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Chapter 1
For many within the town of Skelt, it was a day like any other. People there had their own fears and concerns and worries - would they be prepared for the winter? Would this be the day that Molthune tried once again to annex them by force?
These fears existed even for Imperia Wardroxan-Grayblade, though she might deny it if asked. Her concerns dealt more with the now, and now, as the sun rose, she sat hunched over her workbench, tinkering with her latest project.
In other parts of the town, different fears thrived. The fear of unrequited love in a young human girl, the fear of inadequacy in an Elven man. And in two separate ends of the city, a fear spoke about the end of the Dwarven people.
Kurth Silvermug had arrived in town late the night before, and had spent the morning searching for a temple to pray in - only to find that there were none dedicated to Torag. While Skelt only boasted a population of just over 5,000 people, its proximity to an entrance of the Underdark meant that many Dwarven families had felt there. More than 1,500 of its citizens were Dwarf-born, and yet they seemed hardly to mind that their culture was being stripped away, forgotten to the sands of time.
Potentially of larger concern was that of the Dwarven people's population numbers, which were also in steady decline. Old Boreyn Steelhymn read and reread his book, ingraining the names in his mind, and hoping to find some Dwarves descended from those adventurers, who might have the courage to make one last run at reclaiming Dammerhall. It had been quite some time before Boreyn had added any names to the book, and yet there were so many hundreds of entries that had come before. It was as though they had simply stopped trying.
Meanwhile, several hours outside of the city, Baird Ironhame and Talas Arduinn were taking down their camp and preparing for another day of travel. The town of Skelt loomed in the distance, and there was both excitement and worry in the air. This was the day when Baird's plan would cease being merely a dream.
Borey walks across the town streets of Skelt and murmuring to himself as he flips through the pages of his book.
"Aram Groraxe, no he's been said has died of old age half a year ago." He makes a note of him dying of old age then scrolls with his finger down the list again.
"No, no, no, living at Janderhoff, no, died recently, no, no, Grayblade?" He thinks shortly to himself than mutters away. "There's a Grayblade living here in Skelt if memory serves me right, better ask around. Perhaps I should adjust the place of residence."
He walks around murmuring to himself some more as he comes to a few names he has already tried to contact before.
"Ogon Halfhammer, he was mighty, but he hasn't responded; most likely a no. Yurin Olflint, a fine dwarf when I saw him, but that must've been a century ago, hope his descendants are as eager to try as he was. Ironhame? Haven't heard from him either, well there was a letter of acknowledgement, but I don't think he's coming, he's even older than I am."
Now let's see if someone knows the Grayblade residence.
He walks up to a close group of dwarves and asks in his sincerest elderly voice.
"Excuse me, do you know where I could find the Grayblade residence?"
Most of the younger dwarves have heard stories about the Ol' Steelhymn, perhaps even heard him sing, but most don't recognize him from just his appearance.
Birds singing, sunrise, fresh air and not the confines of a library... Talas stretches gingerly, hands at the small of his back and a bit of a wince on his face. His own private pep-talk to himself not withstanding, he's really missing his nice bed back home, and things like a comfortable tea that isn't brewed in a dented tin pot over open flame...
Ah, well. This is, he supposes, what he wanted.
Best not to let on to young Baird his own aches and pains-- have to set a good example and so forth! So Talas puts a smile on his face before he turns to the young Ironhame.
"I should think we'll make the town today, gods willing. Ready for the last few miles, Baird?" he asks in the Dwarven tongue-- it's good for the both of them to keep in practice with it, and there's few enough other people who speak it.
He rolls up his blanket and ties it off to his pack once more. He packed simply... and lightly... and sort of wishes he'd packed several more blankets. Enough to layer on the ground so that he doesn't feel every rock and root. Alas, hindsight.
His rapier is at his side, but he walks with a carved cane-- a bit of his father's woodworking. And if he needs to lean on it a bit more than he likes at some points-- if his breath comes a bit thin after several hours walking-- well, hopefully, Baird doesn't notice.
Baird had been up early, and with disgusting vim and vigor he'd seen about the camp duties - not the ones Talas thought of as his own, of course; Baird had too much respect for him for that. But most of the packing and the fire and the food, among other minor things, Baird had seen to with the determination of... well, of a dwarf given a task.
Now he waited patiently, smoking a pipe as Talas took care of his own gear. "If I was born for anything, I was born ready for this," he answered in the same tongue with a fierce grin. "I can feel it, Master Talas. This time, I'll get below!" His grin faltered, and he examined his pipe, no longer meeting Talas' eyes. "Though it won't be by name... not at first. But the time for it will come, in time. I'm sure."
As they began to walk, Baird brooded a bit, his ears still a guilty red. But soon enough the cheery morning and the excitement of their impending adventure raised his spirits again. "Let's get some supplies before finding old Steelhymn," he finally said, glancing at Talas' rolled-up blanket. "Can't have you waking up stiff in the Underdark! Why, you're hardly walking any faster than me!" he added teasingly.
There was a lot to be said for having a strong and energetic young dwarf around to do the heavy lifting. Talas put up a token resistance here and there but let Baird do those tasks he'd thrown himself at.
Talas listened to Baird's confident declaration of success with an indulgent smile-- secretly, he was excited himself, it was contagious, but he must look dignified about all this, he supposed.
"Ah. Yes," he said with a sympathetic throat clearing to the issue of Baird's family name. "And have you decided on the name you'll be traveling under? I should hate to erroneously introduce you."
As they set out, the morning sun's warmth started to ease some of his aches, and Talas favored Baird's teasing with an arched brow. "I assure you, I'm merely pacing myself to your short legs, you impudent boy!" he retorted in light-hearted kind.
"I hope Steelhymn is well-- I barely remember him as a boy, truth to tell, but goodness, he would be quite the respected elder at this point..." Talas mused as the town of Skelt appeared on the horizon.
"Ah. Yes," he said with a sympathetic throat clearing to the issue of Baird's family name. "And have you decided on the name you'll be traveling under? I should hate to erroneously introduce you."
"I'll not lie," Baird insisted, scuffing the ground with a steel-toed boot. "It wouldn't be dwarfish. I'll just be Baird, for now. Like one of those who's forgotten our ways in favor of being a human." It was painful for him to say, and he tried to reassure himself of the necessity of it. "May well be they don't even ask," he added with wan hope.
Still not meeting Talas' eyes, he continued, "Just don't tell 'em I've come from Kyonin with you. Aren't many dwarves there! I just owe you a favor, is why we're traveling together. That's true enough - without you, I'd never even have known there was a call for dwarves out!" He tapped out his pipe with unneccesary force, though he was still careful not to break it. Destroying things wasn't dwarfish.
Talas knew he wasn't the focus of Baird's ire. The dwarves made no secret of their shunning of the Ironhames, who had fled to the elves rather than choose sides during the civil war. It was as though all the contempt for being undwarfish that had been piled on the Ironhames had resulted in the birth of a dwarf determined to be an absolute paragon of dwarfishness. Baird had been vocal in his regret at not having the funds for a traditional dorn-dergar to add to his arsenal, which was already nearing the point of dwarf camoflage overload. "I don't want anyone to mistake just what family reclaimed Dammerhall," he had told Talas, the unspoken words being, a family of very respectably dwarfish dwarves.
***
"I hope Steelhymn is well-- I barely remember him as a boy, truth to tell, but goodness, he would be quite the respected elder at this point..." Talas mused as the town of Skelt appeared on the horizon.
Baird fidgeted a little out of nervousness before catching himself doing it. "I hope he lives up to my expectations!" he said with bravado. "I've heard a lot about him!" Mainly by eavesdropping on other dwarves in the cities I've visited, before they noticed me, but still. "Do you think he still has the book?"
The dwarf wondered if any of the Ironhames' aborted expeditions were mentioned in Steelhymn's fabled book, The Dour Dwarves of Dammerhall. Hopefully not.
Kurth scowled as he exited the temple of Abadar. There had been far too many dwarves there worshipping the Master of the First Vault. Too many of his brethren were losing their ways.
He had a sudden urge to put his fist through a wall.
Of course that wasn't what had really been bothering him. He had hoped that more of his brothers and sisters and cousins would heed Master Steelhymn's call this time. But none of them did. They had forgotten themselves. Forgotten their home. It was a sad thing, and it made him angry.
He had hoped to find a temple, or an alter at least to Torag. But so far nothing. He walked for a while, and found a smithy. He sighed.
"Well, hops and water ain't beer. Best take what I can get."
He walked up to the smithy and asked if he could pray by the man's anvil.
Talas nodded thoughtfully to the words of 'Just Baird'-- so be it. To Talas there had never been any shame in that the Ironhames had sought refuge among the elves. The reaction of the dwarven community to what was, to Talas, a very sensible action, had long bemused Talas, and he had written that off as one of the things he might never understand, aficionado and scholar of dwarven culture though he might be.
But he's more than willing to respect Baird's wishes in the matter. No mention of Baird coming from Kyonin: so be that, as well. How difficult, he thinks, to feel the need to constantly prove one's self to one's own people... to prove one's self as a member of one's own people... Talas sympathizes with young Ironhame's plight, but does not empathize with it, for how could he?
When the conversation turns later to Steelhymn, Talas smiles faintly. "I could not tell you whether or not he lives up to his reputation. He was but a child when I knew him, after all; mostly I recollect that he was always singing. I wish I could remember more of those songs-- the style of dwarven music is utterly foreign to my people, yet it would be a great loss indeed if they were to vanish entirely from the world. I have tried to write down my own recollections... perhaps Steelhymn might consent to my scribing of lyrics...
"Oh, the book? Well! Your people never let go of anything if it can be helped," the elf chuckles. "I imagine he sleeps with it held tight at night. There, now, I see the town walls; let us pick up our pace and hopefully we shall soon find the man himself, to ask these questions directly."
Though he would relish the chance to rest his legs, Talas walks forward a bit more determinedly. The sooner they get there, the sooner they find Steelhymn (and the sooner he can find a seat, somewhere cool, and perhaps wine or water....)
The group of young dwarves was pretty helpful, still having a healthy respect for the elder and wiser dwarves. That made him glad deep inside.
Though they had asked him who he was, cause they had seen he was from out of town.
"I'm an old friend of the Grayblade family. I've just come for a visit long overdue."
he walked through the streets as he was instructed to go, passing shops temples, residences of other dwarves and humans alike. He recognized most of the temples were to human gods, Abadar for one, Erastil and Desna were also present. Torag was suspiciously absent he noticed.
"We've got one major dwarven god and he doesn't get worshipped by us? The younger dwarves need to be reminded of our glory days, have a reason to be proud of being a dwarf. Be it Torag or Brygga that rules in Dammerhall it does not matter, as long as we reclaim it, we will have a future worth singing about." He mutters to himself as he walks through the streets.
He leafs through his quite thick little book and recalls many of the fine dwarves he has known, also the ones that were not named in there. The ones that were eager to go, but were unable to. He met several dwarves in his lifetime that talked with him about reclaiming Dammerhall, but they were either too old, injured or otherwise engaged.
He walked past a small forge and smithy, still a dwarf at work there practising the arts that made dwarves famous across the lands; the mining and crafting of fine metal items. Amongst the many songs taught to his ancient order of 'Ore Chanters' there were more than a hundred songs dedicated to the minig of different ores and the forging of the blades and shields that they were used for. Copper, Bronze, Iron and Steel, Mithril...
His thoughts dwindled back to those songs, the songs about Mithril were the most beautiful to his ears, they always had a more impressive ring to it than any other song. Deeper and warmer as if the sound of hammers beating on mithril in the forge was the dwarves greatest achievement. which could be very true indeed. 'Eitri and the Silver Hammer' was his favourite, it told the story of the greatest smith the dwarves in Dammerhall ever knew: Eitri, who forged the first Mithril forgehammer, light enough to wield, but enchanted so the impact on the metal was as hard and heavy as deep steel.
Boreyn sighed and suddenly was aware that he was day-dreaming in the street, he looked again at the smithy and saw a young dwarf kneeling down close to the anvil and smiled. Seems Torag's followers haven't left this place yet. Good.
With that he smiled and picked up his pace, walking off towards the Grayblade residence, it wasn't very far anymore.
Imperia peers down at the dry bottom of the elaborately decorated stein- which had blasphemously been filled with coffee, not ale- and sighs. Her eyes are dry and gritty and her lower back hurts- discomforts as familiar as old friends, the results of another night spent at the bench instead of in her bed.
Her stomach rumbles and she suddenly notices the smell of food cutting through the everpresent smells of oil, wood, and heated metal, reminding her that it's time for breakfast as well. One good thing about still living at home with her parents was that she never went hungry.
The young dwarf stands and stretches, massaging her back as walks into the main house. "Mom! What's for breakfast!?"
Kurth finished his morning prayers and thanked the old dwarf smithy for his indulgence.
"Knew a Silvermug once by the name of Droski. Kin of yours?"
Kurth smiled and nodded.
"Aye. Was me second cousin. Brave man."
The smith nodded. "Shame though. He was one of them went up to Dammerhall. Never heard from him again. Foolish boy," he said with a sigh.
The smithy then noticed the look on Kurth’s face and winced. "My pardon, of course. Don't mean to speak ill of the dead. It's just, he was such a good lad with a bright future ahead of him. And he just threw it all away on some silly treasure hunt. He should have left that type of foolishness to the Pathfinders."
Kurth did his best to keep a civil tongue as he left the smithy.
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Kurth hears the Smith muttering as he walks away. "Damned fool kids. Ought to grow up."
As Boreyn approaches the Greyblade residence, his heart feels heavy to see the ways in which Dwarves were living. Many of them were simply shorter, stockier humans. Everything that made them special seemed lost. To Boreyn, it looked so clearly wrong, like a drow trying to blend in with elves.
Inside, Imperia is treated to a breakfast of ham and eggs by her mother, who first demands that Imperia wash up, and then spends the entire time muttering that her daughter was never going to find a nice boy if she spent all her time in that dark workshop. "And don't slouch, you'll get hunched."
Stopping in the middle of her own train of thought, Imperia's mother narrows her eyes and opens the door to the house. While Imperia cannot see what's out there, her mother's behaviour strikes her as somewhat odd.
Before Boreyn can give any kind of greeting to the old dwarven woman, she glares to let him know that it wouldn't be welcome. "What do you want?"
Meanwhile, the sight of Talas and Baird entering the town together drew no real attention from anyone. While there were circles in which a dwarf and elf traveling might raise eyebrows, Skelt was a place that attracted a lot of travelers. "G'morning!" a human passerby said brightly as she rolled her cart towards the market.
Boreyn only just withdrew his hand from the door after he knocked and the door flew open. His greeting stuck in his throat as he was immediately been judged as a rabble-rouser by the Grayblade woman.
"I didn't know I had a bad reputation but it seems to have preceded me nonetheless. I'm guessing you know who I am?"
He continues as he still has his black journal in his hands, unhidden for her eyes. His voice starts deep and echoing, but begins to clear later as he notices the hostile attitude of the woman.
"I was wondering if I could talk to you or your husband about something important. A great opportunity you could say. I know there was a Grayblade once who had great skill with devices, Baylok the Pick-Lock? Alas I don't know his whereabouts or what has become of him, therefore I thought to ask his kin about it. Perhaps his kin have also inherited the same great skills he had? If I'm coming at a bad time my lady, I could come back, I'd hate to intrude."
He looks hopeful to the old woman and tries to sound civilized and polite. He at least wants to get her talking.
Bickering with her mother was as much background noise as anything else, and Imperia tried to let the comments wash over her without riling her up. Her mom's response to the stranger got her attention, though. Anybody who got that kind of reaction from her mother was someone that Imperia wanted to meet.
Kurth swallows a retort
You got to respect your elders. Even if they are a bunch of idiots, he thought.
He set off to see if anyone had spotted Master Boreyn.
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"Good morning," Talas said politely to the human woman. Despite his generally low-ish view of the species as a whole (it wasn't their fault: any species with such a short life-spam would inevitably pick up some bad habits in their rush to make their blink-of-an-eye lifetimes somehow... relevant; thus, their penchant for waging wars, material greed, callous ignorance and lack of consideration for other races...) ...that was no reason to be discourteous to a single member who could not, of course, help her own heritage anymore than a beech could help being a beech.
"Beautiful day, is it not, madam? I am new to this community of 'Skelt'-- might I trouble you for a few questions?"
"Is there any part of town that could be called the 'dwarven' section? My young friend here is looking for some of his friends, and we are going to have to ask around in lieu of having solid addresses-- ideally we would ask around in sections of town most likely to host such individuals..."
Baird wore the pained expression of one who under no circumstances thought it necessary to ask for directions, especially from a non-dwarf. It might reflect badly on dwarves, not knowing where they were! He refrained from grumbling that they would have found the place on their own, but only just.
All the same, he managed to nod politely to the woman, who couldn't help not being a dwarf, after all. "I'm looking for a dwarf called Boreyn Steelhymn, if you know the name," he added.
Novenia Wardroxan glares openly at Boreyn. "You are not welcome, Steelhymn. My husband and I have a good life here. I won't have you filling his head with forgotten worlds and fantasies. Do not come back." She slams the door, turning to Imperia. "Do not tell your father that that old man was here."
Meanwhile, Kurth has no trouble finding some of the same people that Boreyn had already talked to, and finds that the man is on his way to the Grayblade residence. Kurth arrives in time to see the door slam, and catch the tail end of the shouting ("Do not come back").
At Baird's question, the human woman simply shakes her head, but Talas's gave her more pause, as though it was a bizarre question. "I'm afraid not, sir. Here in Skelt, human and dwarf live side-by-side."
"Still, there's an older Dwarf here named Drogic who might be of help to you? He lives just up the road there."
Talas inclines his head politely for the answer, even if inwardly he's going Yes, of course they do-- once they've learned the human tongue, and human dress, and human crafts and coinage and governance...
'Tis not her fault, though. He offers the woman a smile, and turns to Baird. (He is oblivious to Baird's concerns about it being so essentially undwarvish to ask for directions.) "Well, shall we go look for this Drogic?"
Kurth sighed.
"A lot of that going around, Master Boreyn. The dwarves here have forgotten themselves."
When Boreyn turns around he smiles at him, and bows deeply, the way one does to their elders.
"You might not remember me. I'm Kurth Silvermug. My great grandfather was Dhorin Silvermug. When I last saw you my beard was little more than stubble. But I'm of age now. And I've come to answer your call. I've come to help you take back Dammerhall."
Boreyn catches the last words Novenia Warodroxan says as the door slammed in his face.
"I am a , a man!" He shouts with more anger in his voice at Novenia. "You should do well to remember that yourselves!"
Boreyn shakes his head in anger and turns around, seeing the same dwarf he saw praying at the smithy earlier.
"It does me good to see at least one dwarf living here that still knows how to be a dwarf. Most of them have forgotten their own kin's ways."
Boreyn grumbles a bit as he walks away from the Grayblade residence and to Kurth.
"Dhorin Silvermug eh? I remember the stories about him, I've even talked to your grandfather about him and shared stories. Forgive me for not recognizing you Kurth, but these eyes are old and don't recognize grown-up dwarves I've seen last as a child. I'm sorry to say next to none of the other families I've contacted have deemed this expedtion worthy of presence or response. I'm glad you came nonetheless.
Imperia nods at her mother and finishes sopping up the remaining juices with a hunk of bread. With what she hopes is a nonchalant stretch, she stands. "Okay. I need to get some supplies for the shop. I'll be back by lunch."
Quickly out on the street, she stands on her tiptoes to catch sight of the old dwarf stomping away and runs after him. She catches up to him and another dwarf, a little out of breath after her sprint. "Hey. Steelhelm. You're looking for my grandpa. What did you want with him?"
Boreyn looks up as suddenly a red-headed dwarf approaches him and Kurth.
"It's Steelhymn girl. Your grandfather was Baylok 'Pick-Lock' Grayblade was he not? In days gone by he and a few others ventured into the caverns of our race to seek the restoration of Dammerhall, an ancient dwarven city that was lost to our kin over two-hundred years ago."
He looks at the young dwarf with beady eyes and interest.
"Don't tell me this is a new tale for you, else the dwarves have become a real shadow of their former selves. In any way I have discovered a better way to get to the old city, but now I'm searching for dwarves who haven't given up hope yet. That's why I'm searching for dwarves that have tried before and their family, in hopes that the pride of the dwarves still runs in their families."
Boreyn gestures towards Kurth with one arm.
"This young dwarf here, Kurth Silvermug, is one of the few dwarves that still cares and I'm glad that he does. Your mother and family seem less enthusiastic about my idea and a new expedition. Guess that runs in families of dwarves living in human communities, they just become shorter stockier humans instead of dwarves."
"Couldn't even find a proper shrine to Torag, in this town. It's a shame, is what it is," Kurth added.
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Baird frowned a little at this Drogic being named without his family name - but then, he could hardly complain about it now, could he? A little sheepishly, he thanked the woman and bade her have a good day.
"Well, shall we go look for this Drogic?"
At this, Baird broke into a grin, resettling the straps of his pack. "I'm already down the street ahead of you, Master Talas! Maybe we can pick up that bedroll for you on the way, eh?" With that he trundled off, in high spirits again.
Boreyn looks up as suddenly a red-headed dwarf approaches him and Kurth.
"It's Steelhymn girl. Your grandfather was Baylok 'Pick-Lock' Grayblade was he not? In days gone by he and a few others ventured into the caverns of our race to seek the restoration of Dammerhall, an ancient dwarven city that was lost to our kin over two-hundred years ago."
Imperia nods. "Yeah, grandpa was a lock pick back in the old days. He talked about Dammerhall, I think, but it was just another adventure. He's got dozens of stories about the old days."
He looks at the young dwarf with beady eyes and interest.
"Don't tell me this is a new tale for you, else the dwarves have become a real shadow of their former selves. In any way I have discovered a better way to get to the old city, but now I'm searching for dwarves who haven't given up hope yet. That's why I'm searching for dwarves that have tried before and their family, in hopes that the pride of the dwarves still runs in their families."
The young dwarven woman shrugs. "I don't see why we'd go looking for an old city when we've got a new one right here."
Boreyn gestures towards Kurth with one arm.
"This young dwarf here, Kurth Silvermug, is one of the few dwarves that still cares and I'm glad that he does. Your mother and family seem less enthusiastic about my idea and a new expedition. Guess that runs in families of dwarves living in human communities, they just become shorter stockier humans instead of dwarves."
Imperia gives Kurth a skeptical, sidelong glance. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Humans are industrious and inventive. Short lives means they've got to burn the candle at both ends." She arches an eyebrow at Boreyn. "They don't obsess over things that happened a couple hundred years ago. They move on and build new things."
"See there's the wrong mindset of the dwarven youth of nowadays. Thinking humans are the industrious folk, which they are not compared to old dwarven craftsmanship and technology that's lost to most of us nowadays. Humans may work hard because they are short-lived aye, but not all humans are like that. Most of the human smiths and craftsmen nowadays don't innovate or master their own craft."
Boreyn sighs and looks to Imperia with a raised eyebrow.
"You should've seen the marvels and wonders of Dammerhall in their glory days. Master smiths, engineers that raised whole ceilings, architects who created entire pantheons to Torag and Brygga, the bridges that connected Dammerhall to the surface world. The perfect acoustics ringing in the Stone Halls were among the best in the world, all to dwarven engineering mind you. Tell me, how many dwarven engineers have you seen that have built repeating ballistas? How many smiths that forged the perfect blade or hammer? How about mithril suits of battle armour? None I tell you, though that mithril suit was only one dwarf before my time, but he was a Dammerhall dwarf mind you."
"Aye, humans can be a good lot. And they took us in as kin, when we needed. And I've met more than a few who offered their prayers to the Forgefather."
" When Dammerhall fell, we didn't just lose a home. We lost a piece of our heritage - our souls. And we owe it to our brethren to get it back."
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Mention of ancient dwarven engineering got Imperia's attention in a way a call to her sense of racial pride did not. "A repeating ballista? Raising an entire roof at once? That sounds interesting." There was a twinkle in her eye. "Do you think any of that stuff is still around down there? I'd love to see some of that stuff."
"I, uh, am good with traps and such. I'm not my grand-dad, but I'm good with mechanisms. And I've got a suit of armor that you might like to see. It's not mithril, but it's a piece of work. If you think you maybe could use me."
"Aye, it's quite possible there still are reports, books and blueprints to be found there among the ruins. They might be well hidden though, over 200 years have past since I've last been there. I think there might be even a hidden forge in the deeper parts and tunnels, the forge used by Eitri the Silverhand. His forge was mentioned but never found at least to what I know."
...Baird broke into a grin, resettling the straps of his pack. "I'm already down the street ahead of you, Master Talas! Maybe we can pick up that bedroll for you on the way, eh?" With that he trundled off, in high spirits again.
"Insolent boy!" said Talas, for the sake of saying it, but he was smiling as he followed Baird. He had a good feeling about this-- the bright morning, the promise of doing something that was worth the doing and not merely dwelling in a dusty library the rest of his days... and of getting to help a noble cause in the process. Assisting the dwarven people back to their rightful place!
He strode after Baird at a more leisurely pace, though his longer legs kept the gap from growing at all.
"Aye, it's quite possible there still are reports, books and blueprints to be found there among the ruins. They might be well hidden though, over 200 years have past since I've last been there. I think there might be even a hidden forge in the deeper parts and tunnels, the forge used by Eitri the Silverhand. His forge was mentioned but never found at least to what I know."
Imperia smiles. "I definitely want to go with you, then. You're sure you can get us there, old timer? No offense, but I know grandpa's trekking days are over. Maybe you could just draw some of us younger folks a map and we could go for you."
"Absolutely not! I could draw you a map and give directions aye, but I will not sit still and let others do this for me. Too many have done that before me and I want to see Dammerhall again, even with my last breath, with my own eyes before I die. Though I'm old, I'm a fair bit younger than your grandpa lass, my fire is is still burning brightly."
He looks to Kurth, then to Imperia.
"I will agree I need the youthfullness of dwarves like you to help me out, but you'll need my knowledge and wisdom as well if you want to succeed."
He says with a stern gaze in his eyes.
"I assure you that he's meaner and stronger than he looks," Kurth adds playfully.
Imperia chuckles at Kurth's comment. "Apparently so."
She holds up her hands placatingly, though the expression on her face is closer to insolence than contrition. "Calm down, Steelhelm. We don't want your heart going before we even start. It was just a question. I guess you've got enough fire left in your forge for this excursion. So, how many people have you got signed up already?"
"It's Steelhymn lass, Boreyn Steelhymn. I'm afraid I haven't had much other dwarves sign in yet, most of them are tired of the possibility of retaking Dammerhall. Even when I've discovered a new way, one that the earlier groups haven't tried before."
Boreyn scracthes his head and furrows his brow.
"It may be that others have arrived into the city to help us out, I've been rather busy contacting dwarven families inside Skelt for the better half of three days already. I've got a room at the inn, where I told people I'd be eventually if they'd wish to hear me out. As of yet, Kurth is the only one to heed my call and now you. Perhaps it might be best to check on the innkeeper again, see if anyone arrived for me."
"Steelhymn? Like a prayer? Are you a priest or something?" She nods at the old dwarf. "Let's go check with the innkeeper to see if anybody's come looking for you."
"Not at all like a prayer, I'm a story-singer. I was trained to sing with my brothers in the Stone halls of Dammerhall, songs about our history, about our achievements. Since my parents died a long time ago, I was dubbed Steelhymn as I was the last of these story-singers and that name stuck ever since. I think most would call me a scholar, historian or a bard, perhaps I'm all three come to think of it." Boreyn tells Imperia and Kurth as they go their way towards the inn.
On the way to the inn Boreyn picks up his book again and scribbles a few lines at a blank page as they walk.
Most recent group to undertake Dammerhall's trials:
Boreyn Steelhymn - gatherer of the group
Kurth Silvermug - follower of Torag
... Grayblade - granddaughter of Baylok 'Pick-Lock' Grayblade
"Say lass, you never said what your name was. Can't expect me to keep an entire lineage of all the dwarves in my mind and all the new dwarves being born."
After making a notation about Imperia, he trudges along until they come to a new street and a house where Boreyn makes a little remark of.
"That house belongs to the eldest dwarf in Skelt, Drogic is his name. He is a little older than I am and certainly wouldn't be able to travel for a long timeto Dammerhall, but elder dwarves like him are a good source of information. He told me of a few families of dwarves living here that had family members travelling to Dammerhall before and where I could find them, more or less. Yours included Imperia.
If there was one thing Drogic hated, it was being disturbed. Living in the human cities, he'd learned to simply keep his head down, and go about whatever life he could manage. He was old enough to remember a different way, but not young enough to make any kind of difference, and so he'd shut himself off, and become something of a hermit, even while living within a town.
A knock on his door resulted in him grumbling and leaning on his cane while he walked the length of his house, opening it to see an Elf and a Dwarf. "Lovely pair. You have my blessings." he mutters gruffly, before slamming it shut.
Before he'd walked halfway across the room, there was knocking again. Drogic glared at the door, hoping to be able to turn it to steel, but with no luck. "Fine fine." he grumbled, returning to the door. This time he listened to what they wanted, and invited them in when he heard who they were looking for. "Steelhymn is a proper dwarf, taking up responsibility for all our people." He looked sternly at Baird, "Like all Dwarves ought."
He cocks his head at Talas, "What brings the Elves into this? Never seen one want to go into the Underdark before."
"A moment." he mutters, and leaves them in his lounge while he walks into the kitchen. Returning after a few moments, he carries a tray holding a cup of tea, which he gives to Talas, and a mug of an old Dwarven brew for Baird. "Been saving this for a while. Can't think of a better excuse for using it than ol' Steelhymn starting up his own expedition. 'Sides, if this one fails, it might be the end of the Dwarves." He winks at them, "But no pressure."
Baird accepted the mug gladly, raising it in a toast to their host. Drogic's good-hearted crustiness warmed his heart. "Will you be joining us in our venture?" he asked, partly to distract Drogic from nosing too deeply into questions about he and Talas and their motives for being here, but partly because he hoped this prime example of a dwarf would be coming along. "It's every dwarf's dream to reclaim Dammerhall! And to do it, every dwarf will count." He took a deep draught of brew, smacking his lips appreciatively.
"Not at all like a prayer, I'm a story-singer. I was trained to sing with my brothers in the Stone halls of Dammerhall, songs about our history, about our achievements. Since my parents died a long time ago, I was dubbed Steelhymn as I was the last of these story-singers and that name stuck ever since. I think most would call me a scholar, historian or a bard, perhaps I'm all three come to think of it." Boreyn tells Imperia and Kurth as they go their way towards the inn.
Imperia nods. "How about that." It's hard to miss the lack of actual interest in her voice.
On the way to the inn Boreyn picks up his book again and scribbles a few lines at a blank page as they walk.
Most recent group to undertake Dammerhall's trials:
Boreyn Steelhymn - gatherer of the group
Kurth Silvermug - follower of Torag
... Grayblade - granddaughter of Baylok 'Pick-Lock' Grayblade"Say lass, you never said what your name was. Can't expect me to keep an entire lineage of all the dwarves in my mind and all the new dwarves being born."
After making a notation about Imperia, he trudges along until they come to a new street and a house where Boreyn makes a little remark of.
The young dwarven girl smiles at Boreyn. "Imperia Wardroxan-Grayblade, at your service. Best clockwork maker in the city, after my dad."
"That house belongs to the eldest dwarf in Skelt, Drogic is his name. He is a little older than I am and certainly wouldn't be able to travel for a long timeto Dammerhall, but elder dwarves like him are a good source of information. He told me of a few families of dwarves living here that had family members travelling to Dammerhall before and where I could find them, more or less. Yours included Imperia.
Imperia nods. "Grandpa's told me about Drogic, yeah. I've never, uh, had the pleasure."
Kurth grumbles at Imperia's dismissive attitude but manages to keep quiet. Barely.
Boreyn was right in the end. You go to war with the army you have. They needed every dwarf they could get.
Hells, at this point he'd take an elves.
Talas's brows arch at the statement of 'lovely pair,' before he bursts into a laugh probably better suited to an elf of half his years.
He lets Baird do initial introductions, though his gray eyes still dance with amusement.
"Elves go into the dark," he says-- in fluent (if old-fashioned) Dwarvish-- "if they are elves such as myself, with a long history of admiration for the dwarven people. I knew Boreyn Steelhymn when he was but a child, and I remember the glories of Dammerhall before its fall-- as few enough living dwarves do. But if my aid isn't sought, I suppose I could sit around doing nothing but drinking tea for another hundred years."
He sips. "It's fine tea, though."
Long fingers drum on the table's edge. "And where is our good Boreyn? I am eager to see how the years have treated him."
Drogic nods with respect at Talas, even laughing at the Elf's snark. "You've got spirit, lad, I'll give ya that." But his face grows dark at Baird's question for a moment. "I was on that venture already," he replies, "As a much younger dwarf. Now I'd only slow you down. Besides, my daughter's already down there, doing more good than I ever could. And I at least can gi-" Drogic is interrupted by yet another knock on the door. "Oh for the love..." He mutters as he crosses to it yet again, opening it to find Boreyn, Kurth, and Imperia. With a gruff grunt, he stands aside to let them enter, and storms off into the kitchen to get more ale. Despite this, Talas and Baird can tell that he's happy to have everyone around, and especially since it's for a good reason.
As Drogic is returning with more ale, Boreyn has seated himself in another comfortable seat, the one not occupied by Drogic himself.
He sits down and nods at Baird and Talas.
"Well now, I didn't think Drogic would have more company this day. Even an elf coming down to visit a dwarf, it's not something you see very often. My name is Boreyn Steelhymn, so what is your business with Drogic if I may ask?"
"Drogic, my old friend, your directions to the other former Dammerhall expeditionaries were welcome and accurate of course. Alas most of them are too old now and their family seem to find me a nuisance. It's as if most dwarves don't care for their own identity anymore." Boreyn grumbles a bit as he takes a sip from his ale.
"Luckily these two proud dwarves liked to join me, may I introduce to you, Kurth Silvermug and Imperia Wardroxan-grayblade. Kurth here, is a stout follower of Torag who has sought me out in Skelt and has travelled a long way to reach me. Imperia is the granddaughter of Baylok 'Pick-Lock' Grayblade, you remember him don't you?"
Talas smiles indulgently at being called 'lad', even by a venerable dwarf such as Drogic, and sips at his tea.
When he catches sight of Steelhymn through the open door, the elf gets to his feet, so that he is standing when Boreyn enters. Talas's gray eyes study Boreyn shrewdly through the introduction, comparing the hale dwarven elder to the wide-eyed little pebble of a dwarf he vaguely recalls running after him in Dammerhall.
The years go, and they go, and all people but his own change like the wind and the water, for all that the dwarves are supposed to be children of the stone itself...
Talas quirks a smile at himself after this serious thought. To be fair: he has changed too, of course. Less the stripling who was in the habit of banging his head on the ceilings of dwarven tunnels.
He sweeps Boreyn a bow, one hand over his heart.
"Our business is you, singer-of-the-stone," he says with a smile.
"This young examplar of dwarven... dwarvenness is Baird..." he has to catch himself before saying the family name, and clears his throat slightly, "and he wishes to join your expedition. And so do I-- for I must see if your voice ever got any better, as I recall it as a child's piping," Talas says, eyes twinkling. He doubts Boreyn remembers him, but he can't help a bit of teasing.
He turns to the two younger dwarves, inclining his head at them in a more sober fashion. "Well met, son and daughter of your people. I am named Talas Arduinn-- a name that was once welcome among the dwarves, but then, that was long ago, and neither of you were born at the time."
With the army you got, Kurth reminded himself.
Kurth nods respectfully to Baird and Talas. "At your service. It's good to see an elf taking an interest in Dammerhall. And of course, more dwarves are always welcome. "
-Posted with Wayfinder
Imperia gives Talas a small frown. "Daughter of Arodus Grayblade, master clockmaker, thank you. I'm not big on the 'my people' thing. You can judge me on how good a trap-springer I am, not on my height. Alright?"
She looks over at Baird and gives him a nod as she sits down. "Good meeting you."