Post by Milo Brightmane on Dec 19, 2019 13:59:10 GMT
It was the day before the final battle for K’ul Goran. In the morning almost every adventurer, soldier and mercenary would be travelling to the land across the bay to put up one final defence for the nation of minotaurs and air genasi. Milo had considered not going. Despite his pledge to Gety some months ago he felt less like an adventurer every day. This whole month he had spent in the Hammerfall, taking orders, banging out tools and supplies, though the rise in demand for weaponry as the war continued had certainly not been bad for business.
What was his place here now? Was he a simple merchant, a craftsman? That was where his heart lay, to work on the finest pieces, to impress with his skill and knowledge of metalwork. But he could have done that in Citadel Adbar. Instead he had followed the voice of Moradin, and a yearning to work hard and work well was balanced by a calling to go out and help, to protect. And now here was a war. He had seen the beginning of it, the first march of the giants, had fled from Stormbreak Fort before it fell. And since then, what? He had not returned.
He told himself he needed to focus on the smithy, how would he live with no business… but not so deeply inside he thought that he was just a coward. While lives were being lost across the water, instead of helping he had been indulging his own whims and homesickness by visiting Vorsthold. And when that had not dulled the persistent voice that told him to help, to protect, people were dying, he had thrown himself into work. He could not quiet the voice so he had tried to drown it out with the sound of hammer on metal. His noisy days had been free of doubt but his nights had been long and torturous, and he would wake exhausted from grappling with his own conscience.
Well, no longer. The call for a final defence had prompted something in him. If he didn’t go now, he would never be able to live with himself. He would always carry that shame. His work would suffer, and that would never do. So he was here now, taking part in the traditional Dwarven preparation for war – getting blind drunk.
He sat at a low table strewn with tankards and glasses, a few other dwarves with him, drinking steadily and methodically. Each in turn had been singing, of family, of battle, of the ancestors, and the next song was Milo’s. Tapping out a rhythm with his tankard he began in a crackling baritone, the Dwarvish words harsh in this room where Common and Elvish flowed like honey:
I live strong and I live to fight
I fight with honour and I battle for home
I live strong and live to protect
I protect my clan and I protect my home
Fill up our mugs! Be safe!
Go with Berronar! Be safe!
My friends, my brothers, my clan.
My life is with Moradin. Be safe!
The air is dark, the stones are bloody.
My King gives me strength.
Fight the enemy, spill their blood.
The blood of my ancestors gives me strength.
As Milo closed off the last long note, his voice breaking a little, a raucous applause and hollering began from a table nearby. Turning to see the source, Milo laid eyes on a gnome, face wrinkled like an apple left in the sun. He must be very old indeed. Milo gave a small bow, a little unsteadily, and the little man hopped down from his seat to the protestations of the bright-faced young Gnomish girl with him.
“Grandpa, come back here, you’re bothering people! I’m sorry sir,” she said, addressing Milo. “He gets like this after a few drinks.”
“No problem, no problem at all,” Milo smiled back at the girl, before focusing on the old gnome. Even standing next to Milo’s already low seat the ancient man barely came to eye level. He grabbed Milo by the arm shouting “Wonderful! Wonderful! So good to hear a proper Dwarvish war song again, it’s been a long, long time.” He dropped Milo’s arm and instead took his hand. “Adrain Dahle. Lovely to meet you, lovely to meet you. And you are… Milo Brightmane! As if you could be anyone else. I used to be a bit of a smith myself you know, nothing major, more of a hobby really.”
Milo managed to extract his hand as the old man’s eyes skittered across Milo’s face, unable to rest or entirely focus. “Ah, is that right? And what do you do now Mr Dahle?”
“Candlemaker!” came the outburst. “Oh yes, for maybe sixty years now. Of course, it’s more of a hobby really. I’ve done a bit of everything in my life, candles, smithing, uh, bit of leatherwork, jewellery, beer making, general tinkering. Oh yes, I’m very crafty,” he said, giving Milo a wink. “All more hobbies than work though, really. Why settle when you can do a bit of everything! Though perhaps if I had half your talent at a thing, maybe I would have settled a long time ago! I’ve seen some of your work, even the mundane stuff, building tools, there’s great quality there, it can’t be denied.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you. I do my best, and I was trained by the best.”
“Grandpa, come away, you’ve said your piece,” came the girl’s fluting voice.
“My granddaughter, Edel. She does fuss, but she’s got a heart of gold. Between you and me, I’m hoping she’ll take over the business one day.”
“But which one?” Milo countered with a grin. The old man looked extremely pleased, laughing out “Indeed! Indeed! Which one, oh my, wonderful. Whichever one she likes I suppose, just like me. Well, don’t mind me, carry on. But if you ever need someone who’s seen a bit of the world, you come find me. I’ve done a bit of everything, and I know a bit of everyone. And now I know you.” With a huge smile the old man turned, patting Milo on the arm, “Carry on, carry on,” and wandered back to his seat.
****
It was a while later, and Milo was on his way home. The natural Dwarvish resistance to poisons would take care of any hangover – the main issue currently was finding his way through the narrow streets back towards Castleside and Short Street (actually a reasonable length, but some past town planner had noted the growing population of Dwarves there and hadn’t been able to resist the joke). As he meandered down the street he hummed another song which had done the rounds near the end of the evening:
If drow come we’ll fight to the end
If orcs come we’ll fight and battle
If giants come we’ll fight in a rage
If duergar come we’ll fight and destroy
A simple song, good for getting the blood pumping. As he turned left he could see the imposing shadow of Fort Daring just beyond the walls. He must be getting close. Off to one side of the road, however, he could hear a plaintive voice calling, “Hello? Hello? I don’t know… where I am…”
As Milo got closer a shape emerged, a rotund human male, face ruddy and eye bleared with drink, long sideburns drooping sadly. “Can’t seem to find… my house…” he slurred. “Where are we?”
“Castleside. See the big castle?” The man looked aghast at the shape towering over the nearby wall which he had somehow missed up to that point, then clasped a hand to his forehead. “Castleside?! Oh, I’m clear on the wrong side of town.” He sat down heavily on a stack of crates abandoned on the side of the road which groaned underneath him, put his face into his hands and groaned along with them. Milo couldn’t help but take pity on him.
“Look, I’m just around the corner from here. Let me put you up for the night, you can find your way back when it’s light.”
The man’s face brightened like the dawning sun that was still some hours away. “Really? Thank you, thank you so much. You have made,” clapping a hand on less of Milo’s shoulder than he had intended, “a friend in Theodore Matsouka.”
On the way back to the Hammerfall Smithy, Theodore talked to Milo about his own business. “I run a lovely hostel, down in South Stoneside.” Milo hadn’t heard of any hostel in South Stoneside. “Aha, well, I run a very tight ship. I won’t have just anyone staying under my roof!” Milo wondered who Theodore had staying with him currently. “Let’s think now, there’s my cousin Dorothy, my second cousin Nathaniel, Matthias the son of my godfather’s first wife, my dear auntie Theodora…” Milo couldn’t help noting that Theodore seemed to mostly rent rooms to family. “Well, I can hardly turn away family, can I? What kind of man would I be if family came to this wonderful place after I had told them all about its marvels, and then refused to put them up?” He paused for a second, apparently waiting for an answer to what had seemed a rhetorical question, before continuing “Not a very good one, I’ll tell you. But I’m not entirely a pushover, no sir. They don’t stay for free. I’m from a very talented family, they have all sorts of skills, so they go out and do the odd job and keep us afloat.” And you sit at home watching the money drift in, Milo thought to himself, but despite this he couldn’t help liking the jovial, emotive human.
In the rooms above the smithy Milo made up a makeshift bed, a pile of blankets, for which Theodore was effusively grateful. In the morning, when Milo awoke, Theodore was gone, but had left a scratchy note of thanks, and an insistence that if Milo ever needed anything he ask Theodore first, who would put his family right on it. Smiling, Milo began to prepare for his travel to K’ul Goran, where he would do what he could.
Walking towards the Portal Plaza, spotting others clad in armour, weapons swinging at their side, all heading in the same direction, his memory brought back another verse of the final song of the night:
Ten of us will strike you like thunder
A hundred of us will shatter your heart
A thousand of us will destroy and obliterate
Ten thousand of us will be the wrath of the Heavens
The first song is based on this video I found.
The second song is based on verses from 'Wolf Totem' by The HU.
What was his place here now? Was he a simple merchant, a craftsman? That was where his heart lay, to work on the finest pieces, to impress with his skill and knowledge of metalwork. But he could have done that in Citadel Adbar. Instead he had followed the voice of Moradin, and a yearning to work hard and work well was balanced by a calling to go out and help, to protect. And now here was a war. He had seen the beginning of it, the first march of the giants, had fled from Stormbreak Fort before it fell. And since then, what? He had not returned.
He told himself he needed to focus on the smithy, how would he live with no business… but not so deeply inside he thought that he was just a coward. While lives were being lost across the water, instead of helping he had been indulging his own whims and homesickness by visiting Vorsthold. And when that had not dulled the persistent voice that told him to help, to protect, people were dying, he had thrown himself into work. He could not quiet the voice so he had tried to drown it out with the sound of hammer on metal. His noisy days had been free of doubt but his nights had been long and torturous, and he would wake exhausted from grappling with his own conscience.
Well, no longer. The call for a final defence had prompted something in him. If he didn’t go now, he would never be able to live with himself. He would always carry that shame. His work would suffer, and that would never do. So he was here now, taking part in the traditional Dwarven preparation for war – getting blind drunk.
He sat at a low table strewn with tankards and glasses, a few other dwarves with him, drinking steadily and methodically. Each in turn had been singing, of family, of battle, of the ancestors, and the next song was Milo’s. Tapping out a rhythm with his tankard he began in a crackling baritone, the Dwarvish words harsh in this room where Common and Elvish flowed like honey:
I live strong and I live to fight
I fight with honour and I battle for home
I live strong and live to protect
I protect my clan and I protect my home
Fill up our mugs! Be safe!
Go with Berronar! Be safe!
My friends, my brothers, my clan.
My life is with Moradin. Be safe!
The air is dark, the stones are bloody.
My King gives me strength.
Fight the enemy, spill their blood.
The blood of my ancestors gives me strength.
As Milo closed off the last long note, his voice breaking a little, a raucous applause and hollering began from a table nearby. Turning to see the source, Milo laid eyes on a gnome, face wrinkled like an apple left in the sun. He must be very old indeed. Milo gave a small bow, a little unsteadily, and the little man hopped down from his seat to the protestations of the bright-faced young Gnomish girl with him.
“Grandpa, come back here, you’re bothering people! I’m sorry sir,” she said, addressing Milo. “He gets like this after a few drinks.”
“No problem, no problem at all,” Milo smiled back at the girl, before focusing on the old gnome. Even standing next to Milo’s already low seat the ancient man barely came to eye level. He grabbed Milo by the arm shouting “Wonderful! Wonderful! So good to hear a proper Dwarvish war song again, it’s been a long, long time.” He dropped Milo’s arm and instead took his hand. “Adrain Dahle. Lovely to meet you, lovely to meet you. And you are… Milo Brightmane! As if you could be anyone else. I used to be a bit of a smith myself you know, nothing major, more of a hobby really.”
Milo managed to extract his hand as the old man’s eyes skittered across Milo’s face, unable to rest or entirely focus. “Ah, is that right? And what do you do now Mr Dahle?”
“Candlemaker!” came the outburst. “Oh yes, for maybe sixty years now. Of course, it’s more of a hobby really. I’ve done a bit of everything in my life, candles, smithing, uh, bit of leatherwork, jewellery, beer making, general tinkering. Oh yes, I’m very crafty,” he said, giving Milo a wink. “All more hobbies than work though, really. Why settle when you can do a bit of everything! Though perhaps if I had half your talent at a thing, maybe I would have settled a long time ago! I’ve seen some of your work, even the mundane stuff, building tools, there’s great quality there, it can’t be denied.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you. I do my best, and I was trained by the best.”
“Grandpa, come away, you’ve said your piece,” came the girl’s fluting voice.
“My granddaughter, Edel. She does fuss, but she’s got a heart of gold. Between you and me, I’m hoping she’ll take over the business one day.”
“But which one?” Milo countered with a grin. The old man looked extremely pleased, laughing out “Indeed! Indeed! Which one, oh my, wonderful. Whichever one she likes I suppose, just like me. Well, don’t mind me, carry on. But if you ever need someone who’s seen a bit of the world, you come find me. I’ve done a bit of everything, and I know a bit of everyone. And now I know you.” With a huge smile the old man turned, patting Milo on the arm, “Carry on, carry on,” and wandered back to his seat.
****
It was a while later, and Milo was on his way home. The natural Dwarvish resistance to poisons would take care of any hangover – the main issue currently was finding his way through the narrow streets back towards Castleside and Short Street (actually a reasonable length, but some past town planner had noted the growing population of Dwarves there and hadn’t been able to resist the joke). As he meandered down the street he hummed another song which had done the rounds near the end of the evening:
If drow come we’ll fight to the end
If orcs come we’ll fight and battle
If giants come we’ll fight in a rage
If duergar come we’ll fight and destroy
A simple song, good for getting the blood pumping. As he turned left he could see the imposing shadow of Fort Daring just beyond the walls. He must be getting close. Off to one side of the road, however, he could hear a plaintive voice calling, “Hello? Hello? I don’t know… where I am…”
As Milo got closer a shape emerged, a rotund human male, face ruddy and eye bleared with drink, long sideburns drooping sadly. “Can’t seem to find… my house…” he slurred. “Where are we?”
“Castleside. See the big castle?” The man looked aghast at the shape towering over the nearby wall which he had somehow missed up to that point, then clasped a hand to his forehead. “Castleside?! Oh, I’m clear on the wrong side of town.” He sat down heavily on a stack of crates abandoned on the side of the road which groaned underneath him, put his face into his hands and groaned along with them. Milo couldn’t help but take pity on him.
“Look, I’m just around the corner from here. Let me put you up for the night, you can find your way back when it’s light.”
The man’s face brightened like the dawning sun that was still some hours away. “Really? Thank you, thank you so much. You have made,” clapping a hand on less of Milo’s shoulder than he had intended, “a friend in Theodore Matsouka.”
On the way back to the Hammerfall Smithy, Theodore talked to Milo about his own business. “I run a lovely hostel, down in South Stoneside.” Milo hadn’t heard of any hostel in South Stoneside. “Aha, well, I run a very tight ship. I won’t have just anyone staying under my roof!” Milo wondered who Theodore had staying with him currently. “Let’s think now, there’s my cousin Dorothy, my second cousin Nathaniel, Matthias the son of my godfather’s first wife, my dear auntie Theodora…” Milo couldn’t help noting that Theodore seemed to mostly rent rooms to family. “Well, I can hardly turn away family, can I? What kind of man would I be if family came to this wonderful place after I had told them all about its marvels, and then refused to put them up?” He paused for a second, apparently waiting for an answer to what had seemed a rhetorical question, before continuing “Not a very good one, I’ll tell you. But I’m not entirely a pushover, no sir. They don’t stay for free. I’m from a very talented family, they have all sorts of skills, so they go out and do the odd job and keep us afloat.” And you sit at home watching the money drift in, Milo thought to himself, but despite this he couldn’t help liking the jovial, emotive human.
In the rooms above the smithy Milo made up a makeshift bed, a pile of blankets, for which Theodore was effusively grateful. In the morning, when Milo awoke, Theodore was gone, but had left a scratchy note of thanks, and an insistence that if Milo ever needed anything he ask Theodore first, who would put his family right on it. Smiling, Milo began to prepare for his travel to K’ul Goran, where he would do what he could.
Walking towards the Portal Plaza, spotting others clad in armour, weapons swinging at their side, all heading in the same direction, his memory brought back another verse of the final song of the night:
Ten of us will strike you like thunder
A hundred of us will shatter your heart
A thousand of us will destroy and obliterate
Ten thousand of us will be the wrath of the Heavens
The first song is based on this video I found.
The second song is based on verses from 'Wolf Totem' by The HU.