05-29-2011, 10:58 AM
The hooves of a ram beat against a snowy trail between the hills of Kharanos. The thick coat of the ram was much like the braided beard of the dwarf who sat upon him, heavy laden with snow and ice. The storm had been raging for a few hours, and the sun had already peaked that day. Undeterred the dwarf resolutely set his face to his destination today. No amount of snow would keep him from this appointment. The usual echo of a bridge was muffled by the layer of snow and the dwarf's mind began to drift in the quietness of the journey.
A door opens into their small country home letting bitter wind and blustery snow swirl around the main room. A stalwart dwarf with a mining helmet emerges from the dark night slamming the door behind him. The son gets up from his toys and races behind his mother at the door as they both welcome the sole provider home. The miner slides his helmet off and knocks snow off of it on the threshold. He places the helmet on his son and it doesn't take him long to flip the light on and tear around the house laughing. The parents embrace for a moment before the miner pushes her away. Nothing is said as he walks towards the mantel and grabs his shotgun. Many nights wild bears and wolves would threaten the local community and the men would take up arms to protect their land. The son noticed this and began to whine about father leaving again. "My dear boy, it is our duty and privilege to protect this land." His son stifled back tears with these comforting words he always heard at these times. Grabbing a warmer hat and stealing another kiss the dwarf opened the door. As the snow and wind whirled in again the scene faded into a snow-blind and the son realized he had reached his destination.
The dwarf lowered the reins and the ram came to an abrupt stop. He slid off the ram and landed knee deep in fresh snow. He grabbed an old mining pick, an old mining helmet, a rusted lantern and a small glimmering bronze plaque. He lit the lantern as the sun dove behind the mountains in the distance. The son made his way through the seemingly endless rows of stones. With each step the dwarf's armor would rattle quietly over the sound of crushed snow. The lantern shone its dull light over the stones until the dwarf stopped. He set the lantern on top of a simple stone and stood for a moment in complete solitude. A heavy breath escaped from between the dwarf's beard and long mustache. He hung the old mining helmet by the strap on the side cradled in a small nook where time had eroded away at the stone. He grabbed the mining pick that was slung on his back and began scraping at the other side of the stone. When he was satisfied with his work he set the pickaxe on the ground next to the stone and pressed the handle into the groove he had made.
The dwarf took a knee and silently gazed at the reflective bronze plaque. He stared into his own reflection. His dwarven features were thick and prominent. His cheeks were red with windburn and his brow furrowed in deep thought. His eyes focused from his reflection to the words engraved in ornate dwarven script, "It is our duty and privilege to protect this land." A tear had managed to escape the dwarven eye and trail down to the end of his mustache. There it fell onto the plaque and quickly froze. After watching this the dwarf took a hand and wiped away snow from a small recess in the stone's face. He placed the plaque into the recess and secured it with two bolts. The stalwart dwarf pressed a hand onto the stone and took another moment to gather himself. In bold dwarven it is written, "This stone a memorial to Moromar Highstone." Below it a small paragraph, "One of three heroic dwarves who sacrificed themselves to protect the lives of twenty-two other miners during the collapse of Jalis Mine". The dwarf's finger traced words that were fairly fresh in comparison, "Here lies Marika 'Jaerock' Highstone".
He arose and with a mighty sigh looked over the stone once more in satisfaction. The stone, pickaxe, helmet and dim lantern quickly faded as the dwarf rode back towards the ancestral home of all Bronzebeards. As he rode this thoughts would continue to drift through his mind on what the future holds for him. After forty-two years he finally put to rest his heritage of mining. A cloud of condensation enveloped the dwarf's face as he sighed again. He would finally put those words his father lived by into his own actions, and forge his own heritage.
A door opens into their small country home letting bitter wind and blustery snow swirl around the main room. A stalwart dwarf with a mining helmet emerges from the dark night slamming the door behind him. The son gets up from his toys and races behind his mother at the door as they both welcome the sole provider home. The miner slides his helmet off and knocks snow off of it on the threshold. He places the helmet on his son and it doesn't take him long to flip the light on and tear around the house laughing. The parents embrace for a moment before the miner pushes her away. Nothing is said as he walks towards the mantel and grabs his shotgun. Many nights wild bears and wolves would threaten the local community and the men would take up arms to protect their land. The son noticed this and began to whine about father leaving again. "My dear boy, it is our duty and privilege to protect this land." His son stifled back tears with these comforting words he always heard at these times. Grabbing a warmer hat and stealing another kiss the dwarf opened the door. As the snow and wind whirled in again the scene faded into a snow-blind and the son realized he had reached his destination.
The dwarf lowered the reins and the ram came to an abrupt stop. He slid off the ram and landed knee deep in fresh snow. He grabbed an old mining pick, an old mining helmet, a rusted lantern and a small glimmering bronze plaque. He lit the lantern as the sun dove behind the mountains in the distance. The son made his way through the seemingly endless rows of stones. With each step the dwarf's armor would rattle quietly over the sound of crushed snow. The lantern shone its dull light over the stones until the dwarf stopped. He set the lantern on top of a simple stone and stood for a moment in complete solitude. A heavy breath escaped from between the dwarf's beard and long mustache. He hung the old mining helmet by the strap on the side cradled in a small nook where time had eroded away at the stone. He grabbed the mining pick that was slung on his back and began scraping at the other side of the stone. When he was satisfied with his work he set the pickaxe on the ground next to the stone and pressed the handle into the groove he had made.
The dwarf took a knee and silently gazed at the reflective bronze plaque. He stared into his own reflection. His dwarven features were thick and prominent. His cheeks were red with windburn and his brow furrowed in deep thought. His eyes focused from his reflection to the words engraved in ornate dwarven script, "It is our duty and privilege to protect this land." A tear had managed to escape the dwarven eye and trail down to the end of his mustache. There it fell onto the plaque and quickly froze. After watching this the dwarf took a hand and wiped away snow from a small recess in the stone's face. He placed the plaque into the recess and secured it with two bolts. The stalwart dwarf pressed a hand onto the stone and took another moment to gather himself. In bold dwarven it is written, "This stone a memorial to Moromar Highstone." Below it a small paragraph, "One of three heroic dwarves who sacrificed themselves to protect the lives of twenty-two other miners during the collapse of Jalis Mine". The dwarf's finger traced words that were fairly fresh in comparison, "Here lies Marika 'Jaerock' Highstone".
He arose and with a mighty sigh looked over the stone once more in satisfaction. The stone, pickaxe, helmet and dim lantern quickly faded as the dwarf rode back towards the ancestral home of all Bronzebeards. As he rode this thoughts would continue to drift through his mind on what the future holds for him. After forty-two years he finally put to rest his heritage of mining. A cloud of condensation enveloped the dwarf's face as he sighed again. He would finally put those words his father lived by into his own actions, and forge his own heritage.