The Founding of Dwarfengarde

[Bearded Gnome]

"Ye can pull harder than that, can't ye?" said Rathmar to the team of twelve dwarves dragging the wagon full of lumber along. He sat high on his seat, a smile spread on his face, watching his soldiers squirm. "If it weren't for me eyes, I'd be thinking a bunch o' elves were pulling me wagons." The burly dwarf knew that statement to be false. He had seen the elves in battle before - especially the dark elves - their graceful movements and brutal tactics worthy even of Rathmar's respect.

It was more of an empty insult. A common statement to keep his men going. There were two wagons full of lumber being pulled. Twelve dwarves on each and the excess of the small band keeping a protective perimeter. For they were now in hostile territory. Against common belief, Rathmar held strong to the knowledge that the orcs surrounding Kachuk and infesting the mountains they were now trudging through were becoming increasingly bold in their actions. And although he was willing to sacrifice himself for Kachuk, he was not going to sacrifice his men.

The very men he had fought and bled with, through and through.

"It's been two days and we haven't even been able to enjoy a decent ale with the way you're pushing us." Kilrog groaned. The dwarf was one of Rathmar's best fighters, second only to Rathmar. His name was quickly growing fame and his exploits in the small band becoming popular talk in the dwarven community. Too quickly, Rathmar thought. The young dwarf often let the rumors and gossip get to his head, even enough to question Rathmar's authority on occasion.

But Valkas was always there to cool him down. Being second in command and under the very tutelage of his dwarven captain, the priest was learning quickly the heart it took to lead. Open but firm, the very words that Rathmar had spoken to him were his guiding light when searching for a way out of such predicaments.

"Bah," the dwarven captain waved away the comment, "ale does nothing but muck things up." Gasps and subtle protests came from the dwarven soldiers. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, "I like to enjoy a nice pint every now and again. But once it starts effecting me progress?" - he began shaking his head - "Aye, I'll have none o' that!" The dwarven team grumbled among themselves for a few seconds, for they all saw the logic in the captain's statement.

All but one. "It's not our problem ye can't hold yer liqour," commented Hegran, the 'dimwit' of the group. "And ye call yerself a dwarf?" A few chuckled at the statement, while the others just kept pulling, not wanting to invoke the wrath of their leader.

"Ye've got no room to be talking!" Rathmar proclaimed. "How many times have you come to us after a drunkard's night, whining about how bad the ale's been to ye?" The poor dwarf started to shrink in the face of the captain's furious berating. "By me own estimation, ye're the one carrying the lightest load 'round here, and more than a few of us agree that ye could be doing more if ye didn't take so much pleasure in yer drink."

The defeated dwarf shrugged and said, "I was just saying."

"Well if ye said less and pulled more we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?" The dwarves bursted into laughter, even the poor Hegran, and the band went back to their work.


The time rolled on and Rathmar gave out more inspirational orders, urging his men on just a little more with promises of rest in the near future. The truth was, the band had been working for two days throughout the mountains pulling the wagons along and the dwarf captain wasn't planning on stopping long until he achieved what he set out to do.

"Captain!" called a scout from ahead, "Ye might want to be seeing this."

The dwarf jumped down from his perch on the wagon, his auburn hair flying against his shoulder. He rushed his way over to the scout, anticpation in his limbs. As if reading his mind, the scout lead Rathmar to the spot. A large cirular plain that extended from the mountains, with high walls of sharp stone that created the perimeter. There was only one entrance, the one Rathmar was standing in, and even then the tight bottleneck of sharp stones would further bar entry.

After noticing that the entryway was barely large enough for the wagons to fit through, the dwarf captain said quietly to himself, "Aye, this is perfect." He had found the site for the first settlement - outside of Kachuk - in the expansion of the dwarven lands.

The only thing Rathmar didn't realize was that his perfect site, a vision of a grander world, was also perfect for an orc tribe that had already held its claim.

[Bearded Gnome]

"We're not throwing ye out, mind ye," Kellen said to Rathmar, standing tall next to the twin kings. "We're just finding a solution that can benefit us all."

Rathmar stood silent. He didn't know how to handle the proposition. Of course he understood the logic, but it hurt him deeply that it had come to such drastic measures. The twin kings were his allies in the struggle of acceptance, but they were also oath-bound, and by being the kings, they held a duty to their kingdom. After a silent moment, he nodded.

Grimbold though, not seeing the captain's movement, continued, "Look at it this way, Rathmar, yer not the most popular dolt in the world, and yer being here has made more than a ripple. Why, I don't know. If they took the time to get to know ye, they'd find ye a right good dwarf. But that's off the point."

"By ye being here, the dwarves're fighting with themselves," Kellen put in. "And that's something we can't have. So instead o' just exiling ye like that fool Arman and the Elders have mentioned-"

"Many times now," Grimbold interrupted.

Kellen gave Grimbold a quick punch in the arm, "So instead of getting rid of ye, we're giving ye the chance to expand some. Yer still a part of the clan, don't ye doubt, that's something nobody can take away from ye, ye'll just be working yer own way. Like an outpost."

"And ye'll be able to come to us fer anything ye need," Grimbold stated. "Supplies, food, or...reinforcements."

Rathmar understood what he meant by that. The mountains surrounding the dwarves held many orc tribes and they were often known for attacking passing caravans. And if they were ambushed by a large force, they wouldn't stand a chance.

"A life in the mountain's hard," Kellen commented, "especially when yer starting out. But I trust ye can be making the best of it. That is why yer one of our most trusted captains."

The twin kings noticed that just for a second, Rathmar seemed to stand even taller than his five foot, two inch frame, his pride bolstered by the kings' compliment. It wasn't every day that a dwarf received such high praise. Which was why he didn't want to leave.

"We'll be giving ye wagons to carry supplies in, mostly lumber fer the building of it, with a little food and ale put in." Kellen gave a quick wink. "If ye need anything else, just ask."

"Are ye sure ye don't need some more men?" Grimbold asked. "Being fifteen over a score doesn't seem to be a formidable force."

"I'll be fine." Rathmar said with a slight smile and a nodding head. "Me men are no strangers to war. I'm sure we'd be able to give any orcs a good beating."

"And if not....?" Kellen asked.

"Then we'll be dying with honor." Rathmar plainly stated.

"Aye," the twin kings agreed solemnly.

[Bearded Gnome]

Slow was their progress when traveling through the mountains. Each step gave another pain and each gust of wind gave another bite. They were tired, cold and hungry. Their blood-red weapons hanging lazily at their sides. They had fought hard this day. Harder than ever before. But all respect and recognition went to their chieftain, an orc by the name of Gruks. He was a large orc, larger than most, with broad shoulders and a strong chest.

Among his people he was a legend. Stories were told of his many victories. Told of how he brilliantly routed an enemy here, or flawlessly trapped a force there. With Fellheart the Corrupter, his famed pike, he tore his way through countless enemies. Most of them were rivaling tribes, led by babbling orcs that thought outright force and brutality won a battle.

Gruks knew better.

He knew where to place his troops, where to find a weakness in the enemy's defenses and exploit it and, one of his favorite techniques, he knew the art of swarming. To surround an enemy, attack from all sides, give no openings, and completely overwhelm the force. To Gruks' thinking, he had perfected the tactic, though many knew there was no way to perfect a maneuver of pure chaos.

He was confident in both his tactics and his abilities. He believed that he could never truly be caught off-guard.

And it was with a look of complete surprise that Gruks gazed down at the dwarven encampment. For a fleeting moment the thought came to his mind that they had found the wrong spot. But upon scanning his surroundings and noting the telltale paths, he knew they were at the right destination.

A fire welled inside him. Flame-ridden eyes squinted threatingly. No one would dare claim his prize. No one would dare to oppose him. And no one would dare to think otherwise. Three lessons he planned on teaching the dwarves when he arrived.

"Prepare for battle," he barked.

The orcs scurried about gathering their gear and suiting their chieftain with his armor. Gruks stared long and hard at the dwarven encamptment, and from that vantage point he knew the attack would be like attacking a fortress. But he trusted in his warriors compliance in the attack. For refusing him meant death, and none dared to refuse him.

[Bearded Gnome]

Rathmar stood triumphantly on the parapet of the new outpost. He was standing directly above the wooden gates, which they had slightly reinforced with steel. They were open at that time, dwarves coming and going with supplies making any changes they thought necessary in reinforcing the large wooden fortification. It had only taken them two days to finish, and when looking at the size of the fort, that was a feat to be proud of.

Pride, Rathmar thought, was something he had in abundance this day. He felt proud for his men, an emotion he knew they had also felt upon finishing their new home. Many of them knew that it wasn't quite finished though. In order to truly survive the hardships of the mountains, they would need to reinforce it even further. Plans were already in the making to send envoys back to Kachuk and request stones large enough to make the structure complete.

The dwarf captain was contemplating who would be the one to lead a group to Kachuk for the supplies. He thought of sending Valkas, his second in command, but realized he would need him if they found themselves under attack. He also thought of Kilrog but quickly dismissed sending the surly dwarf. He would also need his best fighter if they were attacked. He spent many minutes going through each of his thirty-five men, finding reasons not to send them.

But then, when reaching Hegran, he could not think of a reason. Even though he wasn't the most respected amongst the dwarves, he had his uses. When angry enough, the black-haired dwarf can take on any foe. He even rivaled Kilrog in battle on occasion. But yet another reason to send the dwarf was that, out of all the dwarves under his command, Hegran was the most expendable. It pained Rathmar to think that way, but when faced with the security of his own stronghold, he needed his best and finest with him.

He would send a few others with him, both to help and protect the dwarf. So with a deep breath he settled it. He slowly worked his way to the stairs leading to the ground level, where he spotted Hegran immediately. Sitting by himself, the dwarf stared aimlessly into the charred remains of the campfire. He had a stick in his hand and every few moments he would poke the burnt pieces and watch the ashes fall to the ground. From the look on his face, Rathmar could tell he was in deep thought.

"How are ye, Hegran?" Rathmar asked. He sat down next to the dwarf and watched his face.

"This wood here," Hegran replied as if never hearing the question, "it had a purpose once. It was useful...but now, it's nothing more than ashes in a hole."

"Ye alright?" Rathmar asked. "Yer starting to sound like Jomil with the way yer talking."

Hegran looked up from the dead wood and met Rathmar's gaze. "What ye said captain, it hit me hard...and I've been thinking. I know I'm not pulling me weight, and I know that you'd be better off without having me...so I'm thinking-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentance." Rathmar had his finger pointing toward the dwarf, "I'm not gonna be having you thinking yourself useless."

"But what you said..."

"But nothing. I treat ye the way I do because ye need it. Hells, all of ye need it. You think I'd be treating Kilrog any different if he were in yer shoes?"

"Probably'd be treating him worse with the mouth on that one." Valkas stated as he walked by, hearing the brunt of the converstaion.

Hegran cracked a faint smile at the comment.

"Now look," the captain continued, "I'm gonna be needing ye for a mission that I think ye'd be just right for. Ye up to it?"

Hegran's face lit up and a smile spread under his large beard. "Whatever ye'll be having me do, I'll be doing it." Rathmar smiled in return and held out his forearm to the dwarf. The black-haired dwarf took it firmly and lifted himself to his feet. "So," he said with a joyous tone, "what's this mission about?"

But before the dwarf captain could answer, the sound of battle erupted in the distance.

[Lucien]

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