I was born[1] in the dwarven city of Qhalkwån, the city with the greatest mines in the world. The ores, stones and gems that are extracted from these mines are exported to everywhere and to everyone. The gems usually are sold to the elves, even though they don’t really do much with them. The ores are sold to the humans, those people always find a use for them, and always want more. The stone is sold, mostly, to the harpies, since they can’t properly extract it for themselves, but they insist in using stone to build who knows what who knows where.
The city is very prosperous and rarely takes part in any conflicts, but instead, it helps broker treaties and agreements between rival cities. Really, the city is a paradise for dwarves who just want a peaceful life, something very hard to find in times like this.
My name is Zyåtakh Qintul so Qhalkwån[2] and, it hurts to say that, but even the most peaceful of cities needs a reasonable garrison. If not attacked by greedy cities, ruthless mercenary bands and bandits that roam the land might try a raid. Qhalkwån, though it is a big city, the garrison is very small, not even a thousand dwarves. But the city has no need for big garrisons, the outer wall, surrounding the entire city, is nothing too impressive, a simple, seven meters tall, stone wall, with the occasional tower, a 12 meters high cylinder. The gate is of cheap wood, not strong enough to resist the weakest of battering rams. Behind the outer wall there is some empty space, ready for new buildings to be built, then starts the city itself, a maze of wide streets, leading to massive markets, selling mostly cheap merchandise, such as excess crops from nearby farms and quarried stone.
And then there are the inner walls, 17 meters tall, stone walls, painted in white, displaying the blue crest all around. There are towers, though they are few, they are reinforced enough to withstand catapult boulders and receive close to no damage. The gate has three layers, the core being of oak, covered with high carbon steel on both sides, making for a combined thickness of 30 centimeters. Behind the so called Winter Walls, comes the blacksmiths, jewelers, tailors, and so on. The streets, once again, are wide, for carts and merchant caravans to pass through.
Behind all that, in the very center of the city, stands the Great Hall of Torhkurah, the Starved[3]. Though the name may make you think it is a magnificent building, with the most beautiful architecture, it isn’t. Its purpose is not to be a pleasant view, but to be practical, defensible. It was made with the initial purpose of the hall was to protect Torhkurah’s harp, an instrument that, when played correctly is capable of controlling a storm. The Hall was built around the room where the artifact is located, making it the most fortified room in the entire city.
I, personally, don’t really believe a simple harp can control a storm. That is simply ridiculous. But then again, I don’t have a say in whether the harp is or not so powerful, my job is simply to guard the city, and overthinking things of such little importance won’t help me at all.
“I wonder what Torhkurah’s full name was.” I think out loud while shoving my beard under my belt and spreading it, in a way it covered as much of my torso as possible, in an attempt to protect me from the cold of the winter.
“Do I look like someone who’d know that?” was the answer I got from my companion “But he had to be a builder, after all, he built the damn hall.” He had a good point.
“But he also mined his own stone, and he was good at it, so he had to be a miner.” I pointed out.
“Anyone can extract good stone, but few can build something so resistant.” He retorted, admiring the Hall. “But why are we glorifying a dwarf who was such a genius that starved to death?”
“He might not have been the smartest, but he did build the foundations of the most prosperous city in dwarven history” Rhanorh simply agreed with a shrug and moved closer to the fire pit in between us. The fire highlighted his bronze colored beard. He had also put his beard under his belt, but though he was younger than me, his beard was much thicker, protected him much more from the cold. He was not born in Qhalkån, though no one asked where he was from, not that your birth place was important in this city. He was a bit shorter than others, but also wider, and could withstand quite the beating before biting the dust.
The sun was already starting to go down the horizon, meaning my shift was close to an end, and I could already feel the warmth of the taverns, could hear the cheerful singing of the dirty, tired and drunk miners, the stories sung by the occasional bard that decides to spend the night in the inn, paying not in gold, but in attracting clients.
The next guards arrived soon, as the streets where lit with lamps. Groups of dwarves marched from and to everywhere, every one of them going to their favorite tavern. Mine and Rhanorh’s favorite tavern is owned by a dwarf named Sjud, a likable one-eyed innkeeper. He is a foreigner, and always has some crazy story that no one believes. We arrived at the tavern early, so it was almost empty. We were welcomed by Sjud with a strong bear hug for each of us, hugs we answered with just as strong hugs.
“Welcome friends, you are early today! I have bought a huge boar for tonight, so come and sit! I’ll bring something for your cold throats and something for your sober thoughts!” he pointed to the fire surrounded by stools and bolted to the back room. Around the fire were already two other dwarves, chatting and watching the indeed huge boar as it was roasted in the fire. The two dwarves seemed to be euphoric and commemorating something that had happened to them.
“A good night to feast, friends!” Rhanorh said as he sat beside the dwarf with brown, wavy hair falling on his shoulder. He turned to face Rhanorh, with a smile that only the drunkest dwarves can have.
“Indeed! Indeed! And it only just started! Today, friends, we are not to remain sober! We are not to wake up before next week!” He raised his tankard that had already been emptied and refilled time and time again. “Drink! Drink like never before, friends! Because tonight we pay!”
Confused, I turned to the other dwarf, this one wasn’t as drunk, and noticed my look. “An elven queen has commissioned a pair of twin sword from us, and has paid half up front.” He was younger, and his blond beard still didn’t reach his abdomen, though his hair was long and tied in a ponytail that reached halfway down his back.
“An elven QUEEN! A QUEEN! Are you sure it wasn’t just a petty queen?” asked Rhanorh, laughing. The young one shrugged.
“Who cares, they payment is huge either way!” he joined the laughter and finished his tankard.
“Still, it’s a very demanding job, are you sure you can make something worthy of a queen?” the black haired one, who had been checking the boar looked at me astonished.
“You hurt me with such words, friend.” I shrug with a smile as big as the one he had, and we all laughed as Sjud arrived with bowls of soup and tankards filled to the brim with the sweet nectar of life that is beer. Rhanorh invited Sjud to sit with us, but new guests had started arriving, signaling the start of the most outstanding night that tavern had ever seen.
It did not take long before the establishment was overflowing with drunk, euphoric, feasting dwarves, singing and dancing to the sound of their own boots taping in the wooden floor, which, had not been of excellent craftsmanship, would’ve cracked. But that was just the start of the night. As the feast went into the night, an unusual figure appeared in the door. An elf, a being much taller than us, that had not a single piece of clothing[4], as per usual when it comes to these weird people. We identified that it was a kuran[5]. The elf’s hair was black, making an incredible contrast with her pale skin. Her hair was straight and reached a little past the knees. Surprisingly, most dwarves didn’t even notice her entrance, and kept dancing and singing. Elves usually didn’t join us in the taverns because they prefer their own boring type of feast.
Sjud approached the elf with a smile, and the previously empty face of the elf brightened with a smile, and Sjud gave his famous bear hug greeting, which was answered with a hug once again. The two of them talked in a language I didn’t understand, and I doubt anyone else understood either. The elf was served soup, beer, and what remained of the boar, and Sjud sat with her, chatting. The dwarves, one by one, started to notice her presence, though most thought they were just too drunk and kept drinking and dancing. When she finished eating, she left her stool and sat in the bar counter as Sjud handed her a wooden transverse flute.
There was a sudden silence as a new sound was heard in the room. It wasn’t the words of the singing, though it told a magnificent story of legendary heroes and battles. It wasn’t the rhythmic sound of the boots taping with the dancing, though it was just as, if not more cheerful than the dance of the dwarves intoxicated with the strongest alcohol. The sound told untold stories in unknown languages, stories never heard before by my or any other ears in the room, stories of sadness, happiness, glory and defeat. The dwarves soon began dancing to the sound. I myself, someone who never was much of a dancer, climbed up a table and danced like I never knew I could.
I can say for sure, that after this night, I never doubted another story of Sjud’s stories. Except for the one he says he convinced a harpy that he was a human.
[1] Though referred to as “born”, dwarves do not reproduce; they are extracted from molten metal.
[2] The naming of dwarves goes as follows: *Profession* (in this case, Warrior) *First Name* so (literally, “of, from”) *City of Origin*
[3] Refer to The Legend of the Tamer of Storms. (Not Written)
[4] In case you are wondering, there are no genitals. Nor breasts.
[5] Elves are divided in kuran and miran, kind of like genders. Kuran is an elf with a very sharp mind and outstanding intellect. These master the use of swords. In English, I decided, for mere convenience, to call them “she”. Miran is an elf which is stronger physically. These master the longbow. Queens are ALWAYS kuran. P.S. none of them have Adam’s apple.
