunt and slowly began to climb through the ranks. Day in and day out I stood at my post on the gate, even when the mountain exploded and flooded the town below with the spawn of Khorvad. I can still remember the questions I needed to ask all who desired entry. I was very, very good at my job.

 

 

I remember the siege of some orc fortress… Knowing little of the political situation at the time, I followed the orders of my commanders unquestioningly as we marched to the Kha stronghold. It was there that we assembled and that we organized our siege weaponry. For two stone hours we pelted their fortress with boulders and on two fronts. As we slowly moved up from one barricade to the next we managed to reach the base of the walls with minimal casualties. Once we laddered in it was a simple systematic action to cleanse the fort of the “Carpets”. It was only after, while cleaning the blood of a slain orc that I realized the danger I had been in, yet I recognized the need for such danger. The need to defend our race…

 

 

I can still remember those days. Days of bravery and duty where we might look to our brother descendants and stand united against the tide of oppression and misery that Khorvad might impart on us. How could we have known? How could we predict our fates? When did we begin to think that we were fit masters for our brothers?

 

The coughing once more pulls him out of the depths of his memories and forces him to return to bed, the plague having tired him too much to continue. He sends what he has written so far to the Remembrancer, Grungrom Irongut, as promised with a small note attached.

 

"Here are your war stories. The start of them anyway. -Zahrer"

 

 

[James 425]

Grungron Irongut would receive this letter and quickly begin to scribe down copies for the Dwarven library, he would respond with a letter of thanks to Zahrer for his continued efforts to help the library even while sickly

[James 425]

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