Trials of a Burntbeard Dwarf

[Betandor]

Well met, weary traveller. It has been some time since I have last been in this location, ready to share a tale of adventure and might there even be...yes, romance in this story! Barmaid, a flagon of ale for my short friend here, and some of the special brew you keep just for me. Ah, her blush does make her eyes sparkle in the light of the lanterns, doesn't it? Where was I? Oh yes, the Story. This was told to me by Botav himself, though he didn't quite have the flair for words, and he asked that I not embellish TOO much, hence to the tale...

The grey of morning dawn matched the color of the mountain stone, making the fog and the surrounding area seem like a clammy blanket against the skin of the grumbling dwarf. A soft stream of melting snow trickled down the mountainside near his scuffed and well travelled boots, as he glared suspiciously around the area for unseen enemies. Spitting in disgust, he tugged hard on his auburn beard, and placed a stubby finger into the tracks around the still smoldering fire pit. "Orcs," he muttered, his features twisting with dislike as his stomach threatened to void itself of the jerked venison he had eaten a short time ago. Rising slowly to his feet, he could see the tracks of the orcs in the still damp mud and grass that covered this part of the lower mountains. By his estimate, there were at least a dozen of the snorting pigs, and he meant to see to it that they stayed away from his mountains. So he began to follow, grumbling under his breath, and bashing his hammer against the mountain stones to hear the mountain's song in his veins.

Soon, the sun began to rise, causing large beads of sweat to sting the squinting dwarf's narrowed eyes as he worked with all of his concentration to follow the trail of the orcish band. The trail was fading, and the dwarf grumbled a curse under his breath about the sowlike mothers of the rapidly moving force of dangerous orcs.

Suddenly, he heard an orcish warhorn split the air with a low rumbling note. Hefting his hammer, he roared a battlecry to Clangeddin and began moving more rapidly in the direction of the now frequent blasts of sound. Soon, he smelled the burning woods, and saw flames shooting into the sky, with a rising cloud of black smoke. The screams of dying orcs and the rush of flames greeted him as he crashed through a the brush under a stunted oak tree.

In a small clearing, surrounded by the burning woodlands, stood a tall human woman, dressed in a loose brown robe, with her long hair bound neatly by a tangled wreath of roses and thorns. As he stumbled to a stop behind her, she turned quickly, and chanted a spell, waving her hand in a short chopping motion. His beard, red as the flames of the surrounding fires, was suddenly blackened and scorched by a flaming sword as she completed her chant and turned back to the remaining orcs, convinced that her spell would slow this attacker long enough to finish the more dangerous threat before dealing with him.

Cursing and howling in rage, the dwarf swatted his beard with rough pats, putting out most of the blaze, except for a glowing ember at the very tip of the smoldering hair. His hammer clangged off the helmet of the first unfortunate orc to step in his way, and slammed into the shield of the second. As they staggered away, he noticed a hunched and wizened orc behind them beginning to point a twisted blackened nail at the woman, who was now engaged in keeping trees between herself and the remaining pair of sword waving orcs. "Oh no ye don't, ye squealin' pile of gutless goblin spit," he roared as he threw his hammer in a desperate attempt to disrupt the spell.

He felt a momentary dizziness pass over him as the spell rolled through his body. Grunting, he continued his charge, slamming his body into the orc, and closing his stubby fingers around the shaman's throat. Chanting a soft prayer of his own, he grinned with grim amusement as the orc's gagging coughs to cast a spell ceased. The dwarf bashed his fist into the orc's mouth for good measure, breaking out one of his yellowed rotting teeth and knocking him unconscious. Standing with a grunt, the dwarf turned back to find that the woman's plight had been resolved. She had taken some acorns off the same oak that had given him entry to the clearing, caused them to catch fire, and hit her tormentors in their slobbering mouths. A smell not unlike frying bacon was evident through the clearing, underlied by the charred and burning wood.

Seeing that the woman was unmarked, except for a few small burns on her robes, the dwarf began to swear, stumped up to her, and demanded, "Do ye know what ye've done?!?!"

She replied in a low mocking voice, "What I've done is save this woodland, and the surrounding country from an orc raid. Now, what are you doing in my woods?" Her eyes sparkled dangerously as her hands began to twitch in the telltale gestures of magical casting.

The dwarf snorted in disbelief, and made a quick gesture of his own. Suddenly, the druid's spellcasting stopped and her glare could have killed him, if he had cared about such things. "Now, before ye go off and get yerself all heated up at me, ye just caused some real major mischief. Ye might have saved yer woods, but ye just killed me."

The druid stopped glaring at him, and a puzzled look came over her face. He continued to explain. "Me family has been cursed for as long as any dwarf can remember. Some say it had to do with a relation of mine not wantin to serve as some high and mighty witch's servant one time, so she cursed his blood with somethin that might not seem so bad, to one such as yerself, who has no beard."
He took a deep breath and continued, "This witch cursed his blood, to always have red beards." He frowned, "The curse also made it so that we would die if anyone burned our beards." He saw her slow, dawning horror. "Aye, the only way out for this, is if ye join with me, like the witch wanted with me ancestor, otherwise, I'll be dead before the next full moon."

He grumbled under his breath, and then looked at her again. Tears were welling in her eyes as she bowed her head and looked down at him. She nodded slowly, and her low voiced whisper almost took his breath. "I'm sorry. You should not have to suffer that fate. But neither am I allowed to marry without the expressed consent of the high druid of <Godname here>." He paled slightly, then nodded his head in acceptance. Gathering his things around him, he began a soft chanting to Clangeddin, asking for strength in the remaining days of his life.

She looked down at him again. His beard was blackened and burned, and the glowing ember at the end of his beard still smoldered like a burning heart. She knew then that in less than a month's time, his life would end, like the final spark of that burning ember. Shaking her head sadly, she walked away into the woods.

...Well now, not exactly the most romantic of places to be meeting a girl, though I daresay, it would suit me as fine as this tavern in which we find ourselves. It seems as though we have outlasted all of the other patrons, and the servers have all gone to their rest, save the dear lass who has kept my mug full, and my heart singing with her sultry looks. I bid you good evening, friend traveller, and will now retire for a private audience with the lady. Come my dear, and warm yourself, as I sing you a song of dreams...

The Battlebard Writes Once More. Comments and Questions Welcome.

Betandor

[Sundara]

Ohh, not bad :) I was wondering where Sayannah's story was heading. Write more so we know! 8) Does she get the consent of the high druid to join with the dwarf to save his life? An interesting start of the two fates. Hrm.. ;)