Even the longest journies begin with but a single step...

By Tarn Stormhold

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 2

The 'eart o' every dwarf pulses wit' the 'eat of fire. 'Tis, in the end, the core o' all we 'old dear. Whether in the meldin' an' shapin' o' metals, or powerin' the belly o' some great steam contraption, or simply the great, slow, 'eavy 'eat of the deepest o' caves, where rocks flow like dragons tongues, fire is key an' core t'all we're known fer.

Other races 'ave their own fires in their souls. Human's fire be light and quick in their short lives, like the lit 'ead of a match. Elven fire burns slow, but 'otter than most, liable to set them ablze wit' magick or romantic 'ijincks o' some sort or another. Gnomes an' 'alflings 'ave much the same fire, a fire for possesion, a fire for consuming. They go 'bout achievin' it in different ways, but their 'earts both beat fer the same things: gold, treasure, and makin' the property o' others some'ow their own. Ogres an' Orcs may 'ave a fire of their own. I've never 'ad much inclination t' research it too strongly. But if there is one, I'd reckon it's a cold one, 'ard like stone, an 'ardness fair difficult t'break, as well.

Each o' these fires gives a man or woman their path in life. As both engine t' power their steps an' choices, an' a beacon t' light the trail, their fires take them wherever they're destined at the pace they set. Whether Human or Orc, Elf of Gnome, some choices are made fer them, an' some be still open, but their fire leads them all in th' end.

Now I started by describin' tha' Dwarves 'ave their own fire, but I nay told ye 'ow it beats. Where t' see its touch; aye, I know tha'. But as t' 'ow it really feels inside the common Dwarf....well, t' tell ye the truth, I've not the most solid of ideas on the subject. An' tha' be much o' the reason I'm talkin' t' ye from this chair today.

I 's born under the Grey Mountains, oh, some four-hunnert an' fifty odd years ago. Aye, yer eyes grow wide t' think o' such a great span o' time. I've seen more years than any I know personally, and yet not so many as I might still peruse. An' in the great Spin o' The Wheel, I've likely nary carried meself more'n a few revolutions in a path o' more miles than any could count. In tha' time, I've seen battles fought, 'eroes rise an' fall, cities born, cities grow, an' cities burn. Legends 'ave come an' gone, an' I was there for the lot of it. But many more 'appened before me Spoke was ever even concieved of, an' far more'll likely occur after I'm splintered, broken, an' finally replaced. A fine lesson if'n I've n'ere told ye it so far: Take in all ye can while ye've got the chance. Be not afraid o' gettin' it all, 'tis a task perhaps past even the Gods. But take all ye can, when ye can, fer nothin' stops t' wait fer ye t'catch up an' get on if ye miss it th' first time, 'cept wagons an' whores.........er, perhaps forget tha' last one fer now. Ye'll learn what I mean in a few years, an' I don't think yer Father'll take too kindly t' ye gettin' THA' old joke too fast.

Anyways, 'tis nay the point o' this tale. My own story, as I said, started under the Grey Mountains, in the home of the Wheel Clan. We were, an' still are, the greatest an' most respected o' the clans. There be no real competition or envy a'tween each clan, o' course. Be it The Stone Clan, The Clan o' 'Eavy 'Ammers, The Clan o' The Fort, or e'en the smallest clan, The Copper Clan, each 'as its own part to play an' job t' perform. Each one gives part o' itself an' its ancestral craft t' the good o' the whole, an' without e'en one part o' it, the others'd 'ave an 'arder time o' it without tha' part. But the Wheel Clan be the largest, an' most easily accesible t' parleyin' with the outside world, so the others defer the bulk o' the job o' co-ordinatin' t' them.

Me father, name o' Magnus Stormhold, was a Captain in the Guards o' The Great Wheel. 'Twas a fine position for any Dwarf, bein' charged wit' the safeguard an' care o' the Great 'All where the Dwarven Council met and 'eard petitions. A ceremonial position, t' be sure, for no enemy would dare try'n attack tha' great place any'ow. If'n they first managed t' break past the army tha' stands guard in the side passages an' caves leadin' up to it, they'd nay escape the traps and machinations o' those who guarantee none leave without their assistance! With the pull o' a few levers, no one, be they techno, mage, or e'en Dwarf, can ever 'ope t' escape the Mountain when she's closed up tighter'n an ' Elven arse.

The position me father achieved was still one o' importance, though. Whether 'e'd ever 'ave t' actually face an opponent in the Great 'All was unlikely. But 'e was a symbol o' all the power tha' could come t' bear 'gainst those who would dare t' think it 'neath that mountain. I can remember spending hours tracin' the designs etched on 'is armor, wit' the 'istory o' the Clan an' the family o' the Dwarf tha' wears it writ cross it in tale an' picture. I dreamed o' the day I'd be strong enough t' wear it, an', at th' point me father deemed it time t' step aside, 'e might choose me t' fill 'is stead. I could then take me own place in our 'istory, an' emblemize all we were proud of, an all we were chosen t' do.

Other than tha', me days were spent like any other dwarven child, an not mindin' the fine details, much like any child o' any race. School took up th' majority o' most days. Readin', 'ritin', an 'rithmatic were of importance to all the children, as a Dwarf's sense o' self comes from the work 'e's able t' do. If'n he can't read instructions, write a plan out, or work the calculations for it, 'e's liable t' turn out an inferior product, an' there be no greater shame than tha'. E'en those dwarves tha' don't create some object or another in their lives 'ave their own uses for these skills, an' would be 'ard pressed t' get by without 'em.

After school came play o' many sorts. Many a trip into the catacombs tha' surrounded us, t' seek out wonders an' sights described by others gone before, or t' find somethin' tha'd n'ere been seen by mortal eyes a'fore, was always an option. All Dwarves, young or old, 'ave an innate sense of place underground, so gettin' lost 'twasn't hardly a concern. An' if'n ye didn't feel tha' explorin' was yer forte tha' day, games o', "Riddle Me,", "Orcs 'n Heroes,", "Skints 'n Paddles,", or any number o' other pastimes could be played.

Me favorite time, though, was always right a'fore bed. Me father, 'is duties long over for the day, would send me sitter 'ome for the night, an' with me well tucked into me bed, 'e'd try'n lull me t' sleep wit's stories. 'E'd 'ave rather spent that time, I'm sure, acquaintin' me with lists of the duties an' ceremonies a Guard o' the Great 'All must be aware of. And I'd 'ear tell of those for a while, but soon I'd be beggin' fer somethin' more exptic. Be it tales of our Clan, our family 'istory, legends tha'd walked the caverns o' the mountains or the outside world, or e'en just somthin' he made up special for me on tha' day while standin' guard, 'e never failed t' dazzle me young mind. 'Twas a plot o' is t' put me' t' sleep as I said, an' any other Dwarven child'd likely be fast asleep long a'fore 'e finish most o' 'is tales. But I, I'd listen intently, eyes likely shinin' like yers are right now, until I'd fake sleepin' fer a bit. If'n I didn't, I's afraid 'e'd give up on the stories as a failed plan t' put me t' bed. In truth, though, I'd be wide awake most nights past lamps out, me imagination whirlin' in the new ideas or images 'e'd 'ave spun for me tha' night. I was 'ungry for more each an' every time, an' as time went on, 'ungrier still each an' every night. I've 'ad many a job in me years, but in retrospect, I can see 'ow this time in me life created much o' the Dwarf ye've come t' know today, an' drove me t' make many o' the decisions I made in me later travels.

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"Are ye sure yer not noddin' off yet, lad?"

Ben's little 'ead, restin' comfortably a'tween 'is cupped palms, snapped suddenly t' attention. Me voice 'as always 'ad a soothin' quality to it, an' tha', workin' with the slow drowsiness o' a low reddening fire, seemed t' be workin' its long lethargic fingers through 'is body.

"N...No, Mr. Stormhold," 'e said with a barely concealed stretch an' stifled yawn, "I was...just resting for a bit. I'm not sleepy yet."

"I'm sure you're not, me boy, an' I can tell," I said with a low chuckle, "I've told many a tale before, an' ones far more interestin' than tha' o' a broken' ole' Dwarf."

"But it IS interesting," 'e insisted, drawing 'imself up as if t' shield off any further objections I might raise. "It sounds like you had a wonderful time down under those mountains. I mean, your father was a warrior, and then you got to be one when you grew up too, and then...," a perplexed look crossed his features, an' after a brief contemplative pause, "But...why aren't you still working as a guard right now, then? You know, after your father retired and you took over for him."

I've thought tha' thought a million times or more meself, an' me chest still constricts a bit when I think o' the answer to tha' now. "Now who said I ever became a guard, eh? I said I MIGHT 'ave been one. I never said I did,"

'E was not as easily put off by me evasive answer as I'd 'oped. "But...Why not? You said your father could choose you, right? Did you have an older brother who was first in line for it? Did you choose not to take his place? Why wouldn't you get to be a great warrior like he was?"

"There were...circumstances, Ben. Not everythin' works out as you'd 'ope sometimes. Why I'm 'ere now, an' not there, be for reasons beyond perhaps anyones control,"

The memories o' the end o' me time Undermoutain 'ad been growin' fainter with time. Buried once, they were thoughts I'd not touched since. Turned out, though, tha' the curiousity o' a small boy, an' perhaps tha' of aother boy I thought long gone, were to 'elp them claw their way back to the surface, an' into me life once more............