Ogres…
The word resonated through his head like a poorly swung hammer on an anvil.
“Ogres.” This time he said it aloud, a low grumble forced through clinched teeth. He followed Shale into the inn and accepted a drink. Leave the prisoner to the others, interrogation wasn’t Baern’s forte; he’d sooner flatten the walking trash heap’s knees than give it a chance to speak. Here, there was ale—and two dwarfs named Stoneheart.
“I was but a wee lad,” he began slowly, taking a long draw from the mug. “Most of ‘em were gone ‘afore I was born, not yet a century ago. There was still a few scattered clutches about, but the Nogginsplitters took care of ‘em swift enough. It took some time, months or more, to make our way back through the halls, from one ancient chamber to another reclaimin’ what was once ours, but they went on steady, and with a purpose.
“Those handiest with weapons lead the way into each chamber. They’d strongarm the doors that’d been sealed for damn near a century and charge headlong into anything that needed killin’. The clerics backed ‘em up, some fightin’ and some healin’. The women who didn’t fight stood back with the tykes, meself included, and waited for the clearin’ to end. Then we’d go in an’ clean up the mess and have us a celebration!”
Baern swallowed another draught of ale and clunked the empty mug back down on the counter, sliding it across the wood to Shale with a nod. “’Twas good ale back then, but I’ll admit, ‘twasn’t as good as yours is right now.” Baern smiled and then lost himself again. He continued…
“A great set of iron doors stopped us mid-march once. They musta been ten feet high and two thick, with silver and gold inlays strewn about in patterns dedicated to gods soon to be forgotten. ‘The Great Hall,’ someone said it was. I ain’t never seen it o’ course, but it was a true sight to behold, to be sure.
“I remember that hollow echo vibratin’ through the tunnels as they worked on those doors, and it finally took a bit o’ magic along with all that racket to get ‘em open. On the other side, though… well, that was a bit o’ surprise for everyone, I reckon.”
Baern finished off his second ale—or maybe his third, he couldn’t be sure—and slid the empty across the bar to Shale. He was lost in thought, and hadn’t bothered to look and see if the mug made it into Shale’s waiting hands.
“Cobwebs,” he said simply. “Cobwebs was everywhere, from floor to ceiling. And underneath ‘em was the century-old bones of Clan Nogginsplitter, still clutchin’ their axes and hammers.
“’Tweren’t a Noggisplitter’s eye that was dry after seein’ that sight, and I guess it was the water in ‘em that didn’t let ‘em see the attack from above.
“’Twas a scream that roused ‘em, and the fight went off like a match as it seemed like a hunnerd orges dropped from the high alcoves cut into the walls of the Great Hall, and all carryin’ weapons from the old Nogginsplitter stores! The women and the little ‘uns scattered tryin’ to find a niche o’ their own to keep from gettin’ their heads cut off. I found one meself, but not before snatchin’ up one o’ them hammers still in the grip of me ancestors.
“Me mammy was with the womenfolk, but all I saw from me hole was a bunch o’ battledrunk dwarfs settin them ogres to a bloody waste. When I finally did see her, it was under the gnarled foot of one o’ them slobberin’ giants.”
Baern didn’t bother sliding the mugs across to Shale anymore, but just pushed one empty into the growing pile of others. He put a full one to his lips, and then added it to the heap.
“I got me first kill that day. And me fifth. And when we laid those old Nogginsplitter bones to rest proper, me mammy was right there with ‘em taken her place of honor; if it weren’t for her screamin’, a lot more dwarfs mighta been caught unawares that way.”
