Enemy; A Dwarven Tale
Dark clouds drifted over the sky above the keep of Dzalla as the
sun set and night began. Rain had sleeted across the keep for many days,
and the dwarven warriors within were restless. Two weeks ago, news had
reached them of a group of goblins who had settled in a small plain to
the south of the keep, and the dwarves had heard rumours of the goblins
attacking the small dwarf villages in the foothills nearby, killing the
menfolk and enslaving the women. Requests for help had arrived from a number
of the villages, telling the lord of the keep, Ghimra, of the terrible
atrocities these goblins were committing, and pleading that the keep send
out an army to dispense them. As soon as the first request had arrived,
Ghimra had began to assemble his best warriors, but the foul weather had
foiled them. The day before they had planned to march through the hills
to the goblin village, a fearsome storm had arrived, which made travel
through the treacherous landscape impossible. Each dwarf in Dzalla prayed
for the storms to end soon.
Ghimra had called together his council in the main hall of the
keep. He sat at the head of an enormous table, with Rehn, his son and heir
to the keep on his right, and Ubrek, the keep's future diviner, who had
studied the arts of magic in the southern continent, to his left. The table
was lined with the highest ranking warriors in Ghimra's army, as well as
the finest armours and craftsmen, all of the prominent members of the keep's
community. Ghimra stood up as the final few latecomers settled in their
seats, and cleared his throat. "My people, Ubrek has good news for us.
Please tell the council Ubrek." Ubrek stood, and looked around the assembled
dwarves as Ghimra sat down again. "As you all know, the arts I was taught
in my studious days have given me certain powers, pertaining to the future.
My predictions of our glorious victories in battle have always been correct,
as I am sure you will all agree." The dwarves mumbled in agreement - They
were as yet unmatched in battle, and Ubrek had predicted their victories
every time. Secretly, many of the dwarves believed that he just told them
what they wanted to hear though - Most of the keep's inhabitants were very
dubious about the uses of magic, and preferred the solid metal tools and
weapons they had become used to. "My divination's at this time indicate
that this storm will pass within three days or less, and that another glorious
battle will succeed it." The dwarves cheered, and stood up to clap Ubrek.
They had expected that the meeting had been called for such a reason, but
to hear someone say that the storm would soon be over was reassuring to
them all, and their spirits had been lifted. Ghimra called for the maids
to bring ale, to celebrate, and the dwarves soon began to drink merrily.
All except one. Rehn caught the arm of his old friend and tutor, Naljat,
as the dwarf left the room. "Why are you leaving Naljat? The festivities
have only just started, we must celebrate our imminent victory!" "I cannot
stay my friend, I have work to do." Naljat was the keep's best weapon crafter,
and his axes were the only ones used by any member of the ruling family
of recent, due to their exceptional quality. "That can wait! Drink now,
work later!" Rehn thrust a mug of ale into Naljat's protesting hands. "I
am sorry Rehn, I cannot. The news of the storm ending has put some urgency
on my work, for I am creating my masterpiece. I aim to have completed a
mighty axe before the warband leaves, an axe greater than any I or any
other has made before. I want your father to wield this axe in the battle
which will follow the end of the storms." "Oh..." Rehn said. "Well... We
can't keep you from that can we..." He smiled as he took the mug back from
Naljat, still a little disappointed, but recognising the almost feverish
tone in the old dwarf's voice. This axe seemed very important to him. Rehn
stared thoughtfully at Naljat as they walked away down the corridor at
close to a run, stopping briefly as the guards opened the castle doors,
and then stepping out of view into the driving rain. Rehn turned back to
the celebrations and forgot all his uneasiness as the guards shut the castle
doors again.
The next morning, as the sun beat down on the sodden keep even
earlier than expected, dwarves rushed anxiously around, preparing their
weapons and armour for the quest ahead of them. Rehn cheerfully responded
to the many greetings and smiles he received as he walked between the castle
and Naljat's house, eager to see whether the old dwarf had managed to complete
his weapon. As he knocked on the door, Rehn called out the dwarves name.
When he received no response, he presumed that his old friend had worked
all night on the weapon, and must have fallen asleep over it. Cheerfully
calling out to a passing dwarf, he pushed open the oaken door...
... and gasped in horror. Blood covered the floor, and silvered
glass crunched underfoot as Rehn ventured into the house. He saw the body
of his old tutor, Naljat, in the middle of the floor, body stiff with the
effects of death, and dried blood caked around his mouth and ears. Rehn
knelt down beside him, shouting back towards the door for help, and examined
the body. After a few minutes, a couple of keep patrolmen rushed into the
house. One was a very young recruit, only a few days into the job, and
the sight of the body caused him to rush back out, face paled. The other
knelt down beside Rehn and peered at the old dwarf with squinting eyes.
"Doesn't seem to be any fight wounds M'lord... Do you know what happened
here?" The patrolman asked. "No, I was just coming to see if he had finished
the weapon he was working on, and found him like this!" Said a distraught
Rehn, rising to his feet. By now a number of other dwarves were peering
through the door. "Erm... Is that the weapon lord?" One of them asked pointing
across the room. Rehn's eyes followed the dwarves quivering finger, to
see a huge black and red battle axe, one blade glinting in the morning
light, the other buried deep in the wooden back of a shattered mirror.
"No Rehn. I shall be wielding Hertssoe. I have wielded that axe
in every battle since I was twelve, and I don't intend to stop now." Ghimra
stood in front of a body length mirror, adjusting his robes and crown for
the warband's procession out of the keep. "But it was Naljat's dying wish
that you wielded his new axe in the battle..." Rehn sat nearby, wearing
a suit of light chainmail underlayed with leather armour, holding the black
and red axe in his hands, examining the fine sharp blade and the deeply
engraved runes, many of which looked ancient and were unrecognisable to
the young dwarf. "When Naljat made me Hertssoe, I promised him that I would
never fight with any other weapon. To relinquish that promise would be
a slur on his dead memory." Ghimra turned to Rehn, lifting his grey metal
axe, Hertssoe, from the table next to him. "Perhaps you should have this
new axe. He never did get round to making you your own, after all." With
that, Ghimra turned and walked out of the room. Rehn sighed and looked
down at the shiny metal of the axe, watching the strange ways the light
reflected from it. For a moment, he thought he saw something in the shimmering
surface... Like a face in continual pain and torment, but as it vanished,
he realised it could only be his own reflection, twisted by the runes that
pocked the blade's surface. He stood up, axe in hand, and followed his
father to where the procession would begin.
After over a week of marching, the dwarf warband reached a hill
just above the goblin encampment. The camp looked pretty run down after
the recent storms, but the goblins had already started to rebuild it, ready
to launch more attacks on the surrounding villages. Night had already fallen
over the land, and the dwarves watched with sombre silence from their raised
viewpoint as the goblins shrieked and screamed while they danced around
a central fire. Ghimra looked around at his assembled warriors, a few of
which nodded grimly in his direction. Finally, his eyes came to rest on
his son, Rehn, who stood next to him, eyes filled with a mixture of anxiety
and fascination, the black and red axe resting in his trembling hands.
Ghimra touched Rehn lightly on the shoulder, and the younger dwarf looked
around with wide eyes.
"Now is the time my son."
With a battle cry, Ghimra rose Hertssoe high into the air, and
charged down the hillside towards the village, followed by a teeming mass
of shouting frenzied dwarves. Throughout the village, goblins ceased their
frantic dances and turned to see the wave of stout warriors thundering
across the wasteland at the edge of the camp. Goblins scattered and screamed
as the dwarves smashed through the camp, axes swinging wildly, tents collapsing
as the slicing blades cut through their thin structures, goblin bodies
flying to each side with huge gashes that poured out blood. Screams and
shouts filled the air, and many of the goblins managed to grab their weapons
and defend themselves from the onslaught. Sparks flew as metal smashed
against metal, and one hut fell over on top of the fire, causing the flames
to shoot outwards, enveloping writhing green bodies and lighting up camps
on the other side. Rehn was split from his fathers side by the fighting,
and found himself surrounded by fleeing goblins, whom he hacked at viciously
with his axe. Limbs were dismembered and flew away from his unstoppable
blade, spraying nearby warriors with arcs of blood. One goblin rose up
before him, a rusty sword in his hand, and lunged for the dwarf, but a
swing of the axe shattered the reddish-grey blade and smashed in the goblins
thin skull. Up ahead, near the inferno caused by the collapsed hut, Rehn
saw silvery arches of power dancing from the hands of one shrieking goblin,
and he saw proud dwarven warriors smashed apart by these fantastical bolts.
Working his way towards the goblin, whom he saw wore coloured beads and
dyed bones, Rehn smashed his axe viciously through the back of one of the
greenskins, who screamed in pain and crumpled at the feet of the young
dwarf. As he drew close to the bead- wearing goblin, the flames licked
up higher, and bathed the scene in red. Rehn raised the black and red axe
over his head, poising it, ready for the death blow, and the goblin shaman
turned to face him, eyes wide with fear. The shaman raised one hand, pointing
his finger straight at Rehn, and called out a single word as the axe began
it's deadly path towards his head...
"DEMON!"
... and then the shaman lay dead and still at Rehn's feet, his
skull broken open and red fluid oozing out from it. Everything around Rehn
went quiet, and he glanced around, to see the goblins and dwarves still
battling. It was almost as if all the noise from the fights was being drained...
Glancing around again, he realised that the dwarves had gone, and the goblins
were now fighting amongst themselves. One of the goblins approached Rehn,
and mouthed something at him, but Rehn was unable to hear what they said,
the sound still not reaching his ears. The goblin looked around, hoisting
up it's weapon, and it was then that Rehn saw that it was wielding Hertssoe,
his fathers blade. In a moment of fury, Rehn stepped forward, swinging
up one of the axe's two blades towards the goblin, pulling it upwards towards
the creatures face with all his might...
... and the axe cleaved straight through his fathers jaw, ripping
upwards into the dwarf lord's face, and digging deep into the fleshy grey
matter behind it. His father dropped to the floor, his life essence spilling
out from his mortal wound, as noise exploded back into Rehn's ears. The
young dwarf staggered backwards, gasping in terror at the sight of his
fathers corpse before him. He glanced around to see that some of the dwarfs
had stopped slaughtering the goblins, who were routing by now, and were
instead staring at their former leaders son, jaws dropping at the act he
had just committed. Rehn stepped backwards, nearly slipping on the ooze
from the shaman he had killed, and glanced around to see that some of the
dwarves had started to walk towards him as he steadied himself. In panic,
not wishing to fight his kinsmen, yet knowing that they would fight him,
Rehn turned and bolted from the village, leaping over the remains of a
flaming hut and disappearing into the cold darkness of the night.
Rehn ran without stopping for the next two days, unable to believe
what he had done, and terrified of what would happen if his kinsfolk caught
up with him. When he finally stopped, he collapsed against a tree, exhausted
from his long run. As his eyes drifted shut, and darkness passed over him,
he saw two figures approaching him.
He awoke, sometime later, in a strange room lit by candles. He
had been placed in a short bed, and the curtains of the room were closed.
Glancing around, he saw his axe and armour in a small pile on a table,
and a stout looking wooden door at the opposite end of the room to the
window. Rehn pushed himself off the bed, and rubbed one of his legs, which
painfully protested as he stood up. Hobbling past the curtains to retrieve
his equipment, he glanced out to see the ominous round moon staring down
at him. As he shrugged on his light armour, he heard a crash from below,
and tilted his head to listen, but no more sounds came. Intrigued by this,
he picked up his axe, and walked slowly to the door. Tentatively trying
the handle, he found it was unlocked, and he slipped out of the room into
the dim corridor outside. Glancing up and down the corridor, Rehn decided
he was in an inn; doors lined the corridor on either side, no doubt concealing
more rooms such as the one he had just left. At the far end of the corridor,
there was a stairway leading upwards, but Rehn ignored this in favour of
the downwards staircase to his left. He creept down this stairway, axe
still in hand, listening for further signs of commotion, but could not
hear any. Ahead of him, he spotted a door that was ajar, spilling light
into the small darkened room at the bottom of the stairs. Reaching this,
he peeked through the small gap.
In the main bar of the inn, he saw a horrific ogre, a hideously
disfigured dwarf, ripping up chairs and tables and throwing them to the
sides of the room, where dwarven women and children cowered under upturned
tables. Angered by this, Rehn barged through the small door, opening his
mouth to call out a battle cry, and lifted his axe high over his head...
He didn't notice the silence until his blade sliced through the
drunkards head. The completely normal, except for the gaping wound across
it's forehead, body of the dwarf fell to the floor at his feet. Rehn stared
unbelievingly at the corpse before him, that of a simple dwarf who had
drunk too much, and had paid for it with his life. Rehn looked up and around
him, at the shocked expressions of the dwarves in the room. "I...I..."
Rehn stuttered as he looked around the dwarven faces. He took a step forward,
and the dwarves nearby shrank away from him. He heard a noise behind him,
and turned to see the barkeeper rising from below the bar counter, a wood
cutting axe in his hands. Rehn took a step backwards, and then as the barkeeper
stepped out from behind the bar, Rehn looked around desperately for an
exit. Seeing that the only door other than the one he had come through
was now blocked by the approaching barkeeper, Rehn darted towards the one
he had entered through. The barkeeper started to run as well, raising his
axe over his head, and swung it down just as Rehn ducked behind the door.
The sharpened blade splintered through the light material of the door as
Rehn swung it shut in the face of the barkeeper, who was forced to stop
and try to wrench his weapon free. Rehn took the opportunity to scan the
darkened room at the bottom of the stairway, but seeing no other exits,
he clambered up the stairs as fast as he could. As he reached the top of
them, he heard the splintering noise that indicated the barkeeper had freed
his weapon. For a moment, Rehn hesitated about what to do; The stairs at
the opposite end of the corridor led further up into the building, and
the doors just led into bedrooms. The noise of feet upon stairs soon made
his decision for him though, and he ran through the door that led into
the room he had woken up in. Slamming it shut behind him, he ran straight
to the window and ripped open the curtains, causing the thin fabric to
fall to the floor in a heap. He peered through the grime-stained glass,
and was unable to see far through the darkness of the night. As the bedroom
door swung open behind him, he took his chances, and leapt into the window,
his hurtling form smashing through the thin glass and tumbling through
the air outside. He hit the ground a few seconds later, after falling about
three times his height. Groaning with pain, he rose to hit feet, picking
up his axe which had landed a little distance away and glancing over his
shoulder. The edges of his vision started to fade into blackness, and the
lights of the inn seemed to dance and play behind him. He heard a door
bang, and a shout came out into the night. This spurred Rehn on, and he
limped away from the lights of the inn as fast as he could, slightly dragging
his left leg, which he had fallen on quite heavily. A few hours later,
as the sun rose over a new day, he tripped on a loose tree root, and laid
still on the forest floor.
When he awoke, a couple of days later, Rehn found himself propped
up against a tree, sitting next to a raging campfire. In a daze, he peered
around the darkened fireplace, noticing a rug and some equipment on the
opposite sit of the fire, and a half eaten rabbit corpse on a stick nearby.
Looking to his other side, he saw his axe. He was still wearing his armour.
He tried to shift his left leg, but grunted as a wave of pain passed through
him. "Ahh, so you are awake dwarf." A figure emerged from the darkness
beyond the fire. This creature was such that Rehn had never seen before
- much taller than a dwarf or goblin, or even an orc. The creature was
obviously female, and Rehn felt an attraction towards her immediately.
"Are you... An elf?" Rehn drew upon his limited lessons in the history
and cultures of the world to make his guess. The female merely laughed,
and smiled at him. "No dwarf, I am a human." Rehn screwed up his face in
puzzlement at this. He knew that the creature did not possess many of the
qualities he had been taught of as being part of an elf, such as the pointed
ears and the horribly smooth and fragile skin he had heard about, but he
had never heard of these so called humans. "Human? What is... A human?"
The human smiled. "I am a human. I suppose we are really like you, only
bigger. Our history is not as long as yours however, so I am not surprised
you have not heard of us. Our race is expanding constantly though... I
have no doubts that we will soon have settlements in this area." Rehn still
looked confused. "Suffice to say, I am not an orc or goblin." She smiled
again. "My name is Ornlai. What is yours?" She picked up the stick with
the rabbit corpse, and offered it to him. "My, err, my name is Rehn." He
took the corpse, and bit into it ravenously, having not eaten for at least
a week. "You seem to be in quite a bad shape. Have you been in battle recently?"
Rehn gulped down the mouthful of rabbit he had bitten off before answering.
"Yes, I have. But my recent battles have not been glorious victories."
Ornlai grinned and nodded. "I myself have had many bad battles. A warrior
cannot expect to win all the time. I just thank the gods that I have managed
to retain my life throughout them." "You fight?" Rehn asked, with a questioning
look on his face. Not many Dwarven females went to battle, though their
history was full of dwarven warrior women. Whenever one did feel the lust
for battle, their victories were usually celebrated even more than usual,
as most dwarves saw it as a triumph over the females of the other races.
"Oh yes, very much so." Ornlai smiled, and reached into a small backpack
on the rug, which she had sat down on. "Here is my weapon." She drew out
from the backpack a long, shining broadsword, with a gem studded hilt.
"In fact, that is why I am here. There are more foul orcs and other creatures
in these hills and woodlands than in the forests and plains around my homeland.
More things to fight." She grinned, her teeth flashing in the firelight.
"Perhaps you would be interested in joining me? I always find that fighting
is more fun with a companion by your side." As Rehn gulped down the last
fragments of his rabbit, he nodded in agreement. There would be no chance
of him returning to his people now - He would be branded a kinslayer and
hunted down. The attraction he felt towards Ornlai also implored him to
stay with her... Never had he seen such a beautiful creature, even amongst
his own kind, and she was even a kindred spirit - A warrior.
For a number of years, the pair journeyed together. They shared
stories of their races history - Rehn told of dwarven battles and victories,
and Ornlai told of the humans struggles to establish themselves, but Rehn
never mentioned his personal past, and Ornlai was not interested enough
to push him to talk about it. Occasionally they would come upon a party
of goblins or orcs, and the two would fight side by side, vanquishing any
foe in their path. Once they even found an entire encampment of goblins,
and slaughtered the whole village. During the battle, Rehn never let Ornlai
leave his sight - The memories of his fathers death were too painful, and
he knew he could not live with himself if he killed a third innocent victim
thinking they were another creature - And he could especially not live
with himself if he killed Ornlai.
One day, the duo were walking along a narrow path, in a low hilly
forested area. The group near to the path was strewn with boulders and
vines, and they were forced to walk in single file, with Rehn taking the
lead and hacking away the occasional vine with his axe. On this particular
day, Rehn was reciting the legend of the dwarf king Makala, who slew forty
orcs with his bare hands. Half way through the story, Rehn realised that
he could no longer hear his own voice, and he stopped abruptly, memories
of the goblin battle and the inn resounding in his mind. He listened for
a few seconds, but heard nothing... Not even the footsteps of Ornlai. He
whirled around, and stared back down the path. An orc was jogging towards
him, scimitar in hand, but he could see no sign of Ornlai. Rehn hefted
his axe up to his chest, and held it before him, ready to spring into action...
But then his mind began to protest. He remembered killing a goblin, who
turned out to be his father, and killing an ogre, who turned out to be
a simple drunkard... Could he risk killing this orc, who might be Ornlai?
As the orc drew closer, raising the scimitar, Rehn dropped to his knees,
mind spinning, unable to focus on what to do... Should he attack? Should
he at least defend himself? Should he close his eyes and see what happened?
But could he risk closing his eyes with a possible enemy approaching? Rehn
was not the greatest of thinkers, and it all became too much for him. He
began to cry for the first time in his life, as the orc stopped in front
of him and raised their scimitar higher. His body lost all strength, and
his hands went limp, causing him to drop his axe.
As the weapon left his hands, Rehn noticed a broken corpse lying
in the path behind the orc. His hearing returned just in time to hear a
blade slicing through the air.
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