Times Forgotten (Post Five)

Baldrik had chosen the smallest and oldest of the stone huts, set far back and away from the rest of the way-station.  Like the others, it was intricately carved with the blocky designs and patters common to the dwarves.  The snake-like dragon Rigzban could be seen curling his way from the depths of the Black Mountain, a retelling of the exodus of the dwarves from their homeland thousands of years past.  Other stories dotted the building, scenes both considered true and fictional but important to the dwarvish history nonetheless.  Time and weather had faded them, but it did not take from their beauty.

Alec brushed his hand over the carvings as he entered, stopping for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the dark interior.  Baldrik had covered the lone window with a cloth and lit a fire, its smoke making the hut hazy and rather stifling to the human's nose.  "I see you've made yourself at home..."  He turned to the dwarf who was sitting on the stone bench built into one of the walls.  "Though we will be leaving shortly.  I want to give the men the night to rest and pack, then by daybreak we leave for Gaewyn and your audience with the King."  Alec shifted one of the belts holding his cloak up as he watched the old Dwarf.

Baldrik set down the pair of leather gloves he had been mending before looking up.  "Ay, I be figgrin' we be leaving soon.  Alls th' better.  Gets me back to me forges faster."  He stood and moved over to his dark leather bags, tossing the gloves onto the pile.  "Though I also be figgrin that's not why you be here right now."  He kept his back turned as he began rummaging through one of the packs.

Alec cleared his throat, "What happened in the forest?"

"Can't be sayin'."  The dwarf kept his attention on whatever he was looking for.

"But you would have had to see something.  One minute I was there on that cart, the next I wasn't."  Alec pounded his fist into his palm.  "What did you see, Good Dwarf?"

Baldrik turned to look at Alec over his shoulder, his eyes dark and serious.  "I see'd you jumpin' from that cart an' runnin' off into th' woods like a mad-man.  That's what I see'd."  He turned his back again, still shifting things about in the pack.

"But... But I didn't.  That's not what I did.  You were just gone."

"Then why do you be asking me what I see'd if you already know?"  Finding what he was looking for, the dwarf stood and turned, something wrapped in a purple velvet cloth in his heavy hand.  "In any case, if you be heading through those woods again, make sure y'er carrying this."  He held the small package out for Alec to take, the delicate fabric strange in his rough fingers.  Baldrik pulled it back at the last moment as Alec reached for it, "Don't be opening it 'till ye need it." He extended the velvet wrapped item again, this time allowing Alec to take it.

"It's... Heavy.  What is it?"  Alec shifted it from hand to hand, noting the tiny gold stitch work along the edges of the velvet.  "It's Elvish."

"The fabric?  Ay.  But what's inside is much, much older."

Alec looked at the soft purple fabric for a moment before tucking it into a pouch at his side.  "But you can't tell me anything about what it does?"

"I could, but what fun would it be?"  The dwarf smiled a toothy grin and chuckled.  Alec grimaced in response.  "Be about yer men.  We survived, and now we need ter move.  The King is waiting."  With that Baldrik grabbed his gloves back up and returned to his task, ending the conversation.

Alec watched Baldrik for a moment, more than a little frustrated by the dwarf's refusal of a clear answer.  "Just be ready to leave by daybreak.  We can't lose any time."  A grunt was all he received in reply.  The weapons master turned to leave, ready to be back out in the fresh air.  dwarven society flourished in the smoky, soot-filled air of their dark tunnels.  Humans, on the other hand, could find it rather oppressive.

Kalif was waiting outside, leaning against the corner of the building, still playing with his bruised nose.  "It'll never heal properly if you keep prodding at it."

The Second looked up, quickly removing his hand from his face.  "I know, but it's gone numb.  Such a strange feeling."

"Well, if it heals odd, then I guess you'll have to come up with a good story for it.  You don't want everyone knowing it was a punch from your delirious captain."    Kalif scoffed.  "In any case, let the men know we leave at first light.  Eat well, sleep well, and pack up by morning.  Be about it."  The Second saluted and turned towards the main cluster of the camp, leaving Alec alone outside the small stone hut.

He made his way back towards his tent.  He had much to get done before they left in the morning, and time was quickly running out.

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Times Forgotten (Post Four)

They had camped at an old way-station, an outpost that was often used by travelers and merchants when they had business with the Iron Wells.  His men's tents, made of deep crimson and bright yellow fabric and emblazoned with the bust of a golden ram, were easy to pick out in the quickly thinning forest.  He could see that they had already begun setting up a central fire and pulling out a large cast-iron cook pot.

Alec's belly rumbled, reminding him that he had not eaten since he left the camp that morning.  Food had not been an issue since their departure from Gaewyn, something that his group was certainly not used to; the hardships of war extended well beyond the ends of each battle.  No, the luxury of stopping at each town and city had kept their pack animals loaded and their bellies full.  The King's coin made sure of it.

His men saluted their commander casually as he walked by, many with a quick glib aimed at Kalif who still followed close behind.  The bleeding had stopped, but his nose was still very red; Alec's fist had made a solid connection.  The Second just glared at them, sometimes coming back with a retort of his own.  Alec just laughed, keeping the uneasiness he felt buried deep inside.  It wasn't every day that things of this nature happened, and he didn't want to worry his men more than he needed to.  Besides, as far as he could tell, there was no serious harm done and he had received the worst of it by far.

It wasn't long before they came to the entrance of a tent with three gold streamers flying from an extended central mast, marking it as Alec's.  "Find Firehammer.  Tell him that I should want to see him shortly."  He shifted and fidgeted in his gilded and polished officer armor.  Not meant for battle, it was lighter than the plate that he normally wore, but stiff and uncomfortable from disuse.  "I want to get out of this formal gear and into something more appropriate, and then I must talk to him."  He turned to Kalif and clapped the man on the shoulder in dismissal.  His second saluted and made his way towards one of the old stone structures at the back of the way station.

Alec sighed and undid the strap holding his tent closed. The cool, dark interior that greeted him was refreshing though he knew that he couldn't stay for long.  He tossed his bright red cloak onto a stand and began undoing his stiff, uncomfortable armor.  As he stretched for the rear clasps holding his cuirass, his fingers brushed over some strange marks in the metal.  He pulled the plate off and turned it around, startled to find claw-marks etched deep into the decorative gilding.  Claw marks that had not been there when he put the armor on.

A shudder ran through him as he laid the piece down on his cot.  Not many things had that effect on the weapons master, but being so helpless and close to death reminded him of just how small he was.  Indeed, he was nothing more than a single officer in a vast army, easily replaceable and easily forgotten.  The world and everything that happened in it was beyond him.  The balance of power, ever changing as it was, left him feeling like a piece of wood floating in frothy white rapids.  If left unchecked, he couldn't help but feel swept up in it all.

He quickly turned the plate over, not wanting to dwell any longer, and continued to pull off the rest of his rigid armor.  A groan of relief left him as he finally shrugged out of his red velvet covered arming doublet, heaping the padded garment with the rest of his Officer's armor as he stretched his sore shoulders and back.  Even if the riding was smooth, it should be at least a couple weeks before he would have need of the flashy armor again, and he couldn't be more glad.  Finery had never held any attraction for him, as it only seemed to complicate things.  Oftentimes, simplicity was much more useful.

Alec pulled off his damp undershirt and tossed it aside.  A bucket of cold, clean water sat next to his cot, a cloth laid neatly over the edge.  He made quick work of washing up; the air was much warmer at the base of the mountain, but the early nip of winter could already be felt.  He quickly tugged on a clean undershirt before selecting a dark blue shirt to go over it.  Though much less formal, the shirt still held the gold Ram Insignia on his left breast and sported three gold bands around each cuff to represent his rank.  His fine, light-brown paints with gold embroidery were replaced with another, still brown but lacking the fine stitch-work.  His polished black boots were replaced with a plain, dark brown pair that was much more suited for the long ride back to Gaewyn.  Finally, he threw a dark red cloak around his shoulders.  The trailing edge held the three bars of his rank, and the clasp had the Ram etched into its gold surface.

With one last stretch and a quick smoothing of his garments, Alec pulled open the entrance to his tent and stepped back out into the light.  Kalif stood to the side, ready to escort Alec to the dwarf.  "He's waiting for you in one of the old stone huts back this way." The Second gestured to the line of old stone structures left from when the Dwarves first moved in to the Iron Well.  With Alec's nod, he turned to lead the way.

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Times Forgotten (Post Three)

Alec realized that he was more nervous now than he had been in a very long time.  Numerous battles had come and gone, his life dangling on a wire many-a-time, and still they could not match the tension that had seeped into him now.  He had to remind himself to breath, slowly and evenly, or else he would never be able to react in time should something actually happen.  He glanced back off into the darkness.  Now is not the time to forget his training.

Alec returned his gaze forward, only it was no longer what had been there before.  Instead he found himself looking back into the trees where that darkness waited.  He shuddered and closed his eyes but when he opened them, nothing had changed.  Then he realized that the horse was gone.  Baldrik was no longer beside him on the bench.  Instead it was just him, alone, surrounded by ancient trees and looking straight into the darkness now looming ahead.  A darkness that was now seemingly alive and creeping forward.

He tried to call out, but his voice failed him.  In fact, his entire body was rooted to the spot.  His sword sat in his lap, hand on the pommel, but he could will nothing to move.  Instead he sat, transfixed on the now smoke-like shadows.  Tendrils twined and snaked, disturbed by an unfelt breeze, as they wormed their way forward.  A subtle hiss could be heard as dropped pine needles scattered in the passing.

Suddenly it was cold, colder than any winter storm Alec had felt.  His breath puffed unsteadily in the chill but his brow continued to bead sweat.  His fingers twitched uselessly over his sword.  Still the smoke rolled forward.  He could smell it now, like stale air trapped for far too long.  His vision began to blur as his eyes watered from the cold.

Soon it stopped, a smoky wall swirling no more than an arm's length from where Alec sat frozen in his seat.  His past rolled through his head.  He thought of all the times that he should have been dead, all the wounds that he had taken in the service of his king.  It stung him that, after it was all said and done, he should leave this world in such a helpless state.  His teeth gritted as he stared the darkness down.  The least he could do was look death in the face.

Suddenly, many hands shot out of the smoke like snakes.  Grey, peeling skin rasped like leaves as their long, spindly fingers grabbed at Alec, pulling him off his seat and hoisting him into the air.  A strange face slowly rose from the smoke, gaunt skin was pulled tight over too-high cheekbones and a long, narrow chin.  Silver teeth glistened from under parched lips, and shriveled lids hung over empty eye sockets.  Wisps of grey smoke curled from every orifice.

It rose slowly, shoulders sharp and angular soon leaning forward, bringing the face inches from Alec's.  He could feel his body trembling despite his best wishes.  Hands moved to cradle the weapons master's head, forcing him to look deep into the dry, empty sockets of the creature.

"Blood of the Haz'Raith, soul of the Redkin.  Mountains shall fall in his passing.  Dust to those who follow."  It drew him closer still, its nails digging into his temples as silver teeth began to gnash.  Then it was gone.

Alec's vision blurred and he slumped.  He was aware of being shaken, but not much else.  For a few brief seconds in his stupor he thought the creature had come back.  Instinct took over and he threw a fist, guessing as best as he could where his foe was.  It made contact with a crack and a yowl.  And oddly human yowl.

He shook his head and did his best to blink the haze away.  As his vision slowly cleared he could make out men surrounding him.  His second in command, Kalif, sat back a few feet nursing a bloody nose.  A steady stream of curses could be heard coming from him.

"What happened?"  Alec rubbed his bruised knuckles with his other hand.  He was still a little light headed from his ordeal.

"You damn near leveled Kalif, sir."  The casual reply received a few snickers from the group of men standing around.

"You'd be out cold if it had been you!"  Kalif's retort was muffled through blood and his hands.  The men laughed.

"No, no.  I see that, and I am truly sorry Kalif, but what happened?  How did I get here?"  He looked past the men to see that they were in a clearing somewhere in the younger, outer layers of the forest.  Neither the cart or Baldrik were anywhere in sight.  "Where is Firehammer?"

"Firehammer is fine.  After you disappeared, he steered the cart to the camp and got us out looking for you."  Alec had always kept and easy air with his closest men and so they felt confident speaking to him as an equal.  His ability to keep level with them is part of what gained him such great respect in the ranks.  "As to how you got here?  We were hoping that you could tell us."

The men became serious and all eyes turned to him.  Alec firmed his jaw and stood, if a bit shakily, with the aid of the tree at his back.  "I can't rightly say what happened.  I'm not even sure if I know myself.  I have no memory of ending up here, or even leaving the cart for that matter."  He turned to look back into the forest, a brief shudder running through him, but he checked it before his men could notice.  "Though I suppose the important thing is that Baldrik is safe.  For now, let us return to camp and prepare for the night.  We leave at dawn tomorrow."

His men snapped their heels in attention and saluted before turning back towards camp.  Kalif, still covering his nose with a bloody cloth, waited behind with Alec.  "Sir, forgive me, but are sure that you are alright?"

"That I am, Kal."  He put a hand on his second's shoulder in reassurance.  "I don't know what happened, but a little food and some rest will have me back to top shape."  He looked around again, absently rubbing his chin in thought.  "On that note, where exactly are we?"  All he could see were trees beyond the clearing.  Any smoke from the camp was still hidden by the canopy above.

"We're about a half mile south east of the camp right now.  It's a fairly easy walk"  Kal gestured in the direction of the camp as he spoke.

"Then we best get back.  I need to talk to Firehammer immediately."  Alec took a step and stumbled, still feeling weaker than he expected to.  Kal caught him and supported him by his shoulders.  With his second's aid, Alec started towards the trees again in silence.  He had a lot to think about, and many unanswered questions floated through his head.  Hopefully Baldrik would be able to shed some light for him.

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Times Forgotten (Post Two)

Fortunately, though it was still a ways off, the smoke from his men's fire was easy to see over the treetops, the lazy grey streamer drifting up into the crystal blue sky.  They had been lucky that the mountains had blessed them with a rare bit fair weather, something that would soon become a memory once winter fully descended the rocky slopes.  Alec looked up at the snowy peaks of the Thorn Mountains, well aware that their storms are the stuff of legends.  Many men, both friend and foe of the dwarves, had been lost in sudden whips of lethal fury from these mountains.  Survivors would tell stories about how the roaring winds would hurl the snow so hard that any exposed skin would be worn raw in minutes.

He also knew that, despite the untouched look of this particular peak, named Rorrin's Horn after Baldrik's ancient ancestor, the dwarves had many eyes watching them at all times.  Story told that the entire mountain had been turned into a winding network of tunnels and lookouts, masterfully crafted in such a way that the untrained eye would never see them.  Dwarves could be devilishly sneaky creatures when it came to protecting their secrets.  The man sighed and returned his attention to the path ahead of them.

As they travelled farther and farther down into the tree line, leaving that area above which nothing grew, it became harder and harder to pick out the camp's fire.  Soon they were enveloped in a mass of towering, ancient pines that cut off everything but brief glimpses of the sky directly above.  It was deceptively peaceful, the sounds and smells of the forest so serene and seemingly untouched.  Yet any wise man knew that ancient trees often harbored ancient creatures who would fiercely protect their home.  This place was no exception.  Between the unforgiving mountains and the surrounding forest, it was not hard to understand why the Iron Wells remained hidden for so long.

Indeed, even one as experienced with a blade as Alec could feel worry here.  He reached over and checked that his sword was close by and ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.  Even Baldrik had stopped his muttering and was warily watching the surrounding trees.

"You dwarves surely know how to pick a perfect spot to call home..."  Alec tried his best to release at least some of his tension.  There was nothing to be alarmed of.  Yet.

"Aye, we do be knowing the value of our home."  Baldrik still sounded distant, but his eyes were sharp.  "Asides, what we be here for lies 'neath us. We don't be caring too much for what's up here."

The dwarf's ability to insert his disdain for the surface into almost anything he said was astounding.  Alec just shook his head again; "Yes, I know."

They fell back into silence as both were too involved in watching and listening to the forest around them.  Even the horses were listening.  Their ears were flicking wildly, and they hardly made a noise but for the sound of their hooves in the dead pine needles on the ground for there was no paved path for them to follow.  Instead Alec guided his wagon through the woods following subtle markers and clues placed by the dwarves.  Things simple as a fallen tree, positioned just so, or a pile of rocks that, to any untrained passerby, would seem completely natural.  Dwarves could be sneaky, but these were exceptionally so.

"We be watched.  And it aint me boys."  Baldrik's voice was low and gruff.  He still seemed outwardly uninterested, but there was a hint of the tension now built up in the stubby dwarf's body: the tip of a studded mace could be seen sticking out from under the folds of his heavy cloak.

A subtle nod of Baldrik's head directed Alec's hooded gaze to the right of the wagon, off into the dark thicket of trees.  The gloom was so heavy that the man could hardly see anything, but he could almost feel whatever was watching them, lurking just out of eyesight.  The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  "Can you tell what it is?"

"Aint no way to be knowin'.  Most men 'er dead that's seen what be out here."  He paused and rubbed a finger under his nose, sniffling heavily before returning his hand to his cloak.  "Though I don't be thinkin' we in trouble just yet. 'Else it wouldn't a showed isself."

Alec supposed the old dwarf had a point.  Part of him found it odd that the tribe of the Iron Well would allow their founder and leader to tread this dangerous path out of the peak.  He supposed that the dwarves in all their secrecy saw move value in keeping their cards close than in a single, albeit legendary, dwarf smith.  It might even have been at Baldrik's command: regardless of how things turned out, the forges would still be burning long after Baldrik Firehammer joined his ancestors in the hallowed halls of the afterlife.

The weapons master continued to glance in the direction of whatever was following them between course adjustments.  He never once caught a glimpse of it beyond a darker shadow shrouded in even more shadow.  He found the sudden silence unsettling.  Besides the creaking of the wagon and the clop of hooves through the underbrush, there was not a sound to be heard.  Any breeze had gone still, birds and forest critters had ceased what they were doing.  It felt almost as if one giant, collective breath was being held in anticipation for what would come next.

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The Times Forgotten (Post One)

"It's too damned cold out here." The old dwarf shivered further into his fur-lined cloak and pulled his scarf up over his knobby nose.  His stubby toes were wiggling in his old but sturdy boots as they dangled over the wagon's seat edge.  His companion just looked over and chuckled at the grumpy dwarf before turning back to the reins in his hands.

"Come now, you can't say that this is anything you've never experienced before!"  He cast out a hand to gesture at the forest around them, barely white from the season's first snow.  "It's hardly cold enough to see one's own breath!"

"Aye, I feeled it afore. Dun mean I liked it."  He grumbled some more while continuing to huddle back into his cloak.  "Asides, I aint no damned surface creature."  He pounded his fist on the side of the wagon before hastily withdrawing it into his warm coverings and grumbling all the louder.

"My, if you keep scooting back into that cloak, I fear that you will plain disappear."  He reached out to pat the surly dwarf on the shoulder, still chuckling.

"I din ask ter be out here.  I din ask ter come. Aint where I'm posed to be."  His long, braided, fire-orange and grey-streaked beard waggled from under his scarf as he complained, almost like it had some life of its own.  The charms and binders woven into it clanked and chattered with the movement, the metal and stone sounding sharp against his gravelly voice, already muffled by his scarf as it was.  "I'm apposed to be at the forges.  Fire and steel are apposed ter be in my hands."  It was easy to see the dwarf's thick hands flexing under his cloak in remembrance of their tools as he spoke.  His eyes stared off distantly.

"We shall be back in the halls of the Iron Well before you know it.  Have no fear.  I understand this is not what you wanted."  He patted the dwarf on the shoulder again, only this time sympathetically.  The gruff creature hardly noticed.

Indeed the old dwarf had been the last one wanting to undertake this journey.  He had spent the last two hundred of his three hundred years among his brethren deep in the caverns of the Iron Forge, bending steel and stone to his will, shaping some of the most beautiful armor and weapons the land of Airins Gale had ever seen.  So good were they that some said they rivaled relics from the Times Forgotten, pieces created by beings of old using magics that had long since been erased from memory.  This was Baldrik Firehammer, the most renowned smith any land had seen in generations, and he did not take lightly to being pulled from his home among the fires.

His companion, a weapons master known as Alec the Blooded, had been sent with ten of his best men to escort the smith to the city of Gaewyn, the capital of Airins Gale.  The king, Haethryn of the Golden Steps, had requested an audience with a member of the Firehammer clan to thank them for their support in his war of ascension.  Since he first lit its fires, Baldrik had almost never been seen to leave the Well. That the new king was able to force the old dwarf out was just a show to help cement Haethryn's title.

"Had I knowed he's goin ter pull me out, I'da never sold tha fool boy me blades.  I can't stand none o' these politics.  Leave a nasty taste in me mouth."  Baldrik briefly pulled his scarf down and spat over the side of the wagon before covering his nose again, still fuming.  Alec watched him grimly, knowing full well that the dwarf was known for his anger and hot words, but not able to easily accept slander against his king.  Still, he kept his mouth shut.

For a while the only sound coming from the two was the constant grumbling and moaning of the dwarf.  Alec had decided it was best to leave the smith to his misery since nothing seemed to lighten the mood.  Instead he paid full attention to the woods around them.  His men had to camp a ways down the mountain face due to the dwarves' fear of drawing attention to the exact location of the entrance to the Iron Well.  So he knew that he and the smith were vulnerable in the time until they joined back up with his troop.  Baldrik could fetch a pretty penny on any day and he had made plenty of enemies in the ascension of the Golden Steps.  It was well known that his clan's work had enabled Haethryn to win the war.

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