Post by flyingtam on Nov 29, 2006 0:38:53 GMT -6
The Dragon Slayer
It was getting late around the campfire. The companions where resting after a long day of delving deep into the Overseer’s Tomb, and they knew they where getting closer to the Paladin’s final resting chamber. Barbatus, in a rare showing of generosity, passed around a small keg of his famous Dwarven Brew. Perhaps he was feeling a bit guilty at missing out on the days events. The dwarf was gruff as always and glared at the rest of his companions whenever his generosity was questioned.
Parvink, being much smaller then anyone else, readily took a long drought off the keg. Within a few minutes, she was almost dancing about the campfire, singing songs and telling jokes that made everyone laugh, even the dwarf. Dernhelm was amused by such antics; while his life was not an easy one, he knew the value of such displays. They relived the tensions and stress of a long day. So he sat, sipping at his ale, bemused. Erunámo sat stoned faced as always, keeping a cool demeanor towards his companions. He alone refused the Dwarf’s Keg of Ale, souring the old dwarf even more. If only he realized the offense given to Barbatus, he wouldn’t be so quick to refuse. Barbatus for his part, took it as sourly as possible. Afterall, Erunámo was just an Elf.
Soon, the dancing and jokes faded along with the dieing flames of the campfire. A slim crescent of a moon could be seen through the trees. A fresh breeze blew across the clearing every once in a while, whispering of the coming winter.
When the conversation had all but died out, and not much was left of the Dwarven Ale, Parvink grew very quiet and solemn. She then spoke softly,
“My Grandfather would tell stories to me as a child of his Grandfather. I would speak his name in my language, but I fear none of us would get any sleep before I was finished. His other name, his outsider name, was Geston Glittereyes, the Dragon Slayer,’
At this, Barbatus stirred from his half drunken sleep.
“Glittereyes, you say? The Gnome Dragon Slayer? The one that defeated the Great Wrym Tarkalkatos, saving the Evenfrost Citidel from certain death?” Barbatus’ said in an almost mocking manner. “You say the blood of Geston Glittereyes, Dwarf Friend runs in your veins? Forgive me, little one, but I just don’t see it”
At this, Parvink jumps up, fists clenched at her sides.
“Far degri guth umber, swed cooth lar,” only Barbatus seemed to understand what Parvink said.
“Very well, Parvink, the Dwarf Friend’s blood does indeed run in your veins. But you are no Dwarf Friend yet, nor have you proven yourself to my clan. I offer you more ale, as is the custom amongst my people. Come! Let us toast Geston Glittereyes, Dragon Slayer and Dwarf Friend”
Barbatus tried standing, and finally managed with the help of Dernhelm. Passing a flask to Parvik, he raised his own tankard of ale to the night sky.
“Par evens tri jui!” he slurred out.
Parvink repeated the phrase, and then they both drank deeply. Barbatus then sat heavily down on his borrowed bedroll, and within a minute, was snoring softly into his tankard. Parvink, now somber again, continued her story.
‘Geston Glittereyes was the son of a poor farmer amongst my people. There are many tales and legends that surround his life. His wonderlust came to him at an early age, much like my own. He took up the life of an adventurer, and wondered the lands east of here for sometime. My Grandfather didn’t know much of his early adventures, except perhaps his most famous one.”
“The Great Red Wyrm Tarkalkatos laid claim to the entire mountain range of Evenfrost, just a few weeks journey to the northwest of here a long, long time ago. The dwarfs of those mountains where cunning craftsmen, and their mines went deep into the earth. Tarkalkatos had heard of this, and wanted it for himself. He laid siege to the great mountain fortress of the dwarves to no end. The mighty gates where too strong and resisted all that Tarkalkatos could throw at them. And so the Dragon, as their kind are known to do, built a great lair, and became the Red Scourge of Evenfrost”
Erunámo suddenly spoke for the first time.
“The Red Scourge was known amongst the Elves. It was he that stained the snow red with so much blood. So much blood, that the Evenfrost mountains are now called the Bloodsnow Mountains, for they turn red after the Winter Solstice”
“I have hunted the Bloodsnow Mountains,” Derhelm said.
“There is little game there. Certainly no Mighty Dwarven Citidel that you speak of Parvink. Old legends, with a tale longer then a Cat I would say”
“Dernhelm, the time we speak of was many human lifetimes ago. My kin still speak of the Evenfrost mountains, and it was the dwarves that named them long before we ever told tales of them” Erunámo sits back, now staring deeply into the dieing fire.
“The Dwarven Citidel is still there Dernhelm. Buried under the bleeding snows. Something happened there, and only the Dwarves know what doom befell the Evenfrost Citidel. I know only that it happened much later, and not because of a dragon.” Erunámo then lapsed into silence once again. Barbatus snorted very loudly, then belched into his tankard, and fell asleep once again.
“Bloodsnow, Evenfrost, it doesn’t matter,” Parvink said.
“What does matter is that the Dwarves where now trapped in their citadel. With no trade with the lands to the west, it was only a matter of time before they starved to death, or the Dragon would get them. The Rockseers held a council, and sent forth a summons for help. An entire army from the Human Lands was sent from the west. They only served to sate the appetite of the Red Scourge for a brief time.”
“Adventurers soon followed. Some claiming to be Dragon Slayers, others swearing they where on some ‘Holy Mission’. Still others came with more dark and sinister plans. None ever returned from Tarkalkatos’ Lair.”
“One fine summer day, Geston arrived at the front gates of the citadel. He cried out ‘I’m Geston Glittereyes, and I’m here to rid you of the Red Scourge’. The dwarves where very unimpressed. Geston then said he would be back in three days, and with the head of The Red Scourge.”
Parvink now looked around the campfire, and then whispered,
“Three days later, he returned to the front gates of Evenfrost Citidel, dragging the head of Tarkalkatos.” Now Parvink raises her voice and jumps to her feet excitedly.
“There was a HUGE party, not like the little parties we have today. No, this one lasted weeks, no months! With food, and ale, and fights, and everything else! For a full season the dwarves honored Geston Glittereyes. On the anniversary of the Red Scourge’s death, they presented to him a sword,” once again Pavink settles down, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Crimson Ruination. Geston was named Dwarf-friend, and then left the citadel, wandering once again the lands made free by his hand. It is said the sword is what allowed him to face the other Dragons, and why he was able to retire in old age from his Dragon Slaying adventures. Those tales are for another time.” A far away look comes across Parvink’s small features.
“The sword was lost shortly after his death, but from all the clues I have been able to uncover, it has found its way back here, somewhere. It is my birthright. It is my destiny to reclaim the sword and return it to my people. That is why I am here.” Parvink takes a final drink from her flask.
“Good night companions. Tomorrow, we will crack open the final resting place of this Paladin and save the local village.” Parvink then rolls over and in moments is softly snoring.
It was getting late around the campfire. The companions where resting after a long day of delving deep into the Overseer’s Tomb, and they knew they where getting closer to the Paladin’s final resting chamber. Barbatus, in a rare showing of generosity, passed around a small keg of his famous Dwarven Brew. Perhaps he was feeling a bit guilty at missing out on the days events. The dwarf was gruff as always and glared at the rest of his companions whenever his generosity was questioned.
Parvink, being much smaller then anyone else, readily took a long drought off the keg. Within a few minutes, she was almost dancing about the campfire, singing songs and telling jokes that made everyone laugh, even the dwarf. Dernhelm was amused by such antics; while his life was not an easy one, he knew the value of such displays. They relived the tensions and stress of a long day. So he sat, sipping at his ale, bemused. Erunámo sat stoned faced as always, keeping a cool demeanor towards his companions. He alone refused the Dwarf’s Keg of Ale, souring the old dwarf even more. If only he realized the offense given to Barbatus, he wouldn’t be so quick to refuse. Barbatus for his part, took it as sourly as possible. Afterall, Erunámo was just an Elf.
Soon, the dancing and jokes faded along with the dieing flames of the campfire. A slim crescent of a moon could be seen through the trees. A fresh breeze blew across the clearing every once in a while, whispering of the coming winter.
When the conversation had all but died out, and not much was left of the Dwarven Ale, Parvink grew very quiet and solemn. She then spoke softly,
“My Grandfather would tell stories to me as a child of his Grandfather. I would speak his name in my language, but I fear none of us would get any sleep before I was finished. His other name, his outsider name, was Geston Glittereyes, the Dragon Slayer,’
At this, Barbatus stirred from his half drunken sleep.
“Glittereyes, you say? The Gnome Dragon Slayer? The one that defeated the Great Wrym Tarkalkatos, saving the Evenfrost Citidel from certain death?” Barbatus’ said in an almost mocking manner. “You say the blood of Geston Glittereyes, Dwarf Friend runs in your veins? Forgive me, little one, but I just don’t see it”
At this, Parvink jumps up, fists clenched at her sides.
“Far degri guth umber, swed cooth lar,” only Barbatus seemed to understand what Parvink said.
“Very well, Parvink, the Dwarf Friend’s blood does indeed run in your veins. But you are no Dwarf Friend yet, nor have you proven yourself to my clan. I offer you more ale, as is the custom amongst my people. Come! Let us toast Geston Glittereyes, Dragon Slayer and Dwarf Friend”
Barbatus tried standing, and finally managed with the help of Dernhelm. Passing a flask to Parvik, he raised his own tankard of ale to the night sky.
“Par evens tri jui!” he slurred out.
Parvink repeated the phrase, and then they both drank deeply. Barbatus then sat heavily down on his borrowed bedroll, and within a minute, was snoring softly into his tankard. Parvink, now somber again, continued her story.
‘Geston Glittereyes was the son of a poor farmer amongst my people. There are many tales and legends that surround his life. His wonderlust came to him at an early age, much like my own. He took up the life of an adventurer, and wondered the lands east of here for sometime. My Grandfather didn’t know much of his early adventures, except perhaps his most famous one.”
“The Great Red Wyrm Tarkalkatos laid claim to the entire mountain range of Evenfrost, just a few weeks journey to the northwest of here a long, long time ago. The dwarfs of those mountains where cunning craftsmen, and their mines went deep into the earth. Tarkalkatos had heard of this, and wanted it for himself. He laid siege to the great mountain fortress of the dwarves to no end. The mighty gates where too strong and resisted all that Tarkalkatos could throw at them. And so the Dragon, as their kind are known to do, built a great lair, and became the Red Scourge of Evenfrost”
Erunámo suddenly spoke for the first time.
“The Red Scourge was known amongst the Elves. It was he that stained the snow red with so much blood. So much blood, that the Evenfrost mountains are now called the Bloodsnow Mountains, for they turn red after the Winter Solstice”
“I have hunted the Bloodsnow Mountains,” Derhelm said.
“There is little game there. Certainly no Mighty Dwarven Citidel that you speak of Parvink. Old legends, with a tale longer then a Cat I would say”
“Dernhelm, the time we speak of was many human lifetimes ago. My kin still speak of the Evenfrost mountains, and it was the dwarves that named them long before we ever told tales of them” Erunámo sits back, now staring deeply into the dieing fire.
“The Dwarven Citidel is still there Dernhelm. Buried under the bleeding snows. Something happened there, and only the Dwarves know what doom befell the Evenfrost Citidel. I know only that it happened much later, and not because of a dragon.” Erunámo then lapsed into silence once again. Barbatus snorted very loudly, then belched into his tankard, and fell asleep once again.
“Bloodsnow, Evenfrost, it doesn’t matter,” Parvink said.
“What does matter is that the Dwarves where now trapped in their citadel. With no trade with the lands to the west, it was only a matter of time before they starved to death, or the Dragon would get them. The Rockseers held a council, and sent forth a summons for help. An entire army from the Human Lands was sent from the west. They only served to sate the appetite of the Red Scourge for a brief time.”
“Adventurers soon followed. Some claiming to be Dragon Slayers, others swearing they where on some ‘Holy Mission’. Still others came with more dark and sinister plans. None ever returned from Tarkalkatos’ Lair.”
“One fine summer day, Geston arrived at the front gates of the citadel. He cried out ‘I’m Geston Glittereyes, and I’m here to rid you of the Red Scourge’. The dwarves where very unimpressed. Geston then said he would be back in three days, and with the head of The Red Scourge.”
Parvink now looked around the campfire, and then whispered,
“Three days later, he returned to the front gates of Evenfrost Citidel, dragging the head of Tarkalkatos.” Now Parvink raises her voice and jumps to her feet excitedly.
“There was a HUGE party, not like the little parties we have today. No, this one lasted weeks, no months! With food, and ale, and fights, and everything else! For a full season the dwarves honored Geston Glittereyes. On the anniversary of the Red Scourge’s death, they presented to him a sword,” once again Pavink settles down, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Crimson Ruination. Geston was named Dwarf-friend, and then left the citadel, wandering once again the lands made free by his hand. It is said the sword is what allowed him to face the other Dragons, and why he was able to retire in old age from his Dragon Slaying adventures. Those tales are for another time.” A far away look comes across Parvink’s small features.
“The sword was lost shortly after his death, but from all the clues I have been able to uncover, it has found its way back here, somewhere. It is my birthright. It is my destiny to reclaim the sword and return it to my people. That is why I am here.” Parvink takes a final drink from her flask.
“Good night companions. Tomorrow, we will crack open the final resting place of this Paladin and save the local village.” Parvink then rolls over and in moments is softly snoring.