The man of shale and slate broke the silence of the steppes, turning to Throkk and pulling the wide brim of his straw hat lower to shield his blood-shot eyes.
His voice was hoarse and earthy, and sounded like heavy footsteps in gravel.
After the last century waTr, we Dwarves retreated north to the mountain strongholds, sensing it was no longer our fight, and unwilling to risk everything for others. We build walls high and tunnels low, and over the centuries that followed, we systematically isolated from the other races and cities, … we thought ourselves safe in our isolation.
There were still skirmishes, outputs would fall to a foe unseen, a village would be razed, and mine flooded, and slowly , mile by mile, we retreated back to the citadel of Caer Mynydd, after years of paranoia and fear, probably every last dwarf had retreated back to the safety of the stronghold.
Little did we suspect, that we were not retreating, but rather we were being herded, corralled into one location.
One night, when the twin moons were high and leered at us from above like a great predators eyes, they came. A wave of otherworldly creatures, all claw and tentacle and fury. But we laughed secretly. What could such creatures do to the great citadel? To the mountain itself?
When our doom came, it was from a single point of weakness. A point below. For despite the great warren of tunnels and mines we had built, the proud halls and the living mountain that was our heritage, there were those that had dug deeper, and had been digging and tunneling and planning for centuries longer, waiting patiently. Disaster struck from below as the night elves had engineered some foul plot – somehow allied with those creatures to distract the us, to herd us, to hunt us, to attacked the gates. They were the hammer to the Anvil of the Drow. Meanwhile the Drow came from far below, from the sunless sea, and somehow… the groans of ancient masonry still haunt me Throkk.. somehow entire city sank.. was swallowed as the mountain itself crashed inwards and downwards, caving in and collapsing down. I felt like I fell for hours watching a city tumble into the shadows with me… I .. I guess most died. we must have. surely. A slow, methodical, almost masterworked genocide of my people.. those who survived were pulled from the inky depths onto the deck of their slaver ships.
I tunneled, usually downwards. I build walls and carved surfaces, having no light I would work by feel and instinct. I was owned .. owned by one named Amalolg Oussath, a lord of a large estate in the sunless sea. The geography was.. alien, strange to me, it felt like a scattering of islands.. I would be transported from island to island manacled in the hull of a dark ship.. I could..feel and hear the dull scratches of the strange creatures swimming alongside in the inky black stillness, waiting for somebody to fall, or be thrown overboard. On deck, the sound of leathery wings flap overhead, circling, and yet, despite the lack of all sense… there was a wind to lift the sails.
The masters were not cruel Throkk, more .. empty.. and heartless and uncaring. Once you had reached the limit of your usefulness, you simply had your throat slit, calmly , clinically. The spoke little to us, fed us and watered us adequately, knowing we had value so long as we could work, they did not torture us, but kept us as.. pets.. to allow us further their goals.
I never made it to he city of Faneadar, the supposed capital of that black empire. I was digging a new tunnel some months ago.. I think.. its hard to keep track of time underground.. I guess we tunneled too close to the surface although we never really knew where we were. I was digging with my uncle, who’s tongue had been excised for excessive … communication.
Well, the old mans arms were not as strong as they used to be, and his buttressing was catching up on him. I felt it in my soul first, in my heart… the walls give, the creak of damp soil reaching inwards. Then I heard the wooden tearing of the strut snapping. The tunnel flooded in an instant, a great torrent of water from above. I sank to my knees and waited to drown.. but when I tasted the water as it washed around me.. it wasn’t salty. It might be a lake or river.. I had assumed us under the sea and doomed for sure.. but.. for some reason I… I let , let myself be carried up by the water and once the tunnel was completely submerged I found the rupture in the wall and followed the tunnel out and swam .. and swam.. and..
Well.. a son of the mountain was never meant to swim. I should have died. In fact, sometimes I think I might have died, Im not sure. But when I opened my eyes there was a beautiful orc standing over me clutching a brilliant diamond to my chest and mumbling in her strange tongue. I hadn’t seen the sun in years, and the light bouncing of the water as I lay on the deck was blinding, but the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and for the first time in centuries, I wept.
After I regained my strength, the crew left me off at Porta Verde. Well being a novelty is no joy in a trading town. That’s where I fell afoul of brigands and rogues.. a few trades here, swapped hands a few times there, a drunken card game and hidden daggers in the night, and here I am. Not the last son the mountain, but.. maybe the last to be free. And for that I am, thankful.
I’m Alawyn. I was a shale smith.
