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.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Herald of a new day

Rainclouds darken the sky
Thunder rumbles in anger
A heart struggles to fly
Facing imminent danger

What is this new emotion
That threatens normalcy
It feels like sipping a potion
That turns rituals into fallacy

The life of a hermit seems past
Old habits turning to dust
How is life changing this fast
This heart was covered in rust

Through the clouds of change
A ray of light breaks free
Spreading to fill a mighty range
It grants joy without a fee

Comforted by this truth
Doubts begin to fade
Joy causes feelings of youth
A sensation that your smile made

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The Birth of a Berserker. Part 1

This is the first portion of a story that I started to right for Achaea.com, before my world was upended and I began to swirl in circles. It tells the story of the beginning of a Clan of Dwarves that were created by the Achaean God, Phaestus.

Feel free to comment or share!


The air whistles in protest as the large metal head of the axe parts it aside and continues forward until smashing into the tree trunk with a shower of splintered bark. A simple grunt and the blade is yanked back out of the tree and the process begins again. The tree puts up a valiant fight, striving to stay upright but ultimately falling to the blows of the axe and joining its brethren strewn upon the ground. A quick shuffle of feet, another grunt, and the downed tree is shoved into position and the axe begins to separate the tree into individual logs. The forest backdrop has faded into silence, no sounds exist except for intermittent grunts and some growled expletives when a blow does not fall precisely as intended.

So intently is the work proceeding, that the heavy footfalls of the dwarf foreman are completely unnoticed until his gruff voice breaks into my consciousness. "Ho, Gladur, we only need a certain number of logs this month." The foreman stops at the edge of the clearing that I have created and surveys the scene of destruction spreading out from my axe. "Why are you punishing the trees this time?" He asks while a look of puzzlement comes across his features. "You know that the SoulForger only condones using what is required, no need to kill trees if we will not use them before they spoil."

His comments only add to the exertion in my strikes, heavily muscled arms straining in an attempt to cut right through the tree in a single blow. "Grrghph" is my only response, straining its way through gritted teeth. Even though the foreman is two centuries older than me, he seems to be completely confused and at a loss of what to do. "Gladur, please stop" he mutters, "We don't need the wood, we have everything we need." A final growl escapes me as I smash through the tree trunk and reach the end of the logs. Turning quickly to face the foreman, I give him a look that can only be considered a glower. "What would ye have me do, Biven?" My question is sarcastic as I quickly give him possibilities. "Should I carve a statue? With these massive hands that can't fit around a chisel without breaking them? Perhaps I can paint, or carve gemstones?" The color fades from his face as he considers the results when I last attempted the delicate arts that the Clan enjoys. "How about I go mining again? I am sure Brumbletock would enjoy another cave-in". I did not mean to continue, but suddenly the words just keep coming and I can't stop "What if I tried my hand at pottery, or I could try to put together another mural. I am sure we can keep building walls for me to break apart. Want me to go back around the animals and try to milk a goat or cow? Last time I tried, they quit producing for over two cycles."

My words suddenly choke off and I just stand there, staring at Biven from across the clearing while my chest heaves and my eyes bore into him. Even though we are over a hundred paces away, I still look down at him. His mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to muster a response. Rage fills me at the delay and I snarl "What is my purpose, Biven. Why am I here?" He looks to the side, swallowing rapidly as I cross the clearing in just a few strides and stand glaring down at him and demanding answers "I am too tall to properly fit in the mines, and even when we widened out the tunnels every time I struck a blow, the mines nearly collapsed. My arms and legs are too big for me to do anything but the largest of tasks. My hands will crush every delicate thing that is ever placed in them." At this, my heart beats even harder as I remember something else. "And you know what else, Biven, I can't even have love!"

At this exclamation he quickly jerks his head up to glance at me, his expression once again marred with confusion. "What do you mean?" he stammers out. My anger slowly pours out of me as I turn away from him to stare out into the distance. “I can’t have love. Who would have someone as rough as I am, as large as I am? The Chieftain is the largest dwarf of the Clan, and he only makes it to my chest. How can I romance someone with these large arms and thick legs. I cannot swoon them with dance, nor with song. I cannot cup their cheek or give them a soft caress. These arms and hands are rough and powerful, knowing only destruction and not love.” My thoughts turn to Jemma and our last conversation. How she laughed and looked me in the eyes, but then I went to hug her and she winced and the fun faded.

Bitterness creeps into my voice as I turn back to face Biven. “The trees are the only task that I can handle without hurting others. You and I both know that this is the only thing that I can do for the Clan.” I can see the agreement in his eyes and the way that he avoids mentioning anything else that I might possibly do. This frustrates me, as Biven is considered one of the wisest of the Clans and yet he has no idea what to do with me. “Tell me, Biven, tell me why the God would do this. He claims to love all of us, to treasure us. He claims that we are His children and that He watches over us. Then tell me why He made me. Tell me why I am so different. Why can’t I be a normal dwarf and have a normal life? Tell me!” This last statement becomes a scream thrown towards the heavens, and then I am running. Running away from the village, from the pain, from my troubles. Running from my life.

My flight is both furious and frantic, tearing down the mountain and crashing through the trees and brush. My large shoulders smash into minor obstacles and send them flying, as my powerful feet grinds everything beneath my tread. Animals scatter before me in a cacophony of alarming cries, and yet I do not care. Emotions rage through me, and the very fact that I am feeling emotions upsets me even further. Growing up in the village, one of the constant ways that I was marked as different is the fact that I have such strong emotions. Most of the Clan are very mellow and unemotional. They feel joy and pride, they must if they are to be the master artisans that our clan produces. However, their emotions are rooted and calm which is completely unlike mine. The sight of the beauty of the smallest fluttering butterfly can make my heart melt, and the slightest insult will cause my muscles to bulge and prepare for a fight. I have tried so hard, but the emotions just flood over me despite all that I do. This pushes me further into my scrambled flight, but my legs suddenly begin to falter and I hit a tree root and flip completely end over end. Landing hard upon the ground, I twist to get my bearings but my large body becomes my enemy and suddenly I am rolling down the mountain in a series of bumps and jolts. Smashing into and through limbs and underbrush and tearing roots apart with my flailing arms, nothing halts my fall until I smash headlong into a large rock formation at the base of the mountain. I can barely summon a true dwarven grumble before the spinning stars clouding my vision mercifully fade into blackness.

Only after a very great amount of time has passed do I finally stir again, yet the throbbing in my head seems at an all time high. Moaning, I struggle to push myself to a sitting position and nearly pass out again as the world seems to spin around me. Muttering and complaining to myself, I slowly force myself upwards along the trunk of a nearby tree until I once again standing straight. Realizing that I have reached an unfamiliar part of the mountain, I slowly start to explore and search for familiar landmarks. My hands reach down to brush the sheath attached to my hip and relief floods me as I feel my axe still firmly attached.

The ground here is different, even my stinted dwarven senses can tell that much. Much harder and starched than what I am used to, and the vegetation is stripped to indicate a scarcity of food in this region. Wary now, I am moving slowly through the trees when I hear a faint sound upon the wind. As I am completely lost, I decide that finding any sign of life is better than mindlessly roaming around and so I turn and head that direction. My pace quickens as I hear the sound of screaming and then make out the clash of weapons. Breaking through the brush, I happen upon a family of dwarves under attack by creatures that I recognize as goblins. I have never seen one before, but old Grimlo tells stories around the campfire some nights and the gruesomely twisted bodies before can only match his description of goblins.

Stunned, I come to a halt and gape in horror at the violence spreading out before me. A cry for help comes from one of the dwarves, and I slowly piece together the scene to see that this must be a dwarven family of farmers. I can tell because of the ages of the dwarves, the familial resemblances and the fact that they are using farm tools to defend themselves against real weapons. Another cry for help grasps my attention and I stumble forward, trying to get my weapon from my sheath. A pair of goblins turns towards my entrance and instantly snap alert. "Issha byg un" snarls one of the goblins to the other and two more goblins turn to face me as well.

Having never been in a fight, I hesitate too long and they surround me while pointing weapons directly at my throat. Immobilized, I stand there in shock and one of the goblins quickly darts in and grabs my axe from my trembling hands. "Idiot!" screams one of the dwarves in a strained feminine voice that quickly twists into a pained scream. My eyes dart over to the dwarves and I realize that while I distracted the goblins, I had also distracted the dwarven man and he was now on the ground bleeding to death. A dwarven lass screams in fury and lashes out at the goblins but then is quickly swarmed as two of the goblins guarding me hurry to join the fight. I can only stare in horror as the dwarves are bound and drug over to the fire pit. While my mind is frozen in shock, the goblins have knocked me to my knees and tied my arms tight to the side of my body. Uncomprehendingly, I stutter something about being a peaceful explorer, but the goblins just laugh in mocking tones and one reaches out and slices some skin off my arm. As I recoil from the pain, he gleefully chews on my skin while prancing around my bleeding body. His gruesome face and bulging eyes are highlighted by the flickering flames, and he seems to have quickly recovered from his initial fear at seeing a dwarf as tall as himself. Before more of my flesh can become a snack, a sharp guttural order rings out from the goblin that I suspect is the leader and the goblins move in and drag one of the young dwarven lads over to the fire and then quickly slit his throat.

My world seems to explode in horror as the two dwarves left, both female, scream out in mixtures of sorrow and horror. The goblins move to the oldest female dwarf, but they seem intent on another form of brutality than slaughter. As the dwarf realizes this, she screams and wiggles free from the hands of the goblin pawing at her. Seeing that all escape is cut off, she flinches back from the slobbering jaws of the goblins around her and then throws herself unto the fire pit. Taken back, the goblins do not react in time and the screams of the last remaining dwarf are drowned out by the sizzling pop and acrid smell that floods the small meadow as the flames engulf the willing victim. A momentary pause enters the scene as all of us struggle to adjust to the rapidly changing situation. By now the goblins have deemed me to be a complete non threat and all of them are circling the last remaining dwarf and arguing over who gets first dibs. No longer screaming, the dwarven lass raises her head and pure grey eyes meet mine as a tear slow tracks down her soiled face. A slow whisper escapes her lips and time stands still as I strain to hear it. "Save me."

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

The Ending. Perhaps a beginning?

For all those who have asked, encouraged, prayed for, or otherwise supported my battle in the previous tale of the Paladin and Angel..(http://dwarventhoughts.blogspot.com/2012/05/beginning-is-it-also-ending.html)

Here is the next stage in the story, who can say if it is the last?

The skies fade to black, night beckons into a sweet embrace. A single figure stands defiant against the cold wind sweeping down into the valley. Weariness causes strong shoulders to sag, and a ragged cough erupts from his throat. Huddling closer into his armor, the Paladin moves towards the warmth of the small campfire set before him.

His companion shuffles slightly in impatience, the tall and lanky youth has not yet learned the graceful and sure movement that his master desires to teach him. Time passes without communication as the wind howls in breathy rage and the cold seeps into the every bone. Hooded eyes peer out from under the cowl of the Paladin and search the darkness, but they appear dead to this world.

As the silence wears on, the impatience of youth defeats the fear of reprisals and soon the Squire clears his throat and breaks into the Paladins fierce contemplation. The same tired question floats in the night air, though this time the Paladin shivers against the chill of reality and decides to answer. Turning towards the Squire, the old Knight is illuminated by the flickering flames as he begins to recount an old tale of heartbreak and sorrow.

The gruff voice slowly and painstakingly describes the night that the Paladin met an Angel.  With stammering lips and forced explanations, he slowly describes the wild beating of his heart with her every kiss. Losing himself into memory, the Paladin recalls the brush of her fingers down his chest and how she gently kissed his ear to tease an excited groan from him. Remembering the rushed breathing as hands caressed, lips closed upon each other, as passion light the night sky with flames.
The crackle of the campfire lends a melody to the low tenor tones as the tale of the Angel continues on into the night. The Squire listens in rapt attention as a door opens in the heart of his master and new revelations pour forth.  Surprise shows on his face, as the story reveals emotions that the guarded knight has never before let be seen.  Yearning crosses the worn face of the Paladin as he tells his protégé about the laughter and joy he felt every single moment spent in the arms of the Angel; how resting with her cuddled tight in his arms made the world stand still and every worry vanish.
Such deep and powerful feelings stir within the breast of the youth that he nearly asks for the story to stop so that he can process what is happening. But he is entranced now and dare not break the spell that this recounting seems to have placed upon his master. Even as each description of the Angel and her beauty or love is graced upon the Squire, the Paladin seems to grow younger and the light in his eyes almost outshines the very stars themselves.

Then suddenly there is a hitch in the Paladin’s voice and it grows even gruffer. Now he tells the young companion that the Angel lived in two worlds. He tells of the nights laying on his back and watching the skies, forlornly hoping to see her grace his world and float down to join him. Softly now, the knight recounts searching for the Angel everywhere and finding a mystical portal that let him see into the other world. There he saw the Angel frolicking with another man who appeared only as a vague shape in the murky depths. He heard the twinkling of laughter in her voice and saw the radiance of her smile as she responded to a joke.

The wind no longer rages against the camp but instead slows to a quiet whisper, as if straining to hear the next words from the Paladin. Coarsely, he continues with the tale and explains how the Angel returned again in a few days and acted like nothing was different. Conversations from that fateful day seem to linger in the air; the melodic tones of the Angel as she admits to loving two worlds and not knowing what to do mingle with the broken queries of the armored knight trying to find his place in the universe. Confusion, anger, heartbreak, and sadness linger in the air as the two struggle to understand the twisting of Fate and decipher all possible futures.

A gentle whisper escapes the lips of the knight as he closes his eyes and empties out his heart in the telling of this story and recalls that fateful conversation. Passion still lights the very air between the Paladin and the Angel, as they mournfully gaze into each other’s eyes. Desire and longing make speaking difficult, and for a time they just meld together and try to forget what decisions must be faced in the morning.

A single tear tracks down the face of the Paladin as he reaches this part of his story; the Squire feels an answering tear begin to form in his own eye. Pushing himself forward, the Paladin stirs the campfire in silence for a while before again resuming his tale. Speaking of the last time that he saw the Angel, he calls to mind the memory of her radiant beauty. The luscious face now pale and hidden in shadow, streaked with the broken paths of tears that have cascaded down once rosy cheeks. The sparkle in her eyes has faded now, replaced only with a sad resolve. And thus the Paladin knows her decision before she even opens her mouth. Steeling his face to be as stiff and solid as he can be, the knight turns towards his forbidden Angel and gently traces a strong hand down her side while he looks straight into her shimmering eyes.  Only one question is asked, just to make sure that he was not misreading the situation. But she answers in the positive, giving a small nod of her head before turning away in tears once more. And then she was gone. 

Silence stretches out as time passes by with neither knight nor protégé noticing any change. Not even the impatience of youth can prompt the Squire to interrupt his master at this point, and so they both stare into the flickering light of the dying campfire. Shock still reverberates within the heart of the young man, as he could sense the depth of the love that the Paladin had felt and then lost. A low cough gets his attention and he turns back to his master and listens as the elderly knight tells him of the things that were attempted to capture the attention of the Angel again. The stories of the lonely nights staring into the sky and the words that alternated by softly whispered and fiercely screamed into the air. And while the Angel sometimes answered with words of sadness and understanding, they still echoed from another world and never from the world of the Paladin.

Dawn begins to break, as the sun slowly peeks over the horizon. Still the two companions sat besides the ashen remains of the campfire and stare into the distance, each one contemplating the matters of the heart. Slowly the Squire turns towards the older knight and forlornly asks just how the Paladin could handle such loss, and what he would do now. The Paladin lets loose a wry chuckle, tilting his head back to gaze up at the vanishing stars as he ponders how to respond. Then he lays a heavy hand upon the back of his young charge and gives him the lesson of life.

Cherish each moment, treasure every heartbeat. Bask in every bit of love you find, store it against the winter of desolation. Live life, enjoy life.  If the fear of pain stops you from looking, then you will never find peace or joy.

(Perhaps there is more than one Angel in this universe).

Sunday, June 3, 2012


When I started this blog, I knew that everyone (and their mother and most likely their mother's dog) has their own blog and filled the internet space with thousands of posts and so much information that very few people's blogs get read.

I fully intended to only post here a few times a year, just whenever the urge struck me and I had a new story completed; most often for Achaea.com. Every so often, I would link the blog on my Facebook profile and tell people about it, for the few close friends who put up with the things that I write.

However, in what seems just a few short weeks, suddenly there have been over a thousand pageviews, and a multitude of comments. I have had people come up to me about some of the things written here, and I am blown away.

To all who read this blog, I thank you! And for every single comment that I receive, either here or else where, I resolve to work even harder and tap into the special emotional current that tells us that we are alive.

I recently went through some redesigns on the blog, hopefully it is easier to read and follow. I value your support, as I want to write even more now that I know people read it.


As a reward for so quickly bringing the site to a thousand page views- here is a brief synopsis of what I have in mind so far for the Dragon story. Please keep in mind that I reserve the right to completely change any of this- however it is my intellectual property and I would appreciate that distinction being respected.

The story will begin with an introduction to Beardion, the Lord of the Dragons and the Monarch who rules over the realm. The Dragon Lord appears to be engrossed in a book that he has discovered, and soon begins to read that book and ignore everything around him. Since the Realm has been ruled well for a very long time, not much is said at first but then his subjects grow worried as more and more time passes.

They bring in wizards and sorcerers to try to get their king's attention or break a spell, the Elder Council of Dragons comes up with the idea that the king is lovesick and so attempt to hold a festival where the most lovely dragon princesses would attempt to gain the attention of the reading Dragon Lord. Several different tactics are tried, but Beardion simply will not be moved.

Things take a turn for the worse, as is the course of life as we know it. And the General of the kingdom's armies brings the tidings that the petty Humans are getting out of hand. Apparently they have developed a new weapon and are destroying Draconic holdings and lands with great success.

Here, I hope to have the story really turn upon the different perspectives that peaceful and civilized Dragons would have towards barbaric and nomadic tribes of Humans. Humanity can be vicious and vile, and when seen through the eyes of a race of non-Human beings, I am sure it looks even worse than we can imagine.

From here, the story still waits to write itself- I find that I do not often think TOO far ahead.. as my characters live and breath on their own and often times take paths or make choices that I did not plan for them.

Kinda like life, right?


Saturday, June 2, 2012

A teaser!

Just posting some general updates, as work on the story about the Dragons continues.

My friend Joanna continues to read and give suggestions like an editor. I love it so, even though she tears my writing apart. Haha.

I have asked my friend Yoelin to help me draw some artwork for the story, if any other artists want in on the action, let me know. Full credit will be given where due!

Now, I normally like to keep everything EXTREMELY close to the vest, the better to surprise people. However, as I start such a very lengthy process, I have realized that there is so much to flesh out that perhaps sharing the world as I begin to imagine it will actually help- plus keep it interesting and not so silent and full of cobwebs on the blog while I work on the story itself.

Interested? Read on!

The story that I am going to write is intended to be the first of a two story collection. Involving a book. Yes, I said a book. Quite a novel task, I am well aware.

So the first story will be the perspective and thoughts from the Dragon world.

I know that there will be a number of characters, both major and minor, but only a few have implanted themselves in my mind.

First and foremost, is the Dragon Lord. King of the Realm. His name is Beardion the Majestic. He is a very large and regal dragon, his coloring a mottled mixture of green and slate grey. He has ruled the Kingdom for many many years, and everyone is comfortable with his rule. He will be the major part of the story- as he is the one who is reading the oh so mysterious book.

Stay tuned for more little reveals, and keep the comments flowing. Anyone who takes the time to read this blog will have the chance to have input in the shaping of this world and novel, my way of saying thank you for reading!