Welcome to the thoughts of a Dwarf. This intrepid site is designed primarily to allow a place where I can store all of my writings, be it stories or poems or illogical philosophical rants. I hope to be able to provide interesting reading material for my friends and the random stranger who somehow gets sucked off course and finds this sight. Feel free to comment or even request stories. The more inspiration that I have, the more I can explore the limits of imagination and using literary works to rest for a moment from the tedious demands of reality.

In the beginning, I will be uploading many of my already written works. Though most of them are written for the gaming website Achaea.com, which is a text based MUD that I have been playing since 1998. My current main character in Achaea is the Dwarven Paladin known as Goryllin. His viewpoint is used in many of my current stories, as I draw upon his life and his world to create the science fantasty realities in which my story characters dwell.

Achaea is a medieval setting fantasy world, filled with Dwarves, Humans, Trolls, and many more fantastical races and professions. It is a living and breathing world in that every player has a chance to change the world and its direction. It is a player driven roleplay enhanced realm where combat, life, death and yes even taxes are all a part of the experience. We wouldn't mind having you drop by for a visit and pint of ale, if you do visit please send Goryllin a message and he will be glad to help you.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

The Battle of Oldstone Pass

Warning. Achaea related. A story by Goryllin.


The Battle of Oldstone Pass.

A gentle breeze drifted down the mountain slope, wafting slowly through
the valley, leaving soft caresses on all it touched in the settlement.
In one of the largest sleeping chambers, strong brown eyes snapped
alert. To this bearded and grizzled dwarf, the breeze held no comfort.
It held only mystery and warning.

Dropping stumpy legs over the edge of the bed, Dolon went through the
morning routine of stretching and yawning all while his senses strained
to find what woke him. Stumbling forth to open land, he gazed forth at
the beautiful scenery before him. As the rays of the sun slowly
straggled forth to light the horizon, those brown eyes drank deeply of
the natural beauty of the valley. "Such grace", this dwarf did think
with equal parts amazement and awe, "for the Lord Smith to guide us
here- to perfection". As if in response, another breeze took hold just
then and rippled the leaves of the graceful trees. On cue, the woods
came alive with the noise of various animals awakening and taking on the
day. The entire earth seemed to beam peaceful joy, as the dwarf took in
the well built and successful settlement that rose up around him. Almost
forgetting his alarm, Dolon took a moment to stretch again while letting
the sun warm the paving stones and alight upon the flowers carefully
cultured along the paths.

All seemed well, and Dolon turned towards the sound of his rousing wife
just inside. But amongst the clamor of pots and pans preparing the
morning meal, Dolon still felt that something was off. As his
grandfather once told him, a Chieftain just learns to know these things.
And so with a muffled grunt, he sadly walked away from his hearth and
all of the delights that it offered and strode to the quarters of his
second in command. A few muttered words, an exasperated shrug, and
patronizing nod later: and a scout was heading out to the borders to
investigate some mysterious inkling that raised the hairs on the back of
the Chief's neck.

Breakfast never really registered to Dolon that day, his mind kept
returning to his odd awakening and the pressure in his chest. Reminding
himself that Chieftain's did not show fear, he calmly went about the
day's routine and began discussing the weather patterns and the upcoming
harvest all while struggling to ignore the sense of unease that had
settled over his soul.


Having known Dolon for over two decades, Drognar the second in command
decided to broach the subject. As he opened his mouth to question just
what troubled the Chief, he noticed that where his friend's eyes were
gazing. "Oh do not be silly", he quipped, "the orcs have been burning
and pillaging for many moons now." "Aye." Answered Dolon, "but something
is different today, I just know it!". Trying to inject some reason into
what seemed like panic in such a normally calm man, Drognar tried again.
"Chief, the orcs have never made it through the mountains. They have
never found the way." After a pregnant pause he added "They do not care
enough to even look for the way!" and then snorted with great humour.

With little else to do besides worry, Dolon smoothed his face and
quieted his inner doubts. Trying hard to simulate cheerfulness, Dolon
passed through the settlement doling out wisdom and answering
complaints, administering to his people as if nothing had woken up him
that morning besides the normal need to be productive.

Suddenly the calm of that peaceful setting was broken by the mad clatter
of a dashing dwarf, earnestly racing to the settlement with all that he
had. Strident alarms rose within the hearts of all present as they
recognized the scout sent out earlier that day. "Orcs! Orcs! Or.." The
fellow yelled, or at least attempted to yell. A very large hubbub broke
out then, as most crowded around the exhausted and wheezing dwarf and
demanded answers or explanations. But Dolon knew better and Dolon knew
he had been a cautious fool. With a bellow that would outdo even the
fiercest mountain bear on the continent, he brought his people to
attention and to arms. Frenetic activity overcame the settlement as
dwarves bounded from one end to the next, weapons being passed,
provisions packed, wives and children kissed.

Dolon ran to oversee equipping the men, pointedly exchanging looks with
Drognar and indicating to handle the women and children. Drognar snapped
into action, following the old and now rarely used guidelines and
rounding up the women and children and heading for a secret cave
entrance. Families acted as a whole, elder children marshaling the
younger ones. Wives stealing kisses around the armor of their hastily
equipping husbands and then sneaking a last personal item before they
were marched away to safety. At the other end of the village, the
outlook was not so bright or sure. Dolon swore as he realized just how
much the decades of peace had harmed the warrior mentality of his
people. There was no lack of courage, he was sure of that as he watched
ancient Frelug struggle to clasp the straps of a light breastplate that
had not seen light in over thirty years. But combat readiness was
something else, again an example appeared before his eyes as eager Jadin
nearly lopped his own ear off hastily grasping a pike.

Licking his lips in sudden anticipation and perhaps a twinge of fear
(but we will never tell!), Dolon surveyed his men. Muttering under his
breath, he counted only twenty-five dwarves that he could really call
combat able. A dozen that stand in a line, but were too ill or infirm to
do any noticeable damage to a turtledove much less a trained and
bloodthirsty orc. Even as he made that assessment, the scout had caught
his breath and was able to alert the entire Clan to the fact that over a
thousand Orcs were heading for the entrance through the mountains to the
valley in which the village was hidden.

Just as Dolon lifted the battlehorn to his lips and prepared to blow
quite possibly the last call to march that he would ever know, he heard
the crunch of angry footsteps behind him. Whirling in surprise, he
yanked his sword free only to hastily drop it a moment later. Even more
surprised than before, he stared at the glowering face of his beloved
wife. In a voice that only an enraged dwarven wife could muster, she
berated him. "Dolon, you thick-skulled excuse for a dwarf, what do you
think you're doing this time? Do you think you're going to hold that
pass with nothing but twenty-five men? And look at us, we women are just
as strong as you are from wrestling the children and working in the
fields. We'll fight and die right alongside our husbands, and may the
Smith be ashamed of us if we won't!"

It is not certain that Dolon was ever able to retrieve his jaw from the
ground after it dropped so far and fast. What is certain is that not
even a chieftain can stand up to a determined dwarven wife. And so as
the ravening Orcs came charging through the gap, bloodthirst gleaming in
their eyes, they met a fortified band of sixty something dwarves of Clan
Orcsplitter. Male and female alike wielded weapons, determination written
across each feature of every brow. As the Orcs paused for a moment,
either in confusion to meet any resistance, or to laugh at such a small
and pitiful band thinking of resistance, the dwarves made one last move.
Working quickly as a team, as a family, they gathered enough rocks to
build a small cairn and then stuck a blacksmith's hammer in it. And then
they turned and beseeched their beloved God, Lord Phaestus, to guide
their battleaxes and lead them through the battle. Being stout Clan
Orcsplitter dwarves, they did not pray for a way to avoid battle, or
that someone else fight it, or even that the Lord make it go away.
Instead they request that He guide their blades and show them where to
strike.


When the Orcs finally made up their minds that this sham had gone on
long enough and began to charge, Dolon felt a sudden peace come over his
soul. Every worry, every tension, everything that was distracting or
bothering him suddenly melted away. He turned to his right side, where
Drognar might normally stand, and met the warm and understanding eyes of
his beloved. Serenity filled her features as they exchanged vows of
everlasting love, knowing that they were in the arms of their God. And
then just as the crest of the Orc charge came barreling into their
perimeter, Dolon and his wife shouted out each other's names and lept
into the battle. Tearing through the enemy, the became dual wielded
weapons. One striking while the other parried, one going low as the
other went high, one to the left if the other went right. As Dolon
danced his deadly dance, he felt the blood streaming down his body. As
his leg landed on raw bone instead of his foot, he knew that this pace
could not last. But even as he began to stumble, even as an arrow carved
its way through his body, his eyes were locked on those of his wife. And
so Dolon danced even harder, swung his blades ever more. No fear, no
worry, no distractions entered his mind. Just dancing to the love
mirrored in those eyes.

The children here huddled deep in some secret caverns, as the horrific
sounds of battle played out above them. Screams of dying or wounded men
were pitched so that the whole valley trembled in sympathy. The clang of
clashing weapons and sound of ripping sinews could not be mistaken or
explained away. And yet, after a horrible and seemingly endless period
of time, the sounds slowly begin to fade. Still the children waited with
bated breath, fearful yet a trap was laid. Only when the air was filled
with the croaking calls of the craven feathered residents of all
battlefields did the children dare to peek outside of those cave walls.

Shouts of joy and relief rang out as they saw a good forty dwarves
making their labored way back to the village. The dwarves had shields
carried between them, upon which lay the bodies of Dolon and his wife
and eighteen of their brethren. As gasps of joy quietly turned to sobs;
rays of light reached down to reflect from the shields, seeming to
caress the fallen warriors and tend to passing.

A gentle breeze drifted down the mountain slope, wafting slowly through
the valley, gently driving away the smoke from the funeral pyres. As it
carried away the smoke, so went the worst of the mourning. And that is
when the clan was able to see just what their sacrifice had gained. In
their wake all they left behind was a mountain of orcs almost as tall as
the pass itself, and a rabble of terrified orcs that stretched from the
mountains to the sea, and ever after the orcs told tales of that pass to
their spawn as bedtime stories."

------------------------------------------------------


Though that valley has been lost to the twisting tides of time, its
memory remains strong in the mind of the Orcsplitter Dwarves. Forever
shall the Clan draw strength from those before it, and forever shall
they oppose the bloodthirsty Orcs- no matter where they might be found.

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