A Short Tale

It only took the dwarven party a few minutes to seat themselves and order a round of drinks and food. Now that Mike had a chance to look closely at them, he realized just how malnourished the seventeen individuals were. Their formless gray clothing disguised the worst of it, but he could tell from their sunken cheeks and emaciated forearms that they had not had a good meal in quite some time. The obvious joy they were expressing at the thought of ordering food at this restaurant helped to lighten up their otherwise depressing demeanors.

The old dwarf who seemed to be the patriarch/spokesman for the group placed himself across the table from Mike and Morris, while the others chose to sit at other nearby tables in an obvious effort to give them space for discussion. 

He settled down stiffly with a grimace that was only partially visible through his gray beard, before nodding at the pair. "Lads, you have my thanks for this. It has been a long time since I've seen smiles on the faces of my kin."

"No need for thanks," Morris replied quickly before Mike had a chance, "after all, this is merely a business transaction."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed slightly at that, but he nodded. "Aye, you have the right of it."

He paused for a moment as the drinks arrived, muttered something to the waitress as she was leaving that had her grinning broadly, and took a long swig of his ale before continuing. "Ah, but it's been too long since I've had a good drink."

Mike tried his own drink and found it to be very good, albeit a little stouter than he usually liked. He'd assumed, based on Morris's description of dwarven culinary tastes, that their drinks would be similarly overpowering, but the dark, foamy ale that carried a hint of oatmeal and honey reminded him of one of his favorite beers from Earth.

Since it seemed to be relatively harmless, he even let Audra out to have a taste, trusting that her innate resistances would keep her safe from any harm.

[I mean, if she can eat mana cores, surely a little alcohol can't hurt.]

The small dragon dipped her head in his tankard with gusto, and he had to steady it with one hand to keep it from tipping over. With a slight smile he turned his attention back to the dwarf across from him, and used Appraise.

—-------------------------

Gutrik Dar Kolgar

Age: 586

Race: Dwarf

Class: Warden

Title: Deputy Clan Leader

—-----------------------

[So, he really is in charge of this group. However, that title suggests there might be other surviving members of the Kolgar Clan.]

Taking note of Gutrik's gaze lingering on Audra, Mike chose to get the ball rolling on the conversation. "Before we go any farther, perhaps we should introduce ourselves. My name is Michael, but please feel free to call me Mike. This is my friend Morris."

"Well met, lads. You can call me Tulgan of the clan Kolgar." The old dwarf said with a straight face.

[A fake name? Or is it some dwarven naming convention I am unfamiliar with?]

"Well, Tulgan, let me start by asking what exactly happened that drove your clan from your ancestral home." Morris said after taking a brief sip of his drink.

The dwarf's eyes narrowed again, but he started speaking. "As knowledgeable as you are, I'm sure you are aware of the old glory of my clan. The Kolgars ruled the Kolgari Mountains for millenia, guarding the Gate of Oparthi from all that would claim its power for themselves. For generations we stood as the last bastion against the chaos that nearly destroyed our world. However, in time, we grew arrogant in our mastery and strength."

His tone and cadence started becoming more regular, suggesting that this particular speech was one he'd given many times before. He even paused dramatically to allow the change in direction to sink in before continuing.

"So great was our power, so skilled were our Flamweavers, so strong were the defenses of our home that we feared no invader. Yet it was because of this hubris, this illusion of invincibility, that we proved vulnerable to the unseen blade of betrayal. In the time of my father, there was a great plague that swept our lands. Not a plague of illness or famine, but a plague of monsters."

There was another pause for dramatic effect. "An earthquake of incredible strength struck the lands to our north, wreaking havoc on the hunting grounds of the area's most terrible creatures. Hunger drove them far afield to search for prey and brought them into the cities and towns of our neighbors, the Granos Clan. They were forced to flee their homes in a mass exodus."

[I think I'm beginning to see where this is going.] Mike thought to himself while taking another drink. He wasn't sure when the food was supposed to arrive, but figured it couldn't be too much longer.

 "We Kolgar, sure of our might, welcomed the refugees with open arms, even as we led forth our armies to drive back the monsters. Our war leaders never suspected the danger until it was too late. For seven days and nights our forces confronted the desperate beasts, turning back their ravenous hordes with our magic and battle skills. On the eve of the eighth day, our mighty clan leader, Tarnoth Dar Kolgar, faced the strongest of the monsters, the terrible Sky-Riven Bear in single combat. Their fight was lengthy, but eventually the proud hero smote the beast with a titanic blow from his hammer, driving it from a cliff to fall to its death on the rocks below. With the greatest of them defeated, the monsters scattered, eventually resorting to cannibalism to sustain themselves."

The dwarf paused to whet his tongue with another long drink before continuing. "It was a great victory, but it had come at a cost. More than half of the Kolgari clan's warriors had been lost in the battle, with many more injured and in need of treatment. Even the mighty Tarnoth had lost an arm to the Sky-Riven Bear, and was on the verge of death as the army retreated to the clan hold, expecting a triumphant welcome and a much needed respite."

The narrative halted again, this time for no discernable reason. At first Mike wondered if Tulgan had lost himself in memories and forgotten his audience, but then he noticed the white-knuckled grip the dwarf had on his mug. Even though the events he was talking about took place hundreds of years ago, he was clearly still feeling the outrage and despair. Which made some sense in retrospect. After all, the elderly man had likely lived through the whole thing.

[Note to self, don't offend any dwarves unless I'm willing to wait several centuries for the offended parties to die off. Of course that probably should be extended to elves as well…and maybe vampires…You know what, I'll just try to do better from here on out.]

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the dwarf spoke again. This time his voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion. "We thought our trials had ended, that we had proven victorious. Yet there was no triumphant return. No victory feast to honor the survivors. No songs to honor the fallen. When we arrived at Mount Kolgan, we were not met with cheers or celebrations, but with the cold iron bolts of Granos crossbows."

Anger colored his expression as righteous indignation filled his voice. "We were betrayed by the very ones we'd taken pity on. In their greed, they took advantage of our absence and seized control of our home, killing any who stood in their way. To add insult to injury, once they'd taken the keep and gained control of the city's defenses, they rounded up the clan members who'd remained behind and drove them out into the wilds with naught but the clothes on their backs. To be asked to survive in a hostile environment for several days is already difficult enough, but even our clan's doughty members could not contend with stray monsters with naught but their bare hands. By the time the remnants of the Kolgar army returned, less than half of their number remained.``

While Mike did feel some sympathy for their plight, a more cynical part of his mind was finding the dwarf's story a little suspect. [Seems like a roundabout way of committing genocide. If the Granos wanted to kill the civilians, why not just put the populace to the sword? Why not fully take advantage of the situation to wipe the clan out? Did they think the wilderness would do their work for them? As it stands now, they almost seemed to be intentionally creating enemies that would never forgive them.]

Of course, it appeared that the Granos had not suffered much for their actions, so maybe Mike was worried about nothing. Yet, he couldn't shake the suspicion that there was more to the story than the old dwarf was letting on.

Perhaps noting the mild distraction of his audience, Tulgan calmed down slightly as he wrapped up his story. "Many of the warriors wanted to attack the Granos, even if such an assault was doomed to failure. It was better, they felt, to die contending with their enemies than to live with the shame of having their home stolen from them. However, Tarnoth thought differently. From his deathbed, he gave out one final command. The clan was to divide into small groups and venture out in every direction. There, the surviving members were to survive and thrive as best as they could. It was our duty, he said, to ensure the continuation of the clan by any means necessary, so throwing our lives away in a hopeless bid for revenge was forbidden."

He took another drink, once again seemingly drowning in sorrowful memories, before continuing in a slightly more hesitant voice. "My father led a group of ten families east, to the borderlands and founded a village. It was a tough land, and we lost many good folk in those first few years, but by the time he'd passed on, we'd carved out a place for ourselves. A place where we could bide our time until someone issued the call to unite the clan once more. I…I had always assumed that I would be buried there, next to my father, but it seems like the gods have no kindness to offer me and my people…"

Tulgan trailed off, clearly done with his story, and yet his explanation left Mike with more questions than he started with. Glancing over at Morris, he could see that his friend was likewise unsatisfied with the end result, but couldn't figure out how to break the old dwarf's contemplative silence without being rude.

Thankfully, the food arrived just in time to dispel the awkward moment. Mike's plate was dominated by an entire leg of some hooved animal that appeared to have been roasted over an open fire before being slathered with a vibrant red sauce that smelled vaguely of cinnamon. A pile of potatoes and grilled vegetables were stacked haphazardly on the same plate and were seasoned with some kind of dark speckled powder that resembled pepper.

Morris, on the other hand, got a smaller plate that was mostly filled by a sort of sandwich wrap, with meat and vegetables inside a rolled up piece of flatbread. Added to that was a pile of a white mush that reminded Mike of oatmeal, but with a thicker consistency. The meal was completed with a small bowl of dark, purple-colored soup.

On the whole, neither seemed to be particularly poisonous, but, just to be safe, Mike passed Morris a bottle of lesser panacea under the table while muttering, "If you start feeling sick..."

Tulgan seemed to revive when his food arrived in front of him, and he wasted no time in digging into the hearty stew that was emitting a slightly acrid cloud of smoke, dipping pieces of normal-looking bread into it and devouring the combination with obvious relish.

After spending a few moments watching the other dwarves enjoying their meals with a similar level of joy, Mike started eating himself. He could use the time to digest the information he'd gotten and plan for his next step. Or at least that was his intention, but he ended up getting distracted after the first bite of his meal.

The taste was impressively potent, and it filled his mouth with a citrusy flavor that paired well with the somewhat gamey taste of the meat. However, there was an underlying burn of intense spiciness which crept up on him, and left him needing a drink to stave off the stinging sensation.

He was just starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake in ordering the meal when he felt the unusual internal snap that indicated one of his skills had improved, and the pain quickly subsided. After glancing at his status, he couldn't help but chuckle. Apparently, dwarven cuisine was potent enough to allow him to train his resistance skills.

[Might have to bring the others here in the future. There aren't many opportunities to train pain and poison resistance at the same time.]