Burning off the Dross

[dergon darkhelm]

Sonnilor Branlar Steelcrag was dressed in his formal raiment as would be expected for a formal proceeding, mithril chain and silvered helm over the brown leather tunic with his beard tied with mithril braid clips. The old dwarf wore a grim expression which did not surprise Kargund, as the Sonnilor always wore a such a stern visage. What did surprise the young dwarf was that all of the clerics of the Morndinsamman were gathered in the great stone temple as well. Each of the priest wore equally grim faces as they looked upon Kargund as he entered the chamber alone. Only Volamtar Grelka Blaug put on a small smile, seeming to be the only one of the priests whose mood had not been soured by the occasion.

It was not his place to speak, so Kargund waited.
He could feel the smell of stone, the scent of sulfur from the nearby forges, of ale coming from the breath from a few of the priests who must have been rousted directly from the tavern. For what felt like an eternity Kargund stood silently before the council.

Finally, Sonnilor Steelcrag cleared his throat and broke the silence with his deep booming voice.



"Kargund, Son of Algard of Blackhammer, hear these commands:

You will leave this Mithril Hall before the next time of the next delving. You will go out to the live among the hurm and the olv, and the hayhurm and gnume. You will bring naught but what things you carry upon your back and you walk through the forests and cross the rivers.

You will go from this Hall.....and you will go alone."


Kargund listened stunned, his mind spinning and his knees nearly buckling as the words echoed off of the granite walls. Kargund was so stupefied that heard not the murmurs that sprung up as the Sonnilor added that the final clause of the command. He did notice when Volamtar Grelg leaned in to whisper to the Sonnilor with some seeming urgency.

And it would be days later before he would recall the last words that the priest uttered, more quietly than the rest of the proclamation. .....


"Let the dross be burned from ye, and see what metal remains."

[dergon darkhelm]

Exodus from Mithril Hall, Marpenoth 8, Year of the Blazing Hand

Kargund stood in the huge stone chamber at the entrance to Mithril Hall, the great ironforged doors swung open. The North winds let in a few snow flurries which gathered on the granite floor as an early Autumn storm had swept down from the Spine of the World.

The dwarf was dressed in heavy furs, with a bulky pack of sundries meant to sustain him during the trek over the pass and the southward intothe lands of the hurm.

Kargund had perhaps expected Sonnilor Steelcrag to be present, but instead he was met at the doors by a young acolyte whose name he knew not. The only others present were a pair of armored guards at the great gates and, surprisingly, Volamtar Grelka Blaug who again smiled incongruously at Kargund as he stood in the atrium feeling alone.

The acolyte was speaking, a prayer or perhaps some instructions, but Kargund was not paying heed to the words. Instead his eyes were drawn outside to view the great winding mountain path that he was soon to traverse alone.

Then suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice.

"I know where 'e is! Ye think I be dumb?! Do ye?!"

Kargund shook his head but couldn't help to smile. He recognized the voice of his cousin Thorri instantly. Thorri had a known reputation around the Hall. He would be drunk, or angry, or both. He was Thunderchild... and a generally disappointment and thorn in the side of the elders. Kargund looked over to see his cousin giving the beard of a kinsman guard a yank, putting his face in close and smiling visciously to show off his cracked teeth.


"Din't think so!" Thorri spat and spun, his big axe nearly shaving a few hair from the guard as it swung wildly from a loose knot on his back.

"Call me dumb agin an' I'll smash yer face like ye were orckin!" Thorri Blackhammer took a long swig from a steel flask and tried to tuck into a hip a pocket. Instead it missed a fell to floor, clanging loudly and echoing off the stone walls of the antechamber. The priests and guards both turned then averted their eyes as Thorri's face reddened with rage, seeming to want to simultaneously challenge each of them.

But in a moment's time the anger faded and Thorri tramped across the floor, picked up the flask, and tucked it away with a loud "Harrumph!".

Catching sight of Kargund, Thorri smiled a genuine smile. "Oi, cuz! Good news fer ye'! I be comin' along with ya'!! "


Kargund stood shocked. He was not sure if he been granted a blessing or a curse.

[dergon darkhelm]

Exodus from Mithril Hall, Marpenoth 8, Year of the Blazing Hand.... later the same day

Thorri and Kargund paused as the steep trail rounded a rightward turn and afforded them a look back at the valley that held Mithril Hall. The great stone gates were now but a small dark fleck against the backdrop of the white snowy mountain into which the dwarven hold was built.

The trail forward would wind into a narrow pass, crossing northward and meeting the Fourthpeak trail. They would not set eyes upon their home again. The pair stood quietly a long while, the snow coming harder now in thick flakes that piled upon their furs and beards.

Finally Thorri broke the silence, spitting aside. "Bah. They probably already drinkin' ales happy to be rid o' me, cousin."

Kargund nodded in return but said nothing, his own mind filled with similar thoughts.

And that was that. The two dwarves simultaneously clapped one another about the shoulder for a moment then swung about, heading into the narrow pass, quickly losing sight of Mithril Hall.

As the pair climbed and peaked the pass the real weather came in. The wind grew out of the north, bringing with it thicker snow that at times blinded the dwarves, allowing them to see barely a few paces ahead. Eventually they crested the pass and the winds lessened a bit, but the snow came in ever greater amounts. On this side of the mountain the trail was narrow with frequent steep ledges that fell into craggy ravines hundreds of feet deep.
Some drifts were already forming on the trail forcing Thorri and Kargund to wade through chest deep. But they pushed forward, each knowing that turning back was no option and that no camp could be made so exposed.


____

Thorri heard them first. The sounds of goblins arguing on the trail ahead. Their shill ugly voices muffled by the falling snow. The dwarves couldn't see them, but they were there.

Thorri raised his hand to bring the pair to a halt and Kargund nodded.

Kargund spoke quietly, "Sounds like at least six..... And I think that be wolves bayin' too."

Thorri nodded and drew his big axe as Kargund strapped his shield and took up his oversized hammer. The pair carefully moved forward along the trail until Kargund was struck in the head with a small stone, seeming from out of nowhere. His head swirled a moment and he took a knee to balance himself as blood spilled over his left eye.

"AMBUSH! To our left!" Thorri rushed off ahead letting out a scream of rage, quickly fading from sight.

The battle joined, Kargund could hear Thorri curse and could hear the shrieks of the goblins as the fell to his cousin's axe. Kargund eventually regained his balance and rushed toward the sounds of battle. Thorri bledd from a few small wounds but already 4 goblins lied dead at his feet. Kargund barely had to time to get one strike with his hammer before Thorri felled the last of the ambush squad with a massive overhead blow that cut the last goblin's skull from top to the base of the neck.

"Fine werk! Fine werk, cousin!" Kargund reached out to pat his friend on the shoulder, but Thorri was gone. He was already shouting "Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you!" and rushing further down the trail into the larger pack of goblins and wolves.




Kargund followed and rushed ahead, unable to see his cousin in the driving snow. He rounded a turn in the path and .... CRASH! He slammed right into a pair of goblins that had come forward from the main pack. Kargund and the pair all went down in a heap. The dwarf struggled to find his hammer in the snow bank, reaching just in time to raise it above his head as the first goblin slashed with a rusty cutlass.




He was able to counter with a feeble blow of the hammer, just enough to drive the first goblin back a pace, but the second was aright there. Kargund was simply lucky that the second goblin's spear thrust only torn superficial flesh from his right flank and broke one rib, as the dwarf had not seen the attack coming from behind. He was even luckier that as he spun about, the wild swing of his warhammer caught the goblin square in the face, crushing bones and bringing an eruption of blood.

But there was no rest to be had. Already the sword-wielding goblin was coming in for another attack. Kargund turned the blow with his shield and countered with a hasty strike that missed the mark. He could hear his cousin fighting some paces down the trail but snow would be too thick to see even had he been able to spare the glance away from his close combat. He heard Thorri call out a victorious grunt immediately followed by the squeal of a wolf being eviscerated. A moment later another grunt and the sound of a goblin screaming as he was driven off the ledge by Thorri's axe.

Kargund made progress, but more slowly. He struck a glancing blow against the goblin's shoulder, but the thing kept its grip on its sword. The dwarf punched his shield forward, breaking the goblin's nose, but suffered a short thrust under his breast plate that pierced skin on the other side of his abdomen.

It was taking too long. Thorri's enraged battlecry was weakening, although Kargund could tell the number of goblin's were much fewer. He resisted the urge to rush the fight with the goblin, but grew concerned for his cousin. Finally the opportunity presented itself. The goblin lunched with a low strike, leaving his head open. Kargund struck atop the head, the blow landing hard enough to snap the goblin's spine forward, dropping the foul creature in a heap before the thrust could find its mark.

Kargund was weak from blood loss and his vision was blurred from the blow to the head, but he summoned the strength the hobble down the trail towards the ...... suddenly he realized it had grown quiet. He paused..... nothing but the sound of snow falling and wind. He quickend his limping pace with increased urgency moving dow the trail. " THORRI!"

"Thorri?" Kargund called again as he tripped over the carcass of a wolf. The beast was cleaved fully in half and lied near to three fallen goblins, all obviously felled by Thorri's axe.

Over the next moments, Kargund Blackhammer came across the scene of a number of skirmishes. At least 8 goblins and two wolves lie covered in blood.

But Thorri was nowhere to be seen.

"Thorri! Thorri!" Kargund called with increasing desperation. He approached a ledge at the edge of the trail and saw blood stains nearby. He could not make out more than a few feet down into the ravine below. "Thorri!" Kargund leaned over the edge for better vantage but swooned and had to fall backwards to avoid going over the ledge himself.


Kargund scooted backward from the ledge, his head and body bloodied, his vision doubling. His legs began to cramp violently and he reached forward to rub them with his gauntleted hands. Just as he could feel his consciousness beginning to fade, Kargund's eyes rolled back into his head and he uttered a chant in a dwarven dialect with which he was unfamiliar. He chanted and felt warmth flow into his body... and his spirit. For just a moment Kargund felt strangely comforted and whole.... then all went black and sleep took him.

[oldgrayrogue]

A tiny plume of snow shot up from a packed drift along the wall of the high pass with a loud puff of air looking like some miniature geyser. The snow bank then seemed to move as if alive, and all in a rush the form of a helmed and bearded dwarf, bloody and still clutching a bloodier axe rose from under the snowy blanket blinking and sputtering. "Bah! Thar be snow in tha crack a me arse!" cursed the dwarven snow man, brushing the fresh powder from his beard. Looking left to right Thorri got his bearings. He saw the three dead goblins, lying in a semicircle where one roundhouse swipe of his axe had felled them all at once. "Hmmph! Dat still counts fer three!" Eyes narrowing, his gaze then focused on the two bloody halves of the wolf, half buried in new fallen snow at his feet. With a grunt he kicked its top half over the edge of the cliff "Bastard! Thought ye'd had ole Thorri did ye! Bah!" The wolf had lunged for his throat, springing powerfully from its coiled haunches, but Thorri was ready with such a mighty two handed back swing that he'd cut the beast fully in two. But the force of the swing had knocked him off balance, and he back peddled slipping against the side of the cliff face. Ice and snowdrift cascaded down from above him as the small avalanche his armored bulk had caused buried him from view, a large frozen chunk of rock and ice knocking him senseless. Thorri rubbed his head remembering it. Then his hand wandered down to a loop on his belt groping furtively until with a grin he gripped his whiskey flask. Uncorking it he took a long pull and exhaled sharply. "Ahhh, now dat be mudder's milk!"

Brushing off the rest of the snow Thorri's thoughts finally turned to Kargund. "Now where'd dat sissy boy run off ta?" he mused aloud. Walking back up the trail he came upon the mashed and melted snow and the dead goblin still clutching its curved blade, its skull cracked and neck broken by a downward hammer blow. "HA! Dats 'ow ta crack a nut! HARR!" Looking around he noticed the now partially snow filled tracks and followed them back down to the area of his former snowy grave. Seeing a line of tracks stretching down the mountain trail his nostrils flared and the blood rose in his cheeks. "Gone an fookin left me did ye! Taint no way ta treat a kinsman! Hmmmph! Yer ta have a good beatin fer dis, or I aint a fookin Blackhamma!" Tilting his helm forward on his head the solitary dwarf trudged fuming down the trail, pausing only now and again to take a swig from the flask still gripped in his thick left hand.