A Last Confession
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[ A Christmas present for Dwin, who was the driving force behind the Dolvaks, brought me in as one of the original 3, and tasked me with the charge or developing their lore. (Better Late than never!) Merry Christmas! ]
_The two burly humans tossed the beaten dwarf into the chair is if they were trying to splinter it. The fact that the legs were bolted to the floor only made the resulting "thud" louder and more painful, eliciting a low bloody cough from the tunnel-dweller.
His curled and seemingly broken form quickly straightened as one of the large shadows from behind him pulled his beard toward the ceiling, while his hands were shackled to the chair's arms.
The sound of threats and curses in dwarven increased to a dramatic crescendo only to stop as the fist came down across his chin.
The room spun a bit, but he had felt worse and the fact that he could see himself bleeding into his lap meant he was alive. He had to smile, the way he had repeatedly cheated death, sought out pain, protected his kin…..
He could hear his heart beat. Loud, rhythmic.. No. Those were heavy boots on a stone floor. Whispering in the shadows from across the room made him raise his head to peer out the swollen mass that housed his eye.
His head turned so that he could see out of the slit of the eye that was not swollen shut, he could make out the form turn and slowly make its way to the table, then deliberately sit.
He shook his head a bit to shake the blood from clouding his vision so that he could see.
His attempt to lean forward to get a better view leading to his beard being pulled back hard and fast. His instinct to fight suddenly turned to one of submission and the form in front of him waved a hand. His beard was released._
"You bear the mark of the Clan of Dolvak? Of dwarvenkind?"
He could only laugh at the question. A slow deep chuckle that revealed the damage done to him by the beatings. The gurgling of the blood filled lungs and the pain of the broken ribs brought to mind a joke.
"Me does wish me was of clan Stoneribs at the moment…."
The fist was unseen as it hit again at the lack of an answer. But the form asking the question held up a hand.
"Enough! I am sure this member of clan Dolvak is ready to tell us what we want to know."
His muttering of the dwarven threats ceased as he thought. He peered around the room. Three men, human. No elf can hit like that. The two larger might have some Half Orc in them, judging by what he could still smell. He looked back at the hazy form and took a deep breath.
"You ask of Clan Dolvak from Ironspur. There is NO clan Dolvak from Ironspur. Yes I wear the mark, but its not of a clan that exists."
Pausing for a moment as he tried to clear the cobwebs from his mind. Those which had grown strong with time and no beating could remove. As he thought, the more the three forms became irrelevant and the more his thoughts were about remembering who he was.
"There were…There were six clans that ruled Ironspur...The Drumtalkers.....The Orc...Orcleavers...."
His head turning slightly as he remembered a bit more of the past.
"Yes the Orcleavers… The Lawbenders.... Veinbreakers..... The Anvilpounders... And the.. the... Keglighters... Yes! Those are the six that ruled Ironspur."
The form just listened quietly, not interrupting the recollection of dwarf for fear that information might be lost if he were to die from his wounds.
"They were the clans that ruled Ironspur and controlled anything dwarven made for leagues and kingdoms around it. It was the center for anything dwarven. And no clan dared do business without consulting with their samman first… Not the Ironfists, nor the Stonefoots or Firebeards.. All those clans bowed to the power of the mark of Ironspur."
What looked like a grimace on the face of the dwarf might have actually been a smile, remembering back on his past.
"The six clans of Ironspur learned that together more coin could be made together than if they split apart! If humans needed walls built to protect from the hordes of Orcs, they had to come and ask for council with the council."
Another chuckle as the dwarf stretched his wrists in the restraints with a slight grimace.
"Those poor humans. They paid through the nose. Any effort to hire dwarves to work stone outside of the Ironspur council was met with flat no's. The dwarves feared the reprisals of the Union more than they lusted after that human gold. And the humans had to pay… Just a mention of the how half orcs came to be... Human females the unwilling mates.. Mad any price allowable.."
Then a deep breath and his face takes on a look of longing for a time that no longer exists.
"They were good times, times of great wealth, great battles, great clans….
But they are no more.... "His face straining on every detail of his recollection of facts.
"It was the Grudgebearer that brought things to an end… He ended it all with his treachery! And that was the Union's mistake... Bringing him in, an outsider, not seeing his greed, his ambition... What made the Union strong was that every member was part of the 6 families!"
A short shake of the head as if the mistake should have been obvious.
"But not the Grudgebearer. First he weakened the council by placing the names of a few clan leaders on the Rock of Grudges. For charges that were not true. He weakened the council by seeding distrust among the clans…. Killing the leaders of the clans that saw through the treachery at the Anvil.... And once the voices of reason were silenced, there was no one to stop the shouts of chaos and vengeance!"
The dwarf's form shrunk at the thought. He suddenly seemed old and frail. What appeared to be a tear from his mostly swollen eye, hid with the blood on his cheek, and snaked its way down his face to his mouth.
He tasted it, and he raised his eyebrows."In the end, it was a slaughter.. Any dwarf male who defied the Grudgebearer was killed along with his male children… The women, the mothers and sisters, spared only to be mated with the followers of the Grudgebearer... As a final insult to those that would not bow to his will."
A deep breath and a pause. Then as much as his swollen face would allow, what appeared to be a sly smile.
"But not all of the children were killed! A few escaped, hiding where their father's met in secret, where their 'azgal'… Their treasure horde..."
The dwarf then began to nod a bit as he was witness to what came out of the clan wars that destroyed Ironspur as he knew it.
"That is where Dwin, Foilir and Kassar became family. They stripped themselves of their clan names.. But to not forget the six clans they named themselves…Dolvak. Each letter representing one of the Clans that made the Union strong like the fingers of a hand form a fist."
"For years they hid in caves.. Lived in the shadows, avoided being noticed in the new Ironspur. They ate rats and drank the water that pooled in the shallow graves that their kin were buried... They learned to rely on each other, each playing a role for each other that their fathers did in the Union."
The dwarf stretched his form as much as the chair would allow him, trying to hear where the two burly forms were in the room as he turned his head from side to side.
"Kassar the nagging helpless bringer of Lore. Always with his knowledge of law and how to bend it to suit their needs. But as useless as a human made waraxe in battle. No matter what Foilir and Dwin tried to instill any fight sense into Kassar, he was meant for standing behind his kin."
A low, grumbling chuckle and a shake of the head at the recollection.
"It was Dwin and Foilir that grew close, each balancing out the other. Dwin the more willing to work with the humans, halfers and halflings. Foilir the faster to judge them as part of the outsiders that reminded him of the Grudgebearer."
"Dwin the fighter to stand in front of a superior foe, using his dwarven stances, tactics, and shield while Foilir circled behind finding chinks in armor, crippling and cutting throats."
"Dwin slaving to learn how to make armor worthy of his mark, while Foilir working to make axes and hammers that would shatter any armor, including that of his cousin!"
"Dwin working his way to being Chancellor of a town, while Foilir thrived in the underground and illegal businesses that fuels war and strife."
"It is even rumored that Foilir married himself to a demon in order to be better able to protect his kin.. Able to speak to the undead.. Summon them to do his bidding. Dwin sticking to working with the living but not judging his cousin."
Then a visible smile.
"Dwin protected Foilir and Foilir protected Dwin. Each complimenting and providing the other with what the needed. An allegiance that never had to be renewed. Forged in a small cave over a poorly roasted rat when they were children. Over the spilled blood of their fathers. One that could not, can not be broken."
The form in the shadow listening suddenly brought an open hand down on the table with a firm smack! He leaned toward the dwarf, snarling, having heard enough of this tale.
"ENOUGH! ARE YOU OF CLAN DOLVAK!?!"
The beaten dwarf's swollen eye opened as much as it physically could as he studied the hooded figure's face as he leaned into the light. The flickering light from the latern slowly revealing the face of a dwarf, a scar of an axe that found hits mark, removing a part of the bone that made up his eyebrow.
The beaten dwarf looked down at the markings on his arms, brands that made up words. Looking for something of the lore from the long broken Ironspur Union. Finding it, he reads quickly in dwarven about how one of the 6 father's was able to bring his axe to the Grudgebearer, stopped before he could kill him, but marking his face by chippin away at his skull.
"It… Its is you.... You are the Grudgebearer... The slaughterer of the 6 clans..."
The aged form of the Grudgebearer leaned over the table, spitting his words at the beaten dwarf through clenched teeth.
"YES IT IS I! AND I HUNT THE LAST OF THE KIN OF THE SIX CLANS SO I FINALLY SLEEP WITHOUT FEAR THAT ONE WILL COME AND SEEK REVENGE! WHO ARE YOU???!!!!"
The beaten dwarf's jaw opened and began to mutter in dwarven. Low and barely audible words. The Grudgebearer, growing impatient leaning forward to understand what he was saying. The beaten dwarf continued to mutter in dwarven his one good eye closed, and the more he spoke the more the room was filled with the sound of a low growl. The Grudgebearer could stand no more.
"SPEAK! WHO ARE YOU! YOU WILL DIE EITHER WAY SO SPEAK YOUR NAME! SO THAT WE CAN CLEANSE YOUR CLAN FROM THE ROCK OF GRUDGES!"
With these words the Grudgebeaer raised the rock of grudges high in the air and brought it down on the table. The beaten dwarf stopped muttering and opened his remaining eye.
"Are you hungry? You may feed…. But not on my kin... He is to be untouched..."
_The Grudgebearer peered at the beaten dwarf, wondering if he had lost his mind, when he heard the screams of the two half orc torturers in the shadows.
A quick scream followed by a growl and a tearing of flesh. The falling to the ground of two large, now lifeless forms. The two searing red eyes of the Demon Hound fixated on the Grudgebearer as it slowly walked to take a seat by its master.
The Grudgebearer looked from the hound back to the beaten dwarf, who was now chuckling low and with much more vigor than before. His one eye fixated on the now shaking and terrified form of the older dwarf._
"Yes. I am of Clan Dolvak. And unfortunately for you, I am not of the name Dwin!"
Speaking in a low gutteral tone, the dwarf smiled as he gave his summon a final command.
"Kill and feed… But leave the bones... As a warning.."
_The Hound lept at the Grudgebearer's throat tearing it open and leaving him to die slowly, the slow fading of the color from the room as the measure of how close he was now to death.
The sounds of the dwarf tearing free from his restraints and tossing aside the wooden chair filled the room. Slowly he focused on the face of red bearded dwarf, the rock of grudges in his right hand.
The Grudgebearer tried to ask for pity, but his wound make him unable to speak as he reached up a hand toward dwarf.
The dwarf spoke._
"I am Foilir of Clan Dolvak, of line Steelbrow… And I have come to remove our father's names from your rock..."
_With one motion Foilir ended the lifelong quest for revenge, using the rock of grudges as his weapon of choice.
The Grudgebearer's body lay devoid of life as Foilir slowly stood to his feet, turning the rock over running his fingers over it looking for the name of his father, the blood of the Grudgebearer highlighting the etchings in the stone.
Finding it, the dwarf finally felt at peace.
Nodding to the demon hound, the dwarf slowly limped out of the dark, damply lit room, leaving the hound to bring the Grudgebearer to the realm of the undead.
Limping out into the snow, leaving a trail of blood behind him, and perhaps for the last time, the red haired dwarf sang one of his favorite songs._
"Wut does yeh do wit a drunken miner? Wut does yeh do…."
_Trailing off as he headed out into the cold, the snow masking his tears of fulfillment, the cold bringing sweet relief to the physical pain his body had endured….. The small form of the dwarf disappeared into the thicket of trees....
And for a moment a wail from the demon hound was heard rocking the caves and foothills of Ironspur. Only to grow deathly quiet once again._
[ Edit: Dwin has pointed out that I cannot count to six. There are in fact 6 letters in the name "DOLVAK". Not the baby induced lack of sleep # of 5. My 2 month old must have eaten one of the letters. Or maybe it was the 2 year old… ]
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YAY! you finally wrote it!
thanks
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If I recall correctly, Kassar only ran away screaming two, maybe three, times during battle.
Granted, he entered battle only two, maybe three, times.
Nice work, Herrold!
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ROfl..Herrold is somewhere else atm quite alive.
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@554f3d01ed=Zyphlin:
My d100 told me he got stabbed by a Bard. I decided this was my Dolvak version of 18(00) strength roll
Good read Herrold
Are you telling me that after reading that you think he died while attending your production of the Pirates of Panzance, where you slip off the stage and stab him in the belly with a retractable, spring loaded stage knife?
thinks
..fair enough. If that is what the die want.
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Wow great story! now i understand what Dolvak stands for… lol for years i always thought how "not dwarven" does Dolvak sounds.
Great life story, loved every line of it.
Great work herrold!
KULL (Half Orc Barbarian, Training Officer and Major in the Legion)
“To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women!”
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My d100 told me he got stabbed by a Bard. I decided this was my Dolvak version of 18(00) strength roll
Good read Herrold
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@025037e58e=Pyrus:
does that mean foilir died at the last part?
He is whatever you want him to be. Could be dead, could be home, could be behind you eyeing your coinpurse, or roasting squirell and pissing his name in the snow.
Roll a d100 and cut it into quarters and decide for yourself. Or you can ask Salsadoom as I have turned over my PC to him at his request.
The only thing he is not doing is acting as a "comfy pillow" or looking for one. Those things are for elves and the insecure. BG's don't need to stinking "comfy pillows". Unless of course you are using a euphemism for what can be found on the female employees of a brothel.
[Edit: Cannot count the letters in Dolvak. Thanks Dwin for the arithmetic lesson.]
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does that mean foilir died at the last part?
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Wow…that answered a lot about the Dolvaks and why Foilir went Blackguard. That was awesome Foilir.
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[d]bravo!
