A Correspondance to my Comrades

We have cleared much dust beneath our feet over the past few weeks. I know next to nothing about you, and Avandra be damned, if these were any other circumstances I would want nothing more than to be extricated from the likes of your kind. However, the winds of this world traverse in unexplainable fashion, and I have grown to see more in you than what your deplorably inferior externals may extol. You all have shown your stripes as men of honor, and warrior brothers (if that term is even applicable to Goblins).

My story is a sorrowful tale filled with violence and horror. It was several years ago, we were celebrating the Krunk Festival (commemoration of the slaying of Egede, a green Dragon who attacked our mine) deep in the Voran Mines. Meat was roasting, songs were singing, and merriment soaked the halls like a deep red wine. As the great bell toned it's fifth great moan (for the five arrows who pierced the heart of the wicked Egede) a tumultuous roar shattered the air. It was Nerluc! The great brother of Egede had come for vengeance! Our warriors mustered, our defenses manned, but when we peered toward the great chamber of the entrance hall what we saw was beyond believe: Nerluc stood grand and tall in the center of the hall spitting his vile mouth-spit at the great doors (which led to the rest of the mines). Behind and around him were hundreds of Goblins, elves in dark cloaks, and terrible men. They had lead Nerluc to us, bent on using him to kill us all and then steal the riches of our empire.

A dragon is a mighty fight for an army of dwarves, but to face him and an army of allied peoples was just too much for us. They laid siege for seven days at the gates of Voran, Nerluc coating the exterior in venom, the armies of men, elves, and goblins pounding at the door - ever pounding. Like the breaths of a dwarf heaving under his pestilent doom, the pounding shook the mine to its core. Each one a toll for the inevitable outcome that would ensue to those who would stay. It was decided three days into the siege that as many dwarves as could go would leave the mines though Dwalin's tunnel with as much riches as they could carry, the ones who would stay would make sure the acts of those treacherous ones would reap them nothing but the bones of the brave. I stayed, my father and brothers and most everyone I loved left. Twas me, Ale Sharpstone, Nibor Flintmail, Liga Silvertongue, and Lien Blackhammer to deal with the sundering. Lien and Liga manned the defenses, making sure to make volley to the aggressors. Nibor and I set about destroying the riches of Voran.

We raised the furnaces and forges to a hellish heat; no care to the safety was taken, this would be their last deed. Into the furnaces was tossed the great clothes, tapestries, and tomes of our society. The furnaces who gave life to our society through the smelting of ore gave the blow of death to Voran. In the forges we delivered the great metal works mixing all the gold, iron, silver, and steel. We raised the temperature so that the attackers would find nothing but a worthless lump at the bottom at the coals. Hours it took me and Nibor to burn the metal, pumping at the bellows and using all the coal we had left. On the seventh day, our deeds were complete within the mines. It was nothing more than a hole in the ground.

As Nibor and I made our way toward the gates Liga came running up to us. It had seemed that Lien had taken a big smulch of Nerluc's venom and been reduced to dwarf stew on the spot. At that moment the sound of the great gates finally giving way ruptured the air followed by the growl of Nerluc. "Make haste! To Dwalin's tunnel lest we be more dwarf stew for Nerluc," I said running in full sprint. We three made it out in the last instant, sealed the tunnel, and headed into the darkness of the Voran hills.

We reached a road a few days after. None who had left before us had been found let alone a single track. We travelled together a few days more until we reached a fork leading in three directions. This was it, the last stand of the dwarves of the Voran Mines. We decided each to take a path by drawing lots, hoping that the path we took would lead us to the rest of our people. Alas, as we all know my path did not lead me to my brothers, but into your company.

I see now that I must be the first of a new city. The first of a new kingdom of dwarves - and maybe of the Fellows of my Travels. Avandra guide us, and guide me to be purified to be the right seed for a start of a new kingdom!

- Ale Sharpstone, Dune Trader

Secret Conversations

Talon follows the nubile cat woman over the sandy terrain trying to keep his mind on stealth and keeping up with his new, agile 'friend' instead of her shapely figure. She leads him to the edge of the elven encampment. She clearly has some knowledge of the camp's daily activities as she skillfully maneuvers Talon around the frequent patrols.

The tribal encampment is mostly quiet. Except for those on official business; the elves and their allies are resting and recouperating from the feast and party that is apparently a part of daily life for the tribe.

As Talon draws closer to the tents at the outer boundary of the encampment, the cat woman places a finger to her lips directing him to silence, and whispers to him, 'listen'.

In the quiet still air, cooling from the heat of the day, a whispered conversation can be heard. Through the thin canvas walls of the nearby tent, two males are arguing. Talon immediately recognizes one of the voices as that of Carabba, the tribe's shaman.

This is not going to be exactly the same as the live event, but hopefully will be clarifying and fun.

".. I think I must help them," the elf continues.
"It is a mistake. They have proven themselves to be thugs and mercenaries. They are not the people you seek," the other man responds, his voice low, gruff and careful.
"They are the people of the prophecy, even your old woman believed that, and would you expect them to be soft, " the elf replies.
"Then help them and I will help them in my own way, remember, she is dead."
"Do not get in the way of what must happen for the sake of vengeance."
"That is not my way Elf, as you well know."
"The dwarf has the mark..."
"The dwarf hates you and your kind, if he helps you it will be by accident."
"The minotaur then and the shifter.... my people are already talking, and the weres are on the move again."
"You're dreaming, you know that the part the Minotaurs have played is a question. He may damn us. He may truly be working for Balfeus."
"and what of you?" responds the Elf quickly.
"An unfair question, my loyalties have already been tested," the gruff voice responds, his breathing ragged and pained.
"I will help them. I will give them what they need to close all the portals at once... should they wish to."
"That may play into Balfeus' hands."
"May, could!! But the end of the portals will weaken him."
"As I said. I will help them in my own way. The demon kin will appreciate the irony."
"Do not bring their ire on my clan, they have shown themselves to be destructive."
"Really, I had not noticed... " the sarcasm drips.
"Sacrifices have to be made." responds the Elven shaman.
"I hope when the dust settles that your saviours agree with you."
"It is no matter... the spirits of the land and the sky are screaming for change."
"I doubt this little band care about your sensibilities Shaman."
"I care little about theirs, but some things must come to pass and the portals must close before anything else will change."
"...and my help will speed things along."
"You play with fire."
"Now that is ironic Elf. I must rest... the days to come will be tiring."

The conversation ends and Talon sneaks away with his new, mysterious, curvaceous ally.