Summary: While Ainz, and his followers were forever changing the balance of power in the Azerlisia Mountains, what became of the dwarven Forgemaster that fled? Drove by his madness into the mountains, his purpose would lead him towards an icey ruin in an attempt to complete an impossible task. Spoilers for LN 11
Underground passages were not an inviting prospect in the best of times. Cave ins, lack of breathable air, and wrong turns had killed countless dwarves since they had first inhabited the Azerlisia Mountains. Not including what it did to the other life forms that called this place home. Violence between these opposed groups merely added to the pile that the mountains themselves had caused. Perhaps it was from these deaths since time immemorial that there existed a distinct life to these tunnels that set it apart from its dwellers.
Sounds could carry far away and long after their causes. Echoes with the wind made the great veins of the mountain breath ominously. Deep chasms were greedy onlookers to those who passed their edges, a silent vow to never release that which disappeared into its darkness. Misfortune was the whispered promised fate of those who did not proceed with respect and caution.
Therefore, the panting and footsteps of the dwarf called more attention to himself then his experience would have ever permitted. Still the old dwarf lumbered forward. The noise of his motions had a physical to them, as if they too now rested in his pack. His body had long since sagged with the weight since his departure from Feo Jara.
Feo Jara, that name brought a shudder of longing. With his warm bed with soft sheets of a lilac color might as well be half the world away. Safety in the form of walls and arms of his countrymen would now be closed to him. For he had failed that city, and his kingdom in a way that would not be forgotten.
Forgemaster. A weighty title that made him the equal of any dwarf.
What a foolish thing to call a failure of a smith, Geredo Innsbreaht thought.
Every step was now a test of his concentration and will. Trembling had spread through his body and being alone in the tunnels was not a time for such weakness of the flesh. His decision to continue or rest was soon made for him. Letting his mind wander back to those thoughts of his home filled the dwarf with regret. And regrets tend to breed more problems to an occupied mind.
Geredo's right foot caught on a small divot in the ground, his squat body almost tipped over, but he managed to find his footing again as he gripped the cave wall for support. Flexing his ankle brought another wave of pain. Though it was intense than he feared.
Seems I'm a lucky dwarf after all, didn't even sprain it. Guess I won't just have to lie in wait to surprise a monster with a tasty meal.
His decision made for him, Geredo hunched over. Continuing would only further damage the chances off his journeys succeeding. Any injury that prevented him from walking would eat up his rather meager medical supplies. Those four blue vials would have to last him for the full length of this journey. And, at any rate, Geredo thought that he should have put at least some distance between himself and his potential pursuers.
At least that was how he comforted himself as he shrugged the pack off his back. Rolling his shoulders, Geredo pressed his back against the cool, damp stone. Relief spread through his hot and achy body as he let his legs collapse from underneath him. Basking in the sensation, he closed his eyes to picture the room where he would bathe the day's work off his body.
A few deep breaths later, and his legs now more comfortably stretched out in front of him, the dwarf finally reopened his eyes. They too were sore, and that prompted the dwarf into further action. He pulled his pack so that it now rested against his left knee. Loosening the clasp binding the top together his hand fished around till it grasped a small black bag that faintly glowed. The muffled light expanded once it was free from the bag
A small heatstone roughly the size of child's fist now illuminated the area around him in a soft light. The light helped to relieve the strain on his eyes. While dwarves could see in the dark, their vision was limited to just a few feet in front of them. Age to added to his problems as older dwarves like him also had difficulty even managing that. Let alone for the hours Geredo had already traveled. Light was required to truly relax, and the heatstone brought a certain comfort to the dwarf. Perhaps it was the familiarity of the item, as his life had been spent with such rocks. Or maybe that he had journeyed far enough away from the city to dare risk using such an item.
My body isn't built for this, he grumbled as he tried to massage his sore feet through his boots. The thick calluses in his hands had been worn in by the years spent working a forge tried to rub out the soreness in his feet.
Escaping the city hadn't been difficult. While Geredo the Forgemaster was one of the most recognizable figures in the city, it hadn't worked against him. Guards didn't exactly make it a habit to question the ways of their superiors. When said superior was rather surly on the best days, and as likely to use his hammer on you as the metal works he was famous for. It paid to give him space when gossip from the apprentices at the forge began to talk about Geredo's obsessive moods.
Geredo's hands ceased rubbing his feet. Though faithful workers, they could only do so much through the thick leather that made up his boots. These boots were well made but had been chosen for their durability rather than comfort. It would be a long journey, and he couldn't afford to overbear himself with too many spare items. His age prohibited such an action. Neither could Geredo afford to have something fail him out here. By this time already he might be considered a fugitive by his people. The supplies he carried on him would have to suffice. Thus, his feet would suffer until they got used to their new life, but the leather would at least hold in the coming weeks.
Magic had made his journey possible, just as its strongest caster had begun this quest of his. Geredo would never have been able to carry enough supplies on his own strength to last a week. Access to the highest quality items available to his people meant that his gear would be worth many times its weight in gold coins to any adventurer. Particularly those items which would help to contain and occasionally replenish some of his supplies. Each item would be necessary to make this journey, and even then, he would need considerable luck. Such as avoiding breaking his ankle before even a day had passed.
Feo Teiwaz was the farthest away of the three dwarven cities from the current capital. But it contained his only hope of potentially finishing the task which had driven Geredo this far. The task that that damned undead had given to him. That had driven him apart from his people in a way that Geredo would have never thought possible. Which had shown how pathetic a smith he was.
With a grunt he ceased trying to comfort his poor feet. For thirty years I considered myself the greatest smith in the world. Thinking I had fulfilled my promise to that old man. Instead, I had just climbed a small hill before a great mountain which I had not yet seen.
With his now free left hand, he twisted rings into his beard hair. The habit was a common one amongst his people. Beards where a symbol of everything a dwarf was to their fellow dwarves. Grooming their beards, a daily affair. And most found some level of soothing from it. In fact, for most dwarves you could predict their mood by the state of their beard. Geredo's had been as impeccable as his standing, white hairs arranged in a dignified manner. None of that pride did him a damn thing though, least of all to the dwarves which would have admired such grace. Now they hunted him.
Geredo did not have a massive head start on the city guard. By the time he had made his decision to leave Feo Jara, it was later in the day then he would have liked. However, he was compelled to leave quickly to avoid the meeting next morning. Geredo doubted his ability to keep together outward appearances that long. Departure had to have been tonight. His internal debate had still waged for well over an hour as he knew how small his chances were to even reach his destination, let alone be successful in his task.
Gathering the supplies, he needed had delayed him further. Luckily for Geredo, he did not require a lengthy lead on his pursuers. He wagered that by the time the council would meet in a few hours, that they would be unable to spare many men for such a dangerous mission. Despite the undead's words, they had to take the fact that the Quagoa had made it so close to storming Feo Jara. There race's existence in these mountains could very well have all ended within a week but for that undead's arrival.
In spite of this very present danger, Geredo did not think that his fellow dwarves where in much peril anymore. At least not from the Quagoa. Rather if he was of a better disposition and more sympathetic he might pity the Quagoa as they couldn't understand the danger they were now in. For the monster already was walking to be in their midst. And no being could comprehend what power that being commanded without experiencing it. Not that that meant that the dwarven people were in a much better position themselves. The undead hated all living creatures just as the living did in kind, and he doubted that the servants of such a being would care greatly at the race of their prey. Slaughter of the kind he expected was something that most living beings could not handle viewing, let alone inflicting.
I just hope it is not the people of Feo Jara that will pay that terrible price. Hopefully word of my...instability and sudden disappearance will not influence that decision. Guilt seized at his heart as the thought threatened to drive him to tears.
As for the reason of this certainty of a slaughter soon to occur, the dwarf only had to remember the weapon that was supposed to serve as his model of the armor he was supposed to make. Though Geredo had been proven completely inept at forging from such a metal, he knew enough about weapons and materials that if the undead could spare the sword made from a metal that even he couldn't dent; that the undead would have more than enough firepower to stop even a dragon. To say nothing of the aura which had undoubtedly represented his barely restrained malice.
The dwarf couldn't suppress a shiver at the thought that such a being existed, let alone that he was planning on being a regular apart of the affairs of the Dwarven Kingdom. Perhaps his people would have been better off dying to the Quagoa than living with such a powerful entity. Generosity wasn't exactly a permanent defense from future atrocities in Geredo's now humbled view nor could he find a value in his people when their greatest talents, smiting and runecraft, were already far surpassed by the Sorcerer King. The two races that had competed for these tunnels would be forever different though.
Geredo's path would hopefully avoid both his kinsman and the Quagoa. In fact, Geredo was willing to wager that neither the dwarves nor the Quagoa would be willing to go to his intended destination.
Feo Teiwaz, the ice city of the dwarves. During the golden years of the Dwarven kingdom it had served as the beating, fiery heart of smiting. Even beyond that the post of his former position of Forgemaster had worked there with the most skilled of his people. Destroyed by two warring dragons when even he was young, most would never consider disturbing the ruins as they were. But desperation had lead him down this path.
I've wasted enough time here, Geredo thought. Grunting he forced himself back onto his feet and grabbing the heatstone. Pausing before he placed it back in his pack, Geredo shrugs before slipping it onto a clasp on his belt instead.
If they are this close to me now to see this light, I doubt I'll be able to keep ahead of them for long. No reason to prolong the inevitable in that case. I'll accept any punishment they can give this old fool.
Another two hours would pass before the dwarf that had served as the Forgemaster on the Regency Council of the Dwarven Kingdom would finally allow himself to rest. For the first time in years he dreamed about a dwarf with an even whiter beard then his, who wore the same necklace that he now possessed.
It was a simple dream. Just of the figure before him raising his hammer and bringing it down on the piece of metal that was securely in his pack. The strong back of the older dwarf faced him as Geredo lazily watched the right arm of the figure rise and fall from his perch on a bench close to him.
...
The second day of his journey began with some expected consequences as the old dwarf's body had not taken to sleeping on the ground well. His back was stiff, his feet sore, and a chill had settled deep in to his bones. Grunting he stretched, joints popping, before he settled on one of the bands keeping his beard together.
Having not been caught by pursuers in the night or devoured by a wandering monster, the dwarf felt more at ease. Maybe he would make it to Feo Teiwaz. Gripping the charm on the simple bronze necklace he wore, he felt the first stirrings of hope he had felt in days.
This sentiment would be beaten out of him by the day of marching further through the tunnels. Even with the light of the heatstone assisting him, Geredo had fallen several times. All his aches weighed heavier on his bones. His food was plain to his tongue. Geredo was used to a higher quality of such things. The dwarf's personal chef would attest to that.
Decades spent at the height of dwarven society had softened various parts of his being. Only his hands and mind had remained finely tuned over the years. A single bar of metal had shattered both in a few nights. Weakness remained in their place.
And yet Geredo could not bring himself fully over to despair. Such was the practice of those that still had something to strive for. While he lay, clutching at the necklace in his bedroll, he allowed himself to entertain thoughts of success. Hope was fickle and could cultivate the littlest things into bright embers. Though uncomfortable, even the rock underneath him brought an odd comfort.
Dwarves had a certain kinsman ship with the ground. Something ancestral that had worn itself deep into the bones of the beings which had inhabited it for so long. Engrained in the subconscious of his people. There oldest tales revolve around how the earth in these mountains had accepted them, how the vast caverns, which had been their sanctuaries from the dragons and giants that stalked the peaks and valleys of the surface, had formed to meet their need. It was no surprise that wherever a dwarf species appeared, it was in caves protected by the earth. Nor that these caves where the dwarves had grown to be the most powerful carried with it such a strong feeling.
Thousands of worn markings from those who traveled through these tunnels adorned the walls. Artifacts from every major dwarven age rested off the more beaten paths. Some even said that you could still find engravings created by the first Dwarf Kings that had persisted over millennium. These walls had been shaped by his ancestors, just as they in turn were shaped by them.
Rocks alone, however, were hardly enough to protect a species forever. The history of these mountains gave testament to that. And of the Dwarven Kingdom cities in these mountains, it was his destination, Feo Teiwaz, that had seen the most ruin alongside his people in these caves.
Records leftover from the Golden Age of the Dwarven Kingdom referred to a population of over a half million strong at its height. Only a fifth of that remained. It was thanks to this apex though that 100,000 could comfortably live in one city. Grief threatened to overcome the old dwarf as he felt with every passing decade of his life the continuous shrinking of his people. More and more tunnels no longer manned, and buildings left to crumble from neglect.
Even their greatest hero, the Runesmith King who had been able to do little but to repulse dangers at the cost of tremendous loses. His departure and the subsequent extinction of his line had left them increasingly losing ground. Royalty was not a mere title as it was to the humans. It meant a certain excellence of the spirit and gifts that persisted through generations. To have this bright, powerful force extinguished in a generation had shaken dwarves in a way that Geredo was not sure they could recover in his life.
But Geredo still had hope. That was enough for him. Perhaps from the stone surrounding him or the little necklace. Sleep came easy to him that night and before he finished closing his eyes he could hear the hammer's din as that old smith worked his craft. The figure appeared before him again, diligently working his craft. A necklace swaying with the motion of his body.
...
Time was a weird and strange thing when traveling the dark tunnels of the mountains that made up the roads of the dwarves. With only himself and the items that he brought along to illuminate his path Geredo had been mostly lucky so far. Though the journey wasn't a familiar one, and he had gotten turned around and lost on the way once. Geredo had avoided the worst of it.
No powerful monsters had overtaken him as his protective items or luck held strong. Food, while having been diminished noticeably since the start, was preserved by a magic enchantment placed on his pack. Dysentery or food poisoning would not be a problem yet. Judging by the amount remaining he believed that he would not starve before reaching Feo Teiwaz. Another small victory.
This fortune of the body did not grant itself so easily onto his mind.
Being alone in such a place did things to one's perceptions of the world around him. Geredo's senses were strained trying to avoid monsters that plagued this road. Every noise marked the potential for great danger. Shadows danced ominously at the edge of his vision. The traps that had been made by his people in response to these beings, while immensely pragmatic, did not distinguish between friend or foe either.
Maybe dwarven justice would be carried out on me after all. Dark humor came easier to him and was funnier than it had been in yea4rs to him. This was all well and good as it made his usual sardonic wit easier to bear. Only one subject felt deserving of it now to the dwarf.
It was in this state, that his own mind began to toe the border of sanity for Geredo. While the old dwarf remained mostly lucid, cracks had worn themselves deep into his conscious.
The air had taken on strange qualities to the dwarf. It was more a companion to the dwarf now when it was not so stagnant that it was trying to be one with the stone around him. Voices spoke to him.
Something that should have been very frightening to the dwarf had instead become a joy as he heard very familiar speaking to him again. Various ministers, apprentices, and other folk that had comprised his day to day life for years could be breathed into life in a light breeze. Geredo had been halfway through explaining the complexities of molding an orichalcum stirrup before catching himself.
Luckily, he had managed to activate [Gauntlets of the Forgotten Traveler] before Geredo would have been caught by a group of slimes which had begun to glide across the roof of the tunnel toward the noise.
Geredo feared it, but he couldn't help himself from yearning for these voices. Death had taken the most precious away from him, and it felt deserved that as he slowly wandered to his own that they should be returned to him.
His mother, long dead and remembered, would chastise him in the soft murmurs. Soft lullabies that had long faded into the most basic sense of sweet tones. His father's voice would rumble lowly about the stories of the smiths who had served the Dwarven Kings. A deep baritone laugh conveyed the joy of a proud parent.
Despite these dearly cherished voices and memories, Geredo longed for one voice above all others. Patience was the key in Geredo's mind to receive this blessing. Yet the days past with this wish unanswered. Only the steady din in his dreams would rise to meet his ears of his yearning for his mentor.
Other voices joined these familiar ones as the days passed. Ancient rumblings of forgotten wisdom that had long since joined their knowers in the ground. Secrets of treasures that had been carried off with them. They whispered in their tongue to him, sometimes chanting with the echo of the cave. The contents of these messages was lost on him, though it felt as if Geredo could understand what they said all the mysteries of this world might be revealed.
Such was the way that Geredo would carry on for a week of travel. Days of walking, and nights of sparks. It was on the ninth day of his journey that he would first feel the chill that marked his closing in on the ruins of Feo Teiwaz. He didn't dream of the dwarf that night.
...
Darkness unlike that which had surrounded him in the cave that day enveloped him. The air around him quaked with the power of the malicious intent that it held. Or was that merely the dwarf's body responding to such a feeling. Such thoughts became impossible to Geredo as the dark made way for two small points of light.
Burning red points of light regarded the dwarf. Lazily regarding the features of the trembling creature. Even though his only meeting with the undead that bore those terrible eyes were short, Geredo would never be able to forget who they belonged to. Now that powerful gaze caused Geredo's body to seize, hoping to prove itself unworthy of even the slightest of attention.
There wasn't time for him to think on what purpose behind them there was before he was blinded as a series of dazzlingly bright and complex blue circles appeared around the now revealed body of the lich which was seated on a throne of ice and bones.
While he had seen magic circles before when the magicians of the Dwarven Kingdom felt a need arise that required their combined abilities. Even the most powerful of these felt like a poor imitation of what magic was capable of.
It would be like comparing a breeze to that of a violent gale. Geredo thought. Its causing vibrations from just the amount of power its releasing.
Having managed to finally peel his eyes of the throne, more horrors awaited him. What very well could have been every dwarf that ever existed seemed to stretch before his eyes as the circle kept expanding.
They were dwarves. And every one of them was dead. Frozen or burned, crushed or ill. Once revealed they would straighten themselves, before bowing towards the Sorcerer King. Next, they would go down to their knees and bow so that their heads would touch the ground.
Viewing this process row after row as the circle kept expanding, Geredo felt no choice but to join in the ritual. Burying his head against the floor, he prayed to be forgotten. That his body might cease to exist. Something in him knew that his end wouldn't be so merciful after delivering such a slight on the lord of death before him.
Only one being in this world breathed. Geredo's breath betrayed him as it echoed off the tightly packed bodies around him. Panicked breaths loudly ringed in his ears as he forced his body against the ground harder. Desperation had ceased him as he frantically tried to dig his way into the ground so that he may escape this immense pressure of power.
The ground betrayed him however. It spilt and ripped under his hands. Fissures forming as he forced up with the rock and dirt. A familiar glint of the black metal began to emerge as the ground began to rain on the dead below. Cracking marked its impact with those who had been around him as a rain formed of the debris as it could return since its presence was not desired by the skeleton on the throne.
Eventually all that remained under him was a stable slab of that unyielding metal. Long enough that three of him could comfortably lay across from head to toe. The length was suitable for one of his own proportions to reach around to grasp.
Which is what he did as it began to drift towards the center. Reverentially depositing itself on the ground before the skeletal throne.
"Umu, master dwarf, are you not impressed then with my little show?" Geredo's eyes couldn't move, they were locked in place as the red light held him still. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that metal had shrunk itself so as it might perfectly fit in the Sorcerer King's hand
"Perhaps you would like to see what I can wrought for your people. What gifts that I can provide in such a short time to such willing, living beings."
The Sorcerer King was laughing as he picked up the metal that had tormented Geredo. Casually changing its shape to match what he had once considered to be his greatest works. Before long, it was rifling through pieces of what could only be described as artistic masterpieces that outclassed anything he had ever seen. Settling on a shield that seemed indomitable. A snap of the fingers rendered it into dust
"The legacy of your people, master dwarf." Gesturing toward him with his right hand in a regal manner the dust shot downwards, burrowing into the ground surrounding the throne. "Enjoy."
One last horrible sight greeted him as he gagged on some of the billowing dust. A decayed dragon corpse emerged head when the dust cleared. Its body began to uncoil from the earth as great wings breached through to the surface. Beating they forced the body of the beast in the air. Wide tears in its wings forming as it forced its body out of the ground. It destroyed the rows of kneeling dwarves with each violent thrash of its wings.
Dead eyes stared into his own as the beast lunged forward. Finally, free of its tomb, it paused briefly to bow before the overlord on his throne. Screeching terribly that it shattered the glass on the remains of the dwarves it snapped its head to face Geredo. The last thing he saw was its maw stretching open so that it could fit a mountain goat in one bite. Jagged teeth blended with icicles.
Gasping for air the dwarf awoke. Curling into himself and whimpering as he clawed at the necklace.
The night had stiffened his back. Joints had locked in place from the
His body had grown weak to match the state his mind had felt ever since understanding had finally dawned on him how difficult his task was. Geredo had persisted this far down this path however. He just prayed that he interpreted his master's words about Feo Teiwaz and were this tunnel would open to. Either way his trek was coming to an end. The dwarf couldn't decide his feelings on this matter as he slowly managed to relax himself.
Soon, he promised himself, soon.
...
Despite being so close to his destination the dwarf would not make any progress the next day. Instead of proceeding forward, Geredo had pulled back so as to be away from that cool breeze.
Before the Sorcerer King, Geredo hadn't been one to put much stock into omens or dreams, such matters were considered trivial to him. A mere coincidence at best. Be that as it may Geredo couldn't shake the feeling that dream had inspired in him. And the dwarf couldn't shake the feeling that those red lights were watching him even now. Watching as their newest victim stumbled in the dark.
The dream had heightened this sense which had been building over the days of this trip. A day of rest seemed in order.
It did not take long before Geredo had managed to find a small cave that would suit his purpose. Located away from the main tunnel that lead to Feo Teiwaz, and with only one entrance with sturdy seeming walls it felt more comforting to him than most of the places he had rested recently.
Arriving a little over two hours after having set out provided Geredo with plenty of time to set up his makeshift camp. Which was really just a bedroll, and two large sheets of cloth that folded into a magical container. One he used to cover the entrance.
If I am found by another dwarf they'll probably mistake me for a crazed hermit. Geredo idly thought as felt his hair. If he could view himself in a mirror the dwarf imagined that this would be the sorriest looking part of his appearance. The grease in his hair dampened his fingers. Viewing such a thing while out on the streets of Feo Jara would cause him to sneer in disgust. Now he only wondered if the smell might attract attention.
Most articles of clothing that he had acquired some kind of hole or mar that Geredo had to diligently repair when he set camp for the night. His boots, however, had remained hole. The leather had held, and his feet had not suffered in vain.
Today is a day to indulge. Geredo decided. There is no way to know what exactly will await me in Feo Teiwaz, and I need to be as ready as I can be.
Satisfied with his justification he pulled off his clothes before withdrawing [Grace of a Water Sprite] from his pack. The item was imbued with a 1rst tier magic spell that generated a gallon of clean water a day. Geredo would use it to bathe today instead. He still had some beer left over from when he began his journey that had been saved for just such an occasion.
Tearing of part of the cloth that he hadn't used yet, Geredo wetted it before scrubbing his face. The cloth wasn't clean to begin with and it only took a few minutes for it to become filthy. The dwarf diligently worked however. Tearing of pieces of the cloth as their predecessors became as filthy as the dwarf, he scoured his body. It took most of the water for him to eventually reach all the way to his feet. Using the last of his water he poured it over his head.
Clean was a stretch to describe what he had managed but Geredo could not complain. In fact, he couldn't stop from himself from sighing in relief. Stretching what was left of the second cloth over the driest part of the cave he unrolled his bedroll and laid upon it.
Alone amongst his possessions which remained on him was his former mentor's amulet. Halvar of Feo Teiwaz had been an old dwarf when the then young apprentice Geredo had approached him. By that point Geredo was known as a student of promise that was diligently completing his apprenticeship. Nearing retirement Halvar was reluctant to take on another.
Halvar did not need to worry about his legacy of a smith by this point. Having provided part of the armor used by the Runesmith King amongst other marvels, another student was more likely to detract from such a reputation.
Geredo was lucky in this though, as the old dwarf would prove amenable to teaching him. A month of hard work trying to fashion impressive trinkets for Halvar had merited him nothing from the seasoned smith. Hardly the first to try this method of impressing the aged craftsman, it was a more unremarkable effort that shone brightly.
Instead it was the care and respect that Geredo had paid his tools. Almost reverentially cleaning them had ignited the spark in Halvar that drew him to accept a final apprentice.
This bronze amulet and necklace, which to this day hung around Geredo's neck, had been a gift when Geredo had started his education under Halvar. Though over a century stood between him and that day, it remained with shocking clarity. Even the smell of Halvar had stuck with him through the years.
This journey he had undertaken had a certain sentimental value to the old smith. It was from Halvar that Geredo had felt confident in his ability to reach this city and inspired the hope that it may contain the secret to solving his task.
His last master had been born and become a smith in Feo Teiwaz. The weapons of the kingdom had been forged there for generations as it was viewed as the safest place within these mountains. A city of fire and warmth his master Halvar had fondly remembered.
Dragons changed that.
His master had spoken of ice that had covered everything. How the forge had shrieked under the change of temperature and pressure. How most of the people had been frozen into statues when he and a dozen smiths had managed to escape from the forge after the dragons destroyed the city and they had finally been willing to part from where they had been hiding in.
Halvar had been amongst the youngest of the few that managed to escape, and it was from him that Geredo had inherited many of the items that were now in his possession. These gifts had seen Geredo this far. Now they were returning home after many decades away.
None of the survivors had known exactly how the dragons had managed to breach the mountain that protected the city. But there were guesses amongst various facts and testimonies. A large portion of the roof of the great cavern had crashed suddenly which marked the start of the battle in the city.
Years of mining and the immense strength of the dragons were the most common answers, but this didn't stop others from questioning. Out of respect for Halvar, Geredo had never pressed him on what he thought of this. Geredo, in fact, had managed to restrain himself from asking a single question about that day to Halvar.
It was quickly obvious to the younger dwarf that it wasn't Halvar's way to speak so easily on anything. Something this important could only be dug out of him by Halvar's own choice. And it was from these whispered testimonials and the journals that had been bequeathed to him that Geredo had determined his destination.
Feo Teiwaz had boasted the most famous of the forges in the Dwarven Kingdom. The city itself was considered unassailable as an attacking army would either have to fight through the old capital or Feo Berkana to reach it through the underground tunnels. It also boasted no known paths to the surface larger than two dwarves across.
Access was severely restricted amongst non-dwarves and had inspired a few popular tales among the human traders that came to do business with the dwarves. A fortress city that had been built in harmony with the strengths that the mountain they said. A marvel of dwarven engineering and might. Feo Teiwaz had even been briefly considered to be the new capital after the abandonment of Feo Berkana two centuries prior. Something that a good portion of dwarves could boast to have occurred within their lives.
Precautions like this had proven useless against the might of the Frost Dragons. Of the buildings which had withstood the battle, they were methodically looted for their valuables. An insatiable hunger had driven the rest of the city to total ruin.
However, even the noose of a dragon has limits when it comes to finding treasure. There existed a lower forge that was built above a lava vein. From this great heat it powered the rest of the forge and served as the ground for the most important projects. A dozen dwarves, one being Halvar, had stayed hidden here below the city.
Weathering the storm that raged above they could hear the brutal razing of the city. So intense was the frozen breath that had been directed on the main forge that even protected here some lost fingers to frostbite.
Halvar would not be able to escape with his comrades for three days. The fear of those dragons made them shake even as they had managed to abandon the city and were beginning the slow trek to Feo Jara. Three of their number had remained to look for survivor. Halvar's voice always broke when he spoke of those brave dwarves. They included the senior ranking smith who entrusted many of the specialized equipment that was still used to this day.
None of them would be seen again, though their memory would last in the score of people that they had managed to save.
Many oaths and promises were made by those that had survived their ordeal. Some were kept, most weren't as is the custom with such things. Halvar, and his wife who had been one of the twenty, kept one oath they had made to each other. To never inflict this cruel world on another. Her death was a few years before his apprenticeship under Halvar had begun sealed this promise.
While Geredo had never seen her, he learned to recognize her presence from the times Halvar would listlessly stare into the distance when something stirred her memory in him.
Geredo imagined that he looked much the same now as he laid spread out on his makeshift bed. Memories were all that remained to him that felt pure, and safe. The past had become more solid to him then the ground he walked.
Somehow, he managed to pull himself out of the embrace of these fond memories. Preparations needed to be completed for there to be any chance of success. Or else there would be no one left to remember.
AN: First I would like to thank you for reading. And I'm sorry about leaving off right before Feo Teiwaz. Originally, I planned for this to just be a one shot, but I have since decided to break it into two parts.
I had to make a lot of different assumptions about what directions to take different aspects of the rather limited information that we have about the rest of the Dwarven Kingdom's realm outside of what Ainz personally experienced. That's part of what I liked about this writing experience though. Also, the characterization of Geredo. Please let me know how you think it came off.
Mainly this story has served as a great chance to shake off some of the rust I have on writing. Parts of this I felt were quite rambly and some grammar issues, but I felt best at this point to just let it be for now. I have enjoyed it very much and probably will work on more projects like this. Hopefully I will have the second part posted within the next two weeks.
Thank you again, and see you next time
-InkBlotches37