Dwarven Wisdom [Updated February 22, 2016]

[Kardel 1054]

Looking through the Library of Dragur, or perhaps even through the repositories of the Remembrancers of Urguan, you would chance upon an old, leather bound book. The visage of the faded writing on the tome's worn vellum shell would suggest that the book was of dwarven nature: the faint hooks and curves of standard dwarven runes are still visible, even though faded. The book seemingly has no author attributed to it, and as you open the cover, the astoundingly well preserved inside amazes you. Fair quillsmanship is apparent, with poems transcribed in both Rune and Common alphabets for facilitated understanding. As you skim through the book, you find a series of attractive poems and short fables that hold your attention.

 

 

 

Stories, Poems, and Hymns of the Dwedmar

 

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~-

 

The Story of Fire, Water, and Honor.

 

Whiles ago, in the long-past days of yore, there met three men, called Fire, Water, and Honor. They had traveled thousands of leagues, and coincidentally, all decided to share the same fire. As is customary, the shared flame evoked conversation, and so the men began to talk. Very quickly, they began to grow fond of each other, sharing their ale and meat in sign of good-will. They conversed with pleasure, wasting the night away without an eye of sleep until the first beam of dawn broke through the clouded sky.

 

As Dungrimm's castle faded from view, and the Forge-Fire of Yemekarr lit the sky with the light of early-morn', the men found themselves ready to depart. As much as they had enjoyed their congregation, they all had duties to perform as all good men do. And so Fire, the boldest of the three, was the first to ask:

 

"Hark, good men! I enjoyed this discourse much, and envy those who call you friends! Where can we meet again? Where can I find you?"

 

And Fire, without wait, answered his own question:

 

"Thou can never lose me! 'Tis simple to locate me! I walk wherever smoke rises into the sky! I sleep wherever ember glows among ashes! Need you me, a flint-piece, iron, and tinder is all you need!"

 

And Water, the second most talkative, answered:

 

"And so I will seek you! Me, I leave a similarly distinct mark! Go wherever the trees grow tall and green, and wherever the rain-clouds gather, and you shall find me!"

 

Honor, the most quiet but the wisest of the three, answered, lamenting:

 

"Oh ye great-men! How I have enjoyed this company thou have provided. But I am afraid we shall never see each other again!"

 

And Fire and Water gasped, looking concerned, and inquired in unison:

 

"Why, friend Honor? Why do you speak such?"

 

And Honor, once again, with sad face quoth:

 

"Friends. I am Honor. Once you lose me, you shall never find me again."

 

-~~~~~-

 

A Poem on Courage

 

Have you lost money? You have lost something.

You must work hard to regain it.

 

Have you lost honor? You have lost much!

You must labor fiercely to set it back in its place

 

Have you no courage? You have lost it all...

Better had you not been born, than suffer a fate so foul as that of cowardice's thrall.

 

-~~~~~~~-

 

Hymn to Grimdugan

 

Merchant's brother - less radiant, less divine

He who does your work labors without a spine

The work of greed, of avarice, of crime

An evil we all share, curse of Urguan's line

 

Thy work is dark, as dull as coal

The qualities you bestow us, we cannot extol

Plague of honesty, of industry, severer of brotherhood

Bane of honor, of fraternity, destroyer of manhood

 

Many a dwarf falls under your spell

Driven to robbery that your black hold compels

By your wish does brother stab brother in heart

Unmaker of families, tearing camaraderie apart

 

O! Lord of Avarice, have mercy on us

Keep your dark words from destroying our people thus

Stay away from well-earned labor and gold

You fiend of fiends, to whom our souls we sold!

 

-~~~~~~~~~~~~~-

 

The Saga of Hjor Hefbjor and Braethwalda the Bad

 

A long time ago, in the days when Urguan still walked among the mortals, when Dwed, Umri, Orkus, and Elger were all one species called Man, there was a great kingdom called Waeldumbra, where all men and maidens were fair and where the King, Braetwulf, ruled kindly and justly. No man was ever framed falsely, and all, even the most heinous of murderers (of which there was few, if any) were given the right to trial as fair and democratic as the great Auction of Khaz'a'dentrumm. 

 

Braetwulf ruled for one thousand and one years, the most just mortal king the world had ever laid its eyes upon, and finally died, content with his life, surrounded by his family in his great keep of Waeldcathta. Men and women alike mourned the death of their gracious ruler, lamenting his passing. For seven days and seven nights they cried, and wept, as was the traditional mourning period. However, fortunately, Belka had blessed the just king with two healthy twin sons: Braethwalda and Hjor.

 

Hjor Hefbjor was a sort of national hero, loved by all alike. While his sword arm was strong, his heart was stronger, for he was a very kind man who never hoarded his wealth. Even though he was Lord of a great hamlet, he never taxed his people and never confiscated their grain. The people adored him, not only because he was kind, but also because he was loyal and smart. Never once did Hjor ever break a promise, even under the most outrageous of circumstances.

 

But alas! Hjor had been born minutes too late! He could never arise to kingship after his father died! So, in his stead, his twin brother and mirror image Braethwalda was crowned as king of Waeldumbra, and took his seat in Waeldcathta. Braethwalda was a clever man, clever in the sense of Grimdugan! His strength and intelligence were formidable, but they were like  the underhanded stab of an assassin and the cleverness of a fox-like politician: the opposite to the graceful and trustworthy disposition of his brother! Braethwalda was initially not exceptionally cruel, but as Lord of his own hamlet, he had been strict: his taxes were high, and his citizens received little respite. He demanded unwavering loyalty without rewarding fidelity with love, and did not hold nearly as high of a place in the eyes and hearts of his countrymen as did his brother Hjor.

 

But Braethwalda's affiliation with the Lord of Avarice proved deleterious. Brathwalda was too easily enchanted by power, and his first decree as King was to raise the taxes and rob the grain of his people. The people did not mind too much, for they justified it as the actions of a strict king: besides, the past harvest had been plentiful, and they had garnered more than enough to eat and plenty to pay. However, Braethwalda's fancy for dominance turned into an obsession. He discharged his Earls and dismissed his nobles, ruling as Dictator of his people. He forced youths to join the levy and began sequestrating the land of his people to build great granite statues of himself. Then the people began to hate him, scorning their ruler in secret, but maintaining their loyalty nonetheless for the sake of late Braetwulf.

 

Hjor, a noble and honest man, was concerned for his people's treatment. Braethwalda was not a good king by any means: he had become a tyrant. But Hjor's loyalty never wavered, for under Dungrimm he was mandated to keep his fidelity as stalwart as the mountains, for honor and loyalty are the chiefest virtues of any man. Yet, the actions of Braethwalda only worsened. After seven years and seven months, Braethwalda, still in want of a queen and too maddened with power, mandated the most vile decree a King may ever order: the right of first night!

 

Braethwalda abducted newly wed brides and took Belka's blessing from them with the highest spite. Men raised secret banners and prepared wicked schemes to depose him forcefully from his throne. The people hated him, but they knew their actions would be futile, for the Army of Waeldumbra was fiercely loyal to the throne. And so, they turned to Hjor Hefbjor for aid, and quoth:

 

"Ye son of Armakak, sword of Dungrimm, justice of Anbella! Save us from fiendish tyranny1 Rid your brother of the throne, for the sake of Yemekarr's slumber! Save us from this inhuman oppression! We beg of you!"

 

And Hjor Hefbjor, touched by his people, was reluctant at first. But his heart was too big, and his passion had too much of a hold on him! And so, Hjor challenged his brother to a duel in anger, and Braethwalda was taken aback. 

 

"How dare ye, image of mine, blood of my veins, color of my eyes, challenge me so dishonorably to a duel? How dare ye violate Armakak's will that I rightfully ascent to the throne? You are a traitor, and no more!"

 

And Hjor, angered by his brother's words, his vision clouded by accursed Khorvad's red hold, attacked Braethwalda! And axe clashed against shield, until Braethwalda was cleaved in the chest, right in the heart, and died, eyes tear-swelled and heart broken, for fraternal love exceeds even the vilest of actions.

 

The people rejoiced! The tyrant was dead! They celebrated Hjor! And indeed, their celebration was not in vain, for Hjor proved to be a king as great as his father, ruling justly and fairly, and expanding his kingdom's dominions accordingly.

 

And after seven hundred years and seven months and seven days of rule, Hjor died, content with his life as his father had been, having all but forgotten his brother Braethwalda. And lo! He ascended, as all souls do, to the halls of Khaz'a'Dentrumm, but instead of fanfares, he was met with shut gates...

 

And Dungrimm's voice boomed forth, a tinge of sadness apparent:

"Hjor Hefbjor, just-king and good-man, the Doors of Khaz'a'Dentrumm are closed to you."

 

And Hjor gasped, clawing at his face:

"Why, O! Decider of fate? Why close these doors to me when I have been so just and good-hearted? Why deny me those luxurious halls in which men hunt all-day and feast all-night - the tender touch of the Valkyries of Anbella - the happy reunion to fathers and brothers long past?"

 

And Dungrimm quoth, in dooming tone:

"No matter how grand, great, or marvellous a man be

No matter how many peasants and kinsmen he made happy

If a man kills his brother, an act most unjust

May he forever be damned, his achievements - dust"

 

And so the gates of the Nether opened, the voice of Khorvad booming forth, and Hjor Hefbjor, Lord of Lords, King of Justice, Man of the People, was damned to suffer three eternities in Hell.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Myth of Ograhad

 

O people! Ye people! Come hear of the great deeds of divine Ograhad! Giver of fire! Gifter of knowledge! Lord of conscience!

 

Yemekarr forged many a creation in his forge-fire in the sun above. He forged the earth, sky, the sea, and the stars. And last he forged consciousness: from his own eternal soul he brought forth first wise Anbella to work the bellows, then iron Dungrimm to mold his steel! And then Belka, Armakak, and Grimdugan. 

 

Yemekarr looked upon the Brathmordakin, but fie! What outrage! Stone had more brains than those figures had mind! And Yemekarr felt his head ache - oh! What creatures had he created?

 

And so great was Yemekarr's ache that his skull burst open! And, lo! Ograhad out came, genial as his creator. And this quoth Yemekarr:

 

"Ay, thou single sentient one! Bless thy brothers with your intellectual grace! A migrane so great is upon my head: I am in no mood to devise consequence for these empty-shelves!"

 

And so Ograhad reached into the sun and out pulled an ember, and held it high. And the darkness covering the world receded! Out of the senseless savagery of the Brathmordakin, sentient beings emerged.

 

"Lo, father and creator! What were once empty I filled with great knowledge!"

 

And Yemekarr, tired as he was, sighed relief "Bless ye creation. I had too little energy left in me! You have done me a great service!"

 

But Yemekarr continued "Alas! More work is to be done, for I feel a great sleep coming to me." And Yemekarr yawned, and rubbed at his eye. "We must finish this labor quickly, lest it never be done."

 

And thus Yemekarr took the last of his forge metal and the last of his material and made four great creations: one lithe but clever, one strong but weak-willed, the other stalwart and crafty but short-lived, and finally, crafted a being that was the balance of them all.

 

And the final labor had been so tiring, that Yemekarr fell into a deep slumber by his forge!

 

Dungrimm mounted his silver steed and rode down from Khaz'A'dentrumm to the world below, and laid the four creations in four corners of the world. And Anbella into them breathed life. But alas! Once they awoke they were more dumb than the Brathmordakin before Ograhad, and with few natural adaptations to compete with other, more tough creations: they were almost slaughtered by the Wolf and Bear!

 

Ograhad was horrified. The other Brathmordakin laughed! For they thought the creatures were purposely dumb, meant as divine entertainment by their creator. But Ograhad knew better: Yemekarr had not had time or energy to attribute base knowledge to the pathetic creatures, and had left them defenseless!

 

And so Ograhad gripped another ember from the sun and rode down to the earth once more, and illuminated that dark place with the tongues of the ember's flame, logic and compassion. And he went to each of Yemekarr's ultimate creations and gifted them this knowledge, appearing as a great flash of light. And lo! The dumb creatures then made traps with their logic and unified into bands and families with their compassion in order to better survive, as Yemekarr had intended. 

 

But while riding back to Khaz'a'Dentrumm across the cloudless skies, Ograhad had great difficulty holding the ember, for it was scorching his hand! Yet, Ograhad knew that he could never allow the ember to fall: for the substance of the ember contained power that had been bestowed upon the Brathmordakin alone, never meant for mortality!

 

And so Ograhad said "Oh! Oh! Oh! I cannot let this whole ember fall, lest I do great damage, for knowledge can be sweeter than honey or as acrid as poison! But will it do any harm if I let just one piece fall?"

 

And so Ograhad loosened one piece, and let it fall to the mortals, granting them language, meant for the Brathmordakin alone.

 

Yet still he quoth "Oh! Oh! But this is still too hot for me! Perhaps I shall need to loose another piece!"

 

And so another piece was loosed, and fell to earth from the sky, as Ograhad traveled to his heavenly palace. And thus the mortals gained magic, meant for the Brathmordakin alone.

 

Alas! Once more Ograhad said "Oh! How it scorches my skin! Another piece will surely do no more harm, since two have fallen prior already!"

 

And yet again paining Ograhad dismantled another piece from the ember, and thus Runesmithing fell into the world, in a far corner of that realm, yet meant for the Brathmordakin alone.

 

Before he realized, Ograhad had loosed most of the substance from that heavenly stone save one piece: the power to create one thing perfectly and the secret to immortality.

 

And when he arrived at Khaz'A'Dentrumm, Dungrimm spoke "Brother! What has thou done? The erudite flame has all but fallen in the hands of the lesser! What will the first one say when he is awoken?"

 

Ograhad panicked "He shall be as furious as the conflagration in the sun! Oh! What have I done!"

 

And Anbella screamed "We shall all be dead once he wakes! Fie, brother! Thou hast doomed us!"

 

Yet Armakak spoke in collected manner "What is done is finished! Lament not! At least he has not dropped the most important part of the ember to the mortals! They shall be kin to us in intellect, but never in ability for creation and dominance of time and life!"

 

And so the Brathmordakin calmed, seeing the good in the situation. 

 

But in the earth, clamor arose! For the two chief pieces of the first two embers had fragmented into fours and landed upon the camps of the four creations. And thus, mortality gained language and magic.

 

And so the first cities rose, and the first cultures emerged, for language attributed better cohesion to those disorganized bands of yore. And with magic the ancient peoples built great structures still standing today.

 

Yet, the third ember did not fragment, and landed far, far away, and lodged itself deep into the ground.

 

And all but one race of mortals never noticed that third piece, for it was hidden deep in the hard earth, and most peoples did not often venture into the earth, save one!

 

The industrious Dwedmar, while traversing their carved tunnels and cavernous cities came upon the piece, and much to the distress of the Brathmordakin, Runesmithing was attained by the Dwedmar.

 

And thus was knowledge into the world brought, and therefore the Dwarves discovered runesmithing and Ograhad acted as the conduit of intellect to the earth.  

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

You grow tired of reading the poems, and close the book, setting it back into its place. Perhaps you should want to come back and read more another time!

 

 

Spoiler

Just a little thing I'm doing. Dwarven culture has really suffered a blow recently, and I will try to add some fun little stories to beef up the lore here and there. More will be added in the future. Suggestions are welcome. Feel free to write your own! I can edit them in. 

 

 

[Crowbill 493]

As Hellio reads these glorious culture gems, her remembers the time when he used to write songs and stories that made people happy and confident. And drunk, if there was a tavern nearby if course. The times before the war... "Huh, t's been a long time..." he murmurs as he considers going back to making a song or two...

[Cpt_Noobman 1954]

Fili finishes reading the few stories amongst the Remembrancer's library. He closes the cover, and gently places the tome back into it's place. With a sad smile, he departs for the medical bay to continue helping the wounded

[Kardel 1054]

A Remembracer finishes translating a runic portion of the original into common for all to enjoy. Copies of this additional saga are sent to the Library of Dragur and the Remembrancer Repository. Part one of the Saga of Waeldumbra: the Saga of Hjor Hefbjor and Braethwalda the Bad has been translated ((Thread update!)).

[Hiebe 2493]

Dwain supports

[Kardel 1054]

A Myth is translated to common and added to the Codex, shipped to the Remembrancers and the Library of Dragur. The Myth of Ograhad has been added.

 

Can an FM please pin this?

[Aengoth 2890]

Aengoth mutters to himself as he reads through it "Well I mus' be 'ot s'oite t'en."