Road Trip to the Dragon Isles - Deep Shale Hold (Part 3)
04 Newkolt 349 AC
Harvek’s memorial was held in the Hall of Ancestors, a vast chamber carved from black granite veined with silver. All two hundred of the clan's dwarves attend.
Granite’s cousin, Fargain, officiated the ceremony.
Harvek Ironthane's armor, battered and torn by umber hulk claws, had been cleaned but not repaired. It rested atop a stone coffin. His warhammer had been laid across his chest.
Shard Thornwallen, commander of the militia, spoke, "Harvek Ironthane died where every dwarf hopes to die. With steel in hand and his kin behind him. The ranks of the honored dead welcome him."
Brunna Ironthane approached the bier carrying a heavy stoneware mug. She filled the mug from a cask of dark ale and set it beside her brother, kissed his head, and whispered, "Save me a seat," before stepping aside.
One by one, every dwarf in the hold approached Harvek’s casket. A miner placed a small iron chisel. A brewer left a polished tankard. A smith laid down a broken hammer head. Others offered coins, gemstones, bits of worked metal, letters, medals, or keepsakes that held meaning only to them.
Altan and Davaa each placed an arrow, Phineas left a small bit of crystal. Agnes gently laid a silver scale between his feet.
Arthur rolled up a copy of his Amber Ale recipe and took one of the green scales claimed from the dragon he fought just north of Ak-Baral he has and attached it to the scroll. He set it down beside the silver scale and lowered his head out of respect.
For a moment the bright green scale rested beside Ag'nessallynn's silver offering, the two dragon scales contrasting sharply against the black stone bier. At least a dozen dwarves looked at them lying side-by-side. Each of them looked at the two adventurers and slowly nodded before breaking off singly or into small groups.
Once Arthur thinks enough time has passed, he seeks out Brunna. "My name is Arthur and I fought alongside your brother. He fought with honor and he saved lives. He never gave up till the end. His stone was set deep."
For about three seconds, Brunna just looks at him. Then she smiles. Then she starts to laugh - deep, belly laughs that draw the attention of other dwarves in the chamber. She laughs until she can't breathe. After nearly a full minute, she holds up one finger, gasping for breath. She wipes tears from her eyes. "By Reorx, did you rehearse that?"
Arthur blinked. "Wha..?"
"The stone line."
Arthur opens his mouth, "Durnic said..."
Brunna smiles, "You absolutely rehearsed that. You humans hear one dwarf proverb and suddenly you're all poets."
Her voice softened, "Harvek would've liked that. Thank you."
Arthur side-eyed Durnic before looking to her, "If there's anything I can do before I leave just let me know."
Brunna smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." She raised her mug slightly. "Safe travels, Arthur."
As Arthur finished speaking with Brunna, he caught sight of Durnic a few yards away. The dwarf was doing a very poor job of pretending not to watch the conversation. Arthur narrowed his eyes and gave him a sideways glance. Durnic immediately became fascinated by a nearby tankard.
He noticed Durnic grinning behind his beard.
Arthur smiled and returns to Granite. "You knew that would happen." He shakes his head, "I'll get you back," he chuckles.
As he crossed the hall, he noticed Durnic grinning into his beard.
Arthur pointed a finger at him. "You knew that would happen."
Durnic's grin widened. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
"I'll get you back." Arthur told him.
The dwarf chuckled. "I look forward to seeing you try."
Granite, who had witnessed the entire exchange was unsuccessfully attempting to maintain a dignified expression.
Granite immediately lost the battle and laughed. "You have to admit, that was magnificent."
Arthur frowned. "I was trying to be respectful."
"You were." Granite replied. "Then you delivered the line like a bard reciting the final verse of an play."
Granite adopted a dramatic posture and deepened his voice."His stone was set deep."
Arthur covered his face with one hand. "Please stop."
Granite ignored him. "No, no. The wording was fine. Dwarves appreciate that sort of thing."
"Then what's the problem?" Arthur asked.
"The delivery. Granite struggled not to laugh again. "I just thought you might let the conversation flow naturally."
Granite's expression softened. "For what it's worth, Brunna appreciated it. You honored him well."
Then Granite's grin returned. "Still sounded rehearsed, though."
08 Newkolt 349 AC
What had originally been planned as a single night's rest in Deep Shale Hold quietly stretched into five. No one complained.
After the battle with the umber hulks, nearly everyone in the company carried some reminder of the fight. Bruises began to fade, muscles still ached, and cuts needed stitching, and several members of the expedition had pushed themselves up to their absolute limit.
The dwarves were in no hurry to send their guests away. So the party stayed. One day became two. Two became three.
Then four.
Then five.
Ag'nessallynn attracted attention wherever she went. Children followed her at a cautious distance until she finally acknowledged them, after which they became far less cautious. By the fifth day she had accumulated a small collection of young admirers who considered her the most fascinating thing to ever visit Deep Shale Hold.
Phineas became something of a celebrity. Every day seemed to produce a new audience of dwarven craftsmen eager to inspect one of his inventions or debate engineering principles. More than once, discussions intended to last fifteen minutes continued well into the evening over mugs of ale.
Altan and Davaa mostly hung out, making occasional trips to the surface just to make sure the sun was still there and tend to the animals.
Granite spent almost every waking hour reading - survey records, supply inventories, trade ledgers, old maps, mining reports. He sat with his cousin late into the night, both searching for something in the papers.
For a moment the bright green scale rested beside Ag'nessallynn's silver offering, the two dragon scales contrasting sharply against the black stone bier. At least a dozen dwarves looked at them lying side-by-side. Each of them looked at the two adventurers and slowly nodded before breaking off singly or into small groups.
Once Arthur thinks enough time has passed, he seeks out Brunna. "My name is Arthur and I fought alongside your brother. He fought with honor and he saved lives. He never gave up till the end. His stone was set deep."
For about three seconds, Brunna just looks at him. Then she smiles. Then she starts to laugh - deep, belly laughs that draw the attention of other dwarves in the chamber. She laughs until she can't breathe. After nearly a full minute, she holds up one finger, gasping for breath. She wipes tears from her eyes. "By Reorx, did you rehearse that?"
Arthur blinked. "Wha..?"
"The stone line."
Arthur opens his mouth, "Durnic said..."
Brunna smiles, "You absolutely rehearsed that. You humans hear one dwarf proverb and suddenly you're all poets."
Her voice softened, "Harvek would've liked that. Thank you."
Arthur side-eyed Durnic before looking to her, "If there's anything I can do before I leave just let me know."
Brunna smiled. "I'll keep that in mind." She raised her mug slightly. "Safe travels, Arthur."
As Arthur finished speaking with Brunna, he caught sight of Durnic a few yards away. The dwarf was doing a very poor job of pretending not to watch the conversation. Arthur narrowed his eyes and gave him a sideways glance. Durnic immediately became fascinated by a nearby tankard.
He noticed Durnic grinning behind his beard.
Arthur smiled and returns to Granite. "You knew that would happen." He shakes his head, "I'll get you back," he chuckles.
As he crossed the hall, he noticed Durnic grinning into his beard.
Arthur pointed a finger at him. "You knew that would happen."
Durnic's grin widened. "I've no idea what you're talking about."
"I'll get you back." Arthur told him.
The dwarf chuckled. "I look forward to seeing you try."
Granite, who had witnessed the entire exchange was unsuccessfully attempting to maintain a dignified expression.
Granite immediately lost the battle and laughed. "You have to admit, that was magnificent."
Arthur frowned. "I was trying to be respectful."
"You were." Granite replied. "Then you delivered the line like a bard reciting the final verse of an play."
Granite adopted a dramatic posture and deepened his voice."His stone was set deep."
Arthur covered his face with one hand. "Please stop."
Granite ignored him. "No, no. The wording was fine. Dwarves appreciate that sort of thing."
"Then what's the problem?" Arthur asked.
"The delivery. Granite struggled not to laugh again. "I just thought you might let the conversation flow naturally."
Granite's expression softened. "For what it's worth, Brunna appreciated it. You honored him well."
Then Granite's grin returned. "Still sounded rehearsed, though."
08 Newkolt 349 AC
What had originally been planned as a single night's rest in Deep Shale Hold quietly stretched into five. No one complained.
After the battle with the umber hulks, nearly everyone in the company carried some reminder of the fight. Bruises began to fade, muscles still ached, and cuts needed stitching, and several members of the expedition had pushed themselves up to their absolute limit.
The dwarves were in no hurry to send their guests away. So the party stayed. One day became two. Two became three.
Then four.
Then five.
Ag'nessallynn attracted attention wherever she went. Children followed her at a cautious distance until she finally acknowledged them, after which they became far less cautious. By the fifth day she had accumulated a small collection of young admirers who considered her the most fascinating thing to ever visit Deep Shale Hold.
Phineas became something of a celebrity. Every day seemed to produce a new audience of dwarven craftsmen eager to inspect one of his inventions or debate engineering principles. More than once, discussions intended to last fifteen minutes continued well into the evening over mugs of ale.
Altan and Davaa mostly hung out, making occasional trips to the surface just to make sure the sun was still there and tend to the animals.
Granite spent almost every waking hour reading - survey records, supply inventories, trade ledgers, old maps, mining reports. He sat with his cousin late into the night, both searching for something in the papers.
One night. Arthur joined them. Though skeptical at first, the dwarves relented after Arthur explained that he had run a profitable business and had even been (or would eventually be, due to vagaries of time travel) a Master of the Vinters and Brewers Guild.
The paladin sits, opening the closest ledger and begins to read.
Fargain pulls a worn ledger from his desk and pushes it towards Arthur. Its pages are filled with inventories, crop yields, ore tallies, and population records.
"Those are my grandfather's reports. Compare them to today's."
Arthur opens the second book.
The decline is obvious: Smaller yields, higher costs, fewer births, more imports, less surplus.
Arthur runs a palm across his face. It was like witnessing a slow death measured in accounting figures.
Granite leans forward, "Deep Shale Hold cannot survive another generation."
"The fact is, we've hollowed out the mountain," Fargain adds.
No one says anything for several seconds. Granite stands. "I have surveyed twenty-seven sites. Of those, only six were worth considering. Two had water. Three had timber. One had both. None had enough ore to convince me to stop looking."
Fargain takes a drink of his ale. "So, here we sit, trying to figure out how to squeeze another season from the rock."
Arthur leans forward, thinking, "Are you trying to stay in the delve? Or are you willing to go further beyond the delve to find a new site?"
"Part o' what I'm doing on the road is explorin' options. If that means movin' the clan, then we move the clan," Granite replies.
"Where have you searched so far if you dont mind me asking?" Arthur asked.
"Fair question," Granite stands and retrieves a scroll from a nearby shelf. He unrolls it, revealing a map covered with blocky, neat writing. Circles and X's marked specific locations.
Granite pointed to a cluster of mountains west of the Delve. "Started here. Obvious choice. Close enough to move the clan without enormous difficulty but the water's bad."
He points to another spot. "Poor ventilation in the lower levels."
A third spot had good farmland but bad stone and flooding problems. A fourth came with a local lord who thought dwarves would make excellent subjects.
He points at a differently colored set of circles. "These are places still in the runnin'."
The merchant-prince pointed to the first.
"Good ore." The second has excellent water, the third was located in a good position for trade. The fourth is clearly defensible and the fifth boasts good timber.
Granite paused at the sixth, "This one might have everything but I ain't seen it meself yet. Just some secondhand reports. Don't know if they're accurate though."
"Of course they are," came a voice from the from the doorway. Arthur turned.
An elf stood in the doorway. The new arrival was just over six feet tall with copper brown skin, dark eyes, and long black hair braided with an assortment of beads and stones. He was dressed in buckskin with a heavy cloak, sturdy boots, and a broad belt stamped with the Shalecutter Clan sigil. A tiny green parakeet sat on his shoulder.
Fargain and Granite don't even look up but both greet him with a simple, "Hey, Talan."
Arthur turns toward the new arrival. "Name's Arthur. Nice to meet you."
Talan nods, "Talanaryn Foxfoot of Foghaven Vale."
He then looks back at the map, "How far away is this last site you haven't seen yet? Because if it's not too far off, we may be able to check it out on our way?" Arthur looks more at the map studying it, commiting it to memory.
Granite frowns. "It's a long way from here."
Talan speaks at the same time, "It's not that far."
Fargain looks at Arthur. "It's Southern Ergoth. Seven-hundred miles to the nearest border AND in the wrong direction AND we'd have to cross the Straits of Algoni AND, in case you haven't noticed, there is a war going on."
Talan smiles, "Like I said, not far."
"Talan, I won't commit to moving the clan near to a-thousand miles on yer say so," Granite replies.
The paladin sits, opening the closest ledger and begins to read.
Fargain pulls a worn ledger from his desk and pushes it towards Arthur. Its pages are filled with inventories, crop yields, ore tallies, and population records.
"Those are my grandfather's reports. Compare them to today's."
Arthur opens the second book.
The decline is obvious: Smaller yields, higher costs, fewer births, more imports, less surplus.
Arthur runs a palm across his face. It was like witnessing a slow death measured in accounting figures.
Granite leans forward, "Deep Shale Hold cannot survive another generation."
"The fact is, we've hollowed out the mountain," Fargain adds.
No one says anything for several seconds. Granite stands. "I have surveyed twenty-seven sites. Of those, only six were worth considering. Two had water. Three had timber. One had both. None had enough ore to convince me to stop looking."
Fargain takes a drink of his ale. "So, here we sit, trying to figure out how to squeeze another season from the rock."
Arthur leans forward, thinking, "Are you trying to stay in the delve? Or are you willing to go further beyond the delve to find a new site?"
"Part o' what I'm doing on the road is explorin' options. If that means movin' the clan, then we move the clan," Granite replies.
"Where have you searched so far if you dont mind me asking?" Arthur asked.
"Fair question," Granite stands and retrieves a scroll from a nearby shelf. He unrolls it, revealing a map covered with blocky, neat writing. Circles and X's marked specific locations.
Granite pointed to a cluster of mountains west of the Delve. "Started here. Obvious choice. Close enough to move the clan without enormous difficulty but the water's bad."
He points to another spot. "Poor ventilation in the lower levels."
A third spot had good farmland but bad stone and flooding problems. A fourth came with a local lord who thought dwarves would make excellent subjects.
He points at a differently colored set of circles. "These are places still in the runnin'."
The merchant-prince pointed to the first.
"Good ore." The second has excellent water, the third was located in a good position for trade. The fourth is clearly defensible and the fifth boasts good timber.
Granite paused at the sixth, "This one might have everything but I ain't seen it meself yet. Just some secondhand reports. Don't know if they're accurate though."
"Of course they are," came a voice from the from the doorway. Arthur turned.
An elf stood in the doorway. The new arrival was just over six feet tall with copper brown skin, dark eyes, and long black hair braided with an assortment of beads and stones. He was dressed in buckskin with a heavy cloak, sturdy boots, and a broad belt stamped with the Shalecutter Clan sigil. A tiny green parakeet sat on his shoulder.
Fargain and Granite don't even look up but both greet him with a simple, "Hey, Talan."
Arthur turns toward the new arrival. "Name's Arthur. Nice to meet you."
Talan nods, "Talanaryn Foxfoot of Foghaven Vale."
He then looks back at the map, "How far away is this last site you haven't seen yet? Because if it's not too far off, we may be able to check it out on our way?" Arthur looks more at the map studying it, commiting it to memory.
Granite frowns. "It's a long way from here."
Talan speaks at the same time, "It's not that far."
Fargain looks at Arthur. "It's Southern Ergoth. Seven-hundred miles to the nearest border AND in the wrong direction AND we'd have to cross the Straits of Algoni AND, in case you haven't noticed, there is a war going on."
Talan smiles, "Like I said, not far."
"Talan, I won't commit to moving the clan near to a-thousand miles on yer say so," Granite replies.
"Straits of Algoni? What's that? Also I wonder if the elves wouldn't mind sharing the land beneath what mountains they have. "Arthur looks to Talan have you been before?"
"I was born there. Foghaven Vale lies in the Lastgaard Moutains, near the headwaters of the Thon-Sorpon River." The elf's take on a somewhat dreamy look as he speaks, thinking of his homeland. "When I finally finish my journey of discovery, I will return there. The thought of my dwarven friends being nearby fills my heart with gladness."
"I can see that you truly mean that, Talan. I also understand where Granite is coming from. To blindly move a whole clan on words alone would be foolish. But once this is all over," he looks at Granite, "I'd be happy to try and help find a new home."
The elf gave a small, uncomplicated nod, as if that much had never been in question.
Granite’s expression softened just a fraction at that. Not agreement but acknowledgment that Arthur had understood the weight of what he was saying.
Fargain exhaled slowly through his nose as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s not a small thing ye’re offering, human.”
Granite studied him for a long moment, fingers idly tracing the edge of a map marked with half-abandoned hopes and not-quite-ruled-out futures. “You understand what that means, aye?” Granite asked quietly. “This isn’t escorting a caravan. It’s not even building a hold. It’s relocating a people. And everything that comes with them, food stores. Livestock. Smithies. Families. Records. Grudges. Traditions. I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate it,” he said. “But I also won’t pretend I can accept it just because it’s offered.”
Granite finally leaned back, exhaling slowly.
“If we’re talkin’ about ‘after this is all over,’” he said, “then we’d better make damn sure there is an after. Tomorrow, we set out to find yer lady's kin and bring them into this war."
"I was born there. Foghaven Vale lies in the Lastgaard Moutains, near the headwaters of the Thon-Sorpon River." The elf's take on a somewhat dreamy look as he speaks, thinking of his homeland. "When I finally finish my journey of discovery, I will return there. The thought of my dwarven friends being nearby fills my heart with gladness."
"I can see that you truly mean that, Talan. I also understand where Granite is coming from. To blindly move a whole clan on words alone would be foolish. But once this is all over," he looks at Granite, "I'd be happy to try and help find a new home."
The elf gave a small, uncomplicated nod, as if that much had never been in question.
Granite’s expression softened just a fraction at that. Not agreement but acknowledgment that Arthur had understood the weight of what he was saying.
Fargain exhaled slowly through his nose as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s not a small thing ye’re offering, human.”
Granite studied him for a long moment, fingers idly tracing the edge of a map marked with half-abandoned hopes and not-quite-ruled-out futures. “You understand what that means, aye?” Granite asked quietly. “This isn’t escorting a caravan. It’s not even building a hold. It’s relocating a people. And everything that comes with them, food stores. Livestock. Smithies. Families. Records. Grudges. Traditions. I won’t pretend I don’t appreciate it,” he said. “But I also won’t pretend I can accept it just because it’s offered.”
Granite finally leaned back, exhaling slowly.
“If we’re talkin’ about ‘after this is all over,’” he said, “then we’d better make damn sure there is an after. Tomorrow, we set out to find yer lady's kin and bring them into this war."
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