Orcs and temples and dwarves—oh my!

3rd of Moon’s Sleep, Year of the Horde

 After a restful night at the Pig and Bucket, my companions and I rose early in the morning to meet with the High Elders of Rolus Keep in the grand audience chamber. We were not the only ones at the meeting, —adventurers and mercenaries from far and wide had also been called to an assembly.

As we made our way to the meeting, I could not help but notice the dwarven influence in this city: huge stone battlements, immense halls, and statues depicting heroes of old. It was here that the dwarves of northern Quirm had first fought off the chains of slavery in an uprising against their giant overlords, seeking refuge and finding wealth beneath the mountains. Later they had found alliance, and incorporation as a semi-independent city, within the human Tamarin Empire.

The audience chamber was particularly impressive, dominated by a towering statue of Morningstar Ironfist, the cleric who had led the revolt against the giants. Ironically, the stone statue was considerably taller than any of the giants would have been.

A distinguished-looking dwarf with a long grey beard stood up. “Brave warriors, we the leaders of Rolus Keep have called you here to ask for your aid in this, our moment of grave peril.”

At this, several of the paladins rose and shoved each other aside in their noisy haste to pledge their swords in defence of the town and realm. 

Skalrag hushed the knights. “Errr, grave peril? Perhaps you could explain?” Our mage friend was never one to leap into danger without a full explanation (and preferably, not even then).

The dwarf continued, despite the interruptions. “Even as we speak, the defences at the pass have been beset by the Orc hordes, while other marauders have even been seen closer to the city. We are in need of your swords and bravery. And for this, of course, we will compensate you well.” The adventurers and mercenaries cheered at the mention of bravery and compensation respectively.

“We also have need of a small group of you to travel to the the Monastery of the Sundered Chain, to ascertain the well-being of the dwarven monks of Thoradin there. We have not heard from them in days, and we are concerned..”

Even before the elder could finish his sentence, Thoradrin had stepped forward. “Och aye, we’ll dae ‘at, mah laird. Fur Ah, Thoradrin Mightstone, am a defender. Ah accept responsibility fur th’ li’es ay those Ah woods defend. It isn’t it ay glory. It isn’t it ay honur. It isn’t e’en coz they’re dwarves, mah laird. It’s coz Ah hae accepted it, tae be their defender. As much as we depend oan them tae worship uir mighty Moradin, they can depend oan me tae defend them at every turn. Always be ready, mah laird.  Always be waiting.”

The dwarven elder seemed pleased by this. As for the rest of us, we just stared. We had never heard Thor say quite so much all at once.

The meeting broke up, with knots of fighters headed out the doors to muster in the courtyard below. As we approached the elder, we could see that he was already in discussion with several people that I recognized from the inn—a boastful group of adventurers called The Farstriders.

“But what about our arrangement?” one of them demanded of the elder, in apparent annoyance. “Worry not.. our arrangement still stands.” responded the dwarf. With this, the adventurers stomped off. The elder turned to us.

“The Company of the Ivory Goat, I presume? Captain Craddock of the guard has already told me of that trouble you had with orcs on the road… it is a bad sign indeed. I fear that they may have already found a way around the defences at Xiber Pass. It only heightens my concern about the monastery, too. We’ve heard nothing from the monks in days.”

“Ornt fash yerse, mah laird, Ah’ll see tae it ‘at th’ monks ur safe an’ th’ foe vanquished, fur Ah am a Defender…” said Thoradrin, as he started into another uncharacteristically long monologue. In the meantime, Viggo and I poured over a map that the elders had provided.

“See? Built into the mountainside it is, Viggo—just like the Temple of the Dour Digger in Edgar Stoat and the Secret Underground Passages That Let Bad Things In…” I commented. Perhaps the monastery might somehow be linked to the mysterious orc raiders that we had encountered?

“Is book you never read me, silly Arnold,” grinned the ranger at my mention of it. “That was evening that Viggo took Hildifrak to see ‘secret caribou nest’ in forest.”

We both knew, of course, that caribou didn’t nest. And Hildifrak had been one fine barmaid. I laughed.

“Yes, now you mention it I do remember that evening. However, my point is that this monastery probably has tunnels, long-forgotten tunnels stretching every-which-way under the mountains, like Serralean snail trails in a eladrin lettuce patch.”

Thoradrin had overheard our conversation, and spoke up. “If sae, Arnauld, Ah’ll defend those tunnels against th’ orcs, fur Ah am a Defender, an’ a Defender defends until his lest breath, until his lest blaw…”

And so it was that we set forth on the next stage of our adventure. We had barely stepped out of the city gates and onto the trail, however, when I doubled over in laughter. Secretly affixed to Thor’s back was a small piece of parchment that Skalrag had torn from his spellbook. It declared, in the mage’s fine, spidery handwriting: “Defender…”