Dwarf Male

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The only good Crow is a dead Crow 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

               High King Belegar Ironhammer, Ruler of Karak Eight Peaks

 

          The Saga Of Belegar Ironhammer

Born deep within a mountain stronghold, Belegar was the only son of Thronir Ironhammer and heir to the throne of Karak Eight Peaks, ancestral home of Clan Angrund. Once a proud and powerful Clan, the dwarves of Angrund had fallen, brought low by the ravages of war and famine. 

As a young beardling, Belegar trained in all forms of combat, growing quite skilled with the sword, axe, and hammer. He studied the history of his Clan, immersing himself in the triumphs and tragedies of his ancestors. Even as a young dwarf, he gloried in his Clan's rich heritage and swore vengeance for every defeat.

One sad and cruel day, while Belegar was still young, a savage plague swept through Karak Eight Peaks, claiming the lives of many good dwarves, including his father Thronir. With that, Belegar become sovereign ruler of both his Clan and Karak Eight Peaks. 

The young lord was determined to lead his people out of the shadows of their past and into the bright dawn of a new era, resolving to wash away the misfortune that troubled his Clan.  He set about with a spirit of optimism and determination, renovating the old and empty halls of Karak Eight Peaks and turning them to secure homes for his fellow dwarves. 

Lord Belegar knew that he could not fight this struggle alone so he sought out other like minded dwarves in Elgea. His scouts searched far and wide throughout Elgea, bringing back tales of a legendary alliance of Dwarf Clans known as the Dwarven Lords. The young dwarf called a special session of the Elder Council Of Karak Eight Peaks. He longed to journey the capital of this alliance and seek out an audience with King Belargyle, the mysterious ruler of the alliance of Dwarf Clans. The aged council was in agreement with the young dwarf. Some of them had heard whispers of this King Belargyle and knew of his great wisdom and his unparalleled leadership abilities. They told of great victories the King had won, and countless enemies cast down in defeat by his unstoppable legions.

Planning all night, Belegar left at dawn, taking a small cadre of his most trusted bodyguards, and caravans laden with gifts, including several kegs of the finest dwarven ale fresh from the breweries of Karak Eight Peaks. The journey took weeks and was perilous. Three times Belegar's small party was attacked by bandits, but three times Belegar and his noble dwarves fought them off. They were even attacked by a group of feral orcs, who launched an ambush as Belegar lead his wards through a narrow mountain pass. Quickly drawing his namesake hammer and bellowing his war cry, Belegar launched an immediate counter attack at the marauding orcs rampaging down the steep-sided mountains. Green-skinned warriors fell before him, organs pulped and brains splattered across the rocky soil. Belegar spied the orc war chief, watching the battle from above, and he ran for the orc, knowing full well that if he could slay the orc leader, the other orcs would falter. 

The battle swirled all around Belegar and his dwarves, who followed their leader in his wild charge up the mountain side. The mountain was steep, and the going was tough, but step by step they pounded their way up the rocky incline, leaving ragged heaps of greenskins in their wake. Belegar soon broke away from the main body of dwarves, his relentless advance as unstoppable as a winter avalanche.

The orc was a cunning brute and rather than meet Belegar's frenzied attack, he coldly sent his own orcs into battle first. Belegar killed them all, but he would soon be buried under a tidal wave of foul green flesh if this kept up. He hurled insults at the orc, cursing him in Dwarfish, hoping to goad him into a fight. Unmoved, the orc merely stared down the dwarf lord, a grim sneer plastered on his cruel lips. 

But Belegar's tutors had taught him well and he knew some choice words in the barbaric tongue of the Orcs.

"Coward!" he yelled, so loudly that the mountains rang with the clamor. His mouth stumbled over the uncouth Orc language, but he managed to keep shouting the words until his lungs burned with exertion. His hammer caught an onrushing orc in the chest, shattering his ribcage like it was made from porcelain. Jagged bits of bloody bone ricocheted off his plate armour.

The orcs ugly face twisted into a wicked howl and the beast came charging down the mountain side swinging his war club, and bashing his own followers out of the way in its haste to attack Belegar. The young dwarf stood his ground and met the orc's charge with his shield and a lowered shoulder. The orc crashed into Belegar, knocking him back a few steps, but the dwarf stayed on his feet. He traded blows with the orc war chief, hammer clashing upon club. Belegar continued to spit insults, infuriating the orc, who descended into a red fury. At last the orc overreached, aiming a wild two-handed blow at Belegar's head and missing badly as Belegar side stepped, and launched his own attack, which caved the orcs skull, crushing it like rotten fruit. 

Toppling over, the ruined carcass tumbled down the hill, the crimson trail of blood a visible sign of the orcs defeat. The remaining orcs fled away, melting like snow in the sunshine as their cries faded to nothingness.  Amazingly, Belegar's group had suffered no losses though several dwarves were badly wounded. These were his sworn bodyguards after all, and many of them had served his father before him and were fearsome fighters. 

They gathered around their lord when the battle was over, battered but alive. Nearly one hundred orcs had been slain, and impressive tally for the small group of dwarves. They gathered the bodies of the foul greenskins and burned them. Then they marched a short distance and made camp for the night, too weary to travel further. 

                                        Meeting King Belargyle

The rest of the journey proved uneventful and Belegar and his companions soon reached the glorious halls of the esteemed King Belargyle. Even Belegar was awestruck by the immense pillars of gold and stone, and gatehouses so mighty that they blotted out the sun from the sky. Brawny warriors greeted him, clad in shimmering plate and mail, and bearing massive, two-handed axes across their backs. Granted entrance into the hallowed halls, Belegar found the interior no less impressive than the exterior. A veritable forest of ivory pillars awaited him, buttressed by thick supporting columns of dark granite. Polished marble floors glowed in the torchlight. Well-dressed dwarves milled about, talking and laughing. 

A steel armoured soldier appeared and offered to take Belegar to King Belargyle's audience chamber. Leaving his caravans at the gate, Belegar complied, and followed the dwarf into the depths of the mountain fortress. Belegar vastly underestimated the size of the stronghold and he walked with the guide for nearly fifteen minutes before stopping in front of a pair of doors fashioned in pure gold. King Belargyle's royal seal was affixed to the doors, etched in the gold. Belegar recognized it from the description his scouts had given him. 

"The Hall of Kings, sire," the dwarf soldier said, bowing deeply. 

           

                                                   High King Belargyle

The golden doors swung open noiselessly and Belegar was ushered into the Hall. Silver coated the floor. A pathway of gold led to the raised dais front, where King Belargyle sat upon his royal throne.  Statues of regal gold lined the walls, Belegar guessed that they were all the Kings who had ever ruled here. Stout warriors flanked the impressive throne.

Belegar boldly approached the royal throne, overjoyed to finally meet the mysterious King Belargyle. His soldiers followed behind him.

King Belargyle greeted Belegar warmly and inquired about his journey and the battles he had fought. Belegar answered his questions and asked the King about the nature of his alliance and if the Angrund Clan might find refuge there. 

Belargyle replied that in time Belegar's people might find refuge in the Dwarven Lords, but first they need to prove themselves and to grow and become stronger. Belargyle offered Belegar a place among some smaller dwarf lords, where he could still find protection for the numerous threats that abounded in Elgea, but where he could also prove himself worthy of the title Lord. 

Belegar was disappointed at being denied a place in the Dwarven Lords, but the wisdom and sagacity of King Belargyle was undeniable. Belegar agreed to the proposal, determined to expand his kingdom for his people's sake. Last, but not least, he presented the King with his gifts though they seemed a paltry affair compared to the magnificence of the regal Hall of Kings.

Lord Belegar spent three days in the mountain fortress, studying and learning all he could. Before he returned to Karak Eight Peaks, King Belargyle appointed two of his most trusted advisors, Lord Jack Aubrey, and Lord Mordok, to oversee Belegar's tutelage. 

                                             Early Years

Belegar spent the next several years among the smaller dwarf lords, learning much. His city grew and he soon sent settlers out to build another, called Karak Drazh. He expanded his armies and launched many successful sorties against the wild beasts of the surrounded countryside. 

His armies saw combat in a tourney proclaimed by the so-called King Sigurd, a tyrant whose authority Belegar does not recognize, slaying over one thousand enemy troops in a single battle. Near Karak Drazh, Belegar had a darker task for his soldiers. He had learned firsthand and read the accounts and bitter tales of the Great War and the exploits of the Dwarven Lords. When enemy soldiers from VCrow occupied a nearby tourney square, Belegar ordered his army to attack and launched wave after wave of assaults, killing hundreds of enemy soldiers in the process, and gaining a small measure of revenge for his fallen brothers.

His first successful siege followed soon after.

Belegar personally led the final attack over the enemy ramparts and put the city to the sword, burning it to the ground. The cowardly elf overlord had long ago fled the city, and his disillusioned citizens were no match for Belegar's disciplined troops. 

Several other cities fell to Belegar's victorious army, the young dwarf leading from the front as always. With each victory, Belegar gained valuable experience, and made the land safer for his people and his clan. 

On his sixth such siege, Lord Belegar was overseeing a catapult bombardment, when a messenger rode from the city gates begging for mercy on behalf of the ruling lady of the city. Proving that he was wise as well as just, Belegar saw fit to grant mercy to the city and allowed the humans to live in peace. 

Not once but twice has Lord Belegar granted mercy to a city when its ruler asked for it. Just as his father had taught him, courage must be accompanied by mercy. A dwarf without mercy has no honor. And honor is more important than life. 

His cities grew as did his armies and soon he added a third, fourth, and fifth city. His engineers conducted much research and study and he soon began to move his cities, resettling them in Turalia, the ancient homeland of the Dwarven Lords. Several more years passed and Belegar grew ever stronger. His loyal troops hunted and killed exotic beasts, including many dangerous elementals who haunted the land. 

He delved fully into crafting and his smiths continue to produce the finest weapons in Elgea to equip his ever expanding armies. He sent merchants far and wide, seeking exotic goods and new markets for trade. His mages become quite powerful and cast potent wards to protect his city. Only once has anyone been foolish enough to attempt to steal from the storehouses of Karak Eight Peaks. Four hundred thieves were killed during that attempt and the theft failed. Belegar ordered their bodies burned like common criminals to set an example. Lord Belegar does not take kindly to thieves.

                                             Giant Killer 

One day Belegar decided to go visit an old friend, Captain Kindly, a true man of honor, and to have a large feast. The trip was long, but the springtime weather was fair and Belegar did not fear the petty bandits that roamed the countryside. 

But it was not bandits that Belegar would come across. Belegar and his companions had just cleared Witchfire Pass, emerging onto the Plains of Zarr, an ancient battlefield of two long dead kingdoms, when anguished cries reached their ears and they could see a caravan of humans moving quickly down the dirt road.

A hulking, oversized giant was chasing the humans, running awkwardly on its clumsy feet. The brute wielded a spiky-balled club in its meaty hands. He smashed the club down like a mallet, seeking to crush the poor humans flat as pancakes. 

Belegar beckoned his loyal dwarves to his side and drew his warhammer. Charging, he soon closed the distance between himself and the giant, who failed to notice him.  Wasting no time, Belegar ran for the giant's right leg. His dwarves fanned out around him, attacking from all sides. 

The giant's club appeared out of nowhere and nearly killed him. Belegar rolled out of the way, cheating death by the finest whisker of his lengthy beard. His somersault carried him to his feet again and he was off and running. The giant was big, but for once, the dwarves outnumbered their enemy. A steel bolt from a crossbow caught the oaf in the torso, and the giant roared in anger, red blood trickling down his side. Belegar hit the giant in the foot with his hammer. Unfortunately, that only made the giant kick out with his leg and sent the dwarf lord tumbling to the ground. Belegar landed on his back, skidding across the dirt. 

With a shout he was on his feet again, hammer at the ready. Another dwarf sailed through the air and crashed heavily into the ground, spitting curses. Belegar renewed his attack. The giant was distracted from the other dwarves, and Belegar dealt another savage blow to his foot, aiming for the ankle. A backwards kick with the heel nearly knocked Belegar senseless. When he sat up, his head was ringing.

He needed a better plan. Fortunately, he had just the idea. 

The human caravans were scattered and some had been overturned in their haste to get away. One of those vans was carrying several coils of stout rope.

"Get to the ropes! We need to trip him up and tangle his legs!" he shouted. He ordered a handful of warriors to distract the giant, which they did with their crossbows, keeping up a steady hail of fire and peppering the giant with bolts. The overgrown brute roared so loudly it felt as if the mountains shook. 

Belegar directed five of his soldiers to take one end of the rope while he and another four took the other end. He didn't know if they had the strength to pull the giant down, but they had to try something. 

"Go left, we will go right," he said, pointing. His dwarves obeyed instantly. They spread out pulling the rope tight, and advanced on the run.

The giant saw them coming, but he stared dumbly at the approaching dwarves unsure as to what they were doing. The rope slipped over the giants toes and cinched tight against his ankles. The giant kicked in response. 

Belegar suddenly felt like he was being pulled by a team of bulls, and was quickly yanked off his feet. He dug in his booted heels, but to no avail. The giant was just too strong. He and his dwarves were overmatched. Then the giant picked up the rope, lifting Belegar into the air. Several of the dwarves let go, tumbling to the grass. Belegar gritted his teeth and hung on.

The giant opened his mouth, and for three long heartbeats, Belegar stared directly into the reeking maw of yellowed teeth and rotten chunks of flesh. 

The dwarf kicked his legs, causing the rope to swing. He kicked again, harder this time. It would have to do, he was almost in the giant's mouth. He leapt for the giant's swarthy face.

He crashed into the giant's bulbous nose, landing awkwardly. The giant's giant eyes squinted at him as his mouth clamped shut without anything inside. The giant hit himself in the face, but Belegar had already scrambled to the giant's forehead.

Belegar's hammer flashed in the sunlight; not once, not twice, but three times. At the final blow, the giant's eyes rolled back in his head and he began to fall. The dwarf grabbed on to a piece of the giant's lanky hair and held on for dear life as the giant collapsed. 

Lord Belegar does not remember how he survived the fall, but when he came to his loyal dwarves were gathered around him. They congratulated him and pulled him to his feet. His armour was battered and worn, but he was alive. 

"Next time lets use a catapult," Belegar quipped. His warriors laughed heartily at his joke.

The humans were extremely grateful for the rescue and thanked Belegar by giving him some of their ale. No finer gift exists for a dwarf, except for gold.

Belegar continued on his way and reached Captain Kindly's castle without further incident, where they feasted long into the night. 

                                             Culling the Deep

Karaz-A-Karak was Lord Belegar's third city. It was a magnificent city, located on a breathtakingly tall mountain in the depths of a forest, perfect territory for his stalwarts. The forges rang with the sound of hammers day and night, and dwarf soldiers drilled incessantly, practicing their swordplay and axework. Belegar established a crafting guild in the city and the fortress soon began to produce some of the finest arms and armour in his kingdom.

But the budding stronghold hid a dark secret in its cavernous depths. Some unknown civilization had drilled deep mine shafts into the mountain and had tunneled out a complex network of ventilation shafts and irrigation canals. The dwarf engineers there had only just began to probe the true nature of the forgotten people's work. Then they began to hear strange noises in the tunnels. Silent whispers tugged at their ears. Unseen feet pattered in the night. Tunnels collapsed inexplicably. Workers began to disappear. Cryptic messages appeared on the cavern walls, but the dwarves could not decipher them. 

When Belegar was told of the disturbances he ordered the tunnels sealed immediately. Something was down there, he knew, and whatever it was, it wanted the dwarves to leave. He was determined to find out what it was and kill it. 

The journey to Karaz-a-Karak was short and uneventful. When he reached the city, Belegar could feel a palpable sense of unease that had descended over the mountain stronghold. Inside the fortress, the dwarves huddled in groups talking anxiously among themselves in hushed whispers. Despite the bright shining sun, the city seemed dark. 

Belegar was determined to get to the bottom of this immediately, but his first stop was with the scholars and mages of the city to see what they thought. The scholars were the first to speak, and a careful study of ancient dwarf texts revealed that the mysterious tunnels beneath the city were known as "The Deep," an ominous name. The mages confirmed that something very evil was lurking in the cavernous depths. They could sense a great disturbance in the winds of magic. They were worried. 

Next, Belegar spoke to the engineers and some of the tunnel workers, who had first hand experience with the evil lurking below. They spoke of pale, mutated beast that stalked the tunnels, resembling giant, humanoid rats. The beasts were numerous, and would often attack from all directions.

But the engineers had come up with a plan. They had developed special shields, that protected both a dwarves front and sides. When enough dwarves packed a tunnel, they formed an impenetrable wall of steel and muscle. The formation and shields was untested, but they has thought it would work.

Belegar liked the idea immediately. He ordered his engineers to make enough shields to outfit every warrior in Karaz-a-Karak. The engineer guild set to the task with relish, and soon the forges were alive with the measured drumming of hammer upon steel. The smell of the forge, sweat and ash, fire and steel, was the smell of home to Belegar. It took three days of non-stop, back breaking work, but the engineers and blacksmiths finished the shields in record time. Lord Belegar rallied his warriors, and departed for the tunnels.

When the tunnel gates were open, a stinking cloud of rotten flesh wafted across the threshold. Some of the dwarves gagged. Torches were brought forward.

"Form ranks!' Belegar shouted from the head of the column. His warriors obeyed instantly and grouped together, forming a shield wall. Glittering swords and axes flashed in the torchlight, cold and deadly. Belegar held his warhammer in his right hand. He was ready. 

Belegar and his dwarves marched over the threshold, leaving behind the warmth and comfort of the hold. The iron gates boomed shut behind them. The dwarves marched for a solid two minutes and saw not one other living thing. The stench did not improve; it smelled like a million rats had died somewhere in the darkness. Belegar nearly retched at the stink.

Suddenly a whitish blur burst into the orange glow of the torches and slammed into the battle line ten paces to Belegar's left. A sword flashed out, stabbing the mutant creature in the gut. It had the face of a man and a rat, which twitched in pain, wriggling its snout, and making some gurgling sound with its mouth. A dwarf in the second rank stepped forward and split the creature's head with his battle axe. The twitching stopped, and the creature slumped to the ground, claws raking ineffectually at the dwarf's shield. 

Thunderous silence descended upon the dwarves. Nobody moved. Belegar opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by a piercing, unearthly scream. Then all hell broke loose. White, fleshy mutants burst from the darkness, roaring and screeching like banshees, slamming into the dwarf shield wall with hurricane force. 

Dwarf battle cries and foul oaths erupted from the dwarf battle line. Swords and axes cut the air in glittering arcs of shining steel, slicing flesh and severing limbs. A number of the grotesque monsters began leaping over the front rank, and crashed into the ranks beyond. 

Belegar smashed the first mutant in the face, which exploded in a hot, sticky mess. The headless body toppled to the tunnel floor. A white wave of mutants followed the first attack. 

Dwarf mages had accompanied Belegar's host and now they leapt into the fight, filling the tunnel with multi-colored bursts of arcane energy. The sulfur stench of burnt flesh filled the tunnel. 

Slowly, but surely Belegar and his warriors fought their way through the Deep, hacking and bludgeoning legions of mutant horrors that assailed them from every side. Eventually they reached the final chamber at the heart of the Deep. There a great fleshly mass of putrid muscle awaited them. Having six eyes, three mouths, and too many appendages to count, the oversized monster was clearly the source of the corruption.

Belegar's mages began to prepare a powerful spell, but they needed time to enact the powerful enchantments. To buy his mages time, Belegar ordered an immediate assault. The great beast could hardly move and indeed did practically nothing as Belegar and his loyal dwarves stormed forward. 

But it must have had some sort of psychic power over its fellow mutants, because the chamber was suddenly flooded with them; hacking, clawing, biting, and screeching like mad devils. The dwarves meet them with courage and cold steel,  their axes and swords ran red with blood. 

The dwarf formation broke apart under the onslaught, torn asunder by the attack from all sides. Belegar lashed out with his hammer, roaring with ancestral fury, enraged at the prospect of defeat when he was so close to victory. 

Just when defeat seemed imminent, a blinding flash of purple light lit the chamber, then green, then blue. Thunder like the voices of the gods exploded in Belegar's ears, making his head ring inside his battle helm. 

When the world stopped trembling, Belegar opened his eyes. The mutant overlord was dead, ripped to pieces by the mages powerful spell. All his minions were dead around him, flesh cooking on the eldritch breeze. Belegar could taste the ash on his tongue. 

His exhausted mages stood in a circle, robes tattered. Belegar smiled grimly at them. He had culled the Deep. 

                                        Slaying the Dragon

On one blistering summer day, a group of terrified elf merchants came pouring into Karak Eight Peaks, gibbering like mad about some insane tale of a dragon that was loose on the main highway. They had lost a dozen horses and many of them suffered burn marks and other nasty wounds. Belegar turned the elves over to the care of his skilled physicians, donned his armour, and set forth to determine the truth of this seemingly fictional tale.  

Scarcely an hour had passed, when Belegar saw an ominous shape approaching on the horizon. The black skinned dragon quickly flew into view, belching gouts of orange flame that outshone the midday sun. The dragon had more teeth than a dozen alligators and claws fit to rip apart a castle wall. 

Belegar knew he must fight this creature and for the good of his people, he must prevail. He ordered his body guards to spread out and attack the dragon from all sides. They obeyed with haste, axes and swords flashing silver in the sunlight. Belegar readied his warhammer.

The ebony-scaled dragon swooped low and released a pillar of fire at Belegar, who sprinted and rolled forward, somersaulting beneath the flames. Even so the hot breath scorched his skin beneath his armour. The dragon whipped his tail at Belegar, forcing the dwarf to spin out of the way. 

Crossbow bolts fizzed through the smoldering air. Roaring dwarves charged in, bellowing like mad. The dragon circled in the sky and crashed back to earth in a spray of brown soil, spawning a miniature earthquake that knocked half the dwarves off their feet. It lashed out with its head, biting and snapping its teeth. Steel rang upon claw, echoing shrilly. 

Belegar stood his ground against the dragon and when the beast attacked, the dwarf swung his hammer with all the fury he could muster. His fierce blow caught one of the dragon's sharp teeth and shattered it like glass in a hailstorm. The dragon recoiled, screaming in pain and anger. The dwarf pressed his attack, driving the dragon back. His dwarves surrounded it, hacking from all sides, tearing great chunks of flesh from the bony carapace of its armour. 

But the dragon was far from dead. Roaring with millennia old fury, the ancient beast shook itself and spun in a circle, dragging its tail through the dirt. Belegar failed to move in time and the tail knocked him over. He landed heavily, weighed down by his armour. 

Lord Belegar rolled to his feet and spat the dirt from his mouth. His brothers-in-arms were down as well, staggering to their feet, and redrawing dropped weapons. The dragon continued to flail. Scarlet blood pooled beneath the beast.

"Bring him down!" Belegar yelled, knowing that this was the moment to strike. He charged.

An expert shot from a crossbow caught the dragon in the right eye, blinding it instantly. Belegar would later learn that a young dwarf named Thorek had fired the shot.

The black dragon swung its head around crazily, trying to keep all the dwarves in its vision at once, a task which proved impossible. Flames shot from its mouth, setting the grass on fire in some places. 

The hot stench of smoke burned Belegar's nostrils and the bitter taste of ash filled his mouth. Gritting his teeth, he ran straight for the dragon's mouth. He lifted his runic shield as the fire washed over him, singing his beard. Wards sparked and fizzled on his shield, keeping the flames at bay.

Suddenly the flames stopped and the dragon lunged in, jaws gaping, throat glistening. Belegar hit the beast in the nose with his hammer. The shock of the blow raced up his arms, numbing them temporarily. The dragon recoiled, stunned and shaken. It turned its head, trying to keep Belegar in view with its remaining good eye.  It lashed out with its thick legs and tail, flailing blindly at the surrounding dwarves, and sending some flying through the air. 

An idea sprang into Belegar's mind. Dropping his shield, Belegar drew his sword and ran for the dragon's neck on its blind side. Three paces away he leapt and stabbed the dragon, his sword piercing the chitinous hide. Blood spurted from the wound. Using the sword as an anchor, he pulled himself up until he stood on the back of the dragon. The rough dragon scales cut his palms, but Belegar ignored the pain. He nearly slipped as the dragon shook itself, but he just barely managed to keep his balance. 

Raising his hammer over his head with both hands, Belegar whipped it down in a crushing overhead strike. The blunt-nosed hammer punched through the dragon's skull and into the soft meat of its brain. The dragon went limp beneath him and collapsed to the ground, landing in a ragged heap. 

Belegar stood atop the dragon, victorious. 

His comrades cheered loudly, splitting the air with shouts of triumph. The dragon was dead!

Lord Belegar did not have to walk back to his castle because his dwarves carried him all the way back, armour and all. The dwarf ruler had the dragon's massive head affixed above the gates of Karak Eight Peaks, so any passerby would know that the land was safe from the scourge of the dragon. 

                                   Promotion to Dwarven Lords

Belegar's victory did not go unnoticed by the Lords of Elgea and word of the dragon's slaying soon reached High King Belargyle. At once the High King requested an audience with Belegar. The young Lord did not hesitate to obey his King's command and quickly made the journey to Belargyle's mountain fortress. No orcs troubled him this time.

The fortress seemed even grander than Belegar remembered. Rune-etched gates loomed large, buttressed by thick stone walls that could hold ten ogres side by side. Not they ever would for no ogre was foolish enough to approach the city and the fierce dwarven warriors within. 

The Herculean gates opened before Belegar, revealing the interior of a proud and noble city. When he had journeyed here before, nobody recognized him, and the towns folk had paid him no need, for he was just another dwarf passing through the city. But now the dwarves gathered about and spoke of him in hushed whispers. Several dwarf maidens smiled brightly at Belegar as he walked by.

A heavily armoured dwarf soldier ushered Belegar into the Hall of Kings. Belegar was nervous, but hopeful. The hall was just as impressive as before, lined with regal statues of long-dead kings. His feet walked steadily across the golden tiles leading to the Royal Throne, upon which sat Belargyle, arrayed in his finest kingly robes of deep purple and gold. 

When Belegar reached the front of the hall, Belargyle commanded him to kneel. Belegar obeyed. A rough looking stone was brought out and set before Belegar, who recognized it as the Sacred Oath Stone, the very stone upon which all dwarves swore their vows of allegiance to the Dwarven Lords. His heart soared when he saw the ancient Oath Stone. He placed both hands on the stone, palms rested firmly on the rough stone. 

King Belargyle stood to his feet and unrolled a yellowed scroll. "Say the oath," he commanded. The words on the scroll were written in Khazalid, the sacred language of the dwarves, passed down to them from the Artefores, the Ancestor Gods of the Dwarves and creators of Elgea.  

Belegar repeated the words on the scroll. The ancient language spilled reverently from his mouth.

"I swear by this sacred oath stone that I will support and defend my fellow Dwarven Lords against all enemies; that I will obey High King Belargyle as the one true sovereign of all Dwarves; that I will obey the sacred Eleven Commandments at all times;and that I will be prepared to give my life in the defense of the Realm."

Belegar's words were still echoing through the hall when Belargyle spoke again.

"Rise, High Lord Belegar. Welcome to the kingdom."

Belegar stood to his feet, joy in his heart. He was finally in the the Dwarven Lords, and a member of the most powerful alliance of Dwarven Clans in all Illyriad. An immense feeling of pride washed over him.

High King Belargyle presented Belegar with two gifts of immense value. First, the King gave him a golden suit of battle armour with dragons carved on the shoulder pauldrons. The armour shimmered brilliantly in the lurid torchlight. The armour also came with a winged helmet, made from gold, and a pair of gold-covered gauntlets. It was a panoply fit for a dwarf lord.

Secondly, Belargyle awarded  Belegar with a fearsome looking sword that had a ruby-encrusted hilt. Pure silversteel had been used in the forging of the blade, which had occurred hundreds of years ago during the Golden Age of the Dwarves.

"The sword is called Soul Splitter. Use it well," Belargyle said, his voice like thunder. 

Belegar accepted the gift with a bow, his eyes mesmerized by the glittering blade, the finest weapon he had ever seen. His other weapons seemed like poor playthings in comparison. 

When the ceremony ended, Lord Belegar was congratulated by Lord Jack Aubrey and Lord Mordok, the two dwarves who had recommended Belegar's promotion to the High King. 

A massive feast was thrown in Belegar's honor. Tables were piled high in ham, beef, mutton, seven types of bread, and some other meats from exotic lands that Belegar had never heard off. Stout Dwarven Ale was as plentiful as stone in a mountain and flowed freely through the night. It was the finest ale Belegar had ever tasted. At the feast, Belegar met all the other lords of theDwarven Lords. It was a truly glorious occasion.

Belegar returned to his hold of Karak Eight Peaks and to a hearty welcome from his people. He was determined to serve the will of High King Belargyle and to lead Clan Angrund to even greater heights, surpassing even the Golden Age of the Dwarves. 

                                        The Undead Scourge 

Not long after his promotion to the hallowed ranks of the Dwarven Lords, word reached High Lord Belegar of a strange apparition that was launching zombies across Illyriad, vomiting forth a plague of undead minions to destroy the land of the living. 

His scholars reported that the undead had something to do with the legendary lost keep of Duraz Kurag. Belegar at once swore to do all he could to protect the land from the undead and to get to the bottom of this incredible mystery. He prepared his armies and sent his scouts to scour the land in search of the zombies. Another dwarf, the powerful Epidemic, a friend to the Dwarven Lords, was also undertaking the quest. At Epidemic's request, Belegar dispatched over one thousand Halbardiers to defend Epidemic's city against the ruinous onslaught of the zombies. 

Soon, Karak Eight Peaks came under assault by the undead filth. Belegar promised his people that no zombie would reach the walls of his beloved city. To honor his vow, he rallied his troops and prepared for war in the dense forests surrounding the stronghold. He did not have to wait long.

The zombie hordes were endless, but Belegar and his dwarves fought them with courage and a resolve bordering on suicidal. Using the forested terrain to their advantage, his troops launched ambush after ambush, killing hundreds of zombies on the first day alone. They built cleverly disguised stake pits and felled great trees to halt the advance.

It was dirty, thankless work, but hour by hour, day by day, the forests were cleared. Belegar led from the front, personally commanding attack after attack and killing nearly one thousand of the undead beasts. After two weeks of fierce and unrelenting combat, the forests grew silent again. The undead were vanquished!

Belegar returned to a heroes welcome. His most skilled mages scoured the battlefield and collected various strange tentacles that were left over from the battle. They claimed it was necessary for the mystery of the undead scourge. Belegar trusted his wizards, but was still a bit unnerved by it. 

His troops returned from Epidemic's city of Karak Drak empty handed. After consulting with his scholars and wizards, Belegar sent his troops back to Karak Drak, and told them to prepare for a long campaign. His troops are still there, waiting patiently for the expected assault. 

Belegar has begun his own quest for the legendary armour and hopes that soon his talented scholars will find a solution. It is rumored that the great blue gods in the sky are merely playing a trick upon the citizens of Illyriad, but Belegar has yet to determine the truth of the matter. 

                                   The Rescue of Tauriel

The land of Illyriad is a dangerous place. Brigands, outlaws, and thieves roam the countryside. Roving bands of mercenaries pillaged at will. Travel was a dangerous endeavor and often fraught with peril. Belegar spent much of his time escorting his own caravans as they traveled in between cities and hubs to ensure they arrived safely. On one such journey to Centrum he had a chance encounter with an elf caravan that was also carrying goods to Centrum, the biggest and busiest trade hub in all the land. Belegar met all the elf guards, including the young female elf Tauriel.

 Tauriel was skilled with the bow and throwing knives and could  easily hit a moving deer at two hundred yards. The bow was an  unfamiliar weapon to Belegar as Dwarves almost exclusively  used the crossbow. Belegar had difficulty using the skittish elf  weapon. He was accustomed to weapons that relied more on  brute strength over finesse. The elf swords were lighter than the  dwarf axes and hammers and needed great speed to be effective.  

 The combined caravan groups reached Centrum a few days later.  After unloading their wares for safekeeping, the dwarves and  elves returned to their respective homes by different paths.  Tauriel's home city was many leagues to the south and Belega  doubted he would ever see the elf again. He still sent gifts  however, on occassion, but giving the great distances involved  he was not always sure that his messages and presents were  safely delivered.

But one cold winter's day, an eagle-eyed sentry spotted a ragged band of elves approaching the rugged walls of Karak Eight Peaks. Upon admittance to Belegar's courtly hall, they told a sad and tragic tale. The elves belonged to the same group as Tauriel did and they had been escorting another caravan to Centrum when they had been ambushed by a cutthroat pack of renegade knights and outlaws, who called themselves the Death Company. No fiercer band of murderers, liars, and lawbreakers existed in all the land, except for the Crows of course.

Many elves had been slain in the cruel attack, but worst of all, the fair Tauriel had been captured and carried off by the Death Company's leader, Mordred. The infamous warrior was a true black-hearted knave and his name was feared throughout the land. The blood of thousands of innocents stained his cruel hands. He was known to wear a baroque set of jet-black plate amour and carried a massive sword and a hulking axe to battle. Belegar had heard the tales, but had never crossed blades with Mordred.

Belegar gathered his scribes together and bade them research all they could on the mysterious Death Company and their leader. They discovered that the outlaw warband operated from a castle known as the Goslar Keep (or Skullhome as it was widely known) located a great distance to the west of Belegar's lands. Any rescue attempt would be a perilous undertaking.

Nevertheless, the thought of the beautiful elf in the clutches of the wicked Mordred sent Belegar into a towering rage. Even his fellow dwarves felt it. Their noble souls rebelled in the face of such evil. They knew what Belegar would do before he even gave the command. The elves did not even get the chance to ask for Belegar's aid.

"Upon the hollowed bones of Grungi and Grimnir and upon the blessed stone of this mountain, I swear to kill Mordred and the entirety of the Death Company, whether it takes me one year or one thousand."

Belegar spoke in a voice like thunder; his words full of wrath. He opened the sacred Dammaz Kron and recorded the grudge in his own hand. This would be the first time he acted upon a grudge immediately after it was written down and the oath sworn. Belegar looked to his lieutenants and gathered warriors, who waited expectantly.

"We don't have time to rouse the entire host. We march tonight, travel light and travel fast. We must attack with all speed if we have any hope of reaching saving Tauriel while she is still alive."

Some of his dwarves were not convinced. "The Death Company has many soldiers and a strong fortress. We will need siege equipment and many thousands of stalwarts to bring them down."

Belegar shook his head. "We don't have time for that. Furthermore, the Death Company would expect such a maneuver. If we act quickly we can catch them off guard." The dwarf lord looked to the elves. "Does your liege lord march?"

They shook their heads sadly. "We are but merchants. Our best and brightest were killed protecting the caravan. Beyond our household retainers we could not bring much to the field. That is why we came to you first. Messengers have been dispatched to others of our kinsmen, but we are in the throes of winter. Passes will be blocked and travel difficult. Already some of them have promised help, but not until the spring."

Belegar took all the information in while stroking his regal beard. "Spring time will be too late. Who knows what Mordred and his ilk could do to Tauriel in that time. We go to war: now."

The dwarves nodded, seeing the sagacity in their lord's words.

"I want one-hundred of your finest troops. We leave in thirty minutes," Belegar ordered. His followers leapt to obey. Belegar donned himself in his finest suit of armour and readied his namesake warhammer. He secured a thick fur cloak around his shoulders to protect against the cold. The winter march would be difficult, but Mordred and his fallen knights would be the true enemy. Belegar had gleaned some information with the help of the archives and his scribes, but they had precious little information on Skullhome itself or the disposition of Mordred's forces. Few had ever seen Skullhome and even less had survived to tell about it.

Only a short while later, the gates to Karak Eight Peaks opened and Belegar strode forth into the snow at the front of a column of one hundred dwarf warriors. Polished steel glimmered in the frigid moonlight. The snow swirled around them, shrouding them like a blanket.

Progress was slow. They had to dig their way through blocked paths and fight their way through Orc ambushes, who were always eager to fight anyone no matter the cause. It took Belegar nearly three weeks to reach the far edges of name, where Skullhome was allegedly located. Fresh snowfall obliterated any hope of tracking the enemy. Belegar established a search pattern and methodically began to eliminate places on his map. The cold was intense and chilled the dwarves to their bones, but they were true sons of the mountain so they endured. Snow and ice clung to their frozen beards, transforming them all to greying longbeards. Starting fires was impossible. They only had tankards of fiery ale to keep their bellies warm. Belegar found that his anger also kept him warm.

 

                                      

 

 

Dwarves possess a keen natural sense of direction and almost never get lost or disoriented, especially underground. Their natural abilities proved invaluable here. Soon only a few places remained that could shelter Skullhome, but Belegar had a hunch where the final resting place was. The area abounded with mountain ranges, but a single isolated peak stood out among the rest. It held a commanding view of the countryside, a good defensive location.   

Belegar's dwarves plunged through the snow, battling the fierce winds and the bitter cold. Ice crunched underfoot like broken glass. Jagged mountain peaks rose into the sky on every side. Suddenly the sky broke apart and a shaft of silver moonlight shone down, illuminating a dark and fearsome looking fortress.

 Belegar knew that he was looking at Skullhome. A palpable feeling of dread emanated from the castle. No lights were visible on the jet black battlements and spear like spires, but Belegar knew the place would have sentries. The storm had covered their approach so far, but they would be lucky to evade detection much longer. But the clearing sky was definitely a sign of the Ancestor God's favor.

"I do not know what awaits us within those sinister walls, but I expect every dwarf to do his duty. It is high time we erased this filth from our lands." A wry smile crept across Belegar's bearded face. "The dwarf that rescues Tauriel, I'll make him a Lord." He saw thier eyes light up at the prospect of a title and riches.   

The path leading up the mountainside to Skullhome was narrow and steep. Numerous statues lined the path: Monsters, mutants, gargoyles, demons and other nameless creatures. Shadows seemed to move out of their own accord, but they disappeared and faded to nothingness whenever a dwarf looked squarely at them. A palpable feeling of dread settled over Belegar's soul. Skullhome was laden with evil.

Corpses hung from the statutes in chains or were impaled on pikes. Eyes had been gouged out and mouths forced open in a silent scream. Dried blood wept down their faces. The bodies were heavily mutalited with lacerations, broken bones, and crude tattoos burned into decaying flesh. Belegar's heart sank when he recognized the tall figures of dead elves among the corpses. He could only hope Tauriel was not among them.    

The walls of the fortress were raven black. Dagger like spires punched into the sky. Solid-looking gates of black steel greeted them, heavy and immovable. An eight pointed star had been carved in bronze across the center of the gate, encircling a leering skull. Banners and pendants bearing the same sigil hung from balconies and windows. The place was eerily quiet.

A solitary, high-pitched scream shattered the stillness. Was that Tauriel? He already had one grudge to avenge. If Tauriel was dead he would have two. The doughty dwarf grumbled curses into his beard. 

"If they open the gates, we charge," Belegar said to his warriors. 

At a signal from Belegar, a nearby dwarf blew a mighty blast with his war horn. The brassy rumble echoed through the mountains. 

"Mordred! The hour of reckoning is at hand! Come and face your judgment, coward!" Belegar shouted, projecting his deep voice as far as he could. His words bounced back to him, slurred and distorted.  

A metallic crack split the air. The gates jolted visibly in response. A whip snapped in the ensuing stillness, drawing muffled cries. Belegar heard a heavy chain being dragged over rock as the gates began to swing outward. They split right down the middle of the grinning skull. 

A towering human emerged from the widening gate. Black plate armour encased his muscular frame. He bore shield and sword, an identical eight pointed star and a skull were emblazoned on his large, rectangular shield. A horned helm sat in between his shoulders. Burning red eyes shone from within. Skinless skulls hung from his belt on chains, rattiling against his armour.

"I don't recall having met you before, little dwarf," Mordred said in a voice like molten steel.

Belegar's beard bristled at the insult. A dwarf three rows behind Belegar muttered something foul about Mordred's mother under his breath. Belegar opened his mouth to speak.

"But I do know why you are here," Mordred continued, interrupting Belegar. "I know all about your elf lover." 

Belegar ground his teeth together, trembling with rage. The dwarf to his right made an obscene gesture with his hand at Mordred. 

"She told me all about you. Assured me again and again that you would try to save her. Your emotions are so pa-"

Belegar charged, a litany of dark oaths pouring from his lips. His warriors ran alongside him. A torrent of curses filled the air. Black armoured knights spilled from the gates, wielding all manner of weaponry: axes, swords, and maces. The eight pointed star was prominently featured upon their armour. 

The two sides clashed in a titanic clap of thunder, steel on steel.

Belegar shoulder barged Mordred, but practically bounced off the human's large shield. He hauled back on his hammer and launched a massively powerful blow that struck Mordred with such force that it knocked him back a pace. The force of the impact vibrated up Belegar's arms. But Belegar wasn't done yet. He rained down hammer blows with such speed and fury that even Grimnir would have been pleased. Mordred parried all of Belegar's attacks, but the dwarf managed to keep the human knight on the defensive and slowly forced him back. The battle swirled all around Belegar. Men and dwarves died together, spitting curses and insults as they dragged each other tooth and nail to their doom.

A tall knight killed two dwarves with his serrated sword, hacking them down with brutal efficiency. He scarcely had time to savor his victory before a third dwarf embedded his battle axe in the knights helmet, splitting his skull from crown to jaw. The stalwart yanked his axe clear in a welter of blood and kicked the body to the ground.

Mordred finally launched an attack of his own and it nearly killed Belegar. The dwarf just managed to block the enemy sword edge with the haft of his hammer. Normally the blackened steel would have cut right through the wooden handle, but Belegar's clever runesmiths had embedded magical runes inside the haft, transforming it into a nigh indestructible object. The sword bounced off, ringing shrilly as if it had struck steel. Hammer and sword met again in a shower of sparks. Mordred was strong, possessing an almost inhuman endurance. His attacks continued at a breathtaking speed. Sweat broke out on Belegar's brow beneath his helmet.

The dwarf had a disadvantage in height, so he focused his attacks on Mordred's legs. Just one blow to the knee could cripple the renegade knight. Belegar's short stature actually played a bit to his advantage. Nearly all of Mordred's strikes were overhead attacks, which made him predictable. Nevertheless, Mordred's attacks were very strong and Belegar had to use all his might to keep the knight at bay. 

Faced with another brutal overhead chop, Belegar did not block but merely sidestepped instead. Mordred missed badly. Hiw sword stabbed into the rocky soil and stuck fast. Belegar's hammer descended on Mordred's wrist. The bone crushed audibly, snapping and cracking like fresh firewood. The wicked-looking sword fell from Mordred's ruined hand. Belegar went for the kill, but Mordred lashed out with his shield, attempting to put some distance between himself and the dwarf. Belegar took the hit in the right shoulder, but he rolled with the force of the blow, reversing his grip and spinning the other direction. His hammer smashed into Mordred's chest, denting and cracking the plate. The knight fell backwards under the force of the blow.

Without a moment's hesitation, Belegar was upon his downed foe, raining vicious blows at his head. Mordred's faceplate crumpled beneath the onslaught. Belegar swung again and again until Mordred's head was nothing but blood and bone fragments. Belegar reached down and yanked off Mordred's shattered skull and helm. Blood ran from the malformed eye holes and dripped from the lacerated neck.

Belegar lifted the helm high entire the air and screamed curses in Khazalid, the ancient tongue of the dwarves. Everyone of his stalwarts saw his grisly trophy and lifted their voices in a shout of triumph. Efforts redoubled, the dwarves plunged back into the fray with renewed vigor.

The Death Company had seen the death of their leader as well and they began to falter. Some turned to run and retreated within the castle gates. Others held fast and were cut dwn where they stood. Belegar and his dwarves rushed after them, bolting inside the mountain fortress before the knights could shut the gates.        

"Deeper into the complex. Leave no stone unturned!" Belegar commanded.

The interior of the castle was dark and lit only by a few guttering torches along the walls. The dwarves ripped them down for their own use and split up, pursuing the fleeing black knights.

Belegar kicked a locked wooden door to splinters, revealing a spiraling stone staircase. He immediately began the long descent downward, guessing that the lower levels would be were the Death Company kept their captives. The knights of Skullhome seemed to rely on mutants and monsters to be their enforcers and guards; each of the mutants resembled an unholy cross between an ogre and a monkey with random patches of fur dotting their large frames that bulged with muscle. They were poorly armed and armoured, negating the threat of rebellion to the Death Company and relying on sheer bulk to boss the prisoners around. 

One such mutant abomination awaited Belegar at the foot of the stairs, grasping a crude cudgel in its meaty fists. Ritual tattoos scarred its bare flesh. Belegar decapitated the monster with a single stroke, crushing its skull like rotten fruit. The bloody remains spattered against the far wall as the beast toppled over, vomiting visceral fluid from its neck hole.

Belegar and his dwarves pushed on. They saw all manner of prisoners chained to the floor, cowering like beaten animals. They mewled about and tried to avoid the light of the torches the dwarves bore. The whole place smelled utterly foul almost like a crematorium, but magnified one hundredfold. 

It was then that the dwarves found Tauriel. She was seated on a thin pallet and chained cruelly to the stone wall. Her clothes hung in tatters around her. A dirty bandage wrapped around a leg wound. Her face was drawn and weary, but there was no mistaking the red brown hair that hung loosely about her pale shoulders. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A dwarf called Morgrim was the first to discover Tauriel. True to his word, Belegar declared Morgrim a Lord on the spot. Tauriel was given water from a canteen, but beyond a mumbled "Thank you," she seemed to weak to talk. Belegar cut her chains himself, smashing them with his hammer. 

The sound of fierce fighting from above reached the dwarves below. The Death Company was rallying, bolstered by the unleashing of all their mutant bodyguards, who numbered in the hundreds. Belegar looked around at the prisoners most of whom were staring right back at him, faces uplifted. He recognized several captured dwarves. He was their savior.

"Free the prisoners," he ordered. Chains were cut and hacked apart by his warriors. "Take your vengeance!" he bellowed at the prisoners. A few stood up sleepily, clearly dazed and confused. The rest began to rise as well.

"Revenge!" his warriors shouted. "Revenge!" they shouted again. The recently freed prisoners began to say the hateful word as well.

"Revenge...Revenge..Revenge!"

The dwarves continued the chanting. They were well versed in the art of working up others into a berserker rage. Soon everyone was screaming and shouting, clamoring for bloody vengeance against their captives. A score of black knights and ogre mutants burst down the stairs. A horde of furious and freed slaves met them, drowning them in a staggering display of brutal violence. They possessed no weapons, but compensated with sheer ferocity and rage, dragging the knights down and ripping out their throats and eyes with teeth and fingernails. Many of Belegar's dwarves were swept up in the wild attack until only Belegar, his Throne Guard, and Tauriel remained.

Tauriel proved too weak to walk so Belegar carried her out of the dreaded fortress in his strong arms. Finding the way out was easy; all they had to do was follow the bodies. Their boots squelched nosily in pools of rancid blood. The dwarfs, buoyed by the vengeful prisoners, killed every last black knight and ogre mutant.

Under Belegar's direction, all the bodies were dragged outside of the castle and piled high in front of the gates as a sign of his triumph. The bodies refused to burn in the swirling snowstorm and were left to rot. His warband pillaged the quarters and barracks of the black knights and stole as many cloaks and warm garments as they could and distributed them to the freed captives as protection against the bitter cold, but there was not enough for all. It was a bit of an oversight on Belegar's part and he regretted it. He had brought thick fur clothes for Tauriel and given her the cloak off his back, but he had not brought anything for the others. He and his dwarven brethren could endure the cold, but they were well equipped and well accustomed to winter's icy chill. The poorly dressed, thin-ragged prisoners were not.  

Many prisoners elected to remain at Skullhome where at least they had some shelter from the cold, but the majority-even those without stolen gear- elected to return with Belegar to Karak Eight Peaks. Belegar feared many of them would not survive the journey, but it was their life and if they wanted to gamble with it, he wouldn't stop them.    

The return trip began well enough, but the death toll soon rose high. Bitterness developed among the prisoners without proper clothing and those who had it. Belegar's dwarves had to break up fights between the two groups on a daily basis. Resentment and anger also arose between the freed captives and the dwarves, primarily because of Tauriel. The dwarves kept to their own specially prepared provisions, which Belegar obviously shared with Tauriel. The captives were left to whatever purloined stocks they had taken from Skullhome. They lacked the discipline of the dwarves and did not ration their food properly and they soon ran dangerously low. Tauriel had also been provided with far superior clothing.

Halfway through their return journey, tensions boiled over into violence. The dwarves had taken to making camp apart from the captives and posting their own sentries. Even with these preparations, the attack caught Belegar and his troops off guard. His warriors had sustained some casualties, thinning their ranks, and many others had sustained wounds. They were also tired from the treacherous journey.

The attack came at dawn. A smattering of stars still twinkled overhead and the first dirty grey streaks of daylight stained the winter sky. Their first warnings were urgent cries from the pair of dwarf sentries closest to the former prisoners. Unfortunately the pair was quickly overwhelmed and killed; they had been rushed by nearly a dozen foes all at once.

Belegar was on his feet at once, hammer in his hand. The former slaves had secretly surrounded his camp and were rushing all sides at once. Madness and desperation was plainly visible in their crazed eyes. He could understand their anger, but he hadn't come to rescue them. He had chosen to set them free and given them control over their own destiny. He owed them nothing. And if they even so much as laid a finger on Tauriel, he would string them up by their entrails and leave them to die in agony.

"Form up," Belegar snarled. "Circle on me." The dwarf stood in front of Tauriel while his Throne Guard gathered in a circle. The rest of his band shook themselves awake and quickly joined the new dwarf formation, presenting a solid wall of shield and axe in all directions. Belegar turned and spoke to Tauriel. She had regained strength quickly upon leaving Skullhome, but was still not fully recovered from her ordeal.

"Don't worry. We''ll deal with this rabble," he said. The female elf gave a slight smile and nodded in reply.

The furious mob crashed home into the dwarves. Axes and swords flashed in the rising dawn. The freed slaves bore only crude weapons, mostly clubs made from rocks and branches. Others carried sharpened sticks. But they held an extremely high numbers advantage over the dwarves.

Belegar smashed three bare-chested humans into bloody ruin with one swing of his hammer. Their bodies were weak and malnourished; they fell to his hammer blows like a sand castle before the rising tide. The prisoners were filthy and streaked with dirt and grime. Many sported open wounds that festered and bled brownish green pus. The wounds were most likely infected, meaning they were dead already.

Belegar staved the skull of a fourth human. The brute died before he hit the ground, lumpy bits of brain matter spilling from his cracked bone plates. Next he struck a human on the inside of the right knee, blowing out the joint and dropping the screaming foe into the snow. Belegar's hammer crunched through the humans ribcage and squashed his heart like jelly. The man sputtered and died, a curse gurgling to silence on his lips. Belegar continued to target his enemies center of mass, breaking ribs and pulping innards in a brief blasts of fury.  

The dwarves stood like a rock against the ocean until the enemy attack broke itself upon them. Their far superior weaponry proved unbeatable. The tide finally turned when the scattered dwarf captives turned on their erstwhile comrades, choosing to side with their bearded brethren instead. Caught in between the two forces, the former slaves were quickly crushed.

Enraged by the treachery of the surprise attack, Belegar showed no mercy to the wounded survivors from the prisoners and executed them all. he saluted the other dwarves who had fought at his side.

"Your aid was timely. You have my thanks," Belegar said.

A white-haired dwarf dressed in ragged leather stepped forward. Belegar guessed he was the leader.

"I am called Zhorvan. Many years did my fellows and I endure captivity. We owe you a supreme debt of gratitude for what you did." He cleared his throat dramatically. "Nor could we fight against fellow dwarves." His comrades nodded sagely and stroked their beards.

"Indeed," Belegar replied. He could not fail to notice their disapproving looks at Tauriel. Friendship between dwarves and elves was a rare thing, an oddity. The most conservative of dwarves would probably view Belegar's actions as treasonous. But Belegar had no time to dwell on those unhappy thoughts now. They collected their dead so they could return them home for a proper burial. Their enemies were left to rot on the mountainside.

Belegar and his small band of stalwarts returned to Karak Eight Peaks without further incident. Tauriel stayed the winter until the passes were clear in the springtime so she could return home. Her kinsfolk were overjoyed when Belegar arrived with Tauriel and a host of dwarf soldiers. The beaming elf lord proclaimed a feast of celebration that lasted for many months.

Belegar learned much of the ways and customs of the elves. He was surprised to learn they were not quite as backwards as they seemed at first, but he still harbored doubts. He revealed many things about dwarf culture to the elves, but not everything. Secrets were not meant to be told. Some things were better left unspoken.

He even challenged Tauriel to an archery contest. Belegar used an exquisite dwarven crossbow while Tauriel used her favored woodland bow. Much to his chagrin Belegar actually lost the contest, though his scribes would record it as a tie. His final shot was two fingers wide of the target while Tauriel split the bullseye. Belegar returned home, pledging eternal friendship to Tauriel and her people.  

So ends the tale of Belegar's daring rescue of the elf maid, Tauriel. Hushed rumors whispered that Belegar and Tauriel's relationship passed beyond mere friendship, but no one would dare voice those opinions aloud. Belegar himself has never spoken about them. 

 

 

 

     

 

 

                    

 

                                            

 

                                             

                                        Terraforming

Lord Belegar's renowned scientists and scholars stumbled upon a new and cunning technology known as terraforming. Belegar quickly recognized the value behind such a device and set his best and brightest engineers and architects out into Elgea and the Broken Lands offering to do terraforms for any and all people (elves pay double of course) He quickly become quite skilled in the art of terraforming and now guarantees that every terraform will be completed in 7 days or his client gets their gold back. 

Belegar has never disappointed a client, nor shall he ever. His clever engineers recently discovered several new building techniques, and with help from his skilled mages his terraformed towns proceed at a lightning speed. Sparks are said to crackle as the foundation for each new building is laid and the buildings often appear to build themselves, with brick leaping on top of other bricks. 

His engineers are always racing to outdo themselves and once raised a new city to 450 population in 3 days. 4 to 5 days is standard, but they always complete within 7. One day he hopes to achieve 450 population with 2 days. His engineers are equal to any task that Lord Belegar appoints for them and he is confident that one day they will achieve that goal.

                         Promotion to Thane of the Realm

On a bright spring day, A messenger arrived at Belegar's fortified stronghold of Karak Eight Peaks, bearing a summons from High King Belargyle. Belegar donned his finest armour and set off at dawn the next day. The highways were clear for the fame of Lord Belegar had spread far and wide, and no bandits were willing to risk his wrath. 

The glittering palace of the High King was just as magnificent as Belegar remembered. The gates yielded to him and he was ushered into the glorious Royal Hall of the High King. A large crowd awaited him. Belargyle sat upon his throne, arrayed in his regal robes of deep purple and gold. Lord Mordok and Lord Aubrey flanked the throne, along with the rest of the High Council, their beards a distinguished gray. 

Belegar approached the mighty throne, walking confidently across the polished marble floor. The King commanded him to kneel. The King placed a chain around Belegar's neck. The chain held a medallion of polished bronze, embossed with a hulking golden fist. 

"I hereby decree that Lord Belegar Ironhammer shall be henceforth forever known as Thane of the Realm, second in command and acting King of the Dwarven Lords in my absence. I confer upon him all the powers and authority of my office. May he be a defender of his brothers and sisters and a terror to his enemies. May all fear his hammer and may his axe never grow dull."

Resounding applause met the King's wise words. A rush of onlookers surrounded Belegar, congratulating him. Many of his brothers in Dwarven Lords were there as well, faces beaming. A feast was declared that lasted for two weeks. 

Thane Belegar was given much sage advice and met many foreign diplomats. He greeted them all kindly, wishing them peace and good health. 

Belegar returned to his mountain hold, determined to serve his king with honor and nobility. A few days later he issued a new decree, a promise and a warning to all who read it. 

"Thane Belegar is loyal to his comrades unto death. He will defend them to the utmost and treat any slight against them as if it happened to him personally. He supports his comrades to the hilt if need be. To those who criticize or attack his friends, Belegar wishes nothing but death and destruction upon them. Belegar curses those foolish enough to do, and wishes one thousand plagues upon them and their miserable houses. Belegar promises to hound those enemies to the grave; pursuing them until his troops are dancing upon the ashes of his foes burnt out cities."

Belegar set to his new tasks with a relish. Even now, the lies and deceit of politics swirls around him. With the interests of his clan as his true north, Belegar resolves to meet these new foes with courage and to defeat them all. 

                                             Duraz Kurag

Soon after his promotion to Thane of the Realm, Belegar decided to undertake an epic quest to the legendary dwarf stronghold, Duraz Kurag. The fortress had been lost and abandoned centuries before, falling before a massive horde of orcs and goblins and their infernal demonic allies. The mountain hold sat empty and vacant now; once glorious halls gathering dust.

 

 

                                           

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wild stories abounded of famous weapons and heirlooms thought lost within those hallowed confines. Questing dwarves and even adventurers of other races often sought out lost treasure within Duraz Kurag. Most of these bands never returned, perishing forgotten and alone. 

Belegar resolved to attempt such a quest. The elders were against it, but Belegar planned and launched an expedition anyway. His aim was to recover the fabled Dammaz Kron, the Book of Grudges, the most sacred of all books to the dwarves. Much had been lost during the sacking of Duraz Kurag even though the dwarves of Clan Bealagh and Clan Meodagh did their best to save what they could. The Book of Grudges was not listed among the recovered items in any of the tales. Belegar thought that if he could reach the Royal Libraries, he could probably discover it. He presumed that many of the armories and treasuries had already been raided, but orcs would have little need for vast rooms full of dusty books and scrolls.

Orcs, trolls, and goblins Belegar could deal with, but he needed aid of a different sort against the flaming demon monstrosities that stalked the lower depths. These hellish fiends had proven instrumental in defeating the dwarves and though many of his brethren passed them off as myths, Belegar was confident that he would encounter them. No mere army of orcs and goblins could ever break Duraz Kurag; they surely must have received outside help. Demons from other realms certainly fit that bill. No ordinary mundane weapons could harm them and they possessed prodigious strength in battle.

To defeat them, Belegar needed something more. To that end he sought out a weapon fabled in all of Illyriad, the soul-forged blade. Rumor had it that the rare weapon was forged in the fires of mortal souls, which would make it effective against demons. Some raised objection to the use of such a weapon given its sinister origins. Belegar's mages disagreed on how such a weapon was made while the Council of Five (a collection of the most powerful wizards in Illyriad) denied that souls had been used in the blade's construction.

Belegar brushed those concerns aside. He needed a weapon that put him on equal footing with the demons. The weapons were exceedingly rare and Belegar did not possess one. He wrote a lengthy letter to his friend Simply Divine, a female human who was rumored to have several soul-forged blades. The lovely lady was kind enough to gift Belegar with one of the storied weapons. The weapon was extremely well-crafted and even Belegar's runesmiths marveled at the blade's exquisite craftsmanship. Belegar was extremely grateful to Simply Divine.

Sadly, Simply Divine has since left the lands of Illryiad never to return. Belegar still has the sword today, his only tangible memory of his friend.

Belegar assembled a sizable host of battle-hardened dwarves. He would need a large force to deal with the orcs and goblins still residing there. Greenskin numbers were unknown, but best estimates put them in the hundreds of thousands if not more. Belegar also planned to use the narrow hallways and pathways of Duraz Kurag to his advantage. A dwarf shield wall in such a place could eliminate the orcs numerical advantage. The Thane spent weeks in preparation and planning, gleaning all the information he could from ancient maps, identifying likely attack routes and choke points. The Royal Libraries were located rather deep inside the dwarf hold and would be difficult to reach. This would also be Belegar's first true test as newly promoted Thane. He was determined to make a good impression to his fellows and to honor his ancestors through his efforts.

Duraz Kurag was some leagues away, but the weather was good and the journey passed quickly. The entrance gate to the fabled fortress was breathtaking. Despite centuries of neglect and vandalism from the orcs, the gates still possessed a regal majesty. However, while the stonework was impressive, the looming black hole and shattered wrought iron gates were depressing, a sign of the dwarves greatest defeat. Many dwarves wept at the sight of the sundered gates. Others tugged on their beards, growling and spitting. Belegar silently swore a vow of vengeance against all those who had despoiled his forefathers hold.

Belegar led his angry dwarves inside, passing beneath the gateway arch in silence. Only the measured tramp of dwarven boots could be heard. Torches were lit to provide illumination in the darkened interior. Warm and rank wind wafted up from the depths of the fortress. The place was crawling with greenskin filth. Belegar called a halt in the main hall. He longed to push on to the throne room, but he feared stumbling into an ambush. He had no doubt that the orcs already knew his army was here and was preparing an attack. He would met the assault with hammer and shield. Furthermore, the terrain was of his own choosing and had clear lines of advance. His dwarves would be able to see the orcs long before they arrived.

Dwarven runes glowed dully from the walls alongside battered statues of armoured dwarf warriors. The orcs had smashed many of the statues apart but several still stood in defiance of the orc occupation. Bones littered the floor as well. There were a great many skeletons, remnants of the fierce battles fought here so long ago.

It was not long before war drums reached the ears of the dwarves. The steady drumbeat rolled through the halls, growing louder and more ominous with each passing second. Guttural shouts echoed off the walls.

"Shield wall!" Belegar commanded. His dwarves obeyed instantly. Crossbows sheltered in the center while stalwarts formed an outer bulwark of muscle and steel. Dwarf war horns bellowed out a thunderous response. Axes and hammers flashed in the torchlight. Beards were tucked into belts. Helmets were buckled on tight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Let the orc filth know that dwarves still walk these halls. Let them fear us again," Belegar grumbled. His dwarves nodded and added oaths of their own to his words. The ranged troops loaded steel bolts into their crossbows. They winched back the strings until they were taut.

Belegar hefted his massive warhammer onto his shoulder. He slammed his hammer into his shield. His brother dwarves copied his actions. The clash of weapons on shields swelled into a metallic cacophony.

The goblins came first. Pathetic little impish creatures dressed in tattered black hoods and armed with shield and spear or crude, hooked swords. Their pale green arms were spindly and weak. Individually, they were no match for a battle-tested dwarf, but what they lacked in strength they made up for with sheer numbers. Scores and scores of the little green abominations flooded the chamber, all chattering and squealing in their high pitched voices.       

Orcs appeared behind the goblins, snapping whips and chains to keep their slaves in line and moving forward. The goblins peeled away from the orcs and out of range of their masters whips. They advanced as a horde, solid and unbreakable. 

"Open fire," Belegar commanded. Rune-etched bolts whistled through the air, zipping over the dwarven battle lines, and slamming home into the packed goblin ranks. Steel tips ripped through non-existent armour like a comet through a dust cloud. Goblins were punched off their feet in droves. The second rank of crossbow dwarves stepped forward while the first rank dropped back to reload. They raised their crossbows and pulled the triggers. Dozens of goblins were dropped to the cold floor, gushing blood. The second rank stepped backwards to be replaced by the third and final rank.

The goblins stumbled over their fallen comrades, but quickly pressed on, heedless of their losses. The distance between the green tide and dwarven shield wall closed at a frightening pace.

"Fire at will," Belegar barked to his warriors. Bolts shot over his head as he made his way to the front row. Belegar always led from the front as every lord should do. He lifted his hammer high in the air just as the first goblins came screaming into range. The first goblin died easily, head crushed to splinters by Belegar.

The mass of goblins pounded into the dwarf shield wall, throwing themselves headlong into the dwarves. The stalwarts interlocked their shields and pushed back. Insults and curses spit through the air. The dwarven line bowed, forced backwards by the overwhelming weight of the goblin horde, but the crossbows continued firing as fast as they could, felling goblins in droves. Axes and swords flashed at the front, slaughtering even more goblins.

Belegar battered goblins aside with wide sweeps of his hammer, slaying with every stroke. Steaming blood fountained into the air. The Thane aimed for nothing but heads, cracking skulls one after another. Spears and sword tips clawed at him, but they proved too weak to breach his rune-crafted armour. Belegar killed and killed and killed. Steaming red blood slicked the ground, which became treacherously slippery.

The orc slave drivers cared little for the losses they incurred and continued hurling bodies forward. Belegar ordered his crossbow soldiers to shoot down the orcs, but the greenskins cleverly stayed out of range. Nevertheless, the dwarves held firm. The bodies began to pile up, filing the goblins into narrow choke points, which made them easy pickings for the crossbows. 

A sudden change swept over the battlefield. The goblins at the rear faltered, turned, and began to run. The pressure on the shield wall eased. Belegar looked up and saw that the orc taskmasters had disappeared from the hall. With no leaders to control them, the goblins crumpled like tinfoil. Belegar signaled for a general advance and the shield wall pushed outward. Dwarf axes chopped goblins down like rotten timber.

Within a few minutes the last of the goblins skittered from the hall. The dwarves gave a brief cheer over their victory.

Belegar ordered all the goblin bodies to be piled together and burned to remove their defiling stench. The ranged troops dug through the bodies first, yanking out bolts for reuse. Once the fires were lit the dwarves moved on. To stay in one location would only invite even more attacks. The goblins had assaulted in strength, but the dwarves had only seen a fraction of their true power. They would need to avoid pitched battles to survive.

Belegar led his host in the direction of the Royal Libraries. He did not take a direct route, which would have been laden with broad, wide avenues of stone, but stuck to narrow side passages instead. Belegar and his dwarves knew the terrain much better than the orcs; though the greenskins had occupied the fortress for quite a while and they were not totally helpless, but they did still had not discovered many of the secret passages carved by the dwarves. Eventually the dwarves stopped and made camp for the night. They posted dozens of sentries in an abundance of caution, fearing ambush. They were still probably one day's hard march away from the Royal Libraries, but blocked tunnels would slow them down not to mention any greenskin forces that opposed them. The overwhelming vastness of Duraz Kurag proved to be a vital boon. It would take days or even weeks for the full orcish horde to be roused to fight the invading dwarves. And even then, the orcs fought each other frequently and hardly ever presented a unified front. By the time they combined forces to seek out and destroy Belegar's army, he would be long gone.

The night was surprisingly uneventful and the dwarves resumed marching at dawn. Torch bearers led the way. The dwarves at the front of the army held dead goblins atop spears as they walked. The dwarves in the back dragged goblin corpses tied by ropes to their belts. It was hoped that these actions would mask the smell of the dwarf throng and provide some means of stealth. The meandering side tunnels led the dwarves to another open cavern enclosed by a crude set of wooden gates. Orcish glyphs had been crudely painted on the doors, which had obviously been constructed by orcs. Normally, Belegar would have gone around another way, but this was the only path that led to the lower halls and the Royal Library. No secondary approaches had been cut into the mountain because in their arrogance the dwarves had thought that no enemy would ever penetrate this far into the fortress, making such tunnels unnecessary.

Utilizing their torches the doors were set ablaze by the dwarves. The wood was extremely dry and soon crackled in the heat. Orc grunts and bellows could be heard on the other side. The dwarves would face a tough battle once they were through, but they had reached the point of no return now.

The doors came crashing down in a gout of smoke, pulling down some old masonry on top of its blazing hulk. Rocks and stone bricks tumbled down like rain. Chalky white dust mixed with coal black smoke.

"Show them no mercy!" Belegar roared as he advanced through the haze, leading his warriors forward. The dwarves followed behind with a shout, racing to keep pace with their leader. Stalwarts leapt over fallen rocks and still smoldering hunks of wood.

An orc horde awaited just beyond the smoke, drawn up into battle formation. Crude wooden buildings dotted the stony interior. This particular band of orcs had converted the dwarf hall into their home. They would fight hard. The orcs were daubed in red war paint and carried wicked looking scimitars, clubs, and spears. The dwarfs were clad in silver plate and mail and armed with axes, hammers, and swords. Belegar led the way in his golden plate armour. He could see that the orcs outnumbered the dwarves. The Thane commanded his troops to form a shield wall as soon as they gained entrance to the hall, where the passageway was still narrow. The maneuver heavily restricted his front. Barely thirty warriors could stand abreast at the widest point. The dwarves formed in just four ranks while the crossbow soldiers qued up behind them. The other dwarf stalwarts held back in reserve and acted as a rearguard. They had barely established the new formation when the orcs charged. 

Orcs were exponentially better than their weaker goblin underlings especially when it came to size and strength. Brawny greenskins with biceps like tree trunks led the way, yellowed tusks glistening with rancid saliva. Meaty fists gripped rusty blades and crude clubs. Cruel red eyes burned wickedly in their misshapen skulls.

Belegar lowered his shoulder into the enemy charge. The stalwart behind him pressed his shield against Belegar's back, lending strength to the Thane. The lead orc hit Belegar hard, pounding into his shoulder and driving him back. Iron shod boots slid over stone. Belegar counter attacked, ripping the orc across the chest. His hammer tore open the orc's leathery hide and dumped its lumpy entrails to the ground. A torrent of blood and intestinal fluid chased the orc's bowels out of its body. The orc did not even have time to fall before the one behind bulled it out of the way. Belegar smashed his hammer into the next brute's face, splintering teeth and bone. The orc stumbled backwards, clutching its ruined face. Belegar hit the beast three more times before it collapsed. he hammered the knee cap of a third orc, which shattered audibly. The orc collapsed in a heap, howling. A final hammer blow exploded its skull. Hot red blood splattered across Belegar's armour.

Axes shone crimson in the ruddy torchlight. The steel weapons rose and fell in a steady rhythm, killing with every savage stroke. A severed orc head tumbled through the air, bouncing off several of his comrades before falling to the ground. A crossbow bolt hit an orc in his left eye. The beast roared, but continued his attack with reckless abandon, smashing his dwarf opponent with his club. The stalwart in the second rank stepped forward and buried his axe in the orc's skull. The orc's body froze, nervous system paralyzed by the metal blade embedded in his brain. An iron boot to the chest sent the orc sprawling to the blood slicked ground. The stalwart hewed the next orc apart at the waist, messily bisecting the greenskin in a spray of frothy viscera. Small intestines wriggled like newborn pink snakes.

Belegar focused on overhead attacks, where gravity would lend strength to his falling hammer head. His reinforced shoulder pauldrons could deflect orc sword blows; all he needed to do was kill with his hammer. The dwarves were arranges in an orderly line of battle. It was a tight formation but one they were accustomed to. Each dwarf protected the dwarf to his left with his shield. The orcs on the other hand, were packed much to close together in their eagerness to get into the fray, so much so that they couldn't utilize their weapons effectively without striking their comrades. Some orcs did anyway, not caring about the collateral damage, but their actions clearly reduced their effectiveness.

The battle lasted for hours. The orcs stubbornly kept attacking while the dwarves steadfastly held their ground. The bodies piled high until the orcs had to pull greenskin corpses out of the way just to get at the dwarves. But still the orcs attacked relentlessly.

Belegar began to fear that his rearguard would soon come under attack and he would be pinned between two enemy forces. He needed to finish the orcs in front of him quickly. The orcs were terrible builders, almost as bad at construction as the weak-chinned elves. Thus, they had imported large amounts of wood to build crude structures because they were utterely unable to master the dwarven stonework. Belegar ordered the scattered wood to be gathered. Then they were doused in oil, set aflame, and hurled over the dwarf battleline.

At first they produced no discernable effect, but soon the orc bodies and numerous wooden huts caught fire. The scattered fires quickly became a roaring inferno. Oily black smoke boiled upwards. The orcs were caught between the flames and the vengeful dwarves. The dwarves were also forced to retreat a bit from the fire, but orcs continued jumping through the orange tendrils of flame to come to grips with their dwarven foes.

A horn blast sounded at the rear of the formation. Word quickly came that a large goblin force was attacking. Now Belegar was also pinned between two enemy forces. He needed to break the orcs and press on so just when his rearguard needed more troops, he could spare none. His warriors would have to hold. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dwarves to the rear fought like lions. They stood together, protecting their brothers at great cost to themselves, but slew goblin after goblin, refusing to yield to the foe. Goblin blood filled the corridor. Skulls cracked audibly. The smaller goblins could field more numbers than their larger orc cousins, but they could still not bring all their numbers to bear. The orc attacks had died out, but Belegar knew they would be waiting beyond the fire. He needed to attack before they could regroup.                                

Belegar rallied his troops for a grand assault. They would have to attack through the flames and straight into the orc encampment. Beyond the orc invested cavern led another stairway that would take them to the lower depths and the Royal Libraries, once the most secure part of the fortress. But in the darkened hallways of the under hold lay a threat even worse than the orcs: the demons, the very same ones who had destroyed the vast dwarven armies and crippled Duraz Kurag still lurked somewhere below. Belegar would have to face them to reach the library.

The dwarves formed into a shield wall with Belegar in the lead. The smoke sank lower, reducing visibility. Orcs had poor vision generally, especially in low light conditions. The dwarves had fantastic ability to see in the darkness as they spent long hours on poorly lit mining expeditions. This advantage would help tip the odds in their favor. The goblins at their back however, suffered no such disability.

The dwarves pushed out from the tunnel, knocking back the piles of orc corpses with their shields. Once they had gained the cavern entrance, Belegar reformed the ranks. Across the smoky haze, he could see orcs running to and from amidst the flames. Other orcs began to stumble into order upon sighting the dwarves. The two armies drew themselves up, separated by a small space of stone and fire. With a shout, Belegar gave the order to charge. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The orcs counter charged. Dwarves and orcs raced together, bellowing their hatred to the gods of war. The two sides met in the middle; hammer crunched upon the anvil. Bodies spun through the air. Severed limbs corkscrewed in the smoke, spitting scarlet viscera in wide crimson tails. Slowly but surely the dwarf anvil prevailed. Orc cohesion shattered and the cowardly greenskins scattered to the four winds, abandoning their settlement. 

Belegar and his dwarves continued their advance until the reached the doors on the other side of the cavernous hall. The wooden gates there were burned. The goblins did not pursue. It seemed they feared the flames. Belegar and his host passed over and began the long descent downward. An uncertain fate awaited them. 

The dwarves only traveled a short distance before they made camp. They had spent most of the day fighting and Belegar did not wish to push them too far. They would have larger battles ahead of them.

The next morning the dwarves forged ahead. The signs of orc infestation gradually lessened until they disappeared altogether. great gouges appeared in the walls like some beasts had ripped them apart. Mighty stone pillars were cut down and smashed apart like match sticks. Unholy icons had been carved into the walls and stained with blood. They were not orc glyphs. They were from a darker, much more ancient language long thought dead by the free peoples of Illyriad. In some places the stones themselves appeared to weep blood. The darkness grew oppressive despite the aid of torches. 

The dwarf grumbled and tugged on their beards at the sight of such blasphemy. This fresh desecration made the work of the orcs and goblins look tame in comparison. Nevertheless the dwarves made good time unopposed. Sometimes they would have to backtrack around collapsed tunnels or impassable chasms that suddenly opened up in the floor. The dwarves would throw small rocks into the gulfs and wait for the sound of the projectiles striking bottom to gauge depth. On several occasion the dwarves heard no sound. Obviously, the chasm was simply too deep to hear any sound, but the more suspicious among them whispered that the holes stretched all the way down to Hell itself. Belegar did not believe this to be true, but given that they were seeing evidence of demonic beings, he was beginning to have his doubts. 

They journeyed for an entire day without seeing another living soul. When they made camp for the night, Belegar tripled the number of sentries. The Thane slept very little. He spent most of the night in consultation with his mages and runelords, discussing the best possible routes of attack and every secret passageway that might lead him to the Royal Libraries.The possibility of finding the legendary Book of Grudges encouraged Belegar, but he was also hopeful to discover many other written works, works that might provide him with much knowledge on the history of the dwarves.

The possibility of fighting demons gave him the most pause, however. Belegar was confident his soul-forged blade would be effective against the demons, but his warriors only carried mundane weapons. His runesmiths and mages did however carry several runic weapons in addition to the arcane might wielded by his cabal of wizards. They assured him that their arcane power could hold back the demons long enough for Belegar to secure his prize.  

Dawn brought no light. The dwarves were much too far underground for any sunlight to reach them. Still they were not pursued. Belegar was sure that the orcs and goblins never ventured this deep. They were afraid of what lurked below. The air had grown warmer as they descended, reconfirming the belief of many that they were indeed marching straight into hell. They marched on stubbornly. Belegar soon began to hear whispers in his head. At first he assumed it was merely his body playing tricks on him, but he was a dwarf and his body was well accustomed to long periods of darkness underground. The voices were real. The very stone itself had become corrupted. Some rocks twisted into faces that appeared to move if he stared at them for long enough. Other stones had been transformed into bone or actual living flesh that shimmered with sweat in the heat and writhed in the torchlight.

At last they reached the deepest part of the fortress and Belegar did not dare lead his host any further. He would face the demons alone. The small dwarven army formed into a shield wall in the center. The runesmiths and mages prepared for a possible demonic assault. Rune-hammers glowed blue in the dim light. Flickers of fire danced over the hands of the wizards.

In the precious little lore the dwarves possessed on demons, Belegar had found that demons often responded in accordance to the threat faced. So while a whole army of dwarves might bring an army of demons crashing down on their heads, just a lone dwarf might only draw the attention of one demon or even none at all. He would not be worth their time and attention. So Belegar hoped anyway. He would put that theory to the test.

Belegar drew his soul-forged blade and moved off into the darkness. A long hallway awaited him, followed by a set of double doors leading to the library. The keen blade was perfectly balanced in his hand. Belegar could still here the whispers. He briefly wondered if the voices were coming from the blade itself? Maybe he had been made with the energy of mortal souls after all. The dwarf pushed those concerns aside and pressed on. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. The ground beneath his feet changed texture, shifting from hard stone one moment to soft sand then back to stone again. In some places the walls and floor turned to scales like those on some reptilian beast. Other times they looked and felt like raw flesh.

He eventually lost sight of his army behind him. The temperature dropped suddenly going from blazing hot to frigid cold in a matter of seconds. Ice coated the walls. He had certainly entered the realm of the demon. Belegar found that the doors at the end of the hallway were open. Skeletons and old bones littered the entranceway. Evidently Belegar was not the first to attempt such a feat. The skeletons of dwarves, elves, and men lay about the door. Many of the bones had been crushed to powder, covering the stone walls with a fine white dust. Clawed footprints had ripped great gouges in the stone. Whatever beast had done that was both incredibly strong and impossibly heavy.

Belegar suppressed the urge to check the map again. He knew the way. As he crossed over the threshold the air grew warm again. The pungent smell of ash stung his nostrils. He followed the tunnel to his right and then took two left turns while descending another flight of stairs. Hellish runes glowed from the walls, seemingly painted with dried blood.

Finally, Belegar reached the Royal Library. The doors had been torn from their mounts and were missing. The dwarf heard nothing save for his own breathing. Gathering every ounce of courage that he possessed, he stepped into the library. He saw rows and rows of leather-bound books and scrolls. Some were still stacked neatly on shelves, others were scattered across the floor. Torn pages were everywhere. Some books looked whole, some were damaged, and others even burned. The destruction looked totally random. Belegar also saw skulls laying on the floor. Dozens of them like a carpet of bone.

If the Book of Grudges was anywhere, it would be here in a rune sealed vault where only a dwarf with the right knowledge could get to it. Belegar headed for the center of the chamber.

It was then that a dark shadow stirred to Belegar's left. At first he thought the entire wall was moving, but then he saw that was not the case. Belegar spun on his feet and held his sword and shield out in front of him in guard position. Fiery orange light burst in front of him. Flames danced along the walls, illuminating a tall, horned beast. Wings stretched from its back. Molded bronze armour wrapped around its thick torso. Its skin and flesh were deep crimson, the color of blood. Massive chains circled its wrist, which gripped a huge, double-bladed axe. Its legs were reverse-jointed and ended in hooves. The demon fixed its eyes on Belegar and roared.

It screamed long and loud, a deep brassy rumble that seemed to shake the mountain to its very core. For a moment, Belegar was enveloped in sheer, mind-numbing terror. Here was a creature that should not exist. Dredged up from some hellish, nightmare past to stalk the realms of the mortals, this demon clearly belonged to some other dimension, some other place where stronger creatures existed, where great champions could actually slay this monstrosity. But here, in the mostly pleasant world of Illyriad, this beast was practically a god. It had no right to exist, no right to be standing here before Belegar in the most sacred of dwarven strongholds. 

Belegar's heart quailed within his chest. He had never encountered anything so massive before nor anything so powerful. The demon practically bled power and raw, otherworldly hate. Belegar's own rage seemed but a candle compared to the blazing inferno of anger that stood before him. The Thane fervently hoped that the scream did not wake any other demons slumbering nearby. He whispered a quick prayer to the dwarf Ancestor Gods, pleading for strength and protection.       

Belegar was quite accustomed to being smaller than his opponents, but the demon towered over him, nearly twenty feet tall. The dwarf had no idea how he would even get close enough to deal damage let alone a killing blow. 

The demon made an ominous chuckling sound like it was clearing a half-digested corpse from its throat. Then it advanced at a slow walk, crushing wooden shelves and books with casual disdain. Centuries old dust mushroomed into the air. The demon scythed its axe across its body and annihilated a half dozen shelves in one sweep. Its infernal hooves pounded deep gouges into the stone floor.

Belegar ran to his right and deeper into the library. Maybe he could evade it for long enough, secure the Dammaz Kron and escape. The demon halved the distance between it and Belegar with two steps, ending that fantasy. Belegar turned to face the onrushing beast and kept walking backwards. The demon roared again. Hot, fetid breath washed over Belegar. The dwarf realized he probably should have never attempted this quest.    

The demon launched a one-handed overhead attack. Belegar saw it coming and jumped to the side just as the axe whizzed past. The infernal blade stabbed into the ground, driving an angry scar into the stone work. The heat of the blade made Belegar sweat. He backed away quickly. The demon yanked his blade out of the ground and tried again. Belegar dodged to the left this time. The ground trembled beneath the titanic impact. Fault lines cracked across the stone floor. A third strike met the same result with Belegar moving aside in the nick of time. The next attack came from the side. Belegar couldn't dodge this one so he crossed his shield and sword in front of his chest and braced his feet.

The axe hit him with the force of a battering ram, lifting him off his feet and throwing him into the tall book shelf behind him. The shelf collapsed and toppled backwards. Belegar landed in a tangle of limbs and dusty old parchment. Both his arms felt completely numb and his shoulders ached. Another hit like that and he was as good as dead. 

Belegar stumbled to his feet like a drunken man and shook the feeling back into his arms. The demon was already attacking. Belegar ran forward this time even as the swing came down from above. The dwarf dove forward and rolled, popping back to his feet once he was clear off the axe blade. The demon leaned forward to pull his embedded axe out of the stone floor as Belegar ran towards it. Belegar took a wild cut with his sword and just managed to clip the demon's hulking red fist. To his surprise, the enchanted blade parted the demon flesh easily. The demon shrieked in pain and anger. Belegar guessed that it wasn't the size of the wound that mattered, but the fact that he was using a soul-forged blade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Belegar readied himself for the next attack, which came quickly. Some creatures would flee or retreat when wounded, but others merely increased their attacks in such an event. The demon certainly followed the latter rule. The demon's physical touch set objects on fire. Loose parchment went up in smoke while wooden bookshelves blazed all around.

Belegar spun, dodged, and rolled out of the way of incoming strikes, surviving by a hair breadth each time. The demon's axe blade carved great furrows in the ground. He decided to change tactics and charged straight for the demon, seeking to get inside the minimum range the demon needed to swing his axe. He was hoping that the demon would not back up to maintain distance; pride would keep the beast rooted to the spot.

The demon read the maneuver and kicked Belegar with its hoof. The dwarf danced aside, but still caught a glancing blow on his shield, which floored him. Belegar rolled as the demon tried to step on him, popped to his feet, and tore a chunk of flesh out of the demon's leg with his hissing blade. It was the demon's turn to stumble now. The demon tried to stamp Belegar with both his feet knee, and the pair entered a weird, spinning pseudo dance of sorts. Belegar lashed out with his sword as much as he could, inflicting several more wounds.    

Enraged, the demon flapped its mighty wings and flew into the smoky, hazy air. The beast circled over Belegar, who eyed it warily. Belegar's chest ached and his lungs burned with exertion. Not allowing Belegar time to think, the demon dove back at him. The red beast hit the ground hooves first and then chopped his axe down in one swift, brutal attack.

Belegar lurched to his right as the monstrous axe almost sliced him in half. The near impact knocked him off his feet and sent him sprawling. He rolled upright, pushing himself to his feet with his shield. Suddenly, Belegar was seized in a vice-like grip and lifted high off the ground. The demon's hand was crushing him. The red flesh was hot. The demon held Belegar close to his face and for one terrified second, Belegar thought the demon was going to eat him.

The dwarf stabbed the demon's hand with his sword, cutting deeply into the back of the palm. The demon screamed and dropped Belegar, who crashed to the ground. A pile of books cushioned his fall otherwise Belegar might not have been able to stand again. Belegar shakily regained his feet, sword held in front of him. The demon regarded him with sinister, hate-filled eyes. Boiling black blood drooled from its hand and ankles.

Belegar sought to close the distance again. The demon backpedaled on its wounded leg. The beast swung wildly with his axe, which whistled over Belegar's head. His short stature was a clear advantage against his towering foe. Belegar got within sword range and took a wild swing at the demon's leg. His sword seemed destined to kill demons. The glowing edge cut flesh like a hot knife through butter. Hunks of steaming red flesh fell to the stone floor.

The demon stumbled backwards and fell, landing awkwardly on its broad back. Belegar stabbed his sword into the back of the demon's knee. The demon spasmed, kicking Belegar hard. The dwarf managed to hold onto his sword, but lost his shield as he went flying through the air. he clattered into a bookshelf with such force that he knocked it over. The oaken shelves fell into the next shelf and so on, starting a chain reaction that felled over a dozen shelf units.

Belegar heard a rib crack when he hit the ground and felt the stab of pain shooting across his torso. He tasted blood in his mouth. He spit it out. Using the sword as a crutch, Belegar hauled himself upright. His chest ached with every breath.

The demon struggled to stand on its ruined leg. It gave up on that and just took to the air on its wings. The crimson abomination trembled with rage. It barred its teeth in a rictus grin. The demon launched itself in a vicious attack dive.

Belegar stood his ground and then ran forward and tucked into a roll at the last second. He immediately regretted his action. His broken rib ground together. He almost blacked out with pain. With a supreme act of will he pulled out of his roll as the burning axe bleed flew over his head. But instead of slicing at the demon's legs when he was in range, Belegar grabbed onto the demon's tabard and hauled himself off the ground one handed.

The demon pulled its weapon clear and spun in a circle, axe flashing madly while looking for the small dwarf. It failed to see Belegar climbing higher.

Belegar threw himself off the tabard  and with both hands on the sword, stabbed the demon in its meaty thigh. Using his own body as a counter weight, Belegar dragged his sword all the way down the monsters leg and to the ground. The enchanted blade cut through bone and flesh. 

Bisected lengthwise, the demon's leg folded in on itself and the brute collapsed to the ground in a ragged heap. The demon clawed itself backwards, shrieking in agony. Boiling red blood gushed from the wound. The demon attempted to climb into the air on its wings but failed.But it still managed a brutal punch that clipped Belegar in the shoulder and spun him around like a top.

The dwarf ran clear off the downed demon and pressed further into the Library. He needed to get the Dammaz Kron and he did not necessarily need to kill the demon to do that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He found a secret stone vault hidden in a darkened alcove, right where the stories said it would be. Dwarf runes glowed dully on the walls, but flashed to life when he spoke the proper commands in Khazalid. A stone door rolled slowly out of the way, revealing the interior of a small room barely large enough for two dwarves. Within, mounted upon a stone pedestal, was the fabled Book of Grudges.

Belegar breathed a silent prayer to Grungi and removed the ancient book from the pedestal. It was heavy. When he returned to the Library, the demon had fled the chamber. Belegar shuffled off, not caring where the demon had gone. The returning walk to his waiting army was a rather painful one. Part of Belegar was overjoyed at what he had accomplished, but the other part of him knew that the hardest part lay ahead. Getting into trouble was easy. Getting out was not.

When Belegar's dwarves saw their Thane, they let out a ragged cheer. He had lost his shield and was covered in head to toe with demon blood, but he had recovered the Book of Grudges. Belegar brushed aside his physicians.

"I'll live," he said. "Let's go home."

It was not long before the dwarves heard orc war drums. They had returned to the realm of the greenskin.

"Shield wall," Belegar ordered. He was bone tired and weary, but his dwarves were encouraged by his success and the fires of hope burned in their eyes.

A massive orc horde slammed into the dwarf battleline. Axes staved skulls, spears gutted bodies. The dwarf crossbows opened fire, pouring steel tipped bolts into the mass of green. Dozens of orcs were killed in the first volley. But the orc army was larger than the first one the dwarves had defeated previously, much larger. They pushed the dwarves hard. Foul battle oaths filled the hall. Blood and gore slicked the floor in the desperate battle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Belegar had been resting at the rear, but he decided to join his warriors at the front. He was exhausted, but they needed to see their leader. He pushed his way to the front. Some of his stalwarts tried to hold him back and blocked his path, refusing to allow the Thane to enter the battle. But Belegar ordered them to step aside and they had no choice but to obey their liege lord.

The Thane joined the fray still wielding his soul-forged blade. He stabbed an orc in the chest and twisted the blade, spilling glistening intestines to the floor. The orc's body began to hiss and steam into the whole thing burst into flame. The orc screamed, but the fire ripped the air from his lungs. The flames ere pale blue in color. In three heartbeats they reduced the orc to a pile of dust. Impressed, Belegar slashed another orc in the shoulder. Bone and flesh parted like water and the orc dissolved in a burst of indigo fire.

A sudden change swept over the orcs. They saw Belegar, a golden armoured dwarf hefting an enchanted sword that could kill the best of them with ease. The Thane was covered head to toe in demon's blood, marking him as one who had fought the demons and prevailed. The orcs had never witnessed someone return victorious from the lower depths.

Courage turned to fear, and fear turned to cowardice. The orcs at the front turned and tried to force their way through their comrades behind them. The retreat turned into a rout. Orcs cast down their weapons and ran pell-mell for the exits.  

The dwarves cheered at the sight of the fleeing orcs. It took them another full day to reach the gates of Duraz Kurag, but no further greenskins gave them any trouble. Soon they were on the march back to Karak Eight Peaks.

 A victory feast awaited them. It took some months for Belegar to recover, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. The Book of Grudges now rests in a place of honor in the Royal Libraries of Karak Eight Peaks.             

                                             War of Honor

On a hot summer's day, Belegar spotted a lone elven messenger riding as fast as his swiftsteed would carry him. A keen-eyed scout caught the heraldry on the banner carried by the elf, a majestic golden eagle on a field of alabaster white. Belegar recognized the symbol as the personal emblem of Fiona, a lady elf who was good friends with Belegar, which was surprising, given Thane Belegar's usual antipathy to all elves. They frequently shared gifts, Fiona sending exotic items from the Broken Lands, and Belegar sending jewels from the immense depths of his mountain mines. 

The messenger had ridden long and hard under the blistering sun and looked exhausted. Belegar greeted him personally, and took his message. The elf brought word that Belegar's friend, Lady Fiona, had suffered numerous diplomatic attacks. Belegar instantly became angry, and he could feel the churning wrath deep in his soul bubbling forth. 

"And what fool is responsible for these attacks?" he asked, his voice a shout. 

The treacherous human who launched this attacks was known by the name Galena Pyrite, a right clever old knave if there ever was one. 

Belegar immediately swore a mighty oath of vengeance upon the human for his foul deeds and promised the messenger that he would aid the beautiful Lady Fiona. He stormed back to his mountain hall, cursing under his breath and grinding his teeth. His best generals and warlords clenched their fists and smiled grimly in dark anticipation of the coming conflict.

Thane Belegar did not sleep at all that night. Instead his royal chamber was a mad flurry of activity. Scouts were dispatched, black-masked assassins slipped into the darkness, and saboteurs were given their marching orders, packs and belts stuffed with gunpowder. 

Belegar needed time to plan for the siege, but the diplomatic war could begin at once. Before dawn he had already achieved his first victory, two of Galena's army commanders would not awake from their slumber. Over the next day the victory roll only increased. Billows of black smoke roared from Galena's libraries that had mysteriously been set ablaze. 

An army is more than a simple sword, and Belegar believes in waging war with every means at his disposal. In the end, dwarf assassins murdered over twelve of Galena's ill-prepared commanders. 

Finally, the siege was launched. The siege site was cleared ahead of time by a force of Belegar's stalwarts who gleefully hunted down the weak human swordsmen in the forest, the preferred terrain of the stalwart. 

Galena's main army exited the city to do battle. Belegar personally lead his dwarves into the fight. The time for subtlety was over. Now was the time for a frontal assault and a war in the light of day. 

In short order, Belgar smashed aside Galena's weak defensive force, carving the human army to bloody ribbons and leaving none alive. The Thane and his troops held a lengthy feast in celebration of their victory while the siege encampment was set up. 

The bombardment began at dawn. Belegar watched with a savage glee as buildings collapsed and sections of the wall caved. The end was in sight. Scouts brought word of incoming attackers. Belegar knew they would be trying to break the siege, but he had already prepared for that possibility.

With a loud blast on his trumpet, Belegar called forth his army of crossbow wielding dwarves. Caltrops and wooden stakes were scattered around the camp. A squadron of armoured knights thundered into the forest. The thick trees broke up the charge and stalled their momentum. Steel bolts whistled through the air, punching the humans out of their saddles. Hidden traps were sprung, ensnaring the horses feet and adding to the carnage. 

The foolish cavalry attack was hopelessly tangled in the thick underbrush and the humans floundered, fear audible in their rising voices. With a full-throated roar, the dwarven stalwarts burst from their cover and launched a savage counter attack. Axes flashed red in the ruddy light of dawn, blood-slick and sheathed in gore. The furious dwarves cut down horse and rider both, sparing none. The woods rang with shouts of vengeance as the dwarves recited the oaths they had sworn to their ancestors.

Thane Belegar smashed an entire squadron of knights into a bloody ruin with his hulking warhammer, carving a scarlet path through the forest. The battle only lasted a few minutes and soon the woods fell silent, save for the crying of the human wounded. 

Belegar's troops endured several more attacks that day, each more pathetic than the last. Finally, Belegar gave the order for the final assault. 

Several breaches had already been torn open in the walls and under a withering hail of crossbow bolts from their comrades, the dwarf army stormed the city. The wrathful dwarves quickly overpowered the few remaining defenders and ran amok in the city, slaughtering all non dwarves. The Thane's orders were clear: Everyone must die. 

The dwarves set fire to the city and orange pillars of flame soon leapt high into the heavens. The retreating warriors sowed the land with salt, despoiling it for generations to come, a harsh lesson for all who witnessed it.

Belegar returned to his capital and threw a victory feast that lasted an entire month. A messenger raven was dispatched to the lovely elf Fiona, informing her of Belegar's victory.

And with that, the War of Honor came to a glorious end. 

                                             The Lost Dwarf

One bright sunny morning Belegar decided to call upon his good friend Orin. The young dwarf had been one of Belegar's first recruits in a long rebuilding project that had seen Dwarven Lords surge to prominence once again. Though the fates had taken Orin to other alliances, the noble dwarf had recently returned to his mountain kin. Belegar made the short trip to Erebor, Orin's capital and only a stone's throw away from Karak Drazh.

Belegar traveled with only a few armed retainers for no enemy would dare show his face in these lands and made the short trip without any trouble. To his surprise, no sentries greeted him at the gates, which were barred and shut fast. No sound issued. The city was silent and cold as a tomb. 

With a growing sense of alarm, Belegar ordered his troops to break out ropes and to get over the walls to see what was amiss. In no time at all Belegar was inside. He rushed inside the mountain keep, calling out. His loyal soldiers did the same, shouting the names of friends they knew that lived in Erebor. Only ghostly echoes greeted them.

Belegar and his dwarves found supplies and weapons in great abundance. It was as if everyone in the city had vanished into thin air, leaving everything behind. The Thane searched high and low, even venturing into the torchlight burial hall, but only found ancestor statues, their eyes cold and stone faces impassive to his cries. 

At last Belegar broke into Lord Orin's royal chamber, hoping for some clue as to his friend's whereabouts. The bed sheets were disheveled, indicating that someone had slept there the night before.  A roll of parchment sat on an oaken desk that abutted one of the walls. 

Belegar unrolled the scroll and his heart sank. Two solitary words adorned the parchment.

                                                  Farewell, Friend.

Thane Belegar collapsed to his knees as a fresh wave of despair washed over him. He punched the ground so hard that he dented his armour, but he scarcely felt the blow. His guards were stunned speechless and could only watch in silence. One by one they sank glumly to the floor at a total loss for words. 

Just three days before Belegar had helped Orin capture a city. They had feasted long into the night making plans and had stormed the walls together the next day. He had thought everything was fine, Orin had seemed joyous to be back among the ranks of the Dwarven Lords, but alas it appeared that was not the case. 

How long Belegar remained on the floor he did not know, but night fell before he stirred. Despite the balmy summer night, a chill wind swept through the vacant halls. He stood numbly to his feet, his entire mind in a fog. He and his guards sealed the gates behind them as they left, determined that no enemy should ravage those hallowed halls. The return journey to Karak Drazh passed in a blur.

Belegar thought long and hard, remembering both the good times and the bad. He remembered when he had first met Orin as a young dwarf. He remembered fondly the day that Orin had coined the name "Belgian Wafflehammer" for him and the many laughs and jokes they had shared. He thought back to Orin's first siege and the time he had told Orin that cow merchants made good money, causing Orin to immediately order the production of five thousand cows. 

He remembered that Orin had started a sister alliance to Dwarven Lords, and he bitterly regretted that he had not done more to help. He regretted that Orin had felt the need to leave Dwarven Lords for other lands and wished he had done more to prevent that. 

Belegar immediately proclaimed a month of mourning for all his cities and refused to eat any food for three days. He sent troops back to all of Orin's cities to guard them against anyone foolish enough to seek too despoil them. 

Belegar does not know where his friend Orin has gone, but he misses him sorely. He hopes that one day the smiling, clever young dwarf will stroll into the Thane's hall, asking for Belgian Wafflehammer. 

[07:11]<Belegar Ironhammer> *waves to orin

[07:11]<Belegar Ironhammer> you will be missed

[07:13]*Ghash-Uruk waves to Bel. I'll miss you more

[07:19]<Belegar Ironhammer> *hugs Orin

[07:19]<Belegar Ironhammer> first and last time I will ever hug someone in GC

[07:20]*Ghash-Uruk hugs bel back

Though it was summertime, Belegar began to wear his heaviest fur as if trying to ward off the chill that had settled in his heart from his trip to Orin's city of Erebor. His smile is rare and resembles a grimace. His own halls are colder and darker, shadows long and full. 

Belegar is no longer a young dwarf and the years have been long and bitter. It is said that part of Belegar died the day Orin disappeared. With every passing day, Belegar grows closer to his ancestors. His words are far and few between and his face resembles a gnarled oak, while a stone passes for his heart.

                                        War with the Elves

On a cold winter's day, a series of miscommunications, betrayal, and lies erupted into war. Even Thane Belegar himself did not consider war to be a possibility, but rather laughed the suggestion off when questioned by his friends. 

Conflict began when friction arose between a dwarf and an elf with nearby towns. Belegar had reached a compromise with the elf leader; or at least he thought he had. Belegar had given permission for the elves to settle within the 10 squares on the universal map used by all Illyrians, waiving the traditional ownership rights within those squares. Belegar had thought the elves would move a town in nearby but far enough away to allow for sovereignty claims over the surrounding countryside. 

Alas, events unfolded much different than expected. The treacherous elves established a city only 3 squares away from the dwarf city, which blocked sov claims for both cities. Later the elf leader Tanya and her cohorts would claim that Belegar had agreed to move the dwarf city. However, Belegar had never agreed to such an action.

The backstabbing elves then launched troops to counter claim the dwarf's sovereignty claims, sending the dwarf peasants working the land scurrying back to the safety of their city walls. When news of these fresh atrocities reached Belegar's halls, he was enraged. Swearing to defend his dwarves to the death, Belegar ordered attacks to be launched upon the elvish interlopers. His fellow dwarves eagerly answered his call. Lord Skybreaker was chief among them, slaying nearly twenty thousand pointy-eared vagabonds in a single battle. Within a few days eighty thousand elves had been killed and Belegar had declared victory, thinking the short engagement was over.

However, events soon spiraled out of control quicker than even Belegar expected. Several dwarf towns were blighted by foul elvish sorcery. Belegar ignored those pathetic attacks, but shortly thereafter several dwarf towns were hit by enemy diplomats, all of which were traced back to elvish lands. No stranger to the cloak and dagger of diplomat wars, Belegar took this new threat seriously and did not ignore it. He sought counsel with his High Lords and then upon the stroke of midnight, the Thane declared war on the traitorous elves.

The weak-willed complaints and screams of protest from the elves were drowned out by the measured tread of dwarven boots marching to war. While his fellow lords rallied their troops and prepared them for the full fury of war, Belegar launched the first siege. The honorable High Lord Mordok sent tens of thousands of troops to protect Belegar's siege.

The Thane targeted a nearby elf, Mellificient, who had the misfortune of being locating close to Belegar, a dangerous position for any elf. Her city of Veran was sighted on miserable terrain, which made it an easy siege target. Scouts soon revealed that many of the elves had located their cities in abysmal defensive locations, a testament to their own towering arrogance and pride.   

Belegar's siege landed in an adjacent forest next to the city while his brave spear troops set up a blockade around the city from a tall mountain. The enemy city featured a number of glittering gold and ivory spires that stretched high into the heavens. The walls were thick and strong, but Belegar knew that not even the magic-cursed construction of the elves could withstand the punishment from honest Dwarven stone.

The bombardment started the following dawn. The elvish screaming started soon after. Buildings collapsed and the walls crumbled. Falling masonry killed thousands. Belegar observed his work coldly, giving no quarter to the hapless elves. 

The siege did not go entirely unopposed however. The elf commander within the city launched several weak attacks, each inflicting almost no damage. Belegar's attack also functioned as a test of sorts to discern what the true strength of the elves was and how large their armies were.

Within a few hours, Dwarf scouts reported a large mass of cavalry inbound. Belegar was a bit puzzled that the enemy would deploy cavalry in the dense forest, which was terrible terrain for them. In all his years, Belegar had found that many foes attacked with the troops poorly suited for the battlefield. He did not know whether his enemies were simply imbeciles or whether they just enjoyed watching their own troops get killed. With an elf, it is certainly hard to tell.

In any case, Belegar readied his troops. He meet the enemy head on with Lord Mordok at his side. Enemy horses quickly became entangled in the wooded terrain and their charge faltered. Belegar smashed dozens of riders from their horses with his warhammer. His halberd troops formed into defensive squares that bristled with iron spears. They were like rocks in the ocean and the waves of the elf attack broke upon them, battering themselves to ruin. Mordok reaped a fearful tally with his axe alongside his own troops who fought with valor. The elves attacked to the end; until the angry dwarves had slain every last one of them. The dead elves numbered over eleven thousand.

The siege wore on into the night. At dawn, scouts brought word of two much larger human armies on the way. Belegar noted that as usual, the elves were unable to defend themselves and had to run to their friends for help. Both of these armies were also composed entirely of cavalry, another poor tactical choice from Belegar's foes. Nonetheless, the armies might still be able to inflict heavy damage just by sheer weight of numbers. It was a crude tactic to resort to so early on in the conflict.

The ground trembled beneath the pounding hooves of the enemy calvary. Braying dwarf war horns split the air, calling their lieges to battle. Halberds formed into squares to protect the vulnerable crossbows while stalwarts formed ambush lines and scattered caltrops across the forest floor.

The human knights crashed into the dwarf battle lines in a storm of shivering steel. Pendants and battle flags were torn down. Riders were thrown from their horses or speared off their mounts like harpooned whales. Dwarf halberds gutted horse and rider alike, sparing none. The initial fury of the charge carried the knights deep into the dwarven formation.

Belegar was forced back and cut off from his army, fighting like a madman with only his few Throne Guards to protect him. His arms ached from the battle and sticky red blood covered most of his golden battle plate, transforming it into a brownish hue. His blue cape was ripped and torn at the edges. His winged helm was chipped and dented.

To his dismay, the Thane saw that the knights had fought their way to his catapults and ballistas, destroying several. He led his weary retainers to his own siege equipment and killed the remaining knights. The final commander fought hard when he realized he was doomed, but Belegar decapitated him with a single stroke.

"Reform ranks," Belegar ordered. The second army was only minutes away. The dwarves piled the dead horses and knights up, forming natural choke points to blunt the next attack. It was well that they did for the next assault broke upon them like a hurricane.

Silver-armoured knights stormed into the forest. Hundreds were killed in the opening seconds, becoming fouled in the rough terrain and tossed from their horses like rag dolls. In their fury their own comrades rushed on behind them, crushing the wounded. Belegar briefly noted that the humans were fighting with the same savagery typically seen in orcs.

The Thane hefted his warhammer in his right hand and drew his fearsome sword, Soul Splitter, in his left. He had found few occasions with which to use the legendary sword gifted to him by King Belargyle, but now seemed a good as time as any.  

The enemy knights crashed home with the force of a battering ram. Bones splintered audibly, cracking like wet thunder. Spears shattered on impact; lances broke like match sticks.

Belegar dragged his sword down the flank of a passing horse, spilling its steaming innards to the ground. He blocked an enemy sword blow with the head of his hammer. The impact hammered his arm back into his shoulder socket. All cohesion was lost in the fury of combat. Every dwarf was locked into his own separate battle in a desperate struggle to survive. Shouts of victory mingled with cries of despair and the anguished moans of those who knew they were about to die.

The battle hung in the balance and only decisive action could swing the tide back in Belegar's favor. He quickly surveyed the battlefield and saw Lord Mordok's banner, surrounded by a sea of foes. The venerable dwarf lord stood his ground, striking down dozens of foes with his fearsome battle axe.

"Raise the banner. To the High Lord," Belegar ordered. His Throne Guard did as they were told. His banner dwarf unfurled Belegar's personal standard, a mailed, golden fist upon a field of deep blue and lifted it high above the battle field. With a mighty blast of his war horn, Belegar's retinue counter attacked and fought their way to Lord Mordok's side like a mob of unruly lumberjacks in a forest.

Lord Mordok wore full plate armour of jet black edged in gold. His banner, a pair of crossed golden axes upon a black flag, hung in the air above him. He wielded a two handed axe and looked quite at home on the battlefield, surrounded by his loyal dwarves. Scores of dead humans littered the ground at his feet.

"We must rally the troops," Belegar said. Mordok's only reply was a grim nod. His gray beard dipped. Belegar and Mordok stood back to back, forming a circle with their personal guards. The scattered dwarf soldiers flocked to the swirling banners.The chaotic mass of dwarf infantry slowly formed into a wall of steel, using Belegar and Mordok as an anchor.

The battle lasted for hours, but the stubborn dwarves slowly ground down and destroyed the last of the knights. Belegar and Mordok stood at the center of it all, forming the anvil upon which the enemy broke themselves.

After executing the enemy wounded, Belegar counted the cost. Dwarf forces had slain over fifty thousand knights, but incurred fearful losses in return. Worst of all, the siege train had been heavily damaged. Several catapults remained, but the dwarves had lost more than half.

Belegar wagered that he could still probably take the city, but if more elves or humans attacked, he would be hard pressed to defend his remaining catapults. However, his troops were eager and more than willing to continue the fight. After consulting with Mordok, Belegar reluctantly gave the order to withdraw. Lord Mordok seemed disappointed, he was a grizzled old veteran and had fought valiantly in the Great War against the evil Crows. He had seen much worse.   

Belegar found it rather humorous that the elves would claim this as a victory as all their troops had been killed while Belegar had left the field voluntarily and inflicted severe damage to Veran. He would later learn that the human he had fought was named Erebus, an old soldier of some repute among the world of Illyriad. Belegar also heard the rumors that Erebus was long dead and his troops under the command of the elf Tanya, but he could not discover the truth of the matter.

Belegar was not concerned with the results of the battle at Veran. He had seen what strength the elves and humans possessed and he had sworn a vow that he would return to Veran and raze it to the ground. As we shall see, Belegar soon fulfilled that vow.

One of the elf leaders, some foolish knave calling herself Bimoda, wrote a poem about their so-called victory. Such drivel is not worth reproducing in this hallowed tome, but suffice to say, Bimoda's nonsense only doubled Belegar's resolve to win the war. He had copies distributed to all of his warriors, carefully stoking the fires of their hatred. Belegar had heard tall tales of Bimoda's alleged prowess in battle, but he saw no sign that she even outclassed the lowliest dwarf peasant on matters of strategy. Besides a few meaningless feint's on Belegar's towns, Bimoda played no role in the conflict.

By now, the entire armed might of the Dwarven Lords had been mobilized. The next siege involved many thousands more troops than the first one. The target was the elf city of Nene Magica, yet another poorly situated city. Two siege armies were used this time, one under the command of Lord Thunderhammer and the other under the command of Lord Bargnothaltros. Under Belegar's direction many direct sieges were used (referred to as siege trains by the lesser races) and the city was quickly battered into submission. The predicated cav strike from Erebus was too little too late; arriving after the siege had been completed only to be cut down by the waiting dwarves. The city burned long into the night, serving as a funeral pyre for tens of thousands of dead elves.

The overwhelming victory was an important one for Belegar because it marked the first time the Dwarven Lords had fought together under his leadership as Thane. A victory feast was held at Belegar's capital, Karak Eight Peaks. The halls were filled to bursting with joyous dwarves who sang battle hymns long and loud.  

The war continued over the next few days. Belegar only encountered half-hearted resistance at many of his target cities. It appeared that enemy morale was already breaking early on in the war, a sure sign of elfish mental weakness. News reached Belegar of fighting in the south, in the Broken Lands. Lord Ranalos had established several cities there one of only a few dwarves to live outside their sacred homeland. The attacks and sieges launched on Ranalos were so bad that defeating them was almost not worth the effort. Sometimes Belegar wondered if the enemy simply did not know any better or whether they were deliberately trying to lose.  

Next, Belegar and his armies returned to Veran to wreak a terrible vengeance upon the foolish elves there who thought they had escaped his wrath. Belegar took the full might of the Dwarven Lords as well, assembling a vast army much stronger than his previous assault. No great battles awaited Belegar and his dwarves this time. His siege and blockade landed upon mountains instead of forests. The mountins served as even less favorable terrain for attacking cavalry and indeed, Erebus or whoever commanded his troops, attempted no rescue. In that, Erebus showed wisdom. Without his knights to protect them, the terrified elves only mounted a few paltry attacks that were easily repulsed. Rumor has it that Belegar slept through the final attack.

At dawn the gates were breached and Belegar led the final attack. The foolish elves were slaughtered ruthlessly. Belegar spared no one. Belegar demolished the city utterly, leaving no stone unturned. His troops left nothing but a flaming wreck behind them. Bimoda did not write any poetry to commemorate the elves' total defeat.

During this time Belegar also ordered a large fake siege to be launched at Tanya, the leader of the elves. Belegar merely hoped it would provide a distraction and over a dozen dwarves took part. The false attack was even more successful than he dreamed and Tanya exo'd her city away from the siege that consited of only one soldier. 

Two simultaneous sieges were launched next; one from Belegar himself and the other from Lord Skybreaker. The targets were the twin cities of Sisca Mainacier. Both cities were poorly located next to abandoned monasteries, which made for excellent siege locations. The small armies defending the cities were annihilated within hours of the siege landing. No cavalry came to rescue the doomed cities. They were both razed within minutes of each other. 

It should be noted that the elves did attempt one siege. They chose an isolated city belonging to Lord Ranalos and launched a daring plains siege. Presumably, they did not anticipate that Belegar and his lords possessed any cavalry forces and would not be able to reach the city with slow moving infantry forces. If that had been true, the siege might have worked. 

But the noble High Lord Aubrey maintained a sizable rune rider force, which was dispatched immediately. His mounted troops fought well and smashed a ragged hole in the elf forces killing over fifty thousand elves in a single battle. Other cavalry forces inflicted severe damage as well, paralyzing the siege from the beginning. In the end, long range infantry strikes and local forces eliminated the siege, which died without firing a shot.

With a string of victories behind him, Belegar sought a final decisive battle that could end the war for good. For that reason, the enemy capital of Pixie Hollow was chosen as the next siege target. Again, two siege armies were used. Lord Skybreaker took the lead. He had requested to be allowed to capture the city and Belegar acquiesced, placing the rugged dwarf in the vanguard of the assault. Defending elf armies were crushed immediately. The siege began its thunderous volleys and no one came to save the city. Belegar found it odd that no elves leapt to the defense of their leader, but who can tell what truly goes on in the mind of an elf.

Battering rams smashed the gates into jagged wooden splinters and the eager dwarves rushed in, killing all who remained. The city was not put to the torch however, but rather captured by Lord Skybreaker, who aptly renamed the city Deathly Hollow. Some of the more vainglorious elves wished to continue the fighting, but the Dwarves had clearly beaten them.

Belegar could have continued the war had he wished, but he worked hard for a peace agreement. Belegar had no desire to continue mauling an obviously defeated opponent. Unlike the hated Crows who continued on their bloodthirsty rampages for no reason at all and did far more damage than their enemies ever did, Belegar called a halt to his crusading armies.

The elves eventually surrendered and Belegar and his dwarves returned home victorious. Victory feasts lasted for a month as the war came to a glorious conclusion. 

                                        The Necromancer

Evil came with the rise of the full moon. Towns fold dwelling outside the city walls disappeared. Peasants reported strange noises at nights. Unearthly howls shattered the night time calm. Drum beats sounded far off, deep in the woods. At first, Belegar dismissed these reports as mere superstition. But the reports of bizarre occurrences become more and more frequent until he was forced to instruct his mages and scholars to get to the bottom of the trouble while he doubled his army patrols. Despite these precautions, nothing could prepare Belegar for the arrival of the Necromancer.

 An outlying village was attacked by a horde of skeletal zombies. Many were killed, and the terrified survivors babbled incoherently about a tall man with pale skin and jet-black armour who led the zombie forces. Belegar's scholars returned from the Royal Vaults with information about practitioners of dark arts that allowed them to raise the dead. His wizards confirmed that the winds of magic were extremely troubled, indicating that someone with great magical power was operating within the area.    

Belegar quickly dispatched messengers to every dwarf settlement near to Belegar's cities with orders to immediately seek refuge behind his fortress walls. Worried dwarves began to stream inside the cities. Troops were recalled and posted to the walls. 

One of Belegar's lieutenant's brought word of a fresh zombie attack, one that he and his dwarves had driven off. He confirmed that their skeletal foes were mostly elf and human. Or they had been at least. Now they moved with a slow lethargy, but were clearly animated by some foul power. Belegar bore this news with grim stoicism. He decided to take the field himself to see what else he could discover.

Belegar and his dwarves searched for hours, but did not find anything. Just as the dawn was breaking however, Belegar stumbled upon a group of zombies near a small patch of trees. The Thane ordered an immediate attack. Upon his mages recommendation, he had carried his soul-forged blade with him. The glowing blade sliced right through the first zombie, who crumbled into a pile of dust. Some of the zombies wielded rusty swords and shield. A few wore battered steel helms and carried decaying shields. Belegar reasoned that the zombies had been soldiers in their previous life.     

His warrior band plowed through the zombies. The macabre force did not move very quickly, making them easy prey. However, more of the foul skeletons began to stream from the forest. The small force was much larger than previously expected.

Belegar ordered his dwarves into the a shield wall. It was a standard dwarf tactic, and one that had served them well for thousands of years. They would become the anvil upon which the enemy would break. But the zombies were numerous and bore any injury with indifference. The dwarves would hack off arms and legs or skewer the torso, and still the zombies would keep coming, utterly oblivious to their wounds.  

Dwarf battle oaths echoed over the battle as a new force joined the fray. A group of dwarves crashed into the zombies from the flank, scattering the skeletons like snow in the sunshine. The zombie advance faltered under this new assault and they were soon cut down to a man.

Much to Belegar's surprise, the dwarf warrior leading the group was actually female. In fact, the entire new company of dwarves was all female. They were armed and armoured just as heavily as Belegar's own force.

"Well met...sisters," Belegar said.

A burly dwarf female made her way towards Belegar. She carried a large sword casually on her shoulder along with a shield that bore the embossed image of a bear. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a thick braid. The sides of her head were shorn.

"Well met," the dwarf replied. "I am Nalor. These are my warriors. We've been pursuing the zombies for weeks."

Belegar nodded. "We appreciate the help. From where do you hail?"

Darkness passed over Nalor's face. "From the south. Our village was attacked and destroyed by the vile necromancer and his forces. Our fathers, husbands, and brothers were all killed in battle. We are all that is left. We are here for vengeance."

Revenge was a motivating factor that Belegar understood perfectly.

"You are welcome to join us. You say you have seen the necromancer?" Belegar asked.

"Aye," Nalor answered. "He only moves at night and wears armour of obsidian. I've seen him raise the dead to fight at his side. Even those his army killed mere moments before."

Belegar was alarmed at the news. "So as long as he continues fighting, he could have a never ending source of recruits."

"Precisely," Nalor replied. "His armies are legion."

"How do we destroy the zombies for good?" Belegar asked. 

Nalor stepped on the nearest one with her iron shod boot, crushing the skeleton to dust. "Destroy the skull and they will never walk again."

Belegar nodded. "My blade works wonders as well, a pity we do not have anymore." By way of example he touched the nearest skeleton with the tip of the sword. The bones turned to dust in seconds. A murmur of approval went up from the female warriors.

"I have never seen such a blade in all my life," Nalor said.

"Soul-forged. From a bygone era."

Belegar, his dwarves, and their newfound allies returned to Karak Eight Peaks to plan a new defensive strategy. The Thane consulted with is mages and scholars. His mages postulated that if Belegar managed to kill the necromancer all the zombies would die for good. They were only animated through his fell power. Without him, they would fail.

His scholars brought word of ancient battles fought between the humans and elves in nearby lands. The necromancer must have raided the burial sites and raised them into undeath to be his servants. The dwarves always buried their dead deep in the mountains, keeping them safe from people who would seek to do them har. This would explain the lack of dwarven skeletons in the zombie armies they had seen. Though some dwarves had been killed in raids days prior. Perhaps they would begin to see dwarf zombies as well.

As evening began to fall over the land, Belegar departed with his best warriors and Nalor's band. They aimed to assault the nearest forest and cleanse it of any and all zombies. They brought torches to ward off the darkness. It did not take long to find the zombies. They emerged from the underbrush, rusty mail coats rattling against trees, swords dragging in the mud. Belegar and his dwarves formed a shield wall and met the zombie assault with fury and cold steel.     

None could stand before Belegar's sword. He smashed aside elf and human specters with reckless abandon. All turned to dust in the wind when he struck them. His dwarves had a tougher time, but they all aimed for the head and proceeded to destroy the zombies a lot quicker than their previous engagement.

Belegar's heart turned cold when he laid his eyes upon a skeletal dwarf. It wore a helmet and carried an axe and shield. Its eyes were empty sockets in its skull. Its mouth hung agape. Belegar breathed a quick prayer of forgiveness to Grungi.

He swung his sword diagonally across his body. The dwarf zombie didn't even attempt to block the attack with his shield. His body vaporized into chalky white powder instantly.

"Rest in peace, brother," Belegar said. Such desecration made Belegar angry. That anger quickly swelled into rage. Belegar broke formation, bellowing for his dwarves to attack. His charges obeyed, condensing into a solid block of muscle and steel. Their advance was implacable, as irresistible as the rising tide. Before long they had swept the forest clean of zombies.

The dwarves returned to Karak Eight Peaks. As the night rolled on, reports came in of more attacks and battles from Belegar's dwarves. The elusive necromancer seemed to be attacking everywhere at once. The zombies were repulsed, but there was no sign of the necromancer. Belegar needed to find him to end the threat once and for all. He ventured out the next day with Nalor and together they crushed a few zombie mobs, but that was all. Belegar decided that the necromancer probably kept himself hidden during the day. Perhaps the night gave him more power or the rays of the sun were fatal to him.

Thus, Belegar decided only to take to the field at night. His advisers agreed along with Nalor, but the change in strategy brought them no luck either. He kept up this plan of attack for nearly a week, slaying hundreds of zombies, but to no avail. Enemy numbers seemed limitless and the necromancer invisible.

But one night as Belegar was suiting up in his arming chambers, mighty horn blasts shook the cities. Sentries had spied a massive zombie horde approaching the walls! Belegar roused his army and prepared to do battle.The Thane was shocked when he took to the walls. The zombie horde was plainly visible beneath the full moon and they seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see. Spears, swords, and axes glittered in the moonlight. Skeletons of elves, men, dwarves, and even orcs could be seen. Belegar had fought zombies before that came from the monstrosity known as the Heart of Corruption, but this was something else entirely. The necromancer had the power to annihilate empires. 

The gates were reinforced and nearly the entire army deployed to the walls. At some unseen command, the zombies advanced as one. Messenger ravens brought news that many of Belegar's other cities were under attack as well, negating them as a place of reinforcement. Was that just chance? Or had the necromancer cleverly isolated Belegar? The mysterious man in black armour might be more cunning than Belegar gave him credit for.

Crossbows sang murder into the night sky. Mages and wizards scattered along the battlements prepared themselves, chanting words of power and beginning incantations. The wind picked up, swirling all around. Drum beats like the stuttering heart of a dying man, rumbled over the battlefield.

An arrow whizzed past Belegar's head. Then another nearly took him in the eye. He ducked, realizing with alarm that the zombies had gained access to range weaponry. They had no siege equipment though. Instead, dozens of them carried ladders with witch to scale the walls.

Belegar ordered his own catapults to fire. Massive stones were hurled over the walls, landing with a satisfying crunch. Dozens were slain with each hit. Given the density of the packed zombies, missing was impossible. Engineer crews hurried to reload the devastating weapons. Crossbows kept up a steady buzz.

Ladders were thrown up along walls. Blue and purple blasts of eldritch power lit the night as Wizards burned zombies in sorcery's flame. The zombies advanced in total silence. It was unnerving. 

A ladder smacked stone in front of Belegar. Using both his hands, he pushed it to the side, where it slid over and fell, knocking over two other ladders with it. But the zombies were cunning. Heavier ladders with counter weights were brought up. Gangs of zombies would hold the ladders at the bottom so the dwarves could not push them over. Zombies began to scale the walls. The dwarves met them with cold steel.

The catapults kept up their bombardment, thinning the zombies numbers as best they could. The impact of stone upon earth and the satisfying crunch of bone was a reassuring sound. Cries of anger and vengeance carried over the battle field as the dwarves came to grips with their hated foe.

Belegar found it hard to believe that just two weeks ago his lands had been utterly peaceful without a threat in sight, but now they were overrun with a mindless zombie horde that threatened to kill them all. The first zombie head popped over the walls. Belegar decapitated the abomination with his glowing sword. Nalor's band plunged into combat on his left. The walls were wide and thick. Nearly six dwarves could have walked abreast on top of them. This gave the dwarves ample space to maneuver as they fought.

Belegar killed the zombies as fast as he could. His Throne Guard fought alongside of him, two-handed hammers whirring in a constant blur as they smashed skulls and hurled zombies back over the wall. He fought in unison with his retainers, a killing machine in perfect harmony.

Cries of dismay dragged his attention to the other side of the city. Belegar was horrified to see that zombies had scaled the far wall and were spreading out, held back by a wizard and a single squad of dwarves. The white haired wizard was throwing blue lightning all over the place, but he was losing ground. Zombies began to drop into the streets below. Most of the refuges had taken refuge inside the mountain keep, but many had not had time to flee. Also, his vulnerable catapults were firing from the town. Belegar needed to plug that hole.

"Can you hold here?" Belegar shouted at Nalor.

The female dwarf replied with a sword salute.

Ordering his Throne guard to follow him, Belegar raced down the nearest flight of stairs and to the far walls. The streets were clogged with worried dwarves running to and fro. They all cleared a path for Thane Belegar when he approached however. Belegar ordered all non-combatants to stay indoors or to seek refuge in the keep. Halfway to the wall, Belegar encountered his first zombie. He smashed it into pieces with his sword in two brutal strokes. He hurried on without a backwards glance. He led his warriors straight to the staircase full of descending zombies. Belegar charged alongside his Throne Guard. It was like a hammer breaking a rock into pieces.

Belegar's standard bearer blew on his war horn, seeking to call other dwarves to help them. Stalwarts came running on the double. A team of crossbow troops arrived and poured fire into the advancing zombies. Even so, the dwarves could not thin their forces too much. Belegar and his Throne Guard would have to do much of the fighting themselves.

The zombies had somehow recognized the potential breakthrough and their forces converged on the weak point. Their numbers seemed to triple.

Belegar was a whirlwind of violence. His sword carved zombies apart and rendered them to dust with the barest contempt. Karak Eight Peaks was his city, entrusted to him by his forefathers. He was not about to allow it to fall. The Thane was dimly aware that they did not stop every zombie. Some escaped towards the center of town. He made a mental note to have those interlopers hunted down later.

 

 

At last Belegar gained the stairway again and fought his way upward step by step. Stalwarts converged on the point from the walls above and slowly but surely the pushed the zombies back. A dwarf mage incinerated the ladders along that section of the wall, cutting off reinforcements. Finally, Belegar stood atop the wall with his dwarves, sweating and panting with exertion. They had cleansed this section of the wall. But the night was only half spent and the battle still raged.

Belegar could see that Nalor and her company were still holding out so Belegar stayed in his position, defending his newly reconquer wall against a renewed zombie assault. The battle lasted for hours. Just as the first rays of dawn began to peak over the horizon, the zombies began to retreat. They shuffled off in great masses, headed for the forests that acted as their home.

A pursuit could have punished the zombies even more, but Belegar and his exhausted dwarves needed some rest. The zombies who had escaped into the city interior were hunted down or so Belegar thought. He was forced to establish tight, city-wide patrols to ensure he had killed them all. It was grim, thankless work, but it had to be done.

Belegar only had time to catch a few hours sleep before he was back in the war strategium, planning his next move. Dwarves were natural born defenders and they could and would endure anything Belegar asked of them. But Karak Eight Peaks was overcrowded with refugees now as were many of his other cities. He did not want to sit on his heels and wait for another attack and put the lives of thousands at risk. He needed to seek out the necromancer and kill him.

Reports filtered in throughout the day that his other cities had all held. Most of them had faced smaller sieges, but attacks nonetheless. More zombie sightings were reported as well. Belegar had the sickening feeling that the assault of the previous night had only been a test to gage Belegar's true strength.

One of Belegar's scholars discovered the site of an ancient battle between to elf and human kingdoms, both long forgotten. The battle had occurred about half a days march away in a thick wooded area. There were bound to be tens of thousands of buried bodies there. If the necromancer needed to replenish his numbers, that is were he would go.

Belegar also made the discovery that all the zombies slain outside the walls by crossbows had vanished. Possibly, they may have been reanimated. The ones crushed by the catapult fire were dead for good at least. Belegar dispatched messengers and small groups of warriors from Karak Drazh, Karak Azul, and Karak Vlag joined him. He mixed the forces, not daring to reduce any cities garrison by too much lest they fall to an attack. His Throne Guard and Nalor and her company joined him as well.

The combined armies made good time, reaching the forest at dusk. Already they could hear the war drums. They sounded like the infernal heartbeat of some fell beast. Belegar only had a few thousand warriors at his back, but it would have to be enough.

He gathered his captains and lieutenants around him. "Let's finish this tonight. Let us swear to kill the necromancer, now, so that his foul power may never again corrupt these fair lands. Every dwarf that stands with me is a hero. Every one of that dies is a legend, a martyr in the unbreakable wall of ancestors that have gone before us. Their eyes watch over us. Grungi and Grimnir watch over us. Let us fight worthy of their memory!" His words ended in a short and the dwarven army roared. Now was the time for battle. The time for cowering behind walls was over.

The dwarves formed into a box. Belegar pushed out until the box became a chevron. Their would be no defense. No shield wall. They would punch straight in and cut straight to the heart of their foe. Belegar was the tip of the spear. His dwarves were the haft.

Fires were started and flaming arrows shot into the forest. The trees began to burn. The fire would provide additional light and hopefully scatter the zombies away from the necromancer, if he was there. Moonlight shimmered in the wafting columns of smoke. The zombies began to stir. Belegar signaled for a general advance. he walked for a good one hundred paces before breaking into a jog. A mass of skeletons emerged from the flaming woods in front of Belegar. The advanced silently. The dwarves shouted battle oaths and curses.

Belegar lowered his shoulder and plowed through the first few zombies like a battering ram, smashing them to powder and shattered bone by sheer force of impact. Angry dwarves hit all around him and the battle was joined. Belegar never stopped moving. Every attack was a forward step followed by a forward step. He struck a zombie in the torso. It crumbled to dust. He blocked an axe blade with his sword, slid under the zombie weapon and took its head off. His sword blazed with incandescent rage. The blade bled purple haze in the proximity of so many undead. Belegar kept one-eye out for a tall human in black armour but could see none. 

Slowly but surely the dwarves hacked, cut, and bludgeoned their way into the center of the forest. Zombies were everywhere, mostly elf and human, but Belegar had seen and killed a fair number of dwarf skeletons. Nalor and her female warriors were making fine progress, fighting with the true fury of their ancestors. They shouted the names of the loved ones they had lost. Each name punctuated by a sword thrust or axe cut. They fought like living avatars of vengeance, possessing no fear and giving the enemy no quarter. 

The forest burned all around them. Suddenly an icy chill descended up the dwarves. The roaring flames guttered to nothingness in seconds. Darkness enveloped the forest. Zombies attacked on all sides, but began to swerve away from Belegar. His soul-forged blade turned bright purple.

Out of the now blackened trees stepped a man clad in armour the color of midnight, slicked to an oily sheen and chased in golden filigree. He carried a long, two-handed sword. His skin was pale; his head, shaven. Fangs glistened in his leering mouth.

"So eager to die, are we?" he hissed. His voice was like a snake, smooth and beguiling. "I'm impressed you made it this far, dwarf. You should have died last night."

"You will answer for your crimes and your pillaging of my lands, necromancer," Belegar replied, his voice like stone.

The human laughed harshly. "A most charming conversationalist. I like that. When I kill you, I shall resurrect you again so you can serve me forever. We would have much to talk about. Much of your kinsfolk have already joined me, won't you do the same?" He smiled arrogantly.

Belegar's beard bristled with anger. He spat into the ground. "Come and face me you piece of filth." The dwarf charged. The necromancer took a step forward and arced his sword. The two blades met in a clash and shower of sparks.  

The Thane quickly realized the necromancer was the fastest swordsmen he had ever faced. His blade seemed to dance about like liquid mercury. Belegar could barely follow his foe's actions with his eyes. He was quickly forced on the defensive. Each parry took a Herculean effort. The necromancer was strong as well. Belegar's arms burned beneath the repeated impacts. Belegar missed a block and took a ringing blow off his shoulder pauldron. His armour turned the enemy sword aside, but Belegar was knocked dangerously off balance.

The dwarf just barely deflected the next attack, an overhead strike, by grabbing his sword with both hands. His shoulder still smarted from his foe's earlier strike. The necromancer faked another high attack and then cunningly went for a leg sweep. Belegar saw it coming a bit late and jumped backwards, but still got clipped and stumbled.

Then Nalor attacked with a furious roar. The necromancer was forced to fend off the vengeful female warrior while Belegar regained his footing. Together the pair renewed their attack on the necromancer. Josef, a veteran member of Belegar's Throne Guard, joined the attack as well. The necromancer retreated before the three dwarves, battered an all sides.

Some may have considered it dishonorable to attack a single opponent with three fighters, but Belegar thought differently. Honor involved how he treated the poor and downtrodden, the less fortunate members of society, those who could not protect themselves. In war however, the first and only rule was to win, by any and all means necessary. Nothing else mattered.

The necromancer was a blur, fending off blows like a man possessed. He and his sword were one and moved in perfect synchronization. He was practically death incarnate.   

The battle raged around them. The dwarf army maintained a cordon around their leaders so no zombies could rush to their aid of their dark master.

Josef fought aggressively next to Belegar, seeking to defend his Thane. Veins in his neck were bulging as he strained every muscle with each hit.Josef was in danger of over committing and leaving himself open to a counter attack. That fact did not appear to bother the venerable warrior until the necromancer slipped his sword through Josef's guard and slashed him across the chest. The dire blade ripped through the gromil plate armour, but snagged in the bone and meat of the dwarves torso. The necromancer yanked on his sword, but Josef dropped his hammer and grabbed the naked blade with his hands, not letting go. He had given his Thane an opening.        

Belegar plunged his soul-forged blade straight through the heart of the necromancer. Cursed armour melted before the enchanted blade. The man shuddered, a look of pained horror painted across its face. Breath wheezed from its lips in agonized gasps. Blood dribbled down his chin. Belegar twisted the hilt of his sword. Phlegm gargled in the man's throat. The necromancer released his sword and slumped to his knees.

Nalor spun on her heels and decapitated the necomancer in one savage stroke. His pale, balding head flipped in the air a few times before bouncing to the ground. 

At once the zombies all collapsed to the ground and turned to dust in the wind. The chilly night air passed, replaced by balmy spring temperatures.

Belegar knelt at Josef's side. The member of his Throne Guard wheezed from bloody lips, enemy sword still stuck in his chest. His eyes were fluttering.

"It was an honor to serve at your side, Thane." He looked over at the dead necromancer. A grim smile played across his face. "Revenge," he said. "Revenge." His eyelids slid closed.

With the necromancer dead, all zombie armies returned to oblivion and troubled Belegar's lands no more. Josef and all the other noble dwarves who gave their lives during the war were buried with full honors, deep in the heart of the mountains.  

Belegar thanked Nalor and her band for all the aid they had rendered. The group of female warriors had fought extremely well and claimed many times the number of enemy lives than they had lost. They were eager to return home to their own lands and begin the long process of rebuilding. Belegar sent some of his finest engineers and builders with them to help. Building a city was no easy task and could often take years. The wall foundation would need to be relaid and gates houses reestablished They would need armories, forges and blacksmiths. Their farms had been burned and would need to be replanted. 

Belegar bade them good health and good fortune as Nalor's company departed. So ended the necromancer and his bloody reign.   

                                            War with TUF

What follows next is a strange tale, how an alliance with the moniker TUF turned out to be pathetically weak. Belegar had long considered TUF to be a threat, a chaotic force that existed only to do great harm. Thane Belegar valued stability and security; with TUF they were the complete opposite; especially their childish and simple minded leader Agalloch. A new craze had been sweeping the land of a mythical entity known as the "super orc." Great battles and wars had been fought previously and various orcs had wreaked tremendous damage and slaughtered millions of human knight foolish enough to enter their lands. As events soon proved, Agalloch was merely a pretender to the throne. 

Belegar is a firm believer in a good diplomacy network. Thus, his spies were in position to bring him word of a planned TUF attack one a silversteel mine long owned by the Dwarven Lords. The members of TUF were vain and made many threats that they never carried out, but Belegar saw no idle threat here. He wanted the chaotic threat of TUF removed from Elgea; he cared not for the silly little games they played in the Broken Lands.

After taking counsel with the High Lords, war preparations began. Belegar did not wish to enter war unprepared. What followed was a month of preparation. Scouts were dispatched, bringing back the troop totals for almost every TUF city in Elgea. Gold was moved in between cities and the vast trade hubs emptied of weapons and armour. The Dwarves were going to war. 

The first target was one of Agalloch's cities in Elgea. Removing him from Elgea would remove most of TUF's power from Elgea.The terrain was carefully scouted ahead of time. At the appointed hour, sieges were launched in the dead of night, advancing under the cover of darkness. Massive stalwart armies were launched as well to destroy the orc forces guarding the city.

The siege landed right on schedule. Orc forces within the city emerged to fight but they were slaughtered by Belegar's troops. The siege itself proved to be somewhat anti-climatic. Only weak local forces were able to react in time; only small groups of human knights who launched suicidal charges into the massed dwarven ranks. Once the gates had been rent apart, Belegar ordered the final attack. Like all orc cities, the city reeked with a foul stench. The streets were paved with orc refuse and littered with the crushed bodies of the slain. A few defenders remained, but they were killed by the vengeful dwarves.

"Burn it," Belegar commanded. Fire soon encompassed the ruined city.

A column of Agalloch's orc cavalry did arrive to the battle late long after the siege engines had departed for Belegar's mountain fortress. Lord Randver commanded the dwarf holding forces that remained and they killed all twenty thousand of the foolish orcs. The bodies were piled into a mass grave and burned like common criminals.

With this victory, Belegar eliminated the main source of TUF strength in Elgea. TUF still had many cities in Elgea, but they were exo'g to the south as fast as possible, tucking tail and running like cowards. Viperone and Gwen were among the first to run, but they would not be the last.

The war soon spread to the Broken Lands. The lone dwarf city their came under siege. Lord Jhag owned the city and he was determined to make the enemy pay dearly for it. Messenger ravens were dispatched to Belegar and together they planned a defensive effort.

At this stage the war took a rather personal turn as ajqrtz, a former friend of Belegar, had joined the ranks of the enemy. Ajqrtz was a self proclaimed philosphe and though his generally incoherent ramblings frequently turned into long-winded speeches of self aggrandizement, Belegar had enjoyed some debate with him. But Ajq had turned traitor now, revealing to Belegar that Ajq cared for nothing but himself. Belegar recorded Ajq's betrayal in his sacred Book of Grudges and swore to bring ruin and destruction upon his now bitter enemy.

Jhag's cities were surrounded by mountains and he had few troops at his disposal, but he was not totally helpless. He was besieged by a human, Ppiotr, who was easily the worst human combatant Belegar had ever encountered. The foolish human landed several blockades on the mountains all of them composed purely of knights. Cavalry were fine attackers, but they were wasted on defense especially on the rugged mountain terrain.

One of the first sieges consisted of knights on a mountain. Lord Jhag led a sortie and destroyed the siege less than an hour after it arrived, cutting apart the wrong-footed knights with ease. Belegar launched his own stalwarts along with Lord Gdarth and Lord Tonkan. They would take days to arrive, but as it turned out the siege was still ongoing and would drag on for days.

Dozens of sorties were launched and tens of thousands of enemy soldiers were killed. Belegar's skilled caravan drivers ran the numerous blockades over fifty times, rushing in much needed supplies to the beleaguered city. Ajqrtz launched two of the sieges, but it was hard to tell what his true intentions were as one of the sieges had no catapults and he frequently recalled armies from the front for no apparent reason. Belegar guessed Ajq had never used messengers before and was testing them out. It was also rumored that Ajq would randomly withdraw armies to lecture them on proper debate methods in between fights.

In the end, TUF committed a massive number of their forces to bring down the small dwarven stronghold. More importantly, sieging the city would also cost TUF one of their own cities. Ppiotr had sent an army from one of his Elgean cities all the way down to the Broken Lands to blockade Lord Jhag's city. Despite have nearly ten cities within a day's march of the dwarf city he still felt the need to send even more troops from Elgea.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dwarf scouts immediately noticed the mistake and relayed the information to Belegar. The Thane swiftly planned a siege of Ppiotr's Elgean city, which could not exo away. The siege landed near nightfall and the blockades fell in place shortly thereafter. Nearly the entire might of the Dwarven Lords stood on the battlefield. Belegar had razed human cities before and they had all fallen rather easily. This city abounded with human knights and a horde of filthy greenskins sent from the Broken Lands. 

The first attacks came from squadrons of knights. They were brave attacks, but ultimately doomed to failure, meeting brutal justice on the end of a Dwarven pike. The real fighting was to begin soon thereafter.

The gates opened and the orc horde emerged, ready to do battle. Belegar was happy to oblige. He ordered his stalwarts forward and the battle was joined. Belegar and his best warriors formed a wedge of fire-blackened steel, driving straight through the orc battle lines. The sheer number of orcs was overwhelming and Belegar soon found himself surrounded by a sea of green. Bellowing a war cry to the Ancestor Gods of the Dwarves, Belegar redoubled his efforts. His hammer claimed hundreds of lives that day. When he finally reached the gates, his armour was sheathed in gore. Tendrils of flesh clung to his hammer head. Pools of hot red blood lapped at his ankles.

Thane Belegar had destroyed the enemy army, killing over one hundred thousand orcs in the process. The rotten stench of so many dead bodies was almost as bad as one of Ajq's rants on ethics. More orc armies arrived and the battle continued for most of the night, but Belegar did not fight alone. Many of his fellow Dwarf Lords also racked up impressive tallies of dead enemies.

The bombardment began on schedule; horse-sized boulders fell from the sky like the wrath of the gods. The shoddy buildings of the humans buckled and fell beneath the weight of the bombardment. Smoke and fire wreathed into the night sky.

The gates were battered open and the vengeful dwarves stormed inside. A few defenders remained but they were quickly put to the sword. When Ppiotr's knights returned to their home city all they found was a burnt-out husk and mountains of their dead comrades towering over the battlefield.

Great distances separated the remaining towns now, ensuring the war would be a long one. Several enemy cities located close to the Dwarf homeland quit the alliance, choosing to flee the war rather than stand and fight. Some ran after a battle others ran as soon as they saw a dwarf army on the horizon.

Belegar's next target was a TUF member with the odd name of Bikey John. Curiously, he had several cities very close to the dwarf mines and probably posed the biggest danger to them. Four simultaneous sieges were launched to bring him to his knees in one fell swoop. What followed next was a classic example of TUF cowardice in the face of adversity. Rather than defend their comrade, TUF leadership merely kicked Bikey John out of the alliance. They chose to watch him burn rather than defend him. Belegar was puzzled that any TUF member would stay loyal to such craven leadership that refused to defend their own members, but he found the war surprised him more everyday. Bikey John's cities were put to the torch and not a single TUF member lifted a finger in defense.

The war turned inward next and saw the Dwarves besieged in their homeland for the first time in their long history. Lord Barg was sieged by the TUF leader Agalloch. What the orc hoped to accomplish with such a foolish idea is unknown. In any case, a massive horde of over seven hundred thousand orcs landed close to midnight and began to set up a siege. The entire forest seemed to move with them. The ground trembled like an earthquake at their approach.    

Belegar swore a vow that the orcs would never fire a shot and ordered an immediate counter attack. His Lords eagerly answered his call and tens of thousands of dwarf warriors marched in defense of their homeland. Belegar launched his own armies, but hilariously enough, the battle was over before his forces could even reach the battlefield.

All the dwarves fought with honor and valor, but Lord Curiam and Lord Barg fought with particular distinction. Lord Curiam alone killed one hundred and seventy two thousand orcs. The ground ran red with blood until the forest floor was slick with gore. Steaming entrails hissed like snakes, cut from the bellies of the greenskins. Dwarf war shouts clashed with orc bellows just as steel battle axes met crude orc scimitars. Many of the orcs wielded spears, which amounted to little more than sharpened sticks. They wore practically no armour compared to the heavily plated dwarves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The battle lasted for hours, but by dawn, all enemy orcs had been slain and cut down to the last. The siege engines were cut apart and burned; the battering rams reduced to kindling. Belegar's troops arrived to find nothing but dead orcs; stretched across the ground in a literal carpet of corpses. The orcs were piled high and burned. The fires lasted for weeks before finally guttering out on the last orc body. For all his bluster, Agalloch's siege had been destroyed in eight hours. Even the elves had managed to sustain longer sieges.

It was a crushing victory for the dwarves. Over seven hundred thousand orcs had been killed, bringing the total number of casualties inflicted by the dwarves to 1.2. million, a staggering amount for just two weeks of combat. The dwarves drank deeply that night, delving deep into their storehouses of ale.

The horribly botched siege on Lord Barg also netted the Dwarves another enemy city. Viperone, who had started running as soon as war was declared, had launched a siege feint at Barg. What Viper hoped to accomplish with such a tactic Belegar had no idea. Scouts revealed the siege as a fake before the enemy troops were even halfway to Barg's city and rather than a distraction, the fake attack gave the dwarves the perfect opportunity to raze one of Viper's cities. The pathetic human siege could only crawl across the ground, moving at a snail's pace. The counter sieges launched by Thane Belegar and Lord Aubrey were twice as fast. Their superior engineers transported the siege equipment with ease.

Unable to exodus, Viper committed the exact same mistake as Ppjiotr and just like his comrade, he also lost his city. Lord Aubrey lead the vanguard while Belegar commanded the second siege. Several blockades were set on the surrounding plains. A heavy amount of siege trains were used and stalwarts crushed the huge orc armies hiding behind the walls. Viper provided some brief humor with a hilariously bad sortie of orc kobolds. The two sieges reduced the city very quickly, leading to Lord Aubrey's dwarves storming and capturing the city.

The dwarves returned home after yet another victory when news of fresh enemy sieges reached Belegar's ears. But these were no ordinary sieges. TUF had sent attacks at High King Belargyle. His own sacred cities were under direct assault. But the dwarves had no fear because King Belargyle was an old soldier. The Thane was nothing but an inexperienced greenhorn compared to Belarglye. Troops were roused and orders giving. The King was going to war.

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Troops were dispatched from the homeland to aid the King, but in the meantime Belargyle defended his towns with his local forces. First to die was a siege launched by TUF member Karl, who just edged out Viper for worst military leader of all time. They siege had tens of thousands of troops and a few dozen catapults, but they were no match for Belargyle's stalwarts. Karl would go on to lose all his sieges over the next few days and suffer almost a complete loss of every soldier under his command.

Numerous blockades landed on the nearby plains. Curiously, the troops were mostly equipped with anti-infantry armour. It came as a great surprise then when the King swept down from his mountain stronghold at the head of a  mounted force of rune riders, butchering the poorly planned blockades with contemptuous ease. Ajq participated in some of the action as well; oddly enough he equipped his troops with anti-spear gear. Presumably he feared a spear attack or perhaps he was using the gear having lost a debate on its effectiveness. Whatever the cause, the result every where was the same; total defeat of all enemy forces.

In just a few short days, King Belargyle had restored order and secured his cities. He raised new armies as well, eager to avenge the desecration of the sacred soil around his cities.

Yet another TUF siege failed soon after when they attempted to siege a female merchant of the Dwarven Lords, Lady Gladys. Ajq sent the last of his troops along with a few others. It was a tough and bitter fight and the siege might have worked, but Karl left over half his troops at home, choosing to let his alliance mates die for him. It was a fairly typical example of the lack of coordination and leadership on TUF's part. Had Karl sent all his troops; they siege may well have been successful because Lady Gladys was not a warrior and her town was far from the homeland. In the end, the dwarves once again prevailed and destroyed the siege.

The war turned north with Belegar determined to dig the coward Karl out of the holes he was hiding in. To that end he dispatched his best scouts to discern what remained of Karl's armies. It was several days journey to the north lands, but Belegar's experienced scouts were equal to the task. They brought back reports of small to moderately sized armies. Nothing large enough for a true warrior. Many other TUF towns were in the area as well, but they all cut and ran at the first sign of danger, cowardly abandoning Karl to his fate.

Dual sieges were launched. As predicated, Karl quickly bolted with one of his cities, following the example of his comrades. During the fighting, Karl frequently renamed his towns. Evidently he hoped this would confuse the dwarves. The dwarves had actually recorded scouting reports from all of his cities by coordinates, but changing the names was probably his best defensive tactic of the war.

Belegar's siege landed at midday and was met with light spoiling attacks, but nothing major. However, Belegar knew that a sizable orc horde awaited within the walls and they soon emerged to do battle. Belegar advanced at the head of his stalwarts. The fighting was fierce and bitter with high casualties on both sides. Many other sieges landed on Karl's other cities. Battles raged across the northern lands of Illy.

Belegar recognized some of Agalloch's orcs amidst the fighting. Evidently the churlish orc thought Karl was worth defending while other TUF members were not. Belegar's troops were happy to kill them as well. Karl's troops were a confused mix of spears and infantry. It was unclear if Karl had any troop production plan or whether he even knew how to build a decent military city.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The battle raged in until the dawn, but soon events from the south overshadowed the fight here. It seems that the inept TUF leadership had managed to blunder into another war. The war involved TUF and the Broken Lands based alliance YARR, a self-styled band of pirates who were fond of rum. TUF wished to surrender, which was understandable given that they were on the verge of being annihilated in the north and had yet to win one significant victory while suffering numerous heavy defeats.

Belegar accepted TUF's surrender. As part of the terms Karl was forced to exo all his remaining towns to the Broken Lands. With last of TUF's towns removed from Elgea, Belegar had achieved his goals he had envisioned from the outset of war.

Over the next few weeks events unfolded rather strangely. Rumors of wars swirled around the YARR-TUF conflict. TUF recruited mercenaries to help them fight. But no one could have predicted what happened next. Several TUF players used forbidden sorcery to command troops and build cities that were not their own. Belegar had heard rumors of TUF doing the same to fight his Dwarves, but he had never been able to determine whether there was any truth to the matter. But TUF members were utilizing the forbidden magic now and their actions gravely offended the great blue gods in the sky. Though distant, these blue beings from the great beyond wielded terrible power and they struck down several TUF members for their crimes.

At the time of this writing, TUF no longer exists.

Many grudges were avenged during the war, but many more were entered into the Dammaz Kron. As the saying goes, no matter how many grudges are made right, the book of grudges is always full. As surely as the sun rises, Belegar will avenge them all.

 

  

                                          

 

 

 

 

 

                                             

 

 

 

 

                                             Present Day

High King Belegar is the proud ruler of twenty cities. He cares little for trade or any other such nonsense. It is his sincere hope that the Bitter Sea drowns the Broken Lands and washes it clean of all its miserable inhabitants. He wants nothing to do with their petty games and foolish wars.  

The years have passed quickly. Streaks of gray stain Belegar's beard, resembling the mountain granite that forms his home. He is a dwarf of few words, and rarely enters the peasants hall anymore. He wears a thick cloak with his armour, to ward off some unseen chill. His sieges are frequent. High King Belegar prefers to do his talking with an axe. He does not ask for mercy nor does he give any as he did in his younger days. His face is an impassive wall of stone. One look from his wrathful eyes is enough to quell any dispute. 

Belegar is the mailed fist of the Dwarven Lords and he cares about no other loyalty or alliance. His years have taught him to keep your true friends close, and no friend is greater than a fellow dwarf. 

His armies are on the move, protecting the weak, and setting his enemies to flight. Thane Belegar has razed dozens of cities. His commanders are skilled and brave, and Belegar himself still takes to the field regularly for the joy of battle cannot be denied. 

Belegar extends friendship to all dwarves of Illyriad and invites them to join the bearded fellowship of the Dwarven Lords. To all other races he offers peace and health. But like any dwarf he does not shy away from war. His armies are ever expanding and his swords are sharp. He does not run from conflict. 

All this is but a small part of the saga of High King Belegar Ironhammer, the rest of the story, as they say, is being written every day.

It is said that when the dwarves die, their spirits return unto the stone. This is not a reference to some mythic ideal but rather to the actual stone that surrounds them. It is the roof over their head, the ground under their feet, the very matrix from which their statutes and architecture is drawn from. Is it an wonder that they feel such a reverence towards it?

              - Rikard Kan, historian, "Chronicle of the Dwarves: Volume IV" year 723

They are as unyielding as a mountain and as strong as the stone beneath their feet. Their anger burns like a forge, hot and fierce. Not even all the waters of the Bitter Sea could quench their thirst for vengeance. To wrong a dwarf is more foolish than slitting your own throat. 

             - Bronn Lyad, explorer, "The Mountain Folk: A History" year unknown 

Official Clan Angrund Battle Hymn: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqqaHBRRvus