The Dwarves of the Red mountains are currently a sub-faction of Durin's folk that live in the easternmost
|Dwarves of the Red Mountains|
|Claimed Lands||Red Mountains and Red Mountains foothills|
|Map of Lands||None|
|Allies||All the dwarven clans, High Elves and Avari Elves|
|Used NPCs||Durin's folk NPC's|
mountain range in middle earth. There are not so many red dwarves and they mostly keep for themselves. The Red dwarven kingdom exist of numerous mining bases and the Capital that is ruled by Wille912 and he is called Wille or Will.
Wille is the third king of the Red mountains, and he has been king of the Red mountains for the longest time on the server. His city is called Khazâd-Azgal which is the Capital of the Red Mountains and the home city of the IronFist clan and the other three clans ftm in the Red Mountains.
The Red dwarves are a good faction and are allied to all the other dwarven factions, but the red dwarves are more a mining and trading faction then a real war like faction because they lack in numbers and can't really do anything warlike without the help of the other dwarven clans, but that doesn't mean they can't defend themselves.
Kings of the Red Mountains
1st king: SpeedySC (old king, was the first red dwarven king)
2nd king: Sebbeopetrini (the previous king of the red dwarves)
3rd king: Wille912 (current king of the red dwarves)
The Red Mountains are ruled by a king. The current king is Wille912. There are also some important people in the Red mountains (and players).
- King Wille912
- Head Farmer xerxesberxerxes
- Minor Lord KillYourDragon
The Government itself in the Red Mountains is a monarchy but with its own touch. There is a council that is named “The Red Fathers” which is all the 4 dwarven kingdoms in the Red Mountains meet and discuss things, but with the lack of members, this is a mere future plan.
The titles the Red dwarves use is the normal Durin's folk title but Red. The king has a dark red title and normal red dwarves have a lighter red colored title.
The Red Fathers
The Red Fathers are the council that is the leading government in the Red Mountains. The council consists of 3 lesser lords and the Red Dwarven king; the 3 lesser lords and the king decide the future of the Red Dwarves and what they will do and not do. The Red king can invite other kings of the different kingdoms to the council if it is something of great interest to the other dwarves.
The king himself has the kingship of the entire Red Mountains and the lesser lords have lordship over their area and their city, but all lesser lords are equal of power, no matter how long they have had their role as lord, but the older lords will have more experience of situations and will have its ideas taken more serious than a new lord.
The Territories owned by the Red Dwarves include:
Red Mountains foothills
Land around Redway ft point
The Red dwarves have only 1 city at the current moment and one town
Khazad-Azgal which is the capital city of the red dwarves and the home of the Ironfist clan. It is ruled by King Wille912.
Baraz-Dûm is a town being built at the fast travel point of Baraz-Dûm by KillYourDragon.
An Unnamed build at Redway
The red dwarven army is not that big as the other dwarven armies but it is still enough to defend the interest of the red dwarves and their land from intruders. With the red dwarves not added in the mod yet, so they use Durin’s folk dwarven warriors.
The players that choose to join the red dwarves use normal dwarven steel armor and weapons until the red dwarves are added.
Trading of goods
The Red dwarves like trading for other goods that they can’t get for themselves like certain types of food and luxuries items of different factions from good to evil factions. Armour, weapons, warg rugs, items, saplings, foods and other valuables items are things that the Red dwarves are most likely to buy and give a nice price for too.
The King's personality.
The king of the Red mountain's name is wille912 who is very fond of luxuries items such as foods, warg rugs, and armours that he can’t make himself. Wille is a collector and a gatherer. He often collects things and he often takes weapons from his foes and put them in item frames as trophies. Other than a collector Wille is a typical dwarven king, who loves gold because which dwarf lord doesn't?
Lore Of The Red Dwarves
Aidan Norr (Aidansebastian on the server) made this with some help from Wille912, he deserves a lot of the credit
The home city of the Ironfists, located in the north of Orocarni, Khazad-Azgal was known for being an impenetrable fortress. This proved to be wrong during the battle of Mabûn's Folk. The city, at its peak, was considered to be the strongest stronghold of all the seven clans of dwarves, and it held the most wealth of all the cities in Orocarni. It was said to also be as large and magnificent as Erebor.
The most central city of Orocarni and home of the Stiff Beards, Manarbûl was a city of trade. With most of the city actually being situated below ground, the majority of the trading occurred in the city above ground. There, economy boomed, and Manarbûl became the epicenter of all trade in the east. The Stiff Beard merchants reached the far realms of Lindon, and southern lands of Dol Amroth. Manarbûl was also considered to be the capital city for both Stiff Beards and Iron Fists.
(on the server Khazad-Azgal is the capital)
Bukenzhâg, the mountain that Mabûn and Khadîn first awoke at during the years of the trees. Here became a sacred location to the dwarves, and became the burial place of their kings. Shrines were built to honor them, and the soldiers that perished in battle were also put to rest here. It is said that over ten thousand dead dwarves rest here.
Mouth of Abôl:
The Mouth of Abôl was the gap between the two peaks on Abôl and Gilgoth. These two peaks were in the far north of the Red Mountains, and it was considered to be a strategic location. The gap was a very narrow valley that passed north beyond the Iron Mountains into the wastes of Forodwraith. Because of the ideal location of the gap, many battles and conflicts were fought there to control it
The Culture of Northern Orocarni.
The culture of the StiffBeards and IronFists was not very different from that of the other Dwarf clans. They are very down to earth, not thinking much about the future, but rather the present and past. They of course value treasure to an extensive degree like most dwarves, but they also have an extensive interest in trade. Their trading brings them luxuries from across middle earth, while they still make profit from the riches in their mountain homes. The northern region of Orocarni tend to be colder and less dense in vegetation than the southern region. In the high valleys where snowfall is prominent, great evergreen trees grow. Here, animals would often live or travel through it during migrations.
All across the mountains, including the south, thick moss grows on the red stone. It's more common during the summer years, but still around in winter. This moss is known as "The Beard of the Dwarves", for it has a bushy texture that resembles a Dwarven beard. This moss grew rampant, often more common than grass, making it the main food source of wild herbivores in the region. Most commonly, the goats, who were also found in the Iron Hills, but unique to Orocarni were Yaks.
Mountain Yaks, Mountain Goats and Snow Leopards
Yaks: These animals grazed upon the moss, living in herds of five to sometimes fifty. They were the ideal prey for the snow leopards as well. These cats were seldom, and rarely ever seen by the dwarves. But their presence was not unheard, for the early dwarves would follow leopard paw prints in the snow to find herds of Yaks or Goats. The leopard would spend days following the same herd of prey before it made a kill. They also weren't social animals, and it's said that two adults would never be seen together. A mother and her Cubs however were seen often.
The goats (As well as Rams brought from the Iron Hills) were ridden and used for battle, but the Yaks served another purpose. They were milked, sheared, and when they died, harvested of their horns. The milk was drunk by infant dwarves, and the fur used to make luxurious and warm cloaks and coats. The horns, used to make mighty horns of war, creating a sound unique to the Dwarves of Orocarni. The Dwarves became attached to the animals, and it was in no way rare to find a Yak or Goat in the dwarven farms.
Concerning the Dwarves
While things might have seemed fairly peaceful, the dwarves were extremely war like. Often the dwarves went on raiding or hunting parties, going into the plains of Rhûn to slay peasants or slaughter great bison. Their neighbors grew a strong hatred for them, which only grew when the influence of sauron was upon them. With Sauron's influence, they became detached from the other dwarf clans. Their minds were set on a single purpose, conquest of the east. With chaos and evil in their minds, there was no unity in their forces. This caused the dwarves to lose a desperate war against the elves and men. During the years after, known as the "Red Years", the dwarves became barbaric and demented. With the fall of sauron, a majority of the dwarves began to lose their evil senses over time. However, they still fought amongst each other over petty conflicts and issues. Multiple tribes from these two clans rose into power, occupying their ancient cities in an attempt to protect them. In time, the dwarves unified again under the threat of a common enemy. This brought a surge of new culture and ideas, setting forth a reign of prosperity in their lands. Here, at this time, the dwarves of North Orocarni really brought honor to their name. Their society revolved around what they mined in Orocarni. Metals were forged into strong alloys, gems crafted into magnificent pieces of jewelry, stone cut and chiseled with the finest precision.Their blacksmith's mined a
long sought for Iron that had a red hue. With it they Forged "Red Steel", but it was rare, so it was often reserved for the armor or weapons used by the kings or generals. The standard foot soldier wore basic dwarven armor, like their kin in the west, but it was slightly different, for the crest on the helmet was more prominent, and the steel itself was slightly darker. Fighting techniques of the old were built upon, strategies explored, and techniques perfected. The IronFists and StiffBeards became know for their master blacksmiths and their armies of elite Legionaries. These Legionaries were the strongest fighters of them all, and were known for their pikes and halberds which they wielded into battle.
The Legionnaires personified the power of the StiffBeards and IronFists in the region. They dominated with a powerful military and advanced strategic tactics. This strength, along with their increasing wealth, brought them new allies. The Avari built a shifty relationship with the dwarves, but they relied on each other, even when they were unhappy with one another. They fought alongside each other often (As seen in the Battle of Four Peaks) and sometimes ignored one another's calls for aid during war. Most prominently, the Avari, who were masters of cultivation and herb growing, traded goods from their lands with the dwarves in return for riches and jewels. Most notably, honey from farmed beehives were brought to the dwarves, allowing them to make "Honey Mead" also known as "Dwarven Mead".
Dwarven Mead was a delicious beverage, with the perfect amount of alcoholicity if brewed correctly. Another thing, of all of the seven dwarf clans, the Stiff Beards and Iron Fists had the highest percentage of women to men. Women made almost half of the population. It is even said in old wives tales from the other dwarf clans, that the female fertility was from the Yak milk. Because of this, the role of females in the society had a greater impact. Females would often fight alongside the men in war as well as being included in some of the more masculine activities.
Princess Nis in particular was known for fighting alongside her Khazad brothers in times of war. Although the Dwarves of Orocarni were very removed from the world, their culture, without a doubt, was incredibly rich
=== Concerning Mabûn and Khadîn's Folk. === Mabûn's Folk and Khadîn's folk were the two northern Orocarni clans of the red mountains. Also known as the IronFist and StiffBeard dwarves, the two were the proudest of all the Orocarni dwarves. In the years of the trees, Mabûn awoke in the middle of north of orocarni along with Khadîn, they were two of the seven dwarf fathers, and two of the thirteen first dwarves. There, Mabûn prophesied the coming of the dwarves, a legend that described the dwarves as the mightiest of all the folk in middle earth, and that they would rise up above all. This prophecy lead to the first IronFists being extremely xenophobic and warlike. The StiffBeards also became this way, but it wouldn't be till much later that these thoughts would take rise. Mabûn went north, and settled in the northern mountains of orocarni, founding the city of Khazad-Azgal, translated to "City of Treasure" or "Treasure of the Dwarves". Khadîn went to the southern most northern regions of Orocarni, and founded the city of Manarbûl, "City of Trade". The two cities were said to be built in the hardest stone of the mountain range, and the very corridors of them were hewn from the rock itself. The two city prospered, and for many years the Dwarves of Mabûn's Folk and Kadîn's Folk knew no hardships. However, in the later years of Mabûn's life, he marched a host of the IronFist dwarves to Mount Gundabad, for they disputed who deserved power over the mountain. This prophecy and behavior made the IronFists very single minded, and in delusion of their own greatness, they attacked the Dwarves of Durin's Folk, in an attempt to capture the fortress of Gundabad for themselves. Immediately this broke the natural bond the two dwarven families had for each other, and plunged the two into hatred of one another. For years the IronFists occupied Gundabad until Mabûn returned alone to Khazad-Azgal to spend the last years of his life there. There he died in peace. Mabûn and Khadîn were buried at the peak were they awoke, Bukenzhâg, and that mountain was forever known as their tomb. "Mountain of Kings". Without a leader present, a majority of the IronFists left Gundabad to return to their home in the east, and under the rule of Durin the second, Durin's Folk reclaimed the mountain from their renegade kin. After Khadîn passed, his son began to expand trade throughout the east, trading goods from all around. Mabûn's son, Mabûn II, took up command of the dwarves of Khazad-Azgal. During his reign tensions increased, as the IronFist dwarves continued to despise the Longbeards in the west. During this time, the IronFists and StiffBeards launched multiple campaigns against the Avari elves. This war, known as "The War of Dwarves and Elves", damaged the already sensitive relationship the dwarves and elves had for eachother, once again a poor mistake on the hands of Mabûn's and Khadîn's Folk. Utterly the Dwarves were made fools of, as battle after battle, the dwarves were demolished by the Elven forces. Without any other choice, Khadîn II and Mabûn II withdrew their forces and stopped their attempts at exterminating the elves. Ashamed in defeat, the dwarves went into decades of reclusiveness, keeping their borders closed and refusing those who wished to enter. Trade stopped in Manarbûl, which took a shocking blow on the economy of the StiffBeards. Years later Mabûn II and Kadîn II die, and theirs son take up leadership over the Dwarves. Mabûn III, the new lord of the IronFists, was generally a stronger and more noble leader than his predecessors. During a gathering in Khazad-Dum, Mabûn III and Khadîn III were each given rings of power from Celebrimbor. Unknown to the dwarves, their seven rings were handled by sauron himself. While most of the rings didn't hold such a strong effect on the dwarves, the rings given to Mabûn III and Khadîn III held the most powerful effect of them all. Their minds were corrupted, and their already existing xenophobic and warlike nature only grew. Many of the IronFist and StiffBeards allied themselves with sauron, and chose to fight for him. The northern half of the red mountains quickly succumbed to chaos and evil. War and greed enveloped their minds, and the dwarves quickly began to march armies across the east, attacking all that opposed sauron. To stand against the dwarves, the elves of the wild woods quickly amassed a massive army. The Avari forces moved fast through the northern red mountains, striking critical blows against the unorganized and barbaric dwarves scattered in the region. The elves quickly took control of the Dwarven cities such as Manarbûl and Khazad-Azgal, leaving the dwarves in a state of fear and defeat. With sauron destroyed by the alliance of elves and men, his hold over the dwarves slowly faded. The Avari withdrew, and left the dwarves alone for the time being. In a state of shock, the IronFists and StiffBeards broke apart into multiple warring factions, fighting for control of their ancient holds and cities. The heirs to the line of Mubûn and Khadîn merged, almost putting the bloodline into one single one. This time was know as the "Red Years". It wasn't till (x) when the Golden Empire attacked Khazad-Azgal, that the dwarves unified again. The Easterlings had hoped that the dwarves would be weak enough and disorganized that they could easily take claim over Khazad-Azgal and retrieve the immense wealth inside. The Dwarves, who were indeed unorganized, still coveted gold above all, and quickly united to protect their ancient stronghold, and the riches within. There, during battle, a ferocious Wyrm of great size and power attacked, also planning to reach the treasury of Khazad-Azgal. The Easterlings withdrew in fear of the monster, but the stubbornness of dwarves proved to be stronger than any fear they had. It was then, that the long lost line of Mubûn and Khadîn rose to slay the beast, using only a rock in one fist and a sword in another. His name was Gorn, and he had become their king. He was given the title, Gorn Stone Fist, and henceforth he began to rebuild on the once mighty StiffBeard and IronFist empire. Over the years the ancient ideologies they once had, had faded. No longer were the dwarves so xenophobic and warmongering that they would let it destroy their relationships with others. The Dwarves reconnected their friendships with the southern clans, and re-established themselves as powers in middle earth. Their cities were rebuilt, and Manarbûl was named as the northern capital of Orocarni. Their two rings had been lost, said to have been taken away by sauron many years before. Mubûn and Khadîn's folk had begun to thrive again. While the two clans still knew their heritage, the two had merged so closly that they were considered one. Even the royal line had become one. During the "War of Dwarves and Orcs", the IronFist and StiffBeards regained the trust of their distant Longbeard kin. Armies were sent to help Durin's Folk against the forces of orcs in the west, while those that remained in the east worked hard to make a friendship with the Avari elves. In the last years of the Third Age, the dwarves of the east would tie their final knot of friendship with Durin's Folk during the "Battle of Dale". There, dwarves of all clans would fight alongside each other against a common enemy. Even in death and bloodshed, they were united at last.
The Family Tree
TA 1248: Gorn is born.
TA 1356: End of the "Red Years".
TA 1356: The Battle of Khazad-Azgal. The Dwarves, who were considered to be weak and disorganized because of the chaos of the "Red Years", were attacked by a massive force of Golden Easterlings in an attempt to get the treasures inside of Khazad-Azgal. Although disorganized and still keen on fighting each other over petty issues, the Dwarves would not stand to see their treasures stolen by the greed of men. So under the threat of a common enemy, the Dwarves united to stand against the thousands of Easterlings. The siege raged on for days, and the Easterlings couldn't breach the gate. The Dwarves were however drastically outnumbered. With their enemies forces being nearly spent, the victory seemed almost certain for men. However, just when victory was so close, a Wyrm emerged on the battle. It was a vile creature, coming straight from the swamps of Rhûn where it had been rotting away. It had a desire there too, for it also wanted the Gold within the city. In fear of the beast, the men retreated, the Khan not wanting to risk the lives of his men against such a beast. The Dwarves, being stubborn and excited for battle stood strong against the beast. Here, Gorn, the descendant of Khadîn and Mabûn, heir to the throne of his folk, stood against the beast. With only a sword in one hand and a stone in the other, Gorn bashed the creature to the side and sliced it's jaw with his blade, killing it. It was then that Gorn earned the name of "Gorn Stone Fist". With winning such a victorious battle, the two clans unified again under the rule of Gorn. The Wyrm, Know as "Skava the Vicious", did not actually die that day, however this was not known until many years later.
TA 1502: Theorn is born.
TA 1512: Buren is born.
TA 1723: Gorn dies, the throne is given to Theorn.
TA 1762: Norn is born, son of Buren.
TA 1789: Dloin is born, son of Theorn.
TA 1801: Buren dies.
TA 1820: Theorn dies, the throne is given to Norn.
TA 1942: Keldin is born, son of Norn.
TA 1980: Borin is born, son of Norn.
TA 1989: Burla is Born, daughter of Dloin.
TA 1991: Theorn II is born, son of Dloin.
TA 1992: The Battle of Red Drums. During the battle, the dwarves of Khazad-Azgal, which were primarily IronFist, marched out to reclaim territory in the lowland hills of Orocarni from the Orcs there. These Orcs had fled from the west during the early years of the third age after the fall of sauron. During the battle, the host of Orcs were slaughtered, and the surviving ones fled into the northern valley of Forodwaith. The battle was named after an account by Norn, who stated that the “orc drums had been stained with dwarf blood”.
TA 2023: Norn dies, the throne is given to his eldest son, Keldin.
TA 2029: Nis is Born, daughter of Dloin.
TA 2060: Burla dies during childbirth. Her child also Dies.
TA 2062: Dloin dies.
TA 2104: The Battle of Four Peaks. The battle occurred in the far northern regions of Rhûn, the battle itself being fought at the bottom slopes of the four great mountains of the north. The first two peaks, Fundil and Noran were in the Iron mountains, while the other two, Abôl and Gilgoth were in the Reds. The four peaks lined up across from each other, and the valley in between was known as the slopes to Forodwaith. Orcs that had fled from the west during the early years of the third age after the fall of sauron had gathered there. The Dwarves tolerated it till later years when the orcs began to attack trade convoys from the red mountains. The Dwarves of the neighboring mountains wouldn't stand for it, and began to gather their forces to march upon the orc fortress there. While the easterlings from the Golden Empire found the orcs as allies, the Dwarves knew they were a growing threat. The Avari Elves, also having a hatred of the orcs prepared to join the dwarves as they marched upon the valley. On the morning of the battle, three armies had met there in the fields. The Orcs and Khaganate were gathered together, while the host of Dwarves, led by their King Keldin, had arrived at the valley. At dawn the armies clashed and the battle raged on for the next twenty four hours. In the final hours of the battle, with the dwarves nearly spent, the armies of the Avari arrived. With this, the Dwarves and Elves claimed the battle in victory, driving the orcs into the nearby forests. The battle was won but not without a devastating number of fallen. Keldin, King of the StiffBeards and IronFists had been slain by an orc during the battle. Over one thousand dwarves had fallen and nearly half that of the elves had too. Afterwards the battle was nicknamed "The Battle of the Fallen" for the survivors of the conflict were next to none.
TA 2204: Keldin dies at the Battle of Four Peaks, the throne is given to his brother, Borin.
TA 2289: Dror is born, son of Borin.
Ta 2298: Gleim is born, son of Nis.
TA 2349: Borin dies, Dror his son takes up the throne.
TA 2450: Nurin is Born, son of Dror.
TA 2498: The Battle of The Wild Woods. The Avari call for aid from the Dwarves as Variags begin a process of deforestation on their borders. They offered an alliance in return. The Dwarves marched an army of five hundred to the forest, but were decimated, for the elves never came to aid them during the battle. The dwarves retreated in anger with the elves, and dishonored their agreement to an alliance. Later the elves would drive the Variags out of the forest.
TA 2501: Gorn II is Born, son of Dror.
TA 2512: Thúnden is Born, son of Gleim.
TA 2549: Gleim mysteriously disappears. He is never seen again and is declared to be dead.
TA 2552: Nili is Born, son of Dror.
TA 2697: The Battle of Tears. The battle takes place when the Dwarves and The Wainrider face off in the most northern tip of the Wild Woods, due to confusions on both sides of the conflict. Nili, who was entangled in a love triangle with a girl of the Wainriders, could be considered the cause of the battle. During the battle, Nili and his lover are slain, and the Dwarves withdrew their forces to honor the last wish of their dead prince. .
TA 2800: Dror dies, Nurin his eldest son takes up his throne.
TA 2802: Thulin is Born, son of Nurin.
TA 2890: The Siege of Manarbûl. The Dwarven stronghold of the Stiff Beards and capital of the northern Orocarni, Manarbûl, was besieged by the Khaganate in an attempt to control trade in the region. The forces of the Golden empire marched upon the city and the host of dwarves marched out to meet them in bloody close combat melee. The battle raged on for hours. In the end, the ruling Khan of the Khaganate pulled his forces out of the city, realizing the strength of the dwarves could not be bested. The Khan’s daughter was slain in the battle, and in fury, the Khan cursed the Dwarves of Orocarni. During the battle, the city was nearly destroyed, and the Dwarven king, Nurin, was slain. In the following years were spent rebuilding and restoring it to its former glory.
TA 2890: Nurin is killed, Thúnden his cousin takes his place on the throne. The throne was originally offered to Gorn II, but he turned the request down for an unknown reason.
TA 2900: Delri is Born, son of Thúnden.
TA 2929: Alfarin is Born, son of Gorn II.
TA 2980: Alfarin travels to Erebor in an attempt to reform lost bonds and relationships between the Longbeards and his IronFist and Stiffbeard kin. Dain IronFoot welcomes him, and Alfarin spends the next nine years in Erebor, studying there and establishing once broken relationships with the Longbeards.
TA 2989: Alfarin leaves with Balin and a host of longbeards to reclaim the lost kingdom of Khazad-Dum in Ered Hithrin.
TA 2990: Túnden dies, Thulin takes his place on the throne.
TA 2991: Alfarin leaves from Khazad-Dum and heads north to the Iron Hills.
TA 2992: Alfarin returns to Khazad-Azgal in Orocarni and is reunited with his father and relatives.
TA 2993: The Battle of Mabûn's Folk: Khazad-Azgal is besieged by the Khaganate with a massive force, burtually outnumbering the dwarven forces. The attack was an utter surprise and the Dwarves were not prepared. The city is breached and the forces of the Golden Empire demolish the IronFist defenders. A majority of the dwarves flee from the city, but hundreds still die. During the hours that the city is being evacuated, a Wyrm of the past, Skava the Vicious enters the city and slaughters the remaining easterlings and dwarves. Alfarin faces the Wyrm and kills it just before Dwarven reinforcements and Thulin arrive.
TA 3019: Alfarin and Thulin march a massive army of Stiff Beards and IronFists to Erebor. There, all clans of the Orocarni unite to help Durin’s Folk and the men of Dale against the forces of the Khaganate and Variags during the Battle of Dale. During the Fight Thulin is slain.
TA 3019: Thulin dies at the Battle of Dale, Delri takes his place on the throne.
TA 3021: Niran is born, daughter of Delri.
TA 3021: Thulin II is born, son of Alfarin.
The Story of Nili.
Nili knew trouble better than any of his other brothers. Ever since he was just a young dwarf, trouble found him often. Whether he was letting the boars loose from the stables, stealing from his siblings, or starting unnecessary fights, Nili was always making mischief. His two older brothers loved him, but knew that he was quite the rascal. As he aged, maturity did come, but his mischief only grew into something else. Nili was desperate for action. He wanted a fight, and in times of peace, he found none. His eldest brother Nurin had lost hope in him. They expected many things from a young prince, but not this. Nili needed to mature. Gorn, the middle brother never lost faith in Nili. Gorn was the kindest of the three, the most level headed, and the gentlest. It was always Gorn who saved Nili from punishment by his father. Dror, the king, had no time for his reckless son. Nurin was to take his place, and it was his duty to prepare Nurin for future kingship. Nili wasn't his concern. Neglection hurt Nili, and Gorn was the only one that could ever fix that.
With a lust for battle, Nili often found himself exploring the nearby lands in search of a fight. His life became a constant training for a battle that would never happen. There was one place he longed to go. The great steppes of Rhûn. He wanted to fight the men that lived there. He wanted the thrill of bloodshed, the ecstasy of battle, the embodiment of fear. The men of the east were the only real enemies of his clan and kin. They were where the battle was at. The day after his 45th birthday, Nili snuck out of his home and traveled through the very northern tip of the wild woods. This very northern region of the forest rarely housed elves, and often Men of the east were found there. Nili had expected to meet a host of armed soldiers in the woods, however his hopes fell short when he found something else. There was no need for soldiers to be stationed in the woods during a time of peace, so Nili found no fight that day. Instead, he found a girl. Nili wouldn't have found her if he hadn't heard her enchanted singing in the woods. She was fair in skin and her hair was dark and rich. He watched her, as she plucked mushrooms gently from the ground. At first his thoughts were more sinister and bloodthirsty, as he planned to attack her. However as he left his hiding spot to strike down at her with his sword, he stopped as she turned in fear to meet him. Her eyes glistened with life and innocence, and Nili couldn't find enough cruelty inside of him that brought a desire to attack her. He dropped his sword to the ground, astonished, and she ran away in fear. All that was left was her basket and mushrooms.
Nili wandered home, a reck. How could such an opponent best him? He didn't speak for a whole week. He was entangled in his thoughts, his mind was stuck on the girl. His brother Gorn was concerned, he urged him to speak his mind, but Nili couldn't find the will to talk. He needed to find her again, he still had her basket after all. The next day Nili worked his way back into the woods, where he had seen her last. She was not there, but Nili had hope that he could find her, so he rested in a tree and waited. Hours went by, and just as Nili began to loose hope, she returned. Her humming turned the woods into a melody as she walked below, searching for herbs and mushrooms . Nili leapt down to meet her. At first she was frightened, but he reassured her and returned her basket. He spoke to her in the common tongue, but she only knew the language of her people. So they sat for a while, attempting to speak to one another. Her name was Lîla, and she was one of the Wainriders. The day was soon over and the two parted, somewhat knowing that they would see eachother soon. The week continued, and each day Nili and Lîla would meet again in the woods. They shared their cultures and languages with one another, which was forbidden for Nili to do. The days went on, and their friendships grew, but their peoples became more and more uneasy. The Dwarves could care less whether the Wainriders were sided with evil or not. Any men that could raise swords against them were a threat. Nili's daily disappearances hadn't gone unnoticed by his brothers. Gorn trusted his younger brother, but Nurin was convinced that his brother was feeding information to the easterlings. The dwarves became uneasy, and orders were made to start stationing more guards along the roads and mountain sides. Tensions were high, but things were about to get much worst. Lîla was set up in an arranged marriage. Her suitor was Azôn, the eccentric prince of the village. Months had gone by in the relationship with Nili and Lîla, and she had yet to tell him of Azôn. She had no interest in Azôn and her heart was true to Nili. Azôn was obsessed with her. Each day he waited for her to return from the woods, assuming she was collecting herbs and mushrooms as usual. She was of course, also seeing Nili.
Azôn followed Lîla into the woods secretly one day. He was keen on discovering why the woods had become a daily routine for her. When he reached Lîla in the woods, he found her kissing a dwarf. Enraged, Azôn rushed back to spread news to the others. He spoke of Lîla as a traitor, and lied to them in a terrible way. In anger he lied to his father, telling him that a dwarven army was amassing in the forest. A dwarven army was a major threat and concern to his people, so Fûzin, the Warlord, sent forth his greatest riders to rally the men of the surrounding towns. By nightfall an army of five hundred Wainriders had swarmed to the forests edge, ready for war. When Lîla returned she was bound and held prisoner, branded as a traitor.
For Nili, all was well. He was in love, and his interests were now in her rather than bloodshed. That night, as Nili slept, a messenger of the Avari came forth to the city. He told Nurin of the gathering army of men. The dwarf was horrified, and pleaded to the elf for their aid. The elves would not come. They had no interest in war with men. The alarm was raised, and the dwarves quickly prepared for war. When Nili awoke at dawn, he was terrified and nervous for the looming battle. He needed to see Lîla before war broke out. As the Dwarven legionaries prepared to march upon the woods, Nili rushed ahead, hoping to meet Lîla again.
Lîla was there, but not alone. She was bound and gagged, and there were men, who had been waiting for Nili to arrive. She was the bait for the fish, and Nili had been caught. Azôn held a blade to her throat, and threatened the dwarf to surrender. But Nili loved her too much to leave, and she loved him just as much. She cried and Nili charged. Battle exploded, and in the chaos, Nili slew Azôn, but not without Lîla being fatally wounded. With this, the two armies met in the forest, and battle soon raged around them. Nili embraced Lîla's body, the life slowly leaving her. The only thing he could say to her was "I'm sorry", and with that, she died in his arms, still smiling, still warm. The battle quickly flooded around him, the men were eager to kill him. Nili flung his sword wildly in defense at the approaching men, but could do nothing against the many arrows that penetrated him. Nili lay there dying in the field of battle, six arrows in him, tears on his face, and a broken heart inside of him. During Nili's last moments, Gorn came to him, ignoring the threat of the battle. As the battle raged on, and Nili laid dying, he mumbled his last words to his beloved brother. “All my life I have wanted to experience the thrill of battle,” he teared, “but now I want nothing more but peace.” He drew his final breath, and died. Gorn cried as he grabbed Nili’s corpse. Nili had redeemed himself. He was at peace. To honor the words of their fallen prince, the dwarves retreated, taking Nili and Lîla with them. They were laid to rest in the tombs of their kings. Til the end of time, they would be together forever. Long lived their story across the land. Nili and Lîla had found their eternal harmony, in death. Never again would the two nations at war find love.
The story of Alfarin.
Alfarin walked along the path. He could feel the cold and thin mountain air fill his lungs. He followed the stone path until he reached the crossroad. It was difficult to identify the two paths, one to the north and one to the south. There was only mountains and evergreen trees for miles around. Even the signs were old and nearly impossible to read. The one he could read were words of his past. "Khazâd-Azgal". Azgal, that was a name he hadn't heard for a while. It was his old home, his childhood, his brightest memories. It was years since he had seen the great gates of Khazâd-Azgal. Just as he thought of it, he could remember the lush valley below the gates. He missed it dearly. It was clear now. He wanted to return home. Alfarin began to walk the long road to Azgal. Before long he could gaze out past hills and see the great gate of Khazad-Azgal. It's glorious doors of steel and stone, the walls no foe had ever passed. He approached, above him dwarves in armor waved down below to him. "The prince has returned," they cheered and shouted. The commander roared commands to his fellow guards. "Open the gates!" He shouted. The gates slowly rolled open. They were so heavy, it took a minute before Alfarin could find space to walk in. He was quickly welcomed by the dwarves who were stationed there. Even in the distance, he could hear more orders being shouted. The city was alive.
"Make way for the king!" Quickly the crowd that had surrounded him to welcome him began to disperse as Gorn approached. He had many names, Gorn the Golden, Gorn the Mighty, Gorn the Hammer. To Alfarin, he knew him as father. "My son!" Gorn said happily as he embraced Alfarin. "It has been long my boy, I have missed you so much." "I missed you too father," Alfarin cried out in joy. He could feel his eyes swelling with tears of happiness. It was good to be home. "It has been too long father. Have I missed much?" Alfarin asked as he pulled away from the hug. "The city has grown since you have last seen it! The mines run deeper than ever. Gold still flows in these halls my Son!" He laughed. He was rejoiced in the return of his son. "We are living a life of prosper. Even your cousin Thulin and our Mabal-Tarâg (StiffBeard) family are doing well. Times haven't been better!" He shouted. The dwarves around him shouted as well. "That's great news father!" Alfarin replied. His smile quickly turned to a frown, for he had remembered how he was attacked by easterlings on his way here. "What of the threat of Rhûn?" He asked, fearing the answer would not be good. "It has been quiet, a little too quiet," he said with a hint of fear. "It's scary, we haven't seen a single easterling in the area for over seventy years. Not since the death of my younger brother." He said with a frown. Alfarin was about to mention that he had been captured by some easterlings on his travel home, but decided it was not the time to do so. There was no need to dampen his mood now. "I'm glad they haven't bothered you, but most of all, I am glad to be home father," Alfarin said with a warm smile. "And I am glad that you are home. May I ask how our kin in the west fare?" He asked intently as he started to lead Alfarin up to the grand halls, away from the crowds of dwarves. "Better than they have been in many years. I spent a long time in Khazad-Dum and the longbeards there are flourishing!" Alfarin replied as they walked into the King's chamber. "I want to hear all about it, but not till tonight. There is a feast to be had. Tonight we celebrate your return!" He cheered. He was right, tonight would be a night to remember. That night, Alfarin drank more than he had his entire life. Songs were sung, glasses were raised, and everyone enjoyed the great meal cooked over a roaring open fire. The first few days went by fast. He spent the days rebuilding his childhood friendships as well as exploring the halls he had nearly forgotten. It had been too long since he had explored the halls. It had only been a week after he returned when things would change. It was a quiet night as the sun slowly set in the west and the fog rolled in over the mountain tops. The cool mist drifted against Alfarin as he sat above the gate watching the chilly night. He felt uneasy, like he was being watched. It was then that he noticed it. The distant sound of horns being blown and the rhythmic stomping sound that could almost be distinguished as the sound of marching. Alfarin glanced uneasily at the guards around him. They could hear it too. Then, in the far distance of the valley, through the heavy mist, lights could be seen. At first it was just a few, but before long, thousands of dazzling torchlights bounced like orbs through the fog. The dwarves stood in silence. The men had waited over seventy years, this time they meant to raise the city to the ground. "Call the alarm!" The commander shouted as he ran his way up the stairs of the gate to the War Horn of Azgal. The dwarves would defend the city to the last breath. "Prepare for battle!" Alfarin yelled into the crowd of dwarves below. The deep boom of the war horn echoed through the halls as dwarves came out from their homes to prepare for war. Alfarin grabbed his axe, battle would soon be upon him. The dwarves quickly lined up against the wall of the gate. Their iron clad armor glowed with moonlight. Alfarin could feel the suspense building. How many were out there? He turned to see Gorn coming up the stairs to meet him. "So it's true?" He asked as he glared out into the fog. It wouldn't be long till the first men would emerge from the mist, until then, they remained a mystery. "Yes, we heard the horns father. They are easterlings." Alfarin replied. "Rhûn is making a bold move. What makes them think they can take the city now after all of their previous failures?" Alfarin asked, hoping his father wouldn't answer. He wanted the easterlings to be making a foolish mistake, however he feared that they had new and darker plans than before. "Don't underestimate the greed of men." Gorn said as he turned away from the scene. "Prepare hot oil!" He yelled down at a few of the soldiers below. They nodded and ran down the halls to the forgery. "No man shall enter this city as long as I'm king!" He roared. The soldiers cheered and yelled in support. The city could not fall, Alfarin was sure of it. Just then they emerged. Men in golden armor, marched forth in lines and lines. Behind them they slowly wheeled in something that might just pose a threat. They had catapults, all ready to fire upon the city. "Take brace!" Alfarin yelled as he pulled himself down. The catapults began to bombard the city, wave after wave of rocks smashing down against the gate. He could hear the smashing and crunching sounds above him. The cries of terror filled his ears. Suddenly he felt something pound hard against him, sending him rolling down the flight of stairs. Alfarin found himself struggling to stand, his head was spinning and everything was a blur. As the dust cleared it was clear that the Rhûnic catapult fire had smashed the top of the gate open. "Stand and deliver my brethren!" Gorn shouted as he walked forward. The other dwarves rushed to his side. The battle had truly just begun. The shrieking sound of the Khagante's horns marked their armies advance. The gate still stood strong, but the battering sounds of the ram was getting louder and louder. If the gate was breached, it might mean certain defeat. Not once had the gates failed the dwarves of Khazad-Azgal. Alfarin prayed that the gate would hold strong. His hopes fell short with a thudding clash as the gates tore open. "Baruk Khazâd!" The dwarves roared as they charged into the Rhûnic warrior elites. Alfarin flung his axe wildly at the men. Hacking and chopping his way through the bulk of their forces. The Dwarves around him fought viciously. The men where taking a hammering, the IronFists left none unbeaten! The commander called the order, and the dwarves quickly charged again in a phalanx. The men were battered back towards the gate, retreating outside to regroup. "How many have we lost?" Gorn yelled. It was right for him to want to know, the dwarves had only five hundred strong. We needed every dwarf to count. "It looks like twelve," one of the commanders shouted out in reply. "We need to prepare for the next attack." Alfarin shouted out to the crowd. "Reform the line!" The dwarves quickly formed a wall of shields. They just had to wait. Only a minute later another horn shrieked, marking another advance by the enemy. Yells and shouts grew closer and closer as the Rhûnic forces advanced. The Golden Horde would not stop till every dwarf was dead. Alfarin gulped, sweat dripped from his forehead, he was trembling. Suddenly the men swarmed through the gate. They aimed their spears first and rammed headstrong into the wall of dwarves. Instantly slaughter broke out. Alfarin ducked a spear jab and swung up with his axe. His adversary was axed to the side. More and more men started to pile in through the gate. Another easterling came forth and swung his blade down at Alfarin. Alfarin stood strong and blocked the attack with a parry. The sword skidded across his axe and sliced open his hand. In pain, Alfarin stumbled back. Warm blood trickled down from his cut, it sent shocks of pain through his arm. The easterlings came forward to strike down at Alfarin, but was quickly stopped when a javelin flew into his gut from across the room. He fell over dead. Alfarin quickly got back up, the men were constantly coming through the gate. How would we hold them back for so long? A wall of corpses had already begun to form in front of the Dwarven line. "Push them back!" Alfarin shouted out to his dwarvish companions. He charged straight into the fray, knocking an easterlings clean off of his feet into a swarm of more men. "We need to get these bodies out of the way!" Alfarin shouted as he attempted to pull himself up onto the corpses. Dwarves quickly came to help him pull the bodies away. With the wall gone, the dwarves could advance and drive the men out of the gate room. The dwarves quickly formed the line again and charged the men. Spears jabbed and sank into them, those who survived ran outside like they did before. "Du Bekar!" The dwarves cheered. The battle cry brought a smile to Alfarin's face. The dwarves couldn't possibly lose! Then something happened that changed his mind. It started with a constant thudding behind him. The entry hall grew quiet, the silence of his companions grew his fear. The thudding grew at a steady pace. It was then that he could see the incoming threat. As the men cleared out of the gate, behind them hundreds of horses galloped through the hazy darkness. They formed a unified force bound to cause devastating results if the blow landed correctly. What tactic would they use against horses? Alfarin stumbled to call out orders. How would the defend against this? "Stand strong and run them through with our spears!" Gorn shouted. He raised his warhammer. "Let them come, I will give them a taste of my thunder!" He roared. The dwarves acted instantly, quickly moving to form a wall. This was going to be brutal. Alfarin gulped as he heard the galloping coming closer and closer. The thudding was beating rhythmically with his heart. Sweat still dripped from his brow, they would be upon him soon. Then suddenly like a clash of lightning, the horses smashed into the gate room, pounding the dwarves into a bloody mess. He could hear the neighing of horses and the screaming of his friends. Everything was locked in chaos. He swung his axe at a passing horseman. The axe buried into him and he was quickly thrown off of his horse. Alfarin scanned the room, he couldn't tell what was happening. Dwarven bodies scattered the floor, he couldn't even spot his father. A horse charged Alfarin, and he rolled to the side. The easterling jabbed his spear down at Alfarin, grazing the side of his chest. "Get back!" Alfarin yelled. He hooked his axe right up into the face of the rider, killing him instantly. He could hear shouts in the distance. Alfarin rose up from the pile of bodies surrounding him, the dwarves were retreating to the grand hall. Horses charged past him, attempting to chase down the fleeing dwarves. "You bastards!" Alfarin bellowed as he swung himself onto the side of a charging horse. He grabbed onto the stirrup and tried to pull himself up to the saddle. The rider kicked and yanked his foot away from the Dwarf's strong grasp. Alfarin could feel his feet being dragged by the horse as it charged through the hallway. He swung his axe up from his side, pelting the man clean off of the horse. He felt his grip slipping, and just like that, Alfarin was quickly flung from the horse. He slammed into the side of the wall, a wave of pain splintered through his body. "Fall back! Retreat to the southern gate!" Alfarin heard the shouts. He leaned himself up against the walls. The dwarves were escaping the city to the southern gate. The city had fallen, he needed to get out with them. He limped towards the shouts, he was stopped short by a deafening shriek of another horn. The easterlings were marching all forces into the city, the gold was all they had come for. Alfarin could hear the echos of the marching, it wouldn't be long till they reached him. He needed to move faster. He turned his axe over and began using it as a walking stick. "Over here!" He heard the shouts from not far ahead. Gorn and two other dwarves emerged from the turn in the path. "Alfarin!" Gorn shouted. He rushed over to his son, and clutched him in his arms. "We need to get you out of here," he mumbled, forcing back a sob. Proud dwarves never cried. "Leave me," Alfarin moaned. "They are coming" "You know I can't do that." Gorn sternly said as he slouched Alfarin up against his shoulder. "Help me get him up," he barked at the other dwarves. They moved over to help, they too had been exhausted from the battle. "I can hear them. They're coming..." Alfarin mumbled under his breath. Shouts and cries of the advancing Rhûnic forces echoed through the halls. The marching, thudded against his ears like their armored feet against the stone. It wouldn't be long now. "Pull him to the side, we can't take him through the main hall, it's already swarming with easterlings." Gorn ordered as he helped prop Alfarin up against the wall. "We will have to take him through the tombs and then out to the southern hall." Gorn continued. The tombs were home to some of the oldest of the Dwarven family, inside there were tunnels that lead to the southern exit of Khazâd-Azgal. They began to move slowly down the path. Alfarin's limping slowed them down vastly as they tried to prop him up so he could walk with ease. The easterlings had already begun the process of looting the city. Alfarin cringed at the sound of their weapons chiseling away at the gold lining that trimmed the walls of the halls. "We are here," Gorn sighed, as he and the others pulled Alfarin into a room. Alfarin knew the place well. He had visited his mother here before but that was many years in the past. He pulled himself up, plowing through the last of his strength to seat himself up against a sarcophagus. He could hear the sound of scurrying feet, shouts and yells too. "Father we need to leave now," Alfarin mumbled, it felt like it was drawing the last of his breath. Gorn nodded sternly. Then with a clattering and chaotic sound of clashing metal, ten men rushed into the tomb. They wore armor of the Rhûnic elites. At the head of them was their warlord. He was their leader, for he bore marks and symbols in blood and his golden helm was greater than the others. He removed his helmet and showed a twisted smile. "Stay back, or I'll crush your face in with my hammer!" Gorn roared, raising his hammer high. The easterling lord drew his sword. It was long and sharp, the blade was thin and light and he moved it with great ease. The handle was protected by a single circular hand guard, and from the end of the handle a ribbon flowed freely. "Ish catill nein huan gin!" The lord ushered as he charged in for an attack. The words were no battle cry, they were said in the way one would say as a prayer before the battle. His blade fell down with a clean swoop, cutting the very air itself. Gorn raised his hammer, the iron handle clashing with the thin blade. The other easterlings charged immediately, and battle surged in the room. The three dwarves who could fight, pounded their way through the elites. The warlord was a task, for his skill was unmatched. He leapt across the room like a bird, striking critical swings down at them. The dwarves could handle it. They had strong armor, and their stubbornness wouldn't let the men take any advantages over them. Alfarin felt helpless, he couldn't stand and fight alongside his father. The skirmish continued for longer, in the end only the warlord remained. Gorn had singlehandedly slain seven of the elites. His companions, who now laid dead, had killed the others. Alfarin stood up, his legs trembled as if he carried a tremendous weight upon his back. His entire body was in pain. "Father, we need to-" Alfarin's voice was cut short. A tremendous rumble shook the air. Immediately screams of terror and death echoed through the halls. Everything was rumbling. He could feel the very ground shaking below his feet, as if there was an earthquake. It was no earthquake though, something far more terrible was amidst the halls of Khazâd-Azgal. Gorn looked uneasy. Then, like a tidal wave, there was a huge rumble, and then a blast of dust and sand. The room clouded to the degree that Alfarin couldn't even see his own hands. He coughed and gagged, the sand finding it's way inside of him, practically choking him. He could hear more rumbling, and then something hit his head. It knocked him down to the ground, and then everything faded into shadow and his memory went dark. Alfarin awoke amidst a pile of dust and debris. He wasn't sure how long he was knocked out, but he figured it had been long since his wounds had already dried. The room was dark and only a pale light glowed in the distance. He coughed and spat out the dust that clogged his lungs and throat. He soon found it much easier to breathe. Everything had gone sour. The city seemed to be practically destroyed. He climbed his way out of the rubble and walked over to the doorway. Oddly enough, the leg that he had sprained was easier to walk on and caused him less pain. He treaded lightly over the fallen stones. Where was his father? The passage that lead to the southern gate had become blocked by stones and debris that had fallen, there was no longer a way out from the tomb. He had a gut feeling that his father had made it out though. He had no choice but to hope that he had made it out. Alfarin squeezed past a fallen boulder and fell out into the open space of the grand halls. Easterlings lay dead, scattered across the cold floor. Their bodies were mangled, torn and shredded. Some still clutched gold in their greedy hands. "What happened here?" Alfarin mumbled as he pulled a sword from the hands of a dead dwarf. He had a bad feeling that he would need a weapon. He was terrified, never before had he seen such destruction. He stepped over a dead horse, and continued his walk to the southern gate. The light was faint, but he had enough of it to see his way around. Alfarin passed by the golden gates, which were now shredded and destroyed. The golden gates protected one thing, the treasure room. He walked out along the causeway, the gold of his ancestors gleaming below. Alfarin felt a darker presence with him, something of malice. He eased out further, each step echoing along the walls. The treasure glowed in the room, for some of the dwarven torches still had light in them. Then a shadow crept forth from under the causeway. It was large, and was a physical embodiment of darkness itself. It's red eyes glared down at Alfarin, for it sat in front of him and towered high above him. It's neck and head were raised high, like a serpent ready to strike. Alfarin stumbled back, the sword falling from his hands down to the gold below. It moved closer to him, it's tongue flicking in and out of its mouth. "Hello," it hissed, breathing a foul breath of decay against the dwarf. It etched it's head lower and even closer to Alfarin, who immediately backed away further. "He- hel-" Alfarin struggled to find his voice. "Hello" he finally said. His voice trembled with fear. "Do I scare you dwarf?" It asked. It's tongue slithering back and forth from its mouth. It moved along the side of the causeway, wrapping it's long slithering tail around the legs of the young dwarf. Alfarin stumbled, but stood quickly, stepping away from the loose grip of the tail. "Nnn- no" Alfarin said, looking away from its menacing gaze. It crept closer to him. "Is that so?" It scowled. It came even closer now, it's serpent tongue brushing against the dwarf. Alfarin gulped, he could see its face clearer now. "Maybe a little." Alfarin said. He reached his hand back for his sword, only to remember that it had fallen. The creature angrily swept past him and climbed up one of the pillars, it's growl looming like a dark presence. It lowered its long neck down towards him, it's eyes blazed red with fire. "Don't lie to me," it hissed, it opened its narrow snout slightly, revealing hundreds of razor sharp teeth. "Don't think that I won't kill you." It added, it's tongue still flicking in and out like a snake. "What makes you think I won't kill you?" Alfarin said, searching for an easy way past the malice that was before him. "What are you?" Alfarin asked, trying to keep the creature from killing him. "You have heard of me before," it slithered. "I'm in many stories of your people," it continued. Its breath was almost becoming nauseating. "I know who you are too, Alfarin son of Gorn." It chuckled. It had become amused by revealing this to Alfarin, for the dwarf looked terrified. "Your great grandfather left this scar on my face," it growled, coming forward into the light. Its face was that of a dragon like creature, it's crest and frill was scattered with holes of decay. It's scales where as black as the night, and a single scar crossed his jaw, like a bolt of lighting. It leapt down onto the causeway again, this time coming fully in the light of the fading torches. It's serpent body slithered closer to him. It's scaly body and four limbs hung low to the ground. It's crooked wings lay close to its back. He was a Wyrm, ancient and mighty. It was one Alfarin had heard of before in many stories. "I thought you died," Alfarin gasped, realizing the terrifying truth of the situation. "Yes, but it seems they left the best part of the story out." It hissed. "They never mentioned that my body vanished from the battlefield overnight." It chuckled. He slithered closer to the fearful dwarf, but that was all Alfarin needed to hear. He turned and ran, the pain in his leg swelling as he skidded off to the turn in the causeway. "You cannot run from death!" The Wyrm roared as it began to chase after the dwarf. It slithered along the causeway with tremendous speed. It's small mangled wings served no purpose for flight, now it was just another terrifying aspect of the monster. Alfarin passed under the arches of the passage to the throne room. It's ancient corridors held the great banners of Azgal. He rushed forward to the throne, there was a secret to it that he knew. The ancient blade that Gorn StoneFist wielded in battle was there. He glanced back, the Wyrm was crawling it's way in. Alfarin rushed over to the back of the throne, there rested the blade. "You are cornered like a rat in a trap!" The Wyrm chuckled. He slithered closer to Alfarin, who was still fumbling to get the blade out of its holder. "Long have I waited to sit upon this gold. Long have I wanted to end your line." The Wyrm hissed. "If only your cousin was here too, I'd kill you both!" It roared. Slithering over to the throne, smashing the ancient seat. Alfarin was thrown back, the blade was freed but skidded across the floor from the impact. Alfarin scurried to the side, avoiding the slashing claws of the beast. "Don't resist the inevitable!" The Wyrm roared. "Neither should you!" Alfarin yelled. The blade in his hands. He slashed it upwards with great force, cutting deep into the lower jaw of the creature. The Wyrm scowled and roared, it's lower jaw was torn, missing scales and dripping with blood. "Do you fear me?" Alfarin asked. Raising the blade so the Wyrm could see it clearly. "You dare wield that blade against me!" The Wyrm spat ferociously. "I'll teach you!" It roared, charging again at the dwarf. This time Alfarin was ready. He lunged to the side and jabbed his blade deep into the side of the monster. It squealed in pain, spraying blood across the gold trimmed floor. The Wyrm lashed out its tail. Alfarin couldn't see it coming, and was smashed back across the room. He was pelted against the furthest pillar from the throne. He slid down to the base of the pillar, weaker than ever. "You didn't possibly think you could kill me?" The Wyrm hissed. It's tongue spat out blood as it spoke. It roared out, it's voice becoming mangled and it soon became a chuckling laughter. "I should have killed your great grandfather long ago!" The Wyrm cackled. It then charged, slithering with a massive burst of speed. It ran headstrong at Alfarin, but at the last split second, Alfarin used the last of his strength and rolled to the side. The Wyrm smashed into the pillar, sending a thunderous cracking sound throughout the room. The beast squealed in pain, but it was drowned out by the crunching and tumbling of stones. The pillar toppled over, smashing down on the Wyrm, sending waves of shock and tremors through the room. The Wyrm lay dead under a pile of stones, it's head protruded inches away from where Alfarin lay. It's eyes were now grey, staring out into emptiness. Alfarin smiled and heaved to the side, he was so tired that he passed out almost instantaneously. Alfarin awoke with the sound of marching. It was rhythmic, but as soon as he realized what the sound was, he lurched upright. He clutched his great grandfather's sword, ready for battle. He was surprised to find that the marching was that of dwarves! The royal army of the Red Dwarves marched into the room, at its head was Thulin, Alfarin's cousin. Thulin sat atop a great mountain goat and rode into the halls like a champion. Alfarin felt happiness flow through him. The dwarves had returned to the city! Alfarin stood up, his wounds no longer bothering him, for joy had overcome his pain. "Alfarin!" Thulin yelled happily as he leapt down from his goat. He strode towards his cousin and the two embraced. "It has been too long. I feared for you." He said, he was also forcing back his tears. "It has." Alfarin said. "The city is destroyed, I fear that everyone is dead." Alfarin mumbled. "Many of the dwarves escaped. They are safe at my city." Thulin replied. "I'm sorry to tell you, your father was with them, but he died overnight." Thulin added, his face becoming grim and depressed. Alfarin nodded, too shocked to feel depressed. Now was not the time to grieve, not yet. "I came here expecting to fight men, what happened?" Thulin asked. Alfarin glanced down at the head of the Wyrm. "It killed them all, but that is another story that I will share another time." Alfarin replied, looking with slight fear at the dead Wyrm. Amidst the destruction Alfarin felt his true duty coming forth, to rebuild the city and bring it back to its former glory. "I will stay here and rebuild," Alfarin finally said. Thulin nodded. "And I will stay to help you," Thulin added with a smile. That day, the rebuilding of Khâzad-Azgal began, and Alfarin took his place on the throne of the IronFist Dwarves, the throne of Khazâd-Azgal. Long the city would prosper and live on into the far future.
Durin's Folk •
Dol Guldur •
The Riders of Rohan
Harad and the South: