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Lorehammer
Posted: 25 Jun 2004 11:30 PM |
((I thought I would group some of the different IC comments I have made into a singular thread for ease of reading. Here goes..enjoy!!))
An errant breeze squeezes its way in between the window and the crooked wall to which it is attached. Loose parchments scattered on a small wooden desk flutter slightly in the breath of air. The candles, burnt down to their bases dance slowly to and fro, barely retaining their grip on the disappearing wick. A dwarf glances up, his eyes red from hours of reading, his fingers stained with ink. With a slight shove, he pushes himself away from the desk and walks slowly towards the window. Staring out at a clouded sky and empty streets, the dwarf instead turns his focus to the ghost of an image reflected back at him from the meager light of his room. His thoughts drift away for a moment, as he carefully studies the dwarf before him. The errant breeze again sneaks between the wall and the window, but with more determination than before. It darts around the room enveloping a candle and snuffing the flame. It speeds above the desk in twists and turns, creating a tornado of parchment in its wake. Coruva’s gaze remains fixated on the image in the window, his eyes studying the contours of a much older face. They travel across the wrinkles that have set so deeply in skin that was once as smooth as polished granite. A faint whisper of a noise and the slightest brushing against his foot breaks the introspection. He gazes down, to see one parchment drift effortlessly back and forth, to settle on the floor between his legs. With a frown, he glances once back towards the window, now only seeing the darkened streets of Midor below him, and picks up the parchment. Carefully inscribed at the top in bold dwarven runes is one word, Lorehammer. Coruva gazes at the word, then looks to see if the image in the window has again returned. He sits back down at his desk, quill in hand, and begins to write some that he wishes to remember, and some that he wishes to forget.
Lorehammer
I remember it wasn’t always like this. I did have a home beyond the walls of this city. I remember a farmhouse that held the aroma of fresh cooked bread and the sweet smell of a hickory log thrown into the hearth. I remember fields as far as my eyes could see. The only hint of other’s nearby was the thin line of smoke slowly trailing into the sky from the chimneys of the village nearby. It wasn’t a dwarven home, but to one that was raised that way from birth, it seemed as much to me. Does it really matter if it was deep in a hill or set far below ground in the great halls of my ancestors? I say it only matters that I had two dwarven parents to guide me and allow me to grasp my heritage and take pride in what I am. I remember my father, leaning over a hot forge with hammer in hand. His beard tightly bound and tucked beneath the leather smock tied about his chest. Are other dwarven lad’s memories any different than mine? Does it matter that my father fixed the plows and repaired horseshoes rather than forging axe and shield? The devotion and effort is the same. My childhood was as it should have been. It taught me the devotion of family and the struggles of daily life. It instilled in me the values that I still hold today. That hard work is to be appreciated, for the rewards that it brings are more than that of a job done poorly. That blood family or those that become as much are hard to discover and should be treated as much. You do not errantly cast aside a rare gem, so it makes as little sense to cast aside a true friend. I was blessed to be given the upbringing that I was. I was more blessed to have spent so long in its embrace. Though blessings fade over time, and comfort can steal the hardness out of even the most rugged of dwarves.
I do not know if the gods attempt to teach us lessons on hardship and pain, or if the death of someone near to your heart is beyond their grand plan and only slight chance. I cannot believe that any god desired me to wander, dazed, into my village with blood soaked into my clothes. I do not believe they desired me to see the throat cut of my father, or my mother drowned in the nearby stream. They could not have hoped to gain my devotion from their deaths, nor could they gain strength from the loss that I felt. It is a hard thing to feel alone in the world, but at that moment I begain to feel just that. That the gods were not about me, blessing my life and ensuring a good crop. They were distant if they were real at all. How does one retain faith through this? How does one look up in admiration of their lord and believe that they are just and right? How can you gaze upon the cold face of ones that you loved and truly believe in anything? Hopes scattered and dreams lost. The comfort of years of love and shelter dashed in the quick thrusts of thieves and murderers.
Years I spent learning how to love, how to be just, and how to be true. Slowly being taught the just ways to live a life. Decades it took me to understand what is right, and how to share your love with others. One day, one brief instant in time, is all it took to teach me to hate.
Coruva sets his quill down and gazes back out the window. The wind increases as clouds race across the sky. An angry torrent of leaves sweeps across the deserted street. He pulls another small candle from a drawer and lights it. Once again he approaches the window and looks not into the night, but into the silhouette standing before him. He breathes deep and loses himself in his own gaze. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 25 Jun 2004 11:33 PM |
The sudden shifting in the small bed awoke Coruva immediately. He leaned forward, eyes alight, looking for movement in the room. His body relaxes almost immediately as he notices Avari, shifting in her sleep. His eyes lock on her, looking at the peaceful expression on her face, her hair spilling down to cover the pillow, and the curve of her shoulder appearing from the disheveled blanket they share. He pries his eyes away and quietly climbs from the bed they share in the headquarters of the Azure Lights. Sitting down at the desk he has spent so many hours at, he looks at the many sheaves of paper and small scribbled notes strewn across it. He removes a small quill from a stained inkwell at the corner of the table and begins to write.
Friendship and love are difficult things. What in folks minds makes them so desire to trust and have acceptance from others. When you spend your life living day to day, often switching directions before the road you walk is near complete, you think yourself free of all cares and all worries. Free from these thoughts of reliance on others. I remember these days. Walking where I would. Taking whatever job seemed to call at me for the moment. Believing that I was no ones servant and in control of my own destiny. Odd that the day would come along when none of these things, the freedom of action and freedom of having to depend on none other than yourself, would matter little. Was it finding Anahur in the great armies of the north and learning of Bregodim? Was it finding some that held the same principles as I? Or was it a mixture of it all….finding something that I believed needed me as much as I needed it.
Now, with Shaz’jen imprisoned and the Azure Lights still trying to deal with its own purpose. Where does the direction and sense of togetherness lie? Where now is that enveloping comfort of friendship and solidarity? My mind screams to rethink this thing. To return to the road and travel where I would. To place behind me all these folk that I have come to rely on. But my heart…it aches to think of abandoning them. I have not the strength in arms as Loli, nor the power of magic and the mind as Dias does, but still….I would follow these folk and lend whatever aid I could if they asked. *He glances over to Avari, still sleeping soundly in the bed, then turns back to his writing.* No, to leave would be to ignore the only source of strength I have felt other than Bregodim’s guiding hand. If friendship and love places these burdens on my shoulders, then I accept them willingly. If I can give any of them back what they have given to me, then I will do anything in my power to do so. All of these folk, Loli, Shaz’jen, Dias, and most of all Avari, have given me what I had lost more than a century ago…..A family. I lost my own once because I lacked the strength to aid them. I will not lose my new one.
He carefully folds the parchment and places it under a small piece of stone engraved with the crest of the Lorehammer Clan. He quietly climbs back into bed and kisses Avari’s cheek. Lying next to her, he turns his head to the side and looks up at the darkened ceiling. Pondering the next turn in the road and realizing that finally he does not travel it alone. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 25 Jun 2004 11:44 PM |
Coruva finally sinks into the weathered wooden chair in the small room he and Avari had taken in the Four Winds Inn. He tosses his gauntlets into the corner beside the armor of the Azure Lights, normally well tended, but now thrown carelessly to the ground. His hand rubs his reddened eyes and smooth his unkempt beard.
How could it have ended like this? Only the night before, he had sat with Avari and spoken of hope. Remembering his and Loli's dash to Ferein when the gates where sure to fall. The look on Avari's face at that moment spoke of hope, and it had been the only thing Coruva could grasp upon to ensure himself the trial would give the same outcome. How could it have turned so badly? The trial itself was a mockery of what he had always considered justice. No witnesses brought before the court, only snide remarks and conjecture by the prosecutor, the guards, Marick Fetter, and even those assembled to watch. He had held his tongue, only keeping a watchful eye on Shaz'jen, Loli, and Avari. The verdict, by that time, was no suprise to him. He had seen it building over the course of the trial. It begain to unravel then....everything begain to fall apart.
The rest became a blur, the maniacal look in Loli's eyes, the journey to the amphitheater. It was then that he regained his composure and remembered his promises. A quick glance and nod to Avari set things in motion. Her stance near the rail of the arena, and his placement near the steps steeled his nerves. They only waited for the first stone to be thrown, then they would attack. What good it would do, neither knew, but rather they die defending a friend, than live the rest of their lives knowing they had done nothing.
But then, the most peculiar thing took place. The first stone was held by Loli. It must have been a trick she had decided on. A way to distract the guards and be close enough to free Shaz. Avari held her bow in check, and Coruva's hand barely brushed the mace at his hip. His eyes searched Loli for the sign of her intent, but what was done was beyond belief. The stone was tossed and its mark was true. It hit Shaz'jen and took him to his knees.
Again, everything clouded...the events out of control. A blade appeared and freed Shaz'jen from his chains. A fierceness overtook Shaz'jen that stopped those gathered either to mock or defend him. The guards fell before him, and soon Fetter himself was face down on the dirt floor, blood seaping from the deep gashes in his chest. A grim satisfaction settled over Coruva's face at this. Let the betrayer of the Lights meet his death at the hands of their leader. The chase ensued, with guards falling as quickly as the arrived. Brief yells from his companions of order where not heeded, and soon chaos reigned. The sobs of Loli could be heard in the background and a strangled cry of confusion came to Coruva's ears. He turned to see Avari, slowly take a step back then turn and leave. His eyes searched for Shaz'jen, then for other familiar faces, but the confusion in Avari's voice compelled him to follow. Whatever the aftermath of the battle was, he did not know. The damage was done. Shaz'jen was lost to them, and something else roamed in his guise.
It had taken hours to finally sort out the events of the day. Finding Avari near the standing stones, then stumblind upon Chandler and Pickston in Port Royale. Finally the discovery of a branded slave with the mark of Malagards cult. There would be no rest, that much was certain. But who would be there to aid? |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 25 Jun 2004 11:45 PM |
Coruva stands with his back against the long dead fire that had once burned cheerfully in their home. Glancing about the small living room, his eyes catch sight of remembrances. A pearl handled comb....a hawk feather....a simple green cloak. Each one he sees in her hands, each one a sharp reminder of the one who is not here. He leans down, picks up the feather and runs his hand over the fragile bone and feathering. With a small piece of leather, he binds the feather to the handle of the mace that he has carried for the past years. He folds the silken cloak, fingering the material between his calloused fingers, and places it neatly upon the couch. The comb he kisses lightly and places on the shelf above the fireplace. With a soft breath, and a quiet prayer, he turns to the door, not looking back.
He squints at the bright sunshine of the morning in Gladden Fields. His mace in hand, the hawk feather twirling slightly in the breeze from the east, he once again begins the search. Wherever she went, he would find her. Whether today or the next, the search would not stop. He promised that to her and himself the stormy night at the Standing Stones. A promise he would not forget.
Heading through the Vale, his thoughts drift through the past, lingering on memories. Their meeting...the realization of something meant to be....the truth finally being told in the quiet garden of the library of Midor. A faint smile touches his face, one that has not appeared for many days. Those thoughts would fuel the search more than any food or prayer ever could. Those memories would guide him to her. He rubs the silver band across his forearm. Closing over the leaf taken from the groves of Ferein and now bound firmly in golden wire. His thoughts begin to drift once more as his legs pound the frozen landscape, leading him to what he hopes is the one he lost. Leading him to Avari. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 25 Jun 2004 11:47 PM |
deep gong echoes through the halls, announcing mid day and breaking Coruva's prayers. Wearily, his eyes open, squinting as they readjust to the flickering torches surrounding the statue of Bregodim. With a grimace he stands, his knees creaking as he rises from the kneeling position he has been in since morning.
Word had reached the halls that the follower of Midoran, Mykal, was to be laid to rest this day. A name and a face Coruva knew well, though only in passing. All that had gone to Maldovia that night had paid a price, but Mykal had paid it with his life. A failed attempt to find their friend and return his soul had instead released a nightmare upon the world.
Coruva had failed Mykal then. Unable to fullfill the vow he had made to himself. He would see him laid to rest and help him find his way to his kin. He owed him that at the least. Binding the padded metal gauntlet across his scarred right hand, he grabs the worn leather satchel that has hung at his shoulder since before he can remember. His pace steady, his legs thrumming a steady beat, he moves through the Halls and into the mountains beyond. The spires of Midor his destination. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 25 Jun 2004 11:48 PM |
Coruva walked away from the ancient crypts of Midor. He had done his duty. Giving his last blessings, and paying his final tribute to the fallen paladin Mykal. He had studied the writing upon the granite walls of the tomb surrounding Mykal. He had read the tales of his valor, and the honor filled stories of his life. He had spent hours before that tomb, learning the true tale of the one paladin of Midoran he had called friend.
The tale was unfinished though. There must have been some meaning for his death. It could not have been thoughtless and without a purpose. His mind swept back to the days surrounding the falling of Mykal. The faces of the comrades that had walked the halls of Maldovia, and had stood beside Mykal in the end, came to his eyes. It was time to ensure that Mykals death was not in vain. That the creature that appeared before him was placed in check. There must have been something that tied that band together. There must have been some bond of strength or will that kept them alive even against such odds. He would walk that path again, alone, if need be. But his mind and heart screamed for the companionship he shared that day.
The faces continued to drift over his eyes. The images of Macha, Kree, Merum, and Blanche flooding his memories. His purpose turned towards them as the visions fell from his eyes. He would seek each out, and call to them in turn. To ensure that Mykals death was not in vain. And that whatever had appeared that day. Whatever spirit, or demon, or god that was brought forth by the malign power was not given free reign in this world. He only hoped they would join. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 26 Jun 2004 12:01 AM |
Much had been lost in the passage of time, but much had also been recovered. Perhaps a sense of self and duty that he had entrusted to others had now returned to his own shoulders. Perhaps that was the gift of time. Awareness had come with it. Awareness that there was a larger picture than his own eyes could focus upon. A realization that the dark feeling of loss was not his alone to share, but for all of his kind.
Through all of his studies over the few ancient tomes and scrolls that his kind still possessed, there was a singular message within it all. That through separation and distrust, even the mightiest would fall. He would not see that happen to his own kind. To the people, that after all these years, he had returned to embrace as his true family. He would seek out the dischord and have it removed.
The last sight of Coruva was by the guards of Icy Vale. They tell of him marching through the iron bound doors to the valley of the ice orcs. A pendant and a lone hawk feather dangling from his mace. A determined step to his pace.
Upon the body of a dwarf, grey as the deep fog of the early morning, his shield and helm where found, near the deep caves to the north of the ice orcs.... |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 23 Jul 2004 11:59 PM |
Coruva gripped the hand of Abdura. “Are you ready young one?” Abdura uttered in an emotionless tone. “Aye…I’ve been ready for a long time now.” Slowly, there bodies begain to sink into the very stone of the Halls of Bregodim, joining with it, feeling the cold embrace and rejoiling in its closeness to his lord. Slowly, they slipped below the cavern floors, dropping deeper and deeper into the ancient caverns and shafts once walked by his kind. His eyes opened wide at each cavern and tunnel, the history of his people flowing off the ancient dwarf who gripped his arm and guided him. The heart of his kind was with him then. The belonging and purpose he had madly tore through tome after tome to discover was before his eyes.
The darkness that encased the ancient tales of his kind reached out its arms and folded them about Coruva, bringing him into that history…into those shadows. Forever to live within the whispers of the stone. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 29 Jul 2005 03:39 PM |
Dreams do not last forever, even within the deep stone. Images become tainted as the world steals itself into the mind. It alters the images that float through your sleep, twisting them into something between dream and reality....a fugue plane. Whispers of laughter and of pain, of the world moving on cannot go unnoticed. Soon, the eyes must flutter open and again face life.
Each morning brings a rebirth. A chance to change the wrongs of past days or to discover something new. Each morning we rejoin the path of fate and destiny that has been set before us. It matters not how long we sleep or how deep we dream. The path will not be lost to us. But we are unable to avoid it, in the end. The dreams are only a respite. Each must finish what they started. Each must walk the full length of their path to its rightfull end. Even those that wish only slumber and dreams.
Coruva's eyes slowly open to the midmorning sky, the dreams receding until they are only fleeting shadows. With slow determination he rises and walks, step by step, each becoming easier. Following the path that still remains before him. That has always stood before him. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 29 Jul 2005 03:50 PM |
Good Memories
It was a pleasure to run some of those events with you in it. Good to see those events from a different and emotional point of view. Thanks for collecting these and posting them to read. |
You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.
~Robin Williams
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 28 Aug 2005 04:41 PM |
Coruva hunches over the two stone tablets carefully placed upon the wooden desk. The dim light from the candles placed at either side seem fitting to him. The tablets were written with no more than this. His fingers trace over each rune as his mind struggles over their meaning. There were similarities between this text and that of the dwarves now, but they were few and far between. He had looked upon these over the weeks they had come into his posession, each time ending in further frustration as the meaning of the runes evaded him. But things had changed, and he finally had a key that had long been missed. The dwarf, Nurha Garhah...The Lorekeeper had been found. And with it answers to the questions he, and many others had searched for over the countless years.
There must be a common note of truth and shared knowledge between those of a race, or of friends to allow the bond to last over time. For all these years it had been missing from his cousins. They felt no shared bond beyond knowing they were of same people. They felt no tie to the past, no desire to uphold the old ways and the old teachings. To further the entire races cause because of a shared future and past. The power of Nurha's words was that lost bond. It was the beginning of their story as a people. From their birth at Eagorth Uk-Iraku, to the founding of Dulzen Rein. The stories of the prophets and the splintering of their kind.
The true wonder of it was that it was not hidden or shared between a few. To treat history as a posession can often lead to the desire to twist and change the truth so that it can better match ones own beliefs. History itself teaches lessons, and even if the truth shows flaws in its subject, those that hear it can learn and grow from it. Perhaps that was the desire of Nurha, and why so many of the other races appeared in the visions. That he wished his lore to be told and written in full. That all races would hear it in its purity. Let them spread the word and feel a bond with the dwarves. Let them then reflect on their own history and find the similarities and differences. Or...with hope...denounce those that twist history to their own whim and control others within its corruption.
Carefully, he wraps the stone tablets in cloth and places them within the chest bearing his family insignia. Quill in hand, and the words of Nurha still in his thoughts, be begins to pen the story told in its entirety. Perhaps just as the one who created the tablets so long ago. Perhaps for the same purpose. |
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Re: Lorehammer
Posted: 13 Jan 2006 12:54 PM |
From the Journal of Coruva Lorehammer
"Syn's reach has gone unchecked. The tendrils he summons from the earth now grow as far as the forests of Fhenguul. Slowly his malignant touch has spread across this land. I have stayed in the Halls too long once again. Biding my time in lore and in sermon when I should be out in the forefront against that taint. It is naive for any of us to think that because he does not strike directly that he does not have plans to do so. I hear only faint whisperings, as if his presence is no more than a story to tell children near dusk, to give them a fright before sleep. I have seen his strength.....and in his voice I found no trace of doubt that his goal is the ruination of all. But his madness is tempered by genius. He sees the strife that holds the lands. He no doubt knows the troubles of Ferein, the tension in Midor, and the lack of unification among my own kind. Why raise his hand when we do his work ourselves? A council must be brough together to open eyes to this slow disease. But is the time right? Elvalia and her kin are rightfully preoccupied. The White Maiden fights a long battle that takes her full attention. Even those of the Port city have been under the siege of politics and guild war. I will bide my time, but never will I shut my eyes to the affront of Syn again. I will watch and wait, learn of his plans as best as one can and be prepared to check his moves. It is the least that can be done to honor those that have fought and fallen against this thing."
Scribbled below the text are a series of names
"Lucifer Mclath . . . . Follower of Midoran but strong in magic. He seems to have eyes on many things. Perhaps there is knowledge there that can be of service, regardless of who he worships."
"Connavar . . . He speaks the words of the stone tongue, and wears the armorments as well. He could be dwarf friend, if there is ever such a thing. I will speak to the elders about allowing him passage into the caves."
"Lillian Blackstone . . . She knows of the mountains movements. And I sense a great purpose in that one. I do not doubt her loyalty to the White Maiden. Nor do I believe that she would allow such a threat as Syn to go unchecked. When her burden is lessened, she must be spoken to on other pressing matters." |
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