[A tale of intrigue, battle, and love by Swordmaster Camelot]
Chapter 1: The Great Underground City
“Dwarves are creatures of stone —
we have no place under the sun.”
~ Tain, king under the mountain (exiled).
My name is Swordmaster Camelot. I first mastered the sword at the age of eight. At the time I lived with my father and mother. We lived in the great underground city, Caer Mynydd. This was the city where all the dwarves lived after we were conquered. My parents worked in a smithy producing swords for the fucking drow oppressors (as my father called them).
The first sword I owned was a wooden one. My father gave it to me with the words “If you want a real sword you first have to learn to be a real man”. I still have no idea what this meant. Still, I liked the wooden sword. Father and I sparred every day after he finished working. I learned many things from him — footwork, parrying, balance — my father was an excellent teacher.
It was many years before I finally beat him. He was not a man to throw a fight. I still remember the final battle between us as if it was yesterday. Father returned home particularly tired that day. He said something about “the drow oppressors working him extra hard to produce enough swords for the coming war”. Mother cradled him in her arms saying something like “you cannot keep working yourself like that dear. That forge will be the death of you”. That’s when I said “father, I wanna spar now”. He said “please, not today Swordmaster Camelot. I’m too tired”. I retorted with “but I wanna spar”. He said “well ok son”.
I remember that fight like it was yesterday. It was an epic battle. My footwork was on point. I could read my opponent like a book. It was glorious. I attribute my victory to the following factors:
- The wooden sword is a fine weapon. It is lighter than other swords.
- My footwork was on point.
- The balance of my wooden sword was excellent. Whoever carved it was a genius.
- The wooden sword is silent.
- I had finally mastered the sword.
I remember holding my wooden sword over my predecessor as he sighed “I yield, I yield. You have finally beaten me Swordmaster Camelot. I’m proud of you son. You are a good fighter, I hope that one day your skills will liberate our people from the drow oppressors. Tomorrow I will bring you a present. A new sword — a metal one. I will forge it myself. Oh god, I am so tired of all that forging. Those drow oppressors work me so hard.”
My father never gave me a new sword like he promised. Instead the next day a group of drow soldiers came. They talked mainly to mother. I don’t know what they wanted but the words “accident”, “fire”, and “expensive” were uttered often. Then one of the drow looked at me.
“Hey, how old is that kid, lady?”
“Oh, Swordmaster Camelot?” Mother blinked. “He’s just a wee lad. Two years old. Only two years.”
“Doesn’t look two” one of the drow looked to the other. “Don’t you think Da’eleni’eal?”
“No he doesn’t look two” the drow shooked his head. “Looks more like eight, maybe nine. Say Tal’minia’lein?”
“What?”
“What’s the legal age for working in the mines?”
“Oh let me think Da’eleni’eal… I think it’s eight or nine.”
“Eight or nine… well, well, well.”
“NO!” my mother interupted them. “You will not steal my baby from me. He’s two. TWO! Aren’t you?” Mother looked at me.
“Of course not Mommy” I laughed. “Have you forgotten my age? I’m eight and a half.”
“Well, well, well.” The taller drow smiled. “Looks like it’s time for someone to learn the pickaxe.”
“NO! He’s two! Why did you say that son? Why?” My mother was in tears. I’m still not sure what she meant. Of course I always know my correct age. I’m good with numbers.
That day I started fighting with the pickaxe rather than the wooden sword. While the wooden sword is a fine weapon, it has several shortcomings:
- The wooden sword is vulnerable to fire (for example it would be unsuitable for fighting fire elementals).
- Metal swords can cut wooden ones. Because of this wooden swords are only potent when fighting enemies also wielding wooden swords.
- Wooden swords are not very sharp. Because of this they are suboptimal if you aim is to kill.
Chapter 2: The Mines of Tharin
“The dwarves dug too deep and two fast.
We awakened an enemy beyond any of us — the drow.”
~ Alawyn, shalesmith.
The drow took me to the mines where I proceeded to spend most of my life. In the mines I fought rocks with a pickaxe. The pickaxe is a fine weapon. It has many advantages, such as:
- The pickaxe is hard and doesn’t break easily. This is important for fighting heavily armored foes like rocks.
- When swung, the pickaxe gains fierce momentum. This is important for fighting heavily armored foes like rocks.
- The pickaxe has two ends. This can be useful when fighting two foes simultaneously.
- Pickaxes are cheap and widely available. The drow gave them to us miners for free. Quite the bargain, don’t you think?
In the mines I mastered the pickaxe. My fellow slaves even began to refer to me as “Camelot, Master Miner”. Of course this was a strange thing to call me. Though I mastered the pickaxe, I never lost my skill with the sword. I never stopped being a swordmaster. This came out during a conversation with Torchmaster Bimli (a fellow slave).
“Say Camelot, you’re holding your pick funny.” Bimli said.
“I am training.”
“Training for what? A circus?”
“I am learning the claymore.”
“The clay-what?”
“The claymore. It is a variety of greatsword. A heavy weapon. I am imagining this pickaxe to be a claymore and learning the heavy weapon technique.”
“Why would a miner need the greatsword?” Bimli raised an eyebrow.
“I am no miner. I am… Swordmaster Camelot.”
“A swordmaster” Bimli gasped “I thought the drow killed all the swordmasters.”
“Nay” I said. “There is one left. I have already mastered the wooden sword and the pickaxe. Soon I will master the greatsword too.”
“Interesting.” Bimli lowered his voice. “Camelot. Listen. There isn’t much time. There’s a small group of us. A resistance. Only six at the moment, but we could use a seventh. We need a warrior. There’s a plan. It’s tenuous but it just might work. We need a warrior though. It’s not going to be easy. We meet two days from now. Don’t look for us, we’ll find you. The passphrase is ‘the stones are hard today’ to which you reply ‘they are very hard indeed’. We’ll have a sword ready for you to fight with.”
I accepted Torchmaster Bimli’s proposal. He had me at “We’ll have a sword ready”. I spent the following two days mining, fantasizing about my future sword. I swung my pickaxe imagining it to be a mighty claymore, an elegant rapier, or a cruel cutlass. While the pickaxe is a fine weapon, but it has several shortcomings:
- It is not sharp.
- It can only be swung, never thrusted or sliced. Because of this it is too predictable in combat.
- A pickaxe is hard to conceal.
- For some reason the pickaxe is associated with low social status.
- Pickaxes are often crudely constructed. It is hard to find a well-balanced pickaxe.
Chapter 3: A Kingdom of Seven
“A dwarven forge must burn eternally —
Always add fuel to the flames.”
~ Koin, master of the forge.
Two days later Torchmaster Bimli lead me to a secret meeting in a dark cave. There he introduced me to the other dwarves and to my new sword. I won’t bore you with the details of the other dwarves (their names are Shalesmith Alawyn, Scribe Bernon, Forgemaster Koin, Brewmaster Ipa, Shadesmith Darko, as well as Torchmaster Bimli). My sword though — what a sword! It was a drow broadsword. The finest weapon I ever encountered underground. I spent the entire secret meeting fondling my new sword. The drow broadsword is a superior weapon for the following reasons:
- The drow broadsword is perfectly balanced as all things should be.
- It is designed for combat.
- The drow broadsword is very sexy.
- It is silvered, and thus strong against the undead.
- The hilt feels soft because it is covered with leather.
- It is slightly longer than the standard broadsword.
- The drow broadsword is silent and deadly.
After Torchmaster Bimli finished explaining the details of the plan, we set about its execution. I still am not clear about the roles of the other six dwarves, but my task was simple. I was to kill the mine guards and then the gate guards.
The mine guards were no match for my skill. I’m not sure they knew how to fight at all. There were six mine guards. They stood tall and lanky in a semicircle, like a congregation of elder gods. I stepped through the tunnel, the other dwarves a few feet behind me. The gate guards drew their swords in unison. They came at me like twins. I dodged their first few attacks, learning the pattern. The style of the drow turned out be very predictable — completely devoid of creativity. They strike like a poem — carefully crafted, beautiful, but utterly devoid of any truth or energy. After a few seconds I had learned all their attack patterns. The combat became trivial after that. I set up a nice position with the guards in a line before me. I waited them to lift their swords in predictable harmony. I struck once, piercing them all in a single strike. Looking back at the fight, my execution was perhaps too fancy and elaborate. I could have achieved the same results spending less time and energy. However a battle won is a battle won.
The gate guards were a more interesting challenge. There were only three of them. Still they were harder to defeat than the mine guards.
One of them was a sword fighter like myself. We fought with two short scimitars. I respected his skill as I feignted and then thrust my broadsword through his ribs.
Another was a mage. He sent bolts of fire at me which I deflected with my sword. He then turned into a giant hairy creature. Though he looked mighty, he lacked the experience to defeat me. Eventually I wore the beast down, and cut off his head. He turned back into a mage upon death.
The final guard was a sneaky one (much like my fellow dwarf Shadesmith Darko). He didn’t do much at the start of the battle. I thought he was just an observer and lost him in the shadows. This was a mistake. While I was fighting the mage, a sharp pain came to my shoulder. The bastard snuck up behind me and stabbed a dagger in my back! As I spun around he dashed off again. I didn’t make the mistake of losing him again. After I dispached the other two, I cornered the sneak and killed him.
We stood before the Great City Gate as Shalesmith Alawyn worked on the mechanism. I licked my lips, still covered in sweat and drow blood. Torchmaster Bimli gave a rousing speach, which I reproduce here:
“Dwarves!” Torchmaster Bimli began, standing upon a rock. “Dwarves. We are creatures of stone. We have no place under the sun. So it has been for generations. So it has been for millenia. We have always lived in the great undergound city, Caer Mynydd. We have mined in the city, we have forged in the city. We slaved in the city after the drow trapped us there. But today — today things change. Today we leave the undergound city. Today a new dwarven kingdom begins. A kingdom of seven. Today starts the age of the surface dwarf. Seven of us for now. But we will gain allies. We will return to reclaim the great underground city. There will be more of us, many more!”
Truly, it was a rousing speach. Shalesmith Alawyn finished opening the Great City Gate. Behind it was the sun and some trees and stuff.
Chapter 4: The Resistance under the Sun
“Dwarven ale is a fine drink—
It is very bitter and subtle.”
~ Brewmaster Ipa
The first few months of the resistance were uneventful. We shaved our beards and pretended to be gnomes. I used a straight edge razor to shave my beard. The razor blade is a fine weapon for the following reasons:
- The razor is very light compared with other blades.
- Razor blades are easily concealed.
- It is a good weapon for attacking hair.
- Quite sharp.
Ultimately though razors do have a lot of disadvantages which prevent them from seeing much usage in combat. They’re flimsy, short, and easily dulled. Because of this I switched back to my drow broadsword after shaving my beard. That drow broadsword — now that was a fine weapon.
Every week the seven dwarves congregated in a basement to discuss progress of the resistance. We discussed new allies that were acquired, new wealth that was earned, and new safehouses established. At one of these meetings, Scribe Bernon was telling us of progress he made with recruitment.
“…the Kossovians hate one thing, and one thing alone. They hate the Namtharites. If we want the Kossovians on our side we have to pretend we hate Namtharites too. This shouldn’t be difficult. I’ve compiled a list of racial slurs that are used against Namtharites. I’ll pass the list of racial slurs around. I made enough copies for everyone. If we use these slurs in everyday conversation with the Kossovians, they will start to believe that we hate Namtharites as much as they do. I also have a list of prominent Kossovians which we might want to recruit…”
I got bored of Scribe Bernon’s lecture at this point, so I started sharpening my sword. Sharpening a sword is a fine art. The first thing one needs is a whetstone. It can’t be any old whetstone. If you use a farming whetstone (for sharpenning scythes and shovels), then you’ll wear your sword out too fast. The farm whetstone has too coarse a grain.
At the first stage of the sharpening, lay your sword on your knees. Make a few test strokes with the stone, and inspect the blade carefully. There shouldn’t be any visible abrasions. After this you are free to make mighty strokes, getting rid of any imperfections that your sword may have developed. Do this for 2 – 3 minutes, no more.
“Camelot!”
Then comes the second stage of the sharpening. You’ll need some water here as well as your trusty whetstone. Dip your sword in a jar of water, and take it out. Shake excess water off your sword. Pour water over the whetstone as well. Then brush the sword over the wet stone using quick strokes. Don’t apply too much pressure. This second stage is when most of the sharpening actually happens.
“Camelot!”
Then is the third, and final, stage of the sharpening. It is referred to as “the polishing”. Outwardly it is similar to the second stage in that you will be polishing a wet sword using a wet stone. However the actual technique is quite different. Indeed…
“Camelot!” Torchmaster Bimli shook me. “Camelot! Be quiet for a minute.”
“Huh, what?” I dropped my whetstone, nearly spilling the jar of water.
“Camelot, please stop sharpening your sword. The six of us have been discussing your behaviour for the last half hour. We’ve concluded that your dedication to the resistence is lacking.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” I reached under the table for my whetstone.
“You never take part in our secret meetings. You’ve never returned with new recruits. You haven’t established any safehouses. Frankly all you ever do is spend your money on cheap swords. This wouldn’t be a problem by itself. Indeed we are grateful for your assistance in escaping from the underground city. But your constant sword sharpening in our secret meetings is just too much. The racket is distracting for the rest of us. We have decided to banish you from the council of seven. Begone Swordmaster Camelot. We will call on you if ever we need your help again. Take your swords and leave.”
“Uh, what?”
“Take your swords and leave.”
I finally located my whetstone, and placed it on the table. The others were all staring at me. A tear ran from Torchmaster Bimli’s cheek. For some reason he reminded me of my mother on the day the drow took me away. I wondered why — Torchmaster Bimli was nothing like my mother. I didn’t dwell on it. Instead I neatly placed my swords and whetstone into my backpack. Passing through the door, I waved to the others as is customary. A few others were crying now too. I decided that I would travel to Porte Verde where I would obtain a katana.
