> Known Dwarf settlements, underground cities
>
> And their rulers
>
>
>
> +Prominent dwarf members
>
>
>
> Northern Dwarfs
>
> -In order of size-
>
> Rodos Gondobar (Far North)
>
> Thoreas Warview (Ruler)
>
> Dubrot Snowguard (Murdered in Eth Bennoth)
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>
>
> Glorfalc (Near Nor Maze Heights)
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> Bodmulir Blunthorn (Ruler)
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> Sharruk Redshoulder
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> Theron Gravelbrow
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> Fikumin Flintfoot
>
>
>
> Fenford Burg (Greater Kas sphere of influence)
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> Kas Gold, Bronze and Silver mines
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> (Large community living in both places)
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> Thersin Bonearm
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> Dorad Onyxminer
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>
>
> Southern Dwarfs
>
> -In order of size-
>
> Eth Dehur (Gidina Peak- Four Sisters Mounts in Lesia)
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> Nekud Dimhood (Ruler)
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>
>
> Eth Bennoth (near Goat Plains)
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> Yakil Platefeet (Ruler)
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>
>
> Western Dwarfs (Eplas)
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> Brightos (west side of Northwall Heights across Hellfort)
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> Lostrir Koboldmane (Ruler)
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> Ostruki Graycloak (Former Ruler. Died suddenly.)
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> Lorfouna Koboldtoe (KIA by Aken near Refuge Moon)
>
> Norec Trollfall (KIA by mercenaries in Eikenport)
>
>
image [https://i.postimg.cc/PTF1GnMR/Glorfalc-Rodos-Gondobar.jpg]
-
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Fikumin Flintfoot
Lord Governor of all Goras
Acting Mayor of Taras
Monarch’s Shield
First Seat in the King’s Permanent Council
Fikumin’s Third Gem
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>
>
> Mark my words youngling, Bodmulir had cautioned.
Fikumin Flintfoot, the dwarf female Lorfouna Koboldtoe had said raspingly many years back extending him a clear invitation, near the rocky passage leading to Refuge Moon where she was to meet her ghastly demise. Fikumin closed his eyes to keep the memory out. Not of the long dead female Folk herself but of the knowledge of what was to follow. Times like these he wondered if taking up that quest for Ostruki was the right idea. But you couldn’t pick and choose what to keep away. So you scrapped everything.
Or pretended that you did and kept on going.
‘We haven’t had a dwarf from that part of Jelin visit us in a hundred and thirty years,’ Ostruki Graycloak had told them reminiscing, the dwarf leader and almost everyone that had gone with Fikumin on that quest also long gone now. Norec, Marcus and Stiles. 'Not since Dubrot Snowguard visited us with that fool Ebenezer.'
Need to hear the tale first, Fikumin decided deep in his thoughts. Follow the past’s legends to their origins next and then seek to make a legend of yer own.
> ‘Mark my words now youngling. Stay in your tunnels. Keep doing what you’re doing and fill your bags with gems. Praised be Luthos the soft-hearted for he always looks to balance the scales. But don’t seek treasure above ground or where the Spirits of the Forest once roamed. Everything is dead now, and even if something remains, a northern dwarf will never reach the lands of Eodrass alive. It would be riotous if he did though ugh?’
That was Lord Bodmulir Blunthorn, another old head guessing wrong.
Sort of.
For Fikumin did reach Wetull and found worthy enough stuff above the earth.
Even found gems in a sense.
“Our Lord Shield has a moment?” A cultured lenient voice said and Fikumin turned his head back towards the pleasant sound. The tall Zilan scribe stood demurely a meter away, large eyes under a crown of light blue. The weak sun made Phinariel’s face glow and her soft long ears appeared almost diaphanous at their rosy pointy tops.
Ah.
“I might have to follow the army. Lead Lon-Iv’s guards as a small reserve. You’ll stay behind,” he started, tying both hands behind his back but had to pause when he noticed her expression. “What is the matter lass? Something happened?”
Then he remembered.
Of course.
Ugh.
Fikumin glanced at the ever-sidetracked Glenavon preaching grandiose-sounding bullshit whilst walking away with Rimeros and then turned to listen to Phinariel’s response.
The blossoming into a beautiful flower scribe going another way.
“Why would the humans of Lesia attack us?”
The realm is a much crueler place than the jungle sweet lass.
But he decided to give her a much more honest explanation since Phinariel always sought to gather more knowledge about the world. Her progress in tongues and histories remarkable.
“They don’t really. Not how you describe it. They just follow orders and their masters’ will, just as all other creatures.” Fikumin replied. “People rarely know the reasons behind a conflict. The full picture is usually hidden to the many.”
Phinariel sighed. She had worn a newly sewn outfit today, spending all her unused coin in Vycaris and Oelinael’s shop. Phinariel was extremely thrifty with her money usually, despite Fikumin paying her a wage that almost equaled Captain Horton’s. The memory of the Taras officer, his fate still undecided weighing on the Lord Shield’s soul.
“I’ll reach out to Berthas,” Fikumin rustled with a grimace to ease her worry.
“Berthas is in the right,” Phinariel stopped him in a cautious but firm manner. “Even if the Monarch sees it differently. He’s human and we are Zilan.”
“They were Zilan and Folk before the empire and after it. Some living with one set of rules and others with a different or no rules at all like you did,” Fikumin told her. “Berthas strives hard to fit into one variation of those guidelines now. But they are still different even if he doesn’t see it. Doing Garth’s bidding on one hand, risking his life and then trying to please his family on the other. He was an outcast for quite a while and it is doubtful the previous monarchs would have allowed him to remain in this court. I don’t fault him and you shouldn’t. The allure of the empire is strong still and goes beyond Wetull’s borders. It touches people but also Folk equally. It is the power and the mystique. The Wyverns and magic. The elusive sense of perfection. But most of all those old souls that were living in it still around who keep fueling the younger generation’s imagination with their tales. Yours is a fascinating species lass but you are not infallible or shielded from exaggeration.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“My Lord you favor the empire more than Berthas,” Phinariel noted with a blush. “And is it wrong to worry about not having an offspring?”
“I do,” Fikumin admitted. “And it isn’t. Folk value their younglings as well, but the Zilan attach more to it per their character. Making it more complicated than it needs to be. It is self-indulgent but also important I guess for their psyche.”
Phinariel took a step forward and stood towering over Fikumin. Then she lowered herself to her knees in front of him.
“How are the Folk doing it?” She asked and it reminded Fikumin of her early curious days.
> What is writing? The young Phinariel had asked him back then. Why is it important?
>
> It keeps your voice alive, Fikumin had told her. Your thoughts and feelings, long after you are gone from this realm.
>
> Isn’t that what tutors do? She had queried. Maeriel keeps the knowledge and passes it down the line.
>
> Zilan can do that easily, until they couldn’t in the past. Folk also but to a lesser extent. Fikumin had cautioned her. But knowledge stored, tales written down and secured, shall never be forgotten. People will have a chance to learn about them and keep that knowledge alive.
>
> Like a memory spell. She noted perceptively in her poetic way. Left to linger.
>
> Yeah, Fikumin thought looking into her large gleaming eyes. Like a spell.
“Dwarfs are fiercely protective of their younglings for they are rare,” he finally replied hoarsely. “But we value the bonds forged in time with our significant others equally and won’t break them even if a child never comes of it. You endure. It’s the journey Phinariel, what you discover along the way and not the destination. Dwarfs dig the earth and burrow into rock in search for valuables. We can be equally persistent above ground and do the same with the people in our lives even if it doesn’t seem so. You just have to respect others truly and trust they’ll return that respect onto you. It doesn’t always happen nor is it a perfect system.”
Seeing her frown unsure Fikumin cleared his throat and added to clarify some of the differences. “You just speak your partner’s name in truth when the time comes. If they respond in kind then you have their permission to engage with them in a more personal manner. Forge a common bond if you can through mutual respect. Turn two souls into one, like metals uniting in a forge. It’s not very romantic to Zilan or human ears. Nothing glamorous to it. Unless you’re a Gish I guess and are used to seek no permission at all, then even that is too much. But you don’t break that new bond, children or not. Wealth or rot. The tunnel you dig with your pickaxe is yours to burrow into,” he finished a little apprehensive since dwarf society norms seemed too weird to other races usually.
“Hmm. So what has Lord Shield discovered in his journeys?” She asked looking at him intently, probably too shocked and looking to change the subject.
Horrors living next to wondrous things but no rivers running with gold yet.
Treasures amidst all the foulness.
“A gem or two do exist above the ground if you search for them or Luthos offers guiding hand,” Fikumin replied pursing his mouth and turning to look away at the busy Taras under his balcony. “More perhaps.”
A third one for sure.
Praised be the God of Luck.
“What were those jewels?”
“A Wetull Princess you’ll hopefully soon meet,” Fikumin said and raised his hand to brush nervously at the long beard with his fingers. “And a lass of the Folk you never will,” the Priest of Luthos among other things added raspingly with his voice breaking and felt Phinariel’s hand touching his stopping it.
The still knelt –so they would be on equal standing and not for decorum- pretty scribe’s head had come really close now. Well into his personal space. The gaze of those large azure and olive green eyes penetrating his soul.
“Our Lord, Fikumin Flintfoot,” Phinariel gushed slowly shedding all youthful pretense, pausing on each syllable and for a moment Fikumin couldn’t understand what she was doing or why the young Zilan had opted to come outside when Fikumin had dismissed her for the day earlier.
And then he could.
“Phinariel,” Fikumin grumbled feeling her sweet breath touching his face. Tiny curious and invisible tendrils working their way under his clothes. “I’m well over sixty years old and fully committed for my time here to end at some point in the future. I won’t stay in Wetull forever. I made a promise to help my people if I’m needed.” He added candidly. “A Folk doesn’t break his vows. When we speak the Gods listen.”
Welp, save for Glenavon killing us all first that is.
“A bond of two souls forged becomes one thing. Unbreakable. Wealth or rot,” Phinariel whispered simply, showing him she was listening all along. “So the two parts can share the same goals and be equally committed to each other’s future.” The comely scribe paused with a small pout as if unsure whether she had gotten everything right or not before adding just in case. “Or if a cute Halfling pops out.”
Fikumin blinked a little perturbed at the mental leap but then he realized all attuned Zilan could discern rather quickly what a future union will bring forth because they were naturally gifted like that. Not everything was vanity, stubbornness and parochial reasoning.
Some of that occasionally plagued the dwarves as well.
None of it mattered for the moved but always centered Fikumin at that point in time.
And Allgods willing, it wouldn’t matter at all many years into their future.
“Of course,” he grunted ardently and Phinariel’s warm lips had sealed his just as the last word came out.
-
> Many years into the future
>
>
>
> “They cut Bodmulir Blunthorn down in Kas,” Yakil Platefeet the ruler of Eth Bennoth declared loudly and Nekud Dimhood who ruled over the other large south city Eth Dehur slammed his fist on the table in agreement.
>
> But not in a pensive manner.
>
> “He rolled into a half-frozen hole missing his face and sunk to the plaguing bottom!” He bellowed in general uproar by the dwarves present. The delegation from Glorfalc present as well. Sharruk Redshoulder, Fikumin’s and Theron’s old friend leading them.
>
> “ALIKE A PLINTH!” Someone yelled with a south dwarf female adding equally excited.
>
> “Never to get out again!”
>
> “Aye,” Yakil Platefeet agreed shaking his head. “He stood for the deal with the Northern lords, now shaken after the Jarl’s demise but not broken for the honest folk of the North. The humans see it differently. Let us see who comes on top they say. Stay the trade until we know fer sure. Curse their logic and slyness! Now Bodmulir is dead by Macrinus’ thugs to scare our brethren into submission!”
>
> “Thersin Bonearm with Dorad Onyxminer after sucking on Regia’s fat tit for so long, want now to capitalize on Glorfalc’s citizens’ anger to cease control of the city’s warriors and then seek new agreement with the Governor forcing him to the negotiating table! Talking out of both sides of their mouths!” Sharruk Redshoulder yelled under thick brown eyebrows stepping forward. “They have Thoreas Warview of Rodos Gondobar there gathering support!”
>
> “Thersin believes the Governor will fear a joint assault by the two cities? How did he respond to the ultimatum then?” Nekud Dimhood queried.
>
> “He had the Fifth storm Fenford Burg and installed a puppet mayor there.” Sharruk replied. “Now Thoreas Warview wants to lead a force against him up the Mountain Pass and Thersin Bonearm plans to do the same out of the Iron Valley. That’s their plan. He has support from the Nords of Blonden Port. There was a lot of army there that headed for Rifjordal.”
>
> “The Nords won’t fight the Governor, it’s a ruse. Not right now. The heads of the Steele clan are scheming something else.” Theron intervened and the southern dwarves murmured loudly, talking amongst themselves.
>
> “Why sent Thoreas away from Rodos Gondobar? Thersin should have gone to Glorfalc himself and gather support. Now both are leading foreign troops.” Yakil Platefeet queried. “You talk of human deception but are ye sure about those working hand in hand with the Governor for so many years? Maybe an agreement is already signed? Hmm?”
>
> “Glorfalc won’t march with Thoreas unified anyway. Half the city is against such an action until a dwarf of great standing takes Bodmulir Blunthorn’s seat!” Sharruk Redshoulder snapped angrily. “Thoreas wouldn’t agree to a compromise. He’s all fired up but for Thersin Bonearm and Dorad Onyxminer I can’t vouch for. They lived more years with the humans than with our own.”
>
> “The south dwarves understand yer predicament,” Yakil Platefeet rustled. “But won’t march under a muddied banner or following a two-faced Folk’s words.”
>
> “What dwarf of standing be that? You are not thinking of nominating yerself Sharruk Redshoulder?” The fellow prominent dwarf ruler asked. Nekud Dimhood smirked and then frowned when Sharruk pursed his mouth ready to reply. Fikumin glanced at the scowling Theron unsure. This journey had been eventful and not in a good way.
>
> “The elders of Glorfalc and many of its citizens named one of their own most prominent compatriots, the respected former Lord Governor of all Goras, Fikumin Flintfoot as his successor. Formerly the Monarch’s Shield and member of Wetull’s Permanent Council. It was Blunthorn’s final wish and written in his will which I’ve brought with me!”
>
> “How auspicious he’s present eh?” Jakil commented with a scowl of distrust at the sudden development. It was not planned. This is Luthos kicking the milk bucket hard to see what will spill out.
>
> It would be riotous if he did though ugh? Bodmulir had said with a toothy smirk, secretly hoping Fikumin would make it back one day.
>
> You hairy old dog.
>
> Had one more trick to play after you snuffed it.
>
> Well, good that you breathed yer last at the right fucking time.
>
> Hopefully.
>
> The underground hall had turned silent after Jakil’s words until heavy footsteps were heard. A sturdy red-haired Eplas dwarf with a familiar face walked near the stunned Fikumin carrying an intricately carved Warhammer. The Imperial steel on the blade gleaming in the light of the torches and its shaft extra-long for a dwarf to carry. The fabled Snowguard was a heavy weapon to wield. But then again Dubrot was rumored to be the biggest dwarf that ever lived. Myth and the present mixing up into a blur afore Fikumin’s eyes.
>
> “Brightos recognizes Glorfalc’s new ruler.” Lostrir Koboldmane said officially. “And now returns Snowguard to the hands of a worthy Northern Dwarf again.”
>
> Fikumin put his hand on the ancient weapon and took it from Lorfouna’s distant kin with a questioning glare for their now distant deception since Fikumin had inquired for it the only time he’d visited the large underground Eplas city many years in the past.
>
> But here it was now. The adventure the young priest had started early in his youth coming full circle thanks to the naughty God that always found a way to move things forward and had always favored his loyal priest fiercely throughout most of Fikumin’s life.
>
> With some notable and painful exceptions.
>
> “You’ll also bring the Wyvern Queen to our assistance Lord Fikumin?” Yakil asked mockingly crossing both arms over his barrel chest. “Do we bend the knee now or we can talk about it?”
>
> “This a dwarf matter concerning all as it might open the door for reprisals for all of us,” Fikumin retorted loudly easily navigating away from the query and walked to the center of the hall so he could see everyone. And everyone could see him. After years of holding public offices and positions of power it was all second nature to the skilled former Shield. The right words coming easily after living near Glenavon for so long. “A dwarf matter. To be dealt by dwarfs. Else people will always see us as inferior and weak or unserious like the Gish. All dwarfs, for a single dwarf settlement won’t bother one of Regia’s Quadrumvirs at all. For this to succeed all cities in the north must unite under it. For this to succeed all cities in the south must do the same. Under one rule and a unified plan of action. I accept the heavy mantle of responsibility without hesitation or concern for my own person as I’ve always done in all my life. Heed these words though fellow Folk. We all have things to lose and little to gain from this conflict. It won’t stop me and it shan’t stop you from doing the noble thing. This is a call for all Folk working the earth and the stone. As such, all Folk shall answer it today!”
>
> His stirring words creating a great commotion inside the underground hall with some of those present looking from one to another trying to gauge their thoughts but most eyes slowly settling on the tall couple present amongst them. Both silently standing well over the tallest dwarf in the room for they were a different race. Completely different races.
>
> Even so they both were part of the Folk and Fikumin’s family. The proudly smiling exotic female’s luscious blue hair cascading down her graceful shoulders, a long arm resting on her swollen belly, the other over the shoulders of the thin square-faced, fiercely bearded young Halfling that had thankfully most of her looks but also auspiciously his father’s hair.
>
> Yakil’s earlier perceptive query –left unanswered- now holding a deeper meaning for those present.