Authors: Jeremy Laszlo
For more than two hours Linaya trailed behind the pair of
dwarves, staring with a slack jaw at the immeasurable beauty of the city. Other
dwarves rushed to and fro yet most seemed not to notice the human in their
midst. Eventually Linaya began to believe that those who inhabited the city
avoided gazing upon her purposely. It made her nervous and anxious at the same
time. Why was it the dwarves feared to look upon her? Did she appear so ghastly
to them that it sickened them to look upon her? Was it forbidden to look upon a
human in the home of the dwarves? Perhaps they were trying to spare her any embarrassment
but had taken the action to extremes. Linaya had no way of knowing. Generally
most in a room would stare at her. The men would look upon her with lust in
their eyes, and the women would scrutinize her and give her mean or distrustful
looks. She had become so accustomed to such attention that the sudden lack
thereof in a populated place felt wholly unnatural.
Before long, Linaya found herself looking at the inhabitants
of the city instead of the city itself. What she found was just as wondrous as
the home the stocky race of men had built. Dwarves, it seemed, came in as many
shapes and colors as humans did.
Some were taller like Zorbin with broad shoulders and thick
arms. Others were shorter, more bow-legged and with barrel chests and thickly
muscled backs. More were smaller still, with less muscle mass and narrower
frames. Yet all were easily recognizable as dwarves.
Just like the race of humans the dwarves came with a wide
variety of attributes. Linaya witnessed every shade of hair from bright copper,
to the brown of clay, to the black of deep rich soil. What caught her
fascination was the fact that though all the dwarves she had seen had a hair
color that occurred naturally underground, their skin was much the same as a
human’s. If anything, Linaya would have suspected that dwarves would have been
pale and pasty due to living below ground. The truth was that most of them had
what Linaya could only describe as a natural tan.
Linaya noticed almost immediately that dwarven women were
not at all like the stories she had heard as a child. They did not have beards
like their men did, nor did they have sideburns or big bushy eyebrows. Linaya
was presently surprised to find that dwarven women were not that dissimilar to
human women. Like them, they were generally smaller than their male
counterparts. Though short and stocky, what the women lacked in bulging muscles
they made up for in bosom and bottom. Dwarven women might be short, but they
were as curvy as a spring in a gnomish machine.
It was not until Linaya saw some young dwarven children
playing in a fountain that she saw a notable difference between the dwarven
race and her own. Whereas human children appeared much the same, regardless of
sex until they hit puberty, dwarves’ gender was easily discernible at any age.
Seeing the children playing, Linaya could not help herself but to pause in her
trek behind those that led her, to stare once again at something wondrous to
her. For here, playing in an exquisitely carved fountain, were two young boys
and a girl. She imagined them all to be under ten years of age and yet both
boys had a full, albeit short, beard and well-toned muscles. The small girl had
breasts equal to that in size of Linaya’s own. She could not imagine what such
a thing meant for the children. Were they sexually mature? Could they reproduce
at such a tender age? Seeing the children left Linaya with a lot of questions,
but she quickly reminded herself that an education on dwarven culture was not
her priority here. The man she loved was in trouble. The land she called home
was being invaded. Likely both were fighting this very moment, and here she
stopped to watch children play. Linaya began walking anew and quickly caught up
to Zorbin and Gumbi.
It was at this time, with Linaya’s focus renewed, that she
and her companions turned between two giant buildings onto a wide road that
appeared to run straight through the city to an enormous building at its
center. Dwarves here moved in droves in all directions. To either side of the
road Linaya noticed that the buildings were stores and shops and through open
doors and windows she could see wares of every size and purpose. Though some
items she recognized, there were yet many more that she did not.
Together they walked quickly through the market towards the
center of the city. There Linaya knew would be the king of the dwarves and
hopefully a meeting that could make her journey worthwhile. Though the streets
were crowded, the trio made decent time and were halfway to the massive
building at the center of the dwarven city when their voyage hit its first
snag.
Though at first the encounter looked to be nothing of
import, Linaya watched as a large brown-haired dwarf extracted himself from the
milling crowd and stood directly in the three companions’ path with a smile.
Linaya imagined him a friend of Gumbi, or even perhaps an old friend of Zorbin.
Sadly she realized all too soon she was mistaken.
As her companions approached the dwarf who blocked their
path, they slowed and instinctively Linaya fell back a pace. Something about
Zorbin, directly in front of her, had changed. Something in the way he carried
his weight, his natural demeanor, altered from one second to the next. The
dwarf that opposed them scowled, spewing something in the dwarven tongue before
jutting a finger towards Zorbin. Zorbin began a response, but the dwarf before
them cut him short, shouting unintelligible words, though his meaning was
clear. When the brown-bearded opposition stopped shouting, he looked first to
Linaya, then back to Zorbin, and then proceeded to do the unthinkable. For
reasons unknown to Linaya, the dwarf that stood in their path thrust back his
shoulders and spat in Zorbin’s face. The ensuing moments Linaya would recall
for all her days, as a city of pride and peace suddenly became a battleground
of pain and prejudice.
*****
Zorbin knew there were many in the city who would not look
upon him kindly. Fact was, it was expected. Most who knew him, or even of him,
considered him a traitor to their race. Honor was a part of dwarven culture,
however, and as such Zorbin did not think he would find any major moments of
contention within Boulder Gate. So it was that as he and Gumbi discussed
current happenings within the city that he was surprised when Drummit stepped
out from the crowd directly in front of him. He had anticipated seeing his
cousin at some point, but not this early in their stay within the city. He had
foreseen his cousin’s anger, but what he actually received was something out of
the scope of Zorbin’s imagination.
“You do not belong here!” Drummit shouted in the dwarven
tongue.
“I am here on business my…” Zorbin began before his cousin
cut him off.
“You bring your human whore and parade about the city like a
returning king, yet you are a traitor to us all!”
If his words were not enough, Drummit Ironfist, Zorbin’s own
kin, spat upon him out of disgust. Such were the ways of dwarves that it was
ingrained into each member of the society to respect all others, especially
your elders. So honorable was the society that windows and doors had no locks,
yet here Drummit ignored all he had been taught and everyone who witnessed his
action was offended. As his relative, it was Zorbin who was accountable for
Drummit’s behavior, even if he was also the recipient of the assault. A crowd
gathered within seconds waiting to see just how the outcast dwarf would
discipline his younger kin.
Zorbin did not hesitate. Stepping forward to close the
distance between himself and his angered cousin, he raised his hand and
backhanded the younger dwarf. Drummit did not so much as flinch. Though
Zorbin’s strike landed true, and split Drummit’s bulbous nose sending blood to
cascade down the dwarf’s brown beard and spray into his face, he showed no sign
of realizing he was injured.
Instead Drummit did the unexpected again, and tilting back
his head he closed his eyes and began to speak in a low monotone. Everyone in
the crowd realized what he was doing, and before any could react, Drummit
raised his hands to the heavens and a massive black hammer formed within them
out of strands of rainbow-hued light. Before the hammer had even solidified
completely Drummit brought it to bear, swinging it down over his head to strike
Zorbin in a single blow. Fortunately for Zorbin, he had been trained to fight
by the best Valdadore had to offer, and without thought he reacted by diving to
the side and rolling back to his feet. Drummit’s hammer met the stone of the
road with a crushing sound just as Zorbin exploded in size, calling upon his
own blessing.
All of those among the dwarven race who prayed to Ximlin
were awarded a blessing. All of those blessings had to do with their culture.
Some were blessed with the ability to carve stone to perfection. Others were
blessed with unbelievable strength in order to hammer and chisel through the
mountains that made their homes. Every blessing given by Ximlin lent itself in
some way to dwarven society, yet even so, some blessings could be used in
battle as well. Drummit, it appeared, had received such a blessing. Though at
the time that Zorbin was exiled his young cousin was yet unblessed, now he had
been bestowed with not only strength, but also the ability to summon a magical
hammer of some sort. Zorbin knew not his cousin’s limitations. However, neither
did his cousin know Zorbin’s.
Zorbin found himself in a predicament as he dodged Drummit’s
first blow and rolled to his feet again. For every offense his young cousin
committed it was Zorbin’s duty to punish him, as his elder, to a further extent
than was his crime. It was the only fault to dwarven culture really. For now
that the fight had begun, the only way it could end was if the younger opponent
took his punishment and relented, or the two traded blows until one was
destroyed. The Ironfist family was not known for relenting to anything. Zorbin
knew immediately that in order to complete his mission, he would have to kill
his own cousin. The thought saddened him, but it was his duty, both to his
king, and to his people. Zorbin steeled his resolve and called upon Gorandor.
Pulling his battle hammer from his back the giant of a dwarf sworn to a human
kingdom charged a blessed opponent not only of his own race, but of his own
bloodline.
Though Drummit appeared the underdog in the fight, being
incredibly smaller than his blessed foe, the fact was that for the most part
the two dwarven opponents were near equal. Where Zorbin had experience swinging
his axe in battle, Drummit had experience swinging his hammer in the mines.
Where Zorbin had increased strength and size, Drummit had a magically summoned
hammer that served two amazing purposes. The flat face of the hammer was made
to smash and it also amplified its wielder’s force by tenfold, allowing the
head to leave an impression a foot square in solid granite. The tapered end was
designed to split stone in a single blow. Likely the first blow of the battle
that landed would also be the last.
Charging his opponent, Zorbin was careful not to trample any
innocent bystanders for fear of retribution. Unfortunately the caution cost him
speed and when he finally came within striking range Drummit was ready for him.
Both dwarven warriors squared off and swung their weapons. With his superior
range, due to his blessing, Zorbin knew he had the upper hand and watched as
his hammer arced through the air to crush his young cousin. Drummit swung his
luminescent gossamer hammer as well, but not at Zorbin as those watching would
expect. Instead he swung to deflect the giant dwarf’s blow.
The heads of both hammers met with unnatural force, causing
an outcome that none had foreseen. Zorbin’s hands immediately went numb from
the reverberations that climbed the handle of his weapon. Beyond that, nearly
all gathered grasped at their ears, overcome by immense pain from the sound
that resounded from the blow. The sound was like metal shattering, and many of
those that were the closest now bled from their ears. Those however were only
the minor results from the impact.
Upon impact, Drummit’s magical hammer had shattered Zorbin’s
giant metal battle hammer sending large metal shards and shrapnel in all
directions, the most immediately apparent piece of which found itself buried in
Drummit’s own face. Just below the dwarf’s left eye protruded a wide piece of
metal that tapered near its point of entry into his face. The eyeball above the
wound had rolled backwards and now moved lazily, staring blankly towards the
ceiling. Blood dripped freely from the corner of Drummit’s mouth as well as his
nose.
Drummit remained standing for an unnaturally long time
before finally his jaw muscles relaxed and released a deluge of blood. Then, as
if finally overcome, his muscles seemed to spasm and Drummit collapsed to the
stone road with the accompanying sound of the crowd’s combined sigh of
disbelief. Others watching the battle had sustained minor injuries, the worst
of which was a dismembered ear. Zorbin knew not what the consequences might be
for killing Drummit, though he felt no shame in the act.
Not only had he been provoked, but he had been attacked. It
had not been his wish to kill his fellow dwarf, but his duty. However, it was
yet unclear if Zorbin would be treated as a dwarf in this matter, under the
direction of dwarven culture and beliefs, or as an outsider who had murdered a
dwarf in good standing within the kingdom. By killing Drummit it was likely
that Zorbin had ruined any hopes of obtaining the dwarven kingdom’s aid.
Unable to contain his emotions, Zorbin stomped about the
scene of the brief battle mumbling angrily and shaking his head. For many long
moments the gathered crowd simply watched him, and made way for him if he came
near. Apparently no one in the crowd knew how to treat the situation either.
Zorbin stopped.