He sat still with a full belly and took in the scene at the hold: dust so thick that it gave everything a ghostly appearance, cobwebs hanging in the dark corners, and debris scattered all about. Something is amiss, he thought to himself, my people have been here just as recently as several weeks ago. He tried to figure out what had happened, but without getting up and investigating the scene, he would have no clue. Then his mind thought of a possible reason: What if our Citadel was the last to fall?
His eyes lids became heavy, and he felt the edges of the Dream World calling to him once again. His body felt warm, his soul felt at peace, and so he gave in to the pulling sensation. Within moments his deep breathing could be heard throughout the hold, his snores adding to the blizzard that was blowing outside. His mind once again took him back to the moment of the fatal decision.
With the mighty ax no longer present, the darkness from UnderRealm began to creep up to the upper levels of the world above. More skirmishes broke out as the goblins from below felt emboldened to carry out such attacks. The dwarfs were losing warriors by the hundreds each day. Then one day, a dwarf came forward and called upon the High Council of Elders to reunify the ax. The request was met with resistance and condemnation, resulting in the banishment of the inquiring dwarf.
The Battle of Grynix Mount was the turning point. This sky-rising mountain was the first battle to signify that something big was unfolding as thirty thousand goblins poured out from the bowels of Ar'Ko'Nýa and rained fire on the dwarven outpost. In all, some twenty thousand dwarfs lost their lives that day, and it caused revolts in the Citadels. The Citadel Marshals were unbendable as they continued to hold their piece of the ax in reverence. Their greed for power would be their undoing, and it would bring an end to a long lineage of dwarven culture that would never recover.
Draegos was born in the year of the Drake, under a solar eclipse of both moons, on a day dedicated to the dead. He also had an unusual birthmark behind his right ear in the shape of the two moons and sun forming a triangle. His father would not look at him, even in the dwarfs wounded slumber he could see the disappointment on the elder's face, but his mother saw so much more in him. She held him close and began to tell him stories of their lineage.
"Ya shouldn't be getting too attached to it," his father disdainfully said. He kept his distance and continued, "He'll most likely not make it through the night anyway."
"If 'n you are going to make statements like that, then you might as well go. This wee lad has enough to worry about. He doesn’t need to be fighting with his dá along with everyone else," she stated and gently rocked the newborn.
"If he can't pick up an ax, he ain't no son of mine," his father pronounced as he left the room.
She turned her bright green eyes back to her son, his eyes a deep brown and so full of wonder. She cried as she rocked her child gently and sang songs. She held his tiny hands, so small, and she noticed how his fingers curved and dangled. She swaddled the newborn, covering his fused toes, and held him close. She cried, as she knew the sort of hell this child would endure. Then she named him Draegos, after the legendary hero who would find the Obsidian Ax and bring peace to their lands. And the little dwarf would live through the night.
His eyes sprang open. His brow was dry, but his skin was a little clammy, and he was thirsty. He reached over and carefully filled a mug with water from the pitcher, gingerly drinking it, and then he settled back to rest. He sat there staring at the rough ceiling, thinking back to the days of his youth. He was weaker than the typical dwarf, smaller, but more in tune with his surroundings. He also had prophetic dreams.
His first gift from his mother, he remembered, had been a walking staff. It was constructed from an old piece of iron oak adorned with a single, pure ruby on the top where his hand would rest. The grains varied between white and black running alongside each other. There was something else about the staff: when he would walk he would leave no trace, and this began his lifelong love for the mystical arts.
He slowed his breathing down and focused on his talisman, visualizing golden hues flowing over his body. He softly chanted the healing spell and focused the energy to the spots he felt needed it. Then he rested for another few days, dreaming of the first Draegos, the Iron Axe, and the legendary hero of dwarfs.
Draegos IronAx was the dwarf who had traveled to the Blood Isle, once the homeland to the Ar'Ko'Nýans, and recovered the ax from deep within the catacombs. He had fought all kinds of undead creatures, and magi who wielded impossible magic. When he emerged from the catacombs with the ax in his hand, the dwarfs camping nearby swore an oath of fealty. They became his Blood Guards, and soon the Iron Axe would form an army to cleanse the Mýd'Rým Mountains and unify the Citadels.
By the time Iron Axe and his Blood Guards arrived at the Citadel of Spirit, in the Shield Mountains, they returned covered in the gore of their foes. The group of marauders more resembled a wild band of barbarians. Every single one of them fought with the tenacity of their leader, with the same determination, never faltering in the wake of impossible odds. When they arrived at the besieged Citadel of Wisdom in the easterly Mýd'Rým Mountains they had killed over thirty-five thousand goblins, and they had lost but a single handful from their small number of five hundred.
Draegos Iron Axe became the first High King of the Citadels in the year 37 AA (After Ar'Ko'Nýa), the same year Draegos the Wanderer was born. It would only be right that the day of the end was also on the day of Draegos' birth thirty-seven years later in the current year of 74 AA.
His eyes sprang open at this revelation.
He rolled over on to his left side and pushed himself up. Holding his right leg out as he moved his left under him, he lifted his body up into a standing position, reaching out for something to steady himself on. He grabbed a nearby chair and stood in one place as his mind spun. Pain raced up his right leg, but he closed his jaw and winced through it. He lowered his leg, and partially stood on it.
The pain was not as intense as he thought it would be, so he hobbled around the room looking at what was left. Not much, he noted in his mind. I wonder if the vaults are still sealed. He moved the chair he was using as a crutch and sat at a table, propping his leg up on the table, and taking in several deep breaths. He was going to need to toughen the leg up before he left the confines of his makeshift room.
He scooped up some stew and ate it heartily. Then he drank some mead from a nearby mug, wiped his beard, and headed towards the area of the vault. He took an old broom and wrapped some fabric from an old dwarven banner around the end to prop into his armpit. He managed to make his way to the corridor that led to the vaults, but some of it had collapsed. He was going to need to find a different way, or dig out a passage.
He stood there in the near-dark section of the room, looking at the inaccessible hallway, and his mind raced with options, but most options only had one participant—himself. He felt defeated and drained, so he hobbled back to his makeshift bed and lay back down. He would rest a bit more and contemplate what his options were.
He was going to need to travel to the other Citadels to find out and to round up as much support as he could. First, he would need to retrieve the moonstone from the hold, and then scavenge for food and supplies to make the journey to the Citadel of Ice, where hopefully he would meet up with the Citadel Marshal Gor'Lýn FrostAx and find out any additional news. Then he could plan his next move.
He was sleeping restfully when the ground began to shake and woke him. He reached for the makeshift crutch and hobbled to an archway where he waited out the short tremor and then heard a loud collapse from nearby. Once the ground stopped shaking, he went to investigate the collapse. The tunnel he had thought collapsed was in fact cleared, as was the pathway that led to the vault; he would have to freehand climb down the steep descent.
He removed the bandages from his hands. They had healed enough from both the salve and spells, and he checked his right leg. It was still sore, so he would try and make the climb as ea
sy as possible. He went back to the main room, using his crutch to walk faster, and began searching for a block and tackle box. He also grabbed some rope and a hammer so that he could build himself a winch system and lower himself down using pulleys and a rope seat.
First, he would secure a pulley above his head, and he would do this by securing a screwgate carabiner for anchoring. Then Draegos pounded in another screwgate carabiner and secured a pulley to it by using a heavy iron carabiner. He pulled the rope through and held the two ends, then he slowly climbed back to the tunnel ledge and tied a loop at one end. He slid the loop up to his thighs and sat while holding the other end of the rope, and then began to repel into the collapsed area.
He stopped halfway down and secured the rope on another screwgate carabiner. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a quartz crystal and held it in his left hand. He placed it close to his mouth as he uttered several words of power.
"Án'guýn'bwere'yllumynatus!”[7] Then he tied the crystal onto his talisman and let it hang as he took in the scene around him.
The icy tomb came into focus as light flooded the destroyed hall section. Below he could see a landing into the tunnel that would lead directly to the vaults, but it would take him several carefully planted screwgate carabiners to make it to that spot. He swung himself towards the right to get closer, the rope held, and he held on with his left hand while screwing in the carabiner with his right. He then looped the rope and hammered in another screwgate carabiner. He then swung himself five more feet as he made his way down and over. Again he stopped, screwed in another carabiner, and prepared to swing again, but as he did so the earth around him began to shake violently once more. He took a hard swing, aiming for the ledge, and the walls around him came crashing down.
He reached out with his right hand as he was falling and grabbed for the edge. He was relieved to find he had managed to get ahold of it, and with his left hand, he pulled himself up. There was no going back the way he came so he would have to find another way back to the main chamber once he explored the vault. He turned and started down the corridor.
As he rounded the corner hall, he saw the great door still sealed and locked. His mind raced with hope as he approached the large iron door. He traced the locks with the fingers of his right hand, the four fingertips feeling each groove of the combination locks and the cold, solid iron handle. He placed his left hand on the side of the door, on top of a dwarven symbol for lock, and uttered the sacred words, "Án'wuý'von'lyaéchen!”[8]
He then spun the dial around to the proper numbers and upon hearing the click, opened the vault with his right hand. The large iron door swung open easily, revealing the interior of the vault. He saw all sorts of colors come into being as his crystal lit the chamber up, but what he was really after was a particular moonstone. He found it, exactly where he remembered his father telling him it was, and gingerly he uncovered the magical stone.
He could hear it humming, softly, but could not make out the tune. He picked it up with his left hand, the energy racing through his hand and arm as he did so, and suddenly he was aware of the immense power it possessed. He grabbed his ax and placed the stone in its proper spot, the head of the ax. As it slid in a sort of hissing could be heard, followed by pop, and the stone was solidly in place within the relic.
As he stared at the ax with the first of three stones in it, he sensed a new magic from within the artifact. Something was nearby down here, he sensed, and it headed towards him. He spun around so that he was facing the door of the vault, holding the ax in his right hand, and he closed his left fist around the glowing crystal, making the room dark. He deeply breathed as he waited for his assailant to arrive.
The goblin bounty hunter stopped in the hall and sniffed the air. He held his mace tight in his hands as he prepared to attack the prey he'd been hunting for days. His iron-banded armor bloodied from many kills, and his senses heightened by the Mystic of his tribe. He had a mission of honor. He would find the stones his master had ordered him to retrieve and be crowned the Goblin King.
The ax came from out of nowhere as it hit the goblin in his left arm. Before he could figure out who was attacking him, the dwarf had taken the initiative and thrown the light crystal at the goblin, temporarily blinding him. The goblin reached out and grabbed the dwarf by the scruff of his neck and tossed him across the room; he hit the wall squarely and slid down it. The goblin then stepped into the room and raised his mace up for a killing blow, but the dwarf still had a lot of fight in him, bringing his left foot into contact with the goblin's right leg and kicking his knee out.
The beast screamed in rage and pain as the dwarf moved to get into a defensive position. The goblin turned and faced his adversary, the brazen dwarf. The two circled each other, each eyeing the other and searching for any weak points. The goblin stepped in and thrust his mace towards the dwarf, who turned and rolled along the assailant's arms and slammed his ax into the beast's back. The iron-banded armor stopped the blow but was devastated. It fell to the ground as the cobatant spun and backhanded the dwarf.
The dwarf went flying across the room from the impact of the hit, raised himself, and brought his ax up while moving slowly around the goblin. The goblin lashed out again with his heavy mace and slammed the ground by the dwarf, who then raised his right hand up and smashed the goblin square in the face, breaking its nose. Blood squirted out everywhere as the dwarf brought his fist back and swung with the ax.
The goblin stepped to his left, raised his mace, and deflected the ax easily, bringing his left fist across the face of the dwarf, hitting him squarely in the right ear. A blast of high-pitched noise entered the mind of the dwarf, and his hearing muted in his right ear. He shook his head, but the goblin had already figured out the weak spot of the dwarf. He brought his mace across, from the right side of the dwarf, and the injured Mystic was only barely able to bring the ax up quick enough to deflect the blow. It sent the dwarf across the room, landing on a pile of gold coins and assorted gems.
The dwarf grabbed a small pouch with his left hand and rolled away from the goblin to his right. He jumped up and threw a bag at the goblin, who ducked, and that was when the dwarf saw his weakness. They engaged in a battle of direct hits, each deflecting the other's blows with precision and speed. As they fought, the dwarf once again noticed the goblin's weak spot and charged him.
It caught the goblin off guard, this rushing small dwarf, and he thought he knew well enough to deflect the blatant blow headed his way. As the dwarf ducked, turned, and rose, he uttered a word of power, "Án'nuén'ećplosyous!”[9] From the dwarf's left hand came a burst of fire that burned the face of the goblin. As the goblin reacted in anger and pain, the dwarf brought his ax across the throat of his adversary, and the creature fell instantly. The dwarf stepped over the goblin and cut its ugly head from its shoulders and kicked it into the pit outside the vault.
He sat back against the far wall and slid down. He was tired and hurt, and needed to get back above, but before he did he searched the vault for other items that could be of use. He slowly made his way over to the piles of gold and gems, sliding his left hand into the pile and swishing the pile around. He grabbed a few valuable gems and tucked them away into his pouch. He also filled another pouch full of coins, grabbed a few items of worth, and tossed them into a bag. There were no other objects of power, though, and he decided to get moving.
Time to head to the Citadel of Ice to see how our brethren are doing. He exited the vault through a secret door—every vault has one—and a passage that led back up and around to the main room area. As he entered the secret corridor, he heard the ground groan and give way. He felt the vault collapse into whatever pit was below them as he began his ascent. He had barely made it out alive.
This part of the hall had several areas that had partially collapsed, and Draegos noted the cracks in the stonework, concluding that whatever had attacked his Citadel must be behind this. He kept walking but noticed many similar traits of destruction. He ar
rived at the door and pushed it open; it slid easily enough as he emerged into the main chamber where he had rested already for several moons. He went and sat at the table, brushing the dust and debris from his clothes, and poured himself some mead.
"Well, Dá, at least I didn't die," he said, and then he took another deep swig of his mead. "And I got the damn stone." He tossed the ax on the table and sat back staring at it. Its obsidian blade held a soft opaque glow, and the newly added moonstone seemed to make it easier to handle.
That last spell did some significant damage.
The dwarf looked around. "Who’s there?" He turned in his seat and grabbed his ax.
Relax, friend dwarf, I mean you no harm
He couldn't find a body from which he heard the voice and wondered from which direction it came. Then he remembered part of his apprenticeship and how certain Mystics had totems or spirits. They were the most powerful of Mystics, becoming mediums for kings and wardens of sacred places. He relaxed and put the ax back on the table and drank some more from his goblet of mead.
"Do you have a name?" the dwarf asked. He went to the pot of stew and scooped out more to eat. He would be leaving in the morning.
In time you will come to know who I am, but for now, I am your ally and friend.
"Great. Then you could start by telling me what to do next," the dwarf tested.
You already know what you must do. Head to the Citadel of Ice and seek out the snow agate.
"And we shall, in the morn, once I have rested and prepared." the dwarf replied and then finished his stew. He stood up from the table and began to pack his gear, grabbing whatever other equipment he could find. He went about the room collecting items of worth, value, or usefulness and started to form a pile from which to sort out later. He grabbed cloaks, armor suits, weapons, rations, various liquid containers, and several dozen bags and pouches.
The Obsidian Axe: Prelude to the Prophecy Page 2
