Dorlandus, Falinus
Upper Thoradur: Rimefal 11th
The air was biting cold on the winter night that Devlin Rorinson walked the battlements around Dorlandus. His beard was tinted with frost as he kept a sharp eye out on this, the most remote town in all of Falinus, the hill dwarf land of the kingdom of Thoradur.
Word had arrived from Lorindar to the west that the northern Border Keeps that watched the northern steppes were being bolstered with militia from all over Falinus. It seemed that many steppe orcs had been caught within Falinus. By itself this was not news but that the orcs were not in Falinus to raid, was. The orcs were said to be hiding and spying. But spying for whom? King Grimstone issued the writ that called for the militia to travel to the newly finished keeps in anticipation of another orc invasion.
Delvin sighed at the thought. It had only been fifteen years since the Horde. The young warrior ground his teeth together at the memory of the steppe orcs washing down over his country like a wave of death and destruction. The foul orcs had burned and slaughtered everything and everyone that got in their way. Yet that was not the end of it. For four years the dwarves had lived in their cities, towns, and steadings, huddled like rats as the orcs lay claim to their country. The orcs did not rule them, they simply controlled all of Upper Thoradur including Falinus and Dalir. The hill dwarves had to hide behind their walls, trapped, waiting for the orcs to turn their attention to them. For four years the attacks did come, though infrequently. Devlin stood on these very same walls and fired crossbow bolts into orc hides and cleaved orc skulls as they climbed over the walls from these very battlements.
The first orc attack had come on a warm summer night in the year 50 of the current age, a night nothing like this night. Dorlandus lie under starlight that showed snow on the ground around the town like a glowing blanket of white. It seemed improbable that the orcs would come again after only fifteen years and during winter non-the-less. Devlin knew that they bred like rabbits, but even rabbits had to take time to build up their numbers. They were also known for spending as much or more time killing themselves as raiding steadings in Falinus. How could they have recovered so quickly from the Horde War? The dwarves hadn’t.
It still rubbed Delvin the wrong way that King Grimstone had to hire human mercenaries to help drive the orcs out. Delvin’s father Rorin, had fought those same Mittendieners in the North-South War. And now there were dozens of humans in Dorlandus, sleeping not a hundred feet from the battlements where Devlin now stood guard. Humans always brought about change, and much too quickly for Devlin’s dwarven blood to like. Anything worth doing takes time, the old dwarven adage said. And it was true. It was said there were even more humans down in Lorindar. Devlin chuckled. His friend, Foris, had said that Lorindarans were part human and that’s why they tolerated the skinny ones so much. Dwarves that were part human!
For a moment Devlin found a reason to smile on his cold dark watch on the battlements of Dorlandus. He turned and began to walk back across the section of the wall he was tasked with patrolling. The world was indeed changing and much too fast, but as long as there good hill dwarves around to make fun of humans, it would be tolerable.
Delvin stopped to try and scratch his armpit under the heavy chainmail shirt and under-padding. It let in cold air that bit through his long sleeve shirt so he quickly stopped. He had lived through fifty cold winters and many were worse than this one, but walking the wall in the dead night shift in the heart of winter was never top on his list of things to do. What was it, one more hour until he could warm himself by the coals of his hearth and slip under the fur blanket next to his warm wife? The thought made him smile again and as his eyes glazed over as the chill in his bones seemed to melt away.
Helda was a good wife. She had already given him one strong son and he wouldn’t be surprised if she gave him another. And more importantly she could brew beer that would...
What was that?
He hadn’t seen anything but there was a noise that didn’t sound right. He strained to hear it and realized that he had been hearing it for some time now, but it had just gotten loud enough for him to distinguish it. It was low rumbling sound. Like water from a waterfall landing on the rocks below. Or maybe it was more like a distant avalanche. Devlin’s father had taken him up into the Alberann Mountains before he died. They found a giant’s bones on the trip, which had thrilled the young warrior. But it was the avalanche he heard off in the distance that had impressed him the most. His father said an entire mountainside of snow must have come loose. It was said an avalanche could swallow up an entire village. The though was sobering.
The Alberann Mountains were fifty miles away so that there was no chance he was hearing something that originated there. Then what was that sound? It vaguely reminded him of horses walking slowly, but it would have to be hundreds of them.
What was
that?
It sounded like something snapping. A tree branch? But it was much too far away to make that loud of a sound. A tree trunk then? What could snap a tree trunk?
Delvin heard the sound of boots on the wood planks of the walkway running toward him. The shadow of a dwarf entered Devlin’s natural darkvision and he could suddenly see him as clearly as if it was noon. The dwarf turned out to be Foris, his friend and another watchman.
“Anderven says to get ready something is coming!”
“What is it? I can’t quite make it out.”
Foris was already running by him to alert the next watchman.
“He doesn’t know, but says it might be a dragon!”
The very word made him draw his war axe and grip it with white knuckles. Dragons were ancient enemies of dwarves and no quarter would be given to either side in conflict. In all his fifty years Delvin had neither fought nor seen a dragon of any size. It was said they were born about the size of a young dwarf and grew to be five wagons long from snout to tip of tail.
His heart began to quicken it’s beat. A smile crept back up onto his lips, but this was a smile of malice. He had always wanted a dragon tooth necklace. Devlin searched the snow covered ground as far as he could see. He was facing north and if he was right the noise was coming from the east. He may never get to see the dragon over here unless he left his post, and a dwarf never leaves his post.
But if it came to a real fight and it was a large dragon, they would call him over. Yes, he would get to swing his axe. He would have a chance to make a name for himself.
The thought of fighting a real dragon pumped adrenaline through his veins and he wished it would appear quickly. The sound had become loud enough to hear without straining and there were definite snapping pops that had to be trees. It must be a large dragon indeed.
And then a question entered his mind. If it was a dragon, why would it be running? Dragons can fly.
The smile melted off his lips and furrowed lines etched themselves across his brow. A sinking feeling began to churn in his gut.
That’s when he spotted the first of them running through the dotted pine trees. They were huge and carried axes and spears. The starlight showed him enough to know that he would not live through the night.
There would be no more smiling. The frost giants were coming.
