#Ironfist dwarves

[mrkida-art]

Where the bowels of the earth meets the sky, they dance.

[silmarillion-dnd]

Dwarves:

Masterlist

Longbeards (Durin's Folk): Durin´s, the eldest of the Dwarven fathers, folk are one of the longest lived dwarf clanes and can, they live long even for other dwarves. Their capital is Khazad-dûm, later known as Moria, located in the Misty Mountains. They speak Sindarin (common) and Khuzdul. Longbeards can be around 250 years, and presumably have longer beards than the rest of the Dwarves. The Longbeards woke in Gundabad.

Firebeards: The Firebeards are residents of Belegost, Nogros, and the Blue Mountains. They speak Sindarin (common) and Khuzdul. Firebeards don´t live as long as Durin´s folk so they can probably be around 200 years old and presumably have red beards. The Firebeards woke in the Blue Mountains with the Broadbeams.

Broadbeams:  The Broadbeams are residents of Belegost, Nogros, and the Blue Mountains. They speak Sindarin (common) and Khuzdul. Broadbeams don´t live as long as Durin´s folk so they can probably be around 200 years old. Nothing is said about their appearance. The Broadbeams woke in the Blue Mountains with the Firebeards.

Ironfists: The Ironfists are residents of Rhûn. Looking at geography Rhûn is in the east so they presumably have darker skin tones than the other Dwarves. They speak Sindarin (common), Khuzdul, and the language of Rhûn. Ironfists don´t live as long as Durin´s folk although they were said too to live about 250 years, so they have been close to the Longbeards in life span. It is unknown where the Ironfists woke other than that they woke with the Stiffbeards.

Stiffbeards: The Stiffbeards are residents of Rhûn. Looking at geography Rhûn is in the east so they presumably have darker skin tones than the other Dwarves. They speak Sindarin (common), Khuzdul, and the language of Rhûn. Stiffbeards don´t live as long as Durin´s folk although they were said too to live about 250 years, so they have been close to the Longbeards in life span. It is unknown where the Stiffbeards woke other than that they woke with the Ironfists.

Blacklocks: The Blacklocks are also residents of Rhûn. Looking at geography Rhûn is in the east so they presumably have darker skin tones than the other Dwarves, and for their name black hair or locks. They speak Sindarin (common), Khuzdul, and the language of Rhûn. Blacklocks don´t live as long as Durin´s folk although they were said too to live about 250 years, so they have been close to the Longbeards in life span. It is unknown where the Blacklocks woke other than that they woke with the Stonefoots.

Stonefoots:  The Stonefoots are also residents of Rhûn. Looking at geography Rhûn is in the east so they presumably have darker skin tones than the other Dwarves, and for their name black hair or locks. They speak Sindarin (common), Khuzdul, and the language of Rhûn. Stonefoots don´t live as long as Durin´s folk although they were said too to live about 250 years, so they have been close to the Longbeards in life span. It is unknown where the Blacklocks woke other than that they woke with the Blacklocks.

Pros: Dwarves start out as devoted to Aule no matter what, but if you play dwarf and want to be devoted to another, or be loose of any ties to the Vala you have to manually do that. Here you can change to any Vala you want or just want since you are his child and will always be in his favor no matter what. You will have + 2 on strength and + 4 when smithing.

Cons: Most elvers, except the Noldor and Avarin, bear distrust towards dwarves. They are slower than others and move at half the speed of others. They have disadvantaged on insight as they are distrustful in nature, and on deception and sleight of hand, unless their class gives them advantage.

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 13a

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

(Note: I'm not sure whether there'll be another chapter split before the actual fight. If not, then a Warden interlude will go before this chapter. But I'm not sure yet.)

*****

The sustainable pace of oxen and the eyesight of elves being what they respectively are, they can see the surface exterior of the Crucible for two days before actually getting there.

—"They" being the elves in the group. Peredhel eyesight isn't so sharp; dwarven eyesight isn't calibrated for long distances; orc eyesight is at least better than peredhel except trying to look at Sunlit things doesn't work so well and there's not enough light at night.

—Though if Alphsîr and Alphlîn want a better look they can just turn into swans.

In all their palantír-viewing they never tried to take a look at the Crucible from ground level, only bird's-eye. It's… interesting.

It might look like buildings?

Risyind has seen a drawing of vaguely similar buildings — big featureless stone things. According to the Stonefoot dwarf architect who shared it, it's how Ironfist dwarves build when the ground is no good for delving. Gimli is dubious.

Maglor says it looks like Númenórean colony buildings from that one period where they'd just figured out concrete-based construction and hadn't yet decided it was ugly and probably beneath them. Celeborn is the only other person to have seen any of these buildings (most of those not destroyed by the locals succumbed to time); he is forced to agree with Maglor.

Glorfindel says that while the vibes and color are different it looks a little bit like the products of what he was told was a brief Vanyarin architectural fad. He didn't ask.

As they get even closer, the orcs besides Sharlinnu agree that they can also now feel the Crucible ahead of them.

The elves don't start feeling it for a little while after that. It's actually very impressive suppression of bad vibes. Not really a surprise, though — if it could be felt from far away someone would have found it before.

They set up camp near a spring several hours away at oxcart speed. It's significantly less than that for a running elf, and they're going to want the clean water.

****

It seems likely the wall (crust?) of the Crucible is not of uniform thickness, and logically they want to attack a thin point if possible. Investigating this requires getting a lot more up close and personal with the creepy Crucible rock than anyone is happy with — bare hands, ear-to-the-ground close.

The bad vibes are intense.

It's a long, tense afternoon and evening of climbing up and down rock walls, pressing ears to the creepy, creepy ground, and trying not to be too disturbed by withered plants, unscavenged animal skeletons, and other signs that the natural world is not welcome here.

Dyn gets so anxious she has to go back to the carts.

Celeborn starts to develop a rash where he's been touching the rocks. No one else is getting it. His only guess is that everyone who's more sensitive than him (Glorfindel, Maglor, both pairs of twins) also has stronger innate defenses, and everyone more vulnerable than him (everyone else) is more desensitized.

Legolas watches the sky so intensely he almost walks off a small cliff.

After about an hour in close proximity, Sharlinnu starts having trouble hearing anyone speak over the noise. She has to go out beyond the outermost circumference before it starts coming back.

Turgon doesn't realize he's started compulsively scratching his arms until he's drawn blood. He discreetly bandages them, but then scratches the bandages off.

Maglor is singing bits and pieces of things half-under his breath, in a distressed way. (Exactly what the differences between the distressed way and the pensive way or the nervous way or the creative way are no one can quite spell out, but no one argues with the description.)

Asfaloth, apparently, disapproves of Glorfindel venturing into this without him, and follows along as well as he's able at ground level. He starts neighing insistently if Glorfindel is out of his sight for too long. This is itself not a relaxing noise.

Khitwê asks Elladan how bad an idea it would be to take some of the chalk they brought and graffiti the exterior of the Crucible of the Souls with insults towards the Dark Lord(s). Elladan isn't sure.

They eventually decide their best bet is probably the circular plateau in the center of the shape. This is not ideal in terms of how far they're going to have to hand-carry the clay-crates, but they can do it.

Gimli cautions that he's not sure they're going to break through the crust in one round of detonations, even with Wizard's Clay rather than blasting powder. He's not sure they won't, either, but it's not a thin crust. It partly depends on how deep they can bore.

Dyn asks if there's any risk of boring too deep and breaking into the actual Crucible. Gimli thinks it's very unlikely.

The next two days are full of boring holes, carrying crates, and laying fuses. It is labor-intensive and very boring except for how they are crawling all over the bad vibe rock to do it, and are also now covered in bad-vibe-rock shards and gravel. Gimli, the orcs, and the Hirnedhrim are the only ones who don't need to sluice off at least twice a day. (No one else is getting a rash, but it feels bad enough they might as well be.)

[porphyriosao3]

Day 19 - Blood

"This is a bit more of an event than usual, I'm afraid," Bilbo said as he moved through the kitchen. Dwarves ran in all directions, many moving items to be prepped for cooking back and forth from Erebor's massive pantries. Nobody here batted an eye at the sight of the Lord Consort in the kitchens; while the staff of the Common Halls would have been shocked, the royal kitchens were more than used to the hobbit passing through, either talking to Bombur and the other chefs or just puttering about on his own. "We have the Ironfist delegation up from the Orocarni, and I've heard they're very particular about the way their meat is prepared." Bombur and Gurda Knife-Hand both nodded, eyeing each other in a rivalry Bilbo suspected would outlive him entirely.

"They are," Gurda said gruffly, tucking her beard more tightly into the apron she wore. "I've cooked for them before in the 'Hills."

"While I haven't cooked for the Ironfists, actually..." Bombur said loudly, and they were off. BIlbo sighed. This was all part of dealing with dwarves; it seemed every single person he knew or even met had a list of friends, enemies, and most of all grudges that stretched on for ridiculous lengths. He went into the butchery area and stopped in the door.

There were several pigs trussed up and very clearly the slaughter had just taken place. The floor was awash in blood, the troughs put under them to collect it unable to contain the splashes from their death throes. Patches of the deep crimson looked almost black in the uncertain light of the torches here. Bilbo had seen pigs slaughtered before but somehow the sight of the blood made him woozy. Flashes of Thorin lying on the bloody snow, the battle, the dead lying in all directions. The black patches were like the blood of the orcs. He heard a strange rushing sound in his ears and the room was swimming in front of him. Thorin could have died, he thought dumbly. He was dying. He was dead. Fili was dead. Kili was dead. Bilbo was dead. Everyone was dead. There was nothing but blood and horror. Darkness came as a blessing. The squabbling cooks were shocked at the sight of the hobbit slumping down between them, but Bilbo was out cold.

[shantismurf]

I would love to hear about #6 South Pacific! =D

Ooh this one popped up and ran away with me a couple months ago when I was lucky enough to be a part of a small ensemble jazz adaptation of South Pacific that a wealthy patron of my choir commissioned for his birthday party 👀 You could never produce a work like that for a paid production due to copyright, so being able to sing it just for funsies was an incredible opportunity!!

I've got the whole plot sketched out...hmm lemme find a good excerpt...Oh how about the cast profiles!

Story setting: Umbar World War II in TA 2925 Umbar, City of the Corsairs: The Haven of Umbar was a city to the far southwest of Gondor in Middle-earth. By the Third Age it was known for its sea-faring Corsairs. It had been used by the 'King's Men', who had turned to the worship of Melkor in the last days of Númenor. These 'King's Men' became known as Black Númenóreans: "very powerful amongst the Haradrim, a neighbouring people with whom they were allied. The rulers of Umbar retained much influence over Harad well into the Third Age. When not part of Gondor, its system of government was likely tyrannical." In TA 933 Gondor's King Eärnil I captured Umbar in a surprise attack, although this was "at great cost.” Current conflict is some attempt to retake the city or region after some kind of Pearl Harbor like attack. Gondor has sent out calls for aid to all their allies, and hired many mercenary companies to expand their ranks. Bilbo is Nellie - traveling with a small band of Hobbits who answered the call of Gondor, mostly Tooks and a handful of Brandybucks who honor of the company of Hobbit archers that fought for Gondor at the Battle of Fornost in the war against Angmar almost a thousand years ago. They're not used in battle but assigned to support only, which is frustrating for them.  Thorin is Emilie - fled to Umbar to raise Fili and Kili alone after Dis and Vili died in the Flood of Tharbad during the Fell Winter. Thorin and the boys fled south and were distrusted as foreign dwarven refugees, rumors about him being a murderer are just baseless racist slander, even after 15 years. He’s established a stable, successful life despite the challenges, but he avoids the armies in the region, especially the Dwarven mercenaries. Dwalin is Lt Cable - posing/serving as an officer for the forces of Gondor, a mercenary leading a company of Dwarves, but has really come searching for the heirs of Durin. The Ris are natives of the South, could be from any of the clans who were only described as “Eastern clans”: Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, Stonefoots Dori is partly Bloody Mary - runs a tea shop, Nori (the other part of Bloody Mary) helps but he sells more than just tea which Dori turns a blind eye to, until Nori, seeing Dwalin notice Ori (Liat), tries to get a better life for Ori by getting the officer to fall for him.

Bofur is Billis - also in the Company with his cousin and brother. They treat the Hobbits better than the soldiers of Gondor do, and he is friends with Bilbo. (Sings “Nothing Like a Dame” but something about the bad food in the army and the Hobbits having better food lol)

[sillylotrpolls]

(Notes below poll)

Dwarves really do have a thing for reincarnation! Admittedly, they think it's largely confined to Durin "the Deathless", but hey, you never know. As for the different dwarf clans, I will sum up for you:

Longbeards: The super-bestest most special-est dwarves (if Elrond was a dwarf, he'd be a Longbeard)

Firebeards: Built at least one really nice city, possibly crafted the most beautiful necklace in the world, probably have red hair

Broadbeams: Built at least one really nice city, possibly crafted the most beautiful necklace in the world, probably don't have red hair

Ironfists, Stiffbeards, Blacklocks, Stonefoots: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Petty-dwarves: Outcast dwarves who were particularly fucked over by the narrative/Elves

[ilovedainironfoot]

Hi Ho !

For your Draw your OC giving Maddie a nice cheek smooch~! for christmas @missiemoosie I tried it again with my oc Haar, Father of the Ironfist Dwarves building a snowman with her ! (well she is teaching him how to do so because he never did before )

and i'm soooooooo happy to have finished the drawing for christmas !

[oldworldfantasyrp]

I want to see the list of your muses here, but I'm stuck on mobile at the moment sadly. May I have some help with that?

Of Course you may!

For The Dwarves we have Thorgrim Grudgebearer, Ungrim Ironfist and Belegar Ironhammer

For Men of the Empire we have Balthasar Gelt and Karl Franz

For Brettonia we have King Louen Leoncour and Repanse De Lyonesse

For Elves we have Malekith of the Druchii (dark elves), Tyrion of the Asur (High Elves), Scarloc of the Asrai (Wood Elves) and Imrik of the Asur

For Undead we have Vlad (and Isabella) Von Carstein of the Vampire Counts, Luthor Harkon of the Vampire Coast Pirates and Settra the Imperishable Of Nehekara

For Kislev we have Tzarina Katarin, Boris Ursus, Ivan Radinov (more of an OC thanks to such little info about him) and Mother Ostankaya

For Cathay we have Miao Ying, Zhao Ming, Yuan Bo and Yin-Yin (Again more OC as there is less information on her)

For Ogres we have the one and only Greasus Goldtooth (i may use some of Stratovarius' modded lords from total warhammer 3 later)

We now also have the Norscans Wulfrik the Wanderer and Volrik Clawhand

I am also considering adding in The Dawi-Zharr

[im-high-on-reylo]

Forged in Shadows: A Tale of the Delphic Dwarves

Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn ventured deep into the mist-covered mountains, following rumors of a hidden dwarven enclave. As they approached a rocky outcrop, they were greeted by a band of sturdy dwarves, led by two formidable figures. "The Doyens of the Delphic Dwarves," Aragorn murmured in awe, eyeing the two leaders who approached them. The elder, Kara Ironfist, a full-blooded dwarf, stood with a proud yet warm demeanor that caught Gimli's attention immediately. Her braided red hair gleamed in the sunlight, her eyes sharp and wise beyond her years. Beside her stood Aloise Eirien Ironfist, the younger half-Elf, half-Dwarf. Her presence was ethereal, a contrast to the ruggedness of her kin. With her ombre hair flowing like a waterfall down her back and her heterochromatic eyes—ebony and silvery—she exuded an air of mystery and grace that intrigued Legolas from the moment they locked eyes. "Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas," Kara greeted them in a voice as sturdy as the stone itself. "Welcome to the Delphic Dwarves' refuge." Aloise stepped forward, her gaze flickering with curiosity. "You must forgive our secrecy," she said, her voice melodic yet grounded. "Few know of our existence, and fewer still are welcome here." "We seek alliances in these troubled times," Aragorn explained, bowing slightly in respect. "Rumors spoke of your people's resilience and skill in the forges. We come seeking aid against the shadow that threatens Middle-earth once more." Kara nodded solemnly, her eyes narrowing in thought. "The enemy you speak of concerns us all. We shall convene with our council." As the Dwarves bustled about, preparing for a meeting of great import, Legolas found himself drawn to Aloise, who was inspecting their Elven weapons with keen interest. She glanced up at him, her silvery eye meeting his gaze with a spark of curiosity. "Your bow," she remarked softly, her voice carrying a musical lilt that matched the whisper of the wind through the mountain peaks. "It is exquisite." Legolas smiled, feeling a warmth he hadn't expected in this harsh, rocky terrain. "Forged by my kin in the woods of Lothlórien. It sings with the voices of the trees." Aloise's eyes widened with fascination. "And your arrows?" "Each one a story," he replied, reaching into his quiver to draw out an arrow tipped with Mithril. "This one was crafted by the light of a star, gifted by the Lady Galadriel herself." Her laughter echoed like a chime, a sound that brought a smile to Legolas's lips. "We Elves and our stars," she teased gently, her gaze softening as she regarded him with newfound admiration. In that moment, amidst the forging of alliances and the gathering storm, Legolas and Aloise found a connection that transcended the boundaries of their races—a bond forged not in war but in understanding, in the shared hope that even in the darkest of times, love and courage would light the way.

[thelorehold]

Quest Title: The Forgeheart's Flame

Quest Giver: Thrain Ironfist, the Master Blacksmith of the Ironhold Mountains

Objective: Recover the Forgeheart's Flame, an eternal ember stolen from the heart of the Ironhold Mountains by a cunning fire giant named Volkan. This ember is the source of the dwarves' legendary smithing prowess and is vital to their way of life.

Location: The quest will take the Dwarven man through the treacherous Firepeak Pass, into the molten caverns of the Burning Depths, and finally to Volkan's lair within the Inferno Crater.

Challenges:

- Traverse the perilous mountain paths, avoiding natural hazards and hostile creatures that dwell in the high peaks.

- Solve ancient riddles carved into the stone by the first Dwarven smiths to find the hidden entrance to the Burning Depths.

- Endure the intense heat and navigate through rivers of lava in the molten caverns, using Dwarven resilience and ingenuity.

- Battle Volkan's minions and confront the fire giant himself to reclaim the Forgeheart's Flame without succumbing to the overwhelming heat.

Reward: Upon retrieving the Forgeheart's Flame, the Dwarven man will be granted a boon by the ember itself, enhancing his strength and granting him the ability to withstand and manipulate fire.

Completion: Return the Forgeheart's Flame to Thrain Ironfist, who will use it to reignite the forges of the Ironhold Mountains and bestow upon the Dwarven man a weapon or piece of armor forged in the restored flames, imbued with powerful magic.

This quest will test the Dwarven man's strength, courage, and affinity for the forge, as he seeks to restore his people's legacy and secure his place in Dwarven history.

[talesfromtheshire]

Post 02

*Disclaimer: The following is personal headcanons treated as hobbit history for this blog.

The Mullcans

At the birth of the dwarves, Mahal, their creator, dropped the seven fathers into the world. Durin, father of the Longbeards, was dropped in the Misty Mountains at Gundabad. The fathers of the Firebeards and the Broadbeams were dropped in Ered Luin, and the other four fathers were dropped in the Sea of Rhun. The Ironfists and the Stiffbeards left to go east from there to the Red Mountains. The Blacklocks and Stonefoots traveled south to Ered Lithui. 

The Blacklocks and Stonefoots lived in harmony, but some of the Stonefoots found the environment of Ered Lithui to be barren and rough. A caravan, led by King Thrambek, traveled south seeking warmer climates and greener mountains. Little is known about their travels during this time period, but somewhere in their travels, they befriended a small tribe of Men. For a couple of centuries, they traveled together. As interracial pairings became more common between the two, a new breed began to emerge. A strange cross breed of dwarven sized beings with large mannish feet. They were given the name “Mullcan” which was (as best as could be determined) a butchered Mannish interpretation of the khuzdul word “malkân” or Halfling.

Eventually the Mullcans were all that were left of the group, and once they reached Sutherland, they were left with a choice. Sail west along the coast to the Blue Mountains, or head north to the Misty Mountains. Unable to come to a general consensus, the group split in half. The first group made it all the way to the blue mountain range of Ered Luin. They took to the wilderness, eventually stumbling upon a group of dwarves in exile for various crimes. While initially weary of each other, they eventually settled down together, and the first “petty dwarves” were born. 

The second group made slow progress, their numbers growing and splitting as they did (creating three clans of Mullcan). Some settled just south of the city-state of Rohan. Some made it all the way to the Greenwoods, but the majority eventually found a home at the base of the Misty Mountains. However, no matter where they went, they were given a new name based on the burrow-like homes they built in the ground: holbytas (hole-dwellers).

[the-nerthus-chronicles]

Lore post one: the first king of almania

In the Westlands, the grand Kingdom of Almaina was founded 1,000 years ago in the dawn of the First Era. In fact, the birth of the first King of Almaina, King Theodoric the Goldhammer, marked the beginning of the First Era. King Theodoric was born to the High Chieftain of the Fanghammer tribe. On the day of his birth, the moon, sun, and planets aligned. He was also blessed with the holy sign of the Dragon King, which only happens once every 1,000 years. At a young age, Theodoric learned to fight and was able to defeat most adults in one-on-one duels. At 5 years old, he was able to lift the Claw of the Dawn, the hammer made from the claw of the Great Wyrm that was killed by the Sun God. This hammer has been passed down in his family ever since it was gifted to them. He was also known for his golden eyes and his divine aura. At the age of 25, he slew the red dragon named the Father of Hellfire and took his head as a trophy. At age 30, he saved the High King of the Dwarves, High King Thorkin Ironfist, from a horde of orcs at the Battle of Hellgrave. Using only the Claw of Dawn and an oakwood shield, he killed the Warboss of the Blood Skull orcs with only one blow. He also killed the Warmage and a quarter of the army on his own. Due to his saving of the High King of the Dwarves, the Almanian people and the Dwarves have been friends ever since. And at age 55, after he founded the Kingdom of Almaina, he disappeared, leaving only his hammer and his son behind. 

[silmarillion-dnd]

Races:

Masterlist

Note; some races have "About: & Description:" while others don´t, those who don´t have it are because not much is said about their characterization in the books.

Elvers:

Eldar & Avari

Men:

Bëorians & Haladin & Hadorians & Beornings & Drúedain & Easterlings & Forodwaith

Peredhel:

Half-Human & Half-Maia & Half-Orc

Dwarves:

Longbeards (Durin's Folk) & Firebeards & Broadbeams & Ironfists & Stiffbeards & Blacklocks & Stonefoots

Orcs:

Orc & Goblin

Corrupted:

Ulugblaith & Karulug & Dark Elvers

Maiar:

Disgraced Maiar & Istari

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 7b

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

Anyway, they take one crate, tell the guards goodbye for now, and head back southeast, past Minas Tirith, through Ithilien, into the Mountains of Shadow.

It would have been more efficient for just Gimli and Legolas to collect the crate on the way back from Rivendell, and meet Zuste, Zena, and Dyn in Ithilien, and also spared Zuste, Zena, and Dyn from not only Ent-proximity but also a round trip through Rohan hoping Gondorian gear and clothing will stop anyone asking questions about Dunlendish features. But no one is quite comfortable moving anything in the caves without Dyn there to confirm they aren't about to set something off.

—It would also have been more efficient not to trek all the way to the edge of Mordor for exploding-things practice, but like hell are they doing that in the same zip code as the Ents. No one will care if they blow up bits of Mordor. Life has been returning, slowly, but there are still many barren parts of the mountains where there are hardly even any bugs to disturb with explosions.

…Not too far into Mordor, though. They wouldn't want to find anything.

There, Gimli demonstrates how to drive into rock faces to place the explosives where it will be most effective, and how to lay fuses to a safe distance away, and tries to look like he's done something similar dozens of times before and not two and a half. (And with explosives from blasting powder every time. Dwarves really don't use explosives often, still less Ironfist Oil.)

Some takeaways from the practice:

The Hirnedhrim are stronger than they look, no real surprise there.

Dwarves tolerate explosions noises better than elves or half-elves.

…Except Dyn, who is used to it.

…No, her hearing is fine, she's just used to it.

Zuste — who spent decades in Isengard — is wincing a lot less than Zena or Legolas, too. Maybe it is just a matter of being used to it.

Anyway they should probably bring something to stop their ears with or there will be some at least temporarily unhappy elves.

(Not like Gimli wants to endanger his hearing with explosions, either.)

Horses don't tolerate explosions well at all.

The effect of Wizard's Clay properly placed within a rock-face is Very Impressive.

…None of them know what exactly they're expecting to be breaking into. A cave, or a fortress, or…?

Gimli says he'll bet no one knows and no one except Elladan and Elrohir will admit to not knowing. —Wait, no, that's wrong, Khitwê and Risyind will admit it, too.

Legolas thinks that's the wrong way of looking at it. There's no way any of the elves could know, so they probably won't think they should know, so why should they pretend otherwise? However, if the currently-orcs haven't explained yet then they probably don't know even though it seems like they should.

Gimli still thinks that if you straight-up asked — as a completely random example — Celeborn, he would not say "I don't know".

Zuste has barely met any elves besides the children of Elrond and Legolas's people in Ithilien, so she has no idea, but volunteers Zena to do the asking.

[arofili]

@tolkienofcolourweek day seven | gender | gender among the sun-dwarves and their southern kin

All seven clans of the dwarves have distinct ideas of gender, some overlapping with their sister-clans and others with concepts unique to themselves. For dwarves, gender is a sacred personal identity, never assumed or assigned at birth, and rarely explained to non-dwarf outsiders. As a dwarf comes of age, they are expected to declare a gender, usually signified through some exterior symbol (such as a style of braiding or beading, dyed hair, or jewelry, depending on their clan’s customs). Sex is viewed as an entirely separate concept completely divorced from gender; as all dwarves are bearded and most very stout, the traits mortal men use to distinguish sex do not apply. Gender is indicated to others through dress and symbolism, but sex is a private matter between one’s self and one’s procreative partner, should the circumstance arise, and rarely of concern otherwise. The Longbeards and the Blue-dwarves of the West are the most inclined to interact with other species, and have borrowed some of their gender concepts from those other kindreds; the Stiffbeards of the North are deeply isolated and secretive with their ideas of gender; but the Sun-dwarves of the East and the Ironfists of the South share certain similarities in understanding, and are most inclined to trade with one another, leading to a shared kinship between the three, for the Ironfists have long been sundered from their sister-clan of the Stiffbeards. Among the Sun-dwarves of the East, there are three primary gender categories: khulz (male), zain (female), and zatakhuzdûn (self-made; often abbreviated as zatak). Roughly two-fifths of the population identify as khulz, another two-fifths as zain, and the final one-fifth as zatak. In the Blacklock clan, these genders are largely personal identities with little bearing on social status or ability, treated more as a culmination of spiritual exploration than as a marker of one’s place in Blacklock culture. The Stonefoot clan shares these genders, but has in addition seven secondary genders, deeply connected to a dwarf’s chosen craft. These are zaraz (wood), aban (stone), zirin (iron), kheled (glass), ubraz (gold), kibil (silver), and urus (fire). Each secondary gender fulfills a specific role in Stonefoot society, and these genders may change over time if a dwarf moves from one craft to another. Indeed, the ubraz gender is inherently a gender one must achieve through time and experience in a leadership role. A Stonefoot dwarf may also have multiple secondary genders, should they be accomplished in more than one craft, though this is rare. The Ironfist dwarves, once close to their sister-clan the Stiffbeards, but sundered from them for many generations due to the collapse of their home-range the Mountains of the Wind, lost much of their culture and lore in the disaster that forced them southward to the Yellow Mountains. This included many of the gender concepts now fiercely guarded by the Stiffbeards, even from them, and amid their struggles the Ironfists developed a system of a singular gender: khazad, simply meaning “dwarf.” They view all dwarves to be unified in gender under Mahal their maker, with divisions into various identities as a frivolity reserved for other cultures. Yet as they reconnected with other dwarvish kindreds, this construct of uniform gender relaxed somewhat, with many younger Ironfists adopting the many genders of the Stonefoots and Blacklocks. Still, the khazad gender remains significant and nearly universal among the Ironfist clan, with other gender identifiers accepted as additions to the base identity of khazad.

[transcript of image text below the cut]

A full image description is available in alt text. Below is a transcript of the text in each image.

Gender among the Blacklock Dwarves khulz || male zain || female zatakhuzdûn || embodiment of oneself; abbrev. zatak

Gender among the Stonefoot Dwarves.

zaraz || wood Among the Stonefoot Dwarves, there are three primary genders and seven secondary genders. The primary genders are shared with their sister clan, the Blacklocks: khulz (male), zain (female), and zatakhuzdûn (self-made). A Stonefoot Dwarf's secondary gender is related to their chosen craft. Zaraz, wood, is the gender of foresters, hunters, travelers, carpenters, and others who interact primarily with the natural world.

zirin || iron Zirin, iron, is the gender of smiths. If one works in a forge, one is most likely zirin, regardless of whether one is a blacksmith, whitesmith, silversmith, jewelsmith, etc. Zirin is the most common gender among the Stonefoot Dwarves.

kheled || glass Kheled, glass, is the gender of glassblowers, dyers, weavers, sculptors, painters, and others who work with ceramics or fibers. Anything to do with sand, clay, or thread is associated with kheled dwarves, who tend to prefer vibrant colors and colorful homes.

aban || stone Aban, stone, is the gender of stonecutters, jewelers, builders, masons, and others who work primarily in stone or with the mountains themselves. Most aban dwarves are also khulz. Of all Stonefoot genders, aban dwarves are the most physically fit, and the most likely to bear multiple children.

ubraz || gold Ubraz, gold, is the gender of guides and leaders. This gender must be earned and is generally reserved for elders within the Stonefoot clan. A dwarf may be ubraz and another secondary gender if they are a leader in their field. All dwarf-kings are ubraz, but other lesser lords do not necessarily qualify to claim this gender.

kibil || silver Kibil, silver, is the gender of those who dedicate themselves to serving others, whether in a position of civil service, as a footman or maid, a bodyguard, or in special circumstances, a parent or caretaker. This is a highly esteemed gender, and is made up primarily of zain dwarves.

urus || fire Urus, fire, is the gender of writers, actors, philosophers, musicians, and others whose craft is primarily of the spirit or soul. While most Stonefoot dwarves are passably good at one or more of these crafts, the true masters and devotees of spiritual creation are those who claim the gender urus. This gender is made up primarily of zatak dwarves, who necessarily have a deep connection to their self-made primary gender.

Gender among the Ironfist Dwarves. khazad || dwarf among the Ironfist dwarves, gender is mostly uniform and universal

[friendlyunclej]

Baician Memoirs: A Wealth of Curses

Prologue

     Being the only child of a business tycoon, I've always had a path laid before me to follow. From etiquette classes to study halls on conducting business amongst every race on Kalldor, my father has placed me on a path towards his "perfect future" for me. It's a life where I wouldn't want for anything in this world or the next. A destiny where the entire world of Baicia holds its breath at my beck and call. Now that I've come of age, he's been desperately trying to provide me with a suitor that can provide me with it. Every single person he has brought have bored me each date as they speak only of themselves, trying to sell their own worth to me. Some bring gifts, others bring gold, and they all lack the curiosity to get to know me. All they care for is to better their station in life. All I care for are the relics I can find and the only man I trust to help me.      I’ve always been interested in what the lives of those we’ve left behind had been like. When I wasn’t learning what correct dress to wear to appease business partners according to their heritage, I was desperately trying to collect any relic I could get my hands on. My hands grew coarse as I spent my free time excavating. There were many times I would get lost spelunking through the caves of the mountain, discovering ancient tomes, dilapidated bones, and primordial relics. There were even a few times where I lost track of time in my hobby. If my memory is sound, I once became lost in what was an abandoned labyrinth for twenty-two days. During that time, I collected bones, fossils, relics, and even a few ancient weapons. I was so enraptured with the amount of history I was surrounded by that I hadn’t realized I ran out of rations. I was lost for nearly three more days before collapsing with the exit in sight. Waking up staring up at a wooden ceiling, I thought that my father had saved me. Thankfully, Dig found me instead.      Digleby Eversharp has been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I met him thanks to our fathers having served together during the Great War. My mother disappeared shortly after my birth and my father would leave me with Uncle Hellock and Aunt Lorrh the days he had business to attend to. Thankfully, that meant growing up alongside Dig. He’s not the stockiest dwarf in the mountain, but I’m grateful for that. He relies more on his wits than any brawn he possesses. Because of that, he’s actually been the one to help me identify the many relics I’ve been finding. We’ve spent nights together, going over what each relic, fossil, or item was. When we couldn’t, we would instead play a fun game where we would craft our own fiction as the artifacts’ history. I would usually craft a story of romance, speaking of the artifacts as a long lost lover’s attempt at reconciliation or a gift that never found its way to the proper recipient. He would always craft these astonishing stories of the many adventurers and criminals that the artifact has transferred between, being stolen and fought over as this omnipotent item from societies long since dead. We’ve been enraptured by each other even before I realized that we could be more than simply friends. However, my father would never allow it. As sharp as Dig is, my father demands that whoever I am betrothed to be wealthier than he is. As Cudgel Keep is a city dedicated to a goddess of combat, there aren’t many wealthy options for those who are more intelligent than strong. The few that exist in this city isn’t the most moral. Although my father and I have had many enraged arguments about what I would want for my future, he’s made it clear that Digleby will only ever be beyond arm’s reach. When I told Dig about how virulent my father is on the topic, he assured me that he wasn’t going to simply take a no. I suggested that we simply run away, but he’s certain that he has a way to convince my father of his worth. As much as I love him, I do wish that he didn’t care for my father’s approval as much as he does.

A Gnome and a Deal

     “Alright, Digleby,” I say to myself, trying to bring whatever courage I have to the forefront of my mind, “All you have to do is go into his office and tell him that you wish to have his daughter’s hand in marriage. A simple conversation, is all it is, my dear me.”

     As I turn towards the door, the smile on my face swiftly washes away as my anxiety makes the dwarven-sized door stretch to the mountain ceiling. My courage swiftly washes away as a sense of dread replaces it.

     “There’s always tomorrow, right?” I say as I try to convince myself to abandon ship.

     Taking a deep breath, I center myself while stating aloud, “It’s only a conversation, Digleby...we can handle a conversation.”

     My hand tremors as I reach for the brass handle to Sir Ironfist’s door. I start to lose my breath as I relinquish control of my heartbeat to my impending panic attack. Every footstep from the nearby alleyway sends shivers down my spine. My fingertips barely find purchase on the door as it swings open, courtesy of Sir Ironfist’s guest.

     “I suppose that I’ll leave you for the gods to deal with, Fallond,” the stocky and scarred Dwarf said as he held the door open, paying me no mind yet.

     “Once your gods come around to me, perhaps they’ll have more sense than one of their so-called ‘Venerated’, Baldor,” Sir Ironfist responded with a tinge of annoyance.

     As Baldor turns around, he stops just before bumping into me as he regards me with a joyous, “Oh, by Nadari’s breastplate, if it isn’t Digleby! I thought we discussed about you needing to be a bit louder in your life at our last consultation, lad!”

     Pulling me in for a boisterous hug, it’s almost difficult to breathe as I respond, “Ah, of course, Sir Baldor. I’ll continue to work at i-”

     He swiftly places me back down before interrupting me to say, “I believe we also spoke about you dropping the ‘sir’ as well, young Dig.”

     Straightening my back and hearing a few vertebrae pop, I respond, “Right, sorry, Baldor, it’s just...there’s a lot we talked about last consultation. A bit difficult to work on all of it at once.”

     Slapping his meaty palm against my shoulder, I nearly stumble as he continues, “Don’t worry, my dear boy! You have all the time in the world ahead of you to work on it. Besides, if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worth your time, now would it?”

     I try to continue the conversation just as Sir Ironfist exclaims, “If our business is done, I would prefer you two take your discussion out of my realm.”

     “We’ll be done in a moment,” Baldor retorts, barely turning to glance at him, “Just rub your sacks of gold in the meantime.”

     Sir Ironfist frustratedly drops the two pouches of gold he’s palming as Baldor gently places a hand on my shoulder before leaning in to whisper, “Are you here for the other thing we discussed?”

     Nervously, I answer, “I am, Baldor, but, perhaps it’d be best if-”

     Shaking his head as he interrupts me, Baldor places both hands on my shoulders as he says, “Listen to me, boy. You’re destined for great things. Wonderful things. A life of adventure, excitement, treasure, and, most assuredly, love.”

     Hearing words of encouragement, I feel my heart calm for a moment as he continues to say, “But, every grand adventure starts with a single step. This is your step, kiddo. Take it and seize what glory awaits you.”

     As soon as he finished his short speech, I felt a surge of courage form within me. It was as if a furnace which was long abandoned had finally been given fresh coals. My anxiety and concern left as all that was left inside of me was steadfast determination. Baldor gave me one last nod, smile, and pat on my shoulder before leaving the room. The aggravated glare of disdain painted across Sir Ironfist’s face swiftly clung to me as soon as the brass and wooden door to his headquarters shut.

     “Eversharp,” Sir Ironfist regarded, voice filled with antipathy.

     “Sir Ironfist,” I respond, holding a calm look against his, “If I could trouble you for a moment of your time-”

     Interrupting me, he places his hands behind his back as he retorts, “Oh, you’ve bothered me for far longer than that, boy.”

     My brow drops to a perturbed scowl for a moment as he continues to glare at me. I take a deep but quick breath to control myself as I take in his attire.

     “Sir, I understand that you are a busy man, but I can assure you that what I have come here to discuss is well worth your time,” I respond.

     “Worth my time? Worth? My? Time?” he mocks, poking my chest with his left hand covered in gold rings and rubies as he enunciates each syllable, “What would you know about my time?”

     Taking a breath, I try to retort but my moment of hesitation simply invites him to continue, saying, “A minute of my time afforded me the gilded mithril armor upon my chest. An hour of my time had me obtain the golden filigree floor you’re feeble body is desecrating right now. A day of my time fetched me three wives and the fate of Netton Harbor to toy around with. A decade of my time gave me half of this city as payment for my service to it during and after the Great War. Would you like to know what all my time in this realm is NOT worth, Diggsy?”

     Having spat on my glasses during his vitriol, I calmly pull a small handkerchief from my vest and begin cleaning them before trying to say, “I would-”

     “It’s NOT WORTH a sad excuse for a Dwarf to demand my time to hear desperate pleas for that which will never happen,” he says to me as he pushes me up against the door before walking back to the center of his golden theater, “My daughter and I have already discussed your desires.”

     “Well, if Nel has spoken to you, then you know that she wants the same as I,” I return, placing my glasses back upon my nose as I while walking towards him, “We would be happy together, away from your businesses, making our own way and treasure about the world of Baicia.”

     “Happy? How would my only daughter be happily married to a man who can’t even earn a single gold piece a day?”

     My heart sank a bit, causing me hesitate as he flicked his satin robe aside.

     “You know why I took you in a decade ago, Eversharp? After your parents succumbed to Abbathor’s Poison.”

     Knowing where the conversation was heading, I felt a hot rage flush over me as he continued, slowly pacing around his golden auditorium.

     “Because of the pity I felt knowing that one of my brothers-in-arms had fathered a child that couldn’t take care of himself after his passing.”

     Trying to keep myself from doing something drastic, I attempt to interrupt just for him to speak over me again. My teeth began to grind as my anger continued to grow.

     “Your father was one of the strongest men I ever knew before his misplaced faith corrupted him. I saw your father fend off entire droves of Duergar from our city walls single-handedly. I watched him, as a humble shop owner, gain the respect of the entire city. He was a dwarf worthy of any realm’s fear and admiration. But you...”

     Turning back around to look me in my face, Sir Ironfist slowly stepped towards me as he continued his insults while brandishing his golden teeth.

     “You’re a dwarf who can’t keep gold in his pocket, much less provide it for his future wife. My daughter deserves someone who can shower her in enough presents to bury her boredom for a life time. All you have ever brought her was old bones and painted stones.”

     “As is her desire, sir,” I speak up, stepping towards him.

     “My child deserves a dwarf who will actually protect her with more than sickly sweet begging. All I’ve ever seen you do is talk your way out of altercations, in fear of the damage that may come to you.”

     “Because my father’s dying wish was for me to rely on my mind rather than my brawn, sir,” I retort as my hand begins to ball into a fist. 

     “All you can afford her is a life of false promises and shortcomings. A false promise of love which will never be fulfilled. A shortcoming in worth and life, just as you fell short attempting to take your own the night your parents perished. No daughter of mine will be left in debt because her supposed husband can’t provide for her. No daughter of mine will be left alone because her supposed beloved can’t live long enough to love her.”

     I have no retort as he continues. My mind goes blank as I simply wait for him to get closer.

     “You’re godless. You’re gutless. You’re penniless. You’re not worth your father’s name. You’re not worth the past decade of time I’ve afforded you. Most importantly, you’re not worthy of my daugh-”

     As he gets within arm’s reach, I finally muster up the courage to interrupt him. However, my frustration closes my mouth as my fist instinctually flies into his jaw. Before my second punch could land, I’m nearly blinded by a flash of white magic as I’m sent flying into the stone steps just below the door. Barely able to feel my back, I desperately pat out the small fires on my chest as there’s now a smoldering boot print on the front of my tunic. Sir Ironfist slams his right foot down onto my chest to pin me to the ground. I feebly struggle as he slams a halberd next to my cheek, splitting the stone floor. 

     Standing over me with the spite of Altcher coursing through his weapon, I say to him between staggered breaths, “You know that Nel loves me.”

     “I know that she’s a delusional young lady who grew too attached to her childhood pet,” he replies, grinding his halberd.

     “Don’t you want,” I struggle, trying to breathe as his boot grows heavier, “Your...daughter...to be...happy?”

     “She’ll learn to be happy when I find her a proper dwarf,” he claims, raising his halberd above his head.

     Just as he swings his halberd towards my eyes, I squeak out, “You’re...a...liar.”

     Coming to a halt just an inch from my face, he asks, “What did you call me?”

     His boot pushes harder against my ribs but I manage to answer, “Liar...sir.”

     Picking me off the ground by my collar, Sir Ironfist slams my back against the door as he asks me what I mean. Knowing that the only chance I have now is to target his pride, I return his vitriol with my own as I catch my breath.

     “With all due respect, you’ve never been able to see past your wealth. Nel has never wanted your business. If I’m being frank about it, she’s never even wanted your name. All you’ve ever done is lie. You lied to her every time you’ve told her that you know what’s best. You lied to me from the moment I entered your home, claiming that I was always welcome but even back then I could almost retch at the stench of dishonesty coming from you. You even lied to yourself when you said that you still worshipped the old Dwarven gods. Your most heinous lie was to your wife, when you promised her on her death bed that you’d put her daughter above everything else.”

     After breaching the subject of Nel’s mother, Sir Ironfist nearly electrocutes me to death before shouting, “You have no RIGHT to speak on such matters, child!”

     With only one last attempt at possibly ever obtaining Nel’s hand in marriage, I wheeze as I tell him, “But the worst lie you ever told yourself...is that you actually convinced yourself that I would never have your daughter.”

     Slamming the shaft of his halberd into my throat and lifting me off the floor by it, I can barely manage to speak as I continue to say, “I’ve had...Nel...since the moment...you left...her...for your shops. She was nev-never as important as...your...pockets.”

     He tells me, “I could crush your windpipe and have you fed to a forge as kindling without anyone raising an eyebrow,” before releasing me to the ground and continuing with, “But, instead, you’ve convinced me to bestow you a worse fate.”

     As I try to gather myself, Sir Ironfist kneels down next to me and wrenches my head to the side as he says to me, “What little work you could obtain in this city will be cut off. Any possible shelter will be extinguished. Whatever form of joy you had will be unavailable. You won’t be allowed to walk this city without its occupants pleading to keep you away.”

     He pulls me up by my head as he continues to say, “You will have NOTHING within this city. No options. No possibilities. No chances. No treasures! You will BE NOTHING to this city! You ARE NOTHING to this city! YOU’RE WORTH NOTHING TO THIS CITY!”

     Coughing up a bit of blood, I give my best smirk as I murmur, “Claims the heretic.”

     I feel him slam my back into the door so hard that it falls off of its hinges while hissing, “YOU’RE! POOR! YOU! ARE! NOTHING! LEAVE!”

     Holding my throat in pain, I stumble over my feet as I swiftly dash away. Cudgel Keep’s residential area is full of slim alleyways and cramped corridors that only a single person can traverse. It’s a perfect place to force out a cry to clear your mind. I make sure to finish doing so before exiting the labyrinth of corridors to the center of the forging district.      The sounds of iron crashing against hot steel has always provided some comfort for me. It’s almost cathartic to hear the smiths of the city all cool their works of art at the same time as a soothing sizzle resonates from every direction. I support myself on the edge of the city’s massive fountain, built into the base of a magnificent statue. It’s the symbol of Cudgel Keep’s goddess, Nadari. As she is Baicia’s deity for combat, smithing, and courage, it’s almost too fitting that it’s flanked on all sides by blacksmiths and forgers. Staring at my own reflection as I wipe the last tear from my eye, I take out the only gold piece I’ve had for the past week and flick it into the water, praying for any amount of courage that could be bestowed upon a wretch like me. My coin is caught just before it hits the water by a black gloved hand. I turn to see that the hand leads to an odd gnome with short, stark white hair that is slicked back from his face and comes to soft points at the back of his head.

     With an oddly calming yet piercing voice, the man says, “I would save your coin, Digleby Eversharp. I can assure you that Nadari doesn’t listen to gold.”

     “How would you know? Are you a cleric?” I ask, confused to see a gnome this far from the verdant forests south of the mountains.

     “Oh, I most certainly am,” he replies, turning to face me before continuing, “Just not for her.”

     Weary from just dealing with one old man who claimed to worship an old god, I question, “Please, don’t tell me you follow the old gods?”

     Almost playfully acting offended, the gnome returns, “As a matter of fact, I do. And, even better, one with actual power in Baicia still. Unlike your adoptive father’s poor excuse for a ‘god’.”

     Chuckling a bit but still concerned, I continue to pry with, “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”

     “Oh, I must have misplaced my manners. My apologies,” he responds, flicking my gold coin back to me, “Zook Nackle, hoping to be at your service.”

     His smile distracts me, causing me to fumble as I grab the coin. There’s a disturbing sincerity behind his smile yet it’s not of joy or pleasure at the possibility of making an acquaintance. It almost feels deviant, somehow. Sir Nackle’s teeth are whiter than his hair. His eyes are dark and just barely large enough to prevent me from calling them beady. He’s wearing a completely black hooded cloak with seemingly no visible texture. Even his voice is a bit off as an odd, almost whisper-like echo follows his words.

     Cautiously, I inquire, “Uh...how do you know of me and my ‘adoptive father’, Sir Nackle?”

     “Wow, it has been a long while since someone has referred to me as ‘sir’,” he replies, “I’d rather you call me Zook, if I may be so bold to ask.”

     Squinting at him in bewilderment, I’m trying to decide whether he seems like a safe man to conversate with or not as he continues to say, “But, to answer your question, my goddess told me about you and your plight. Bestowed upon me the knowledge of your situation and told me to offer you my aid.”

     “So...you worship Aratuna, then? The Ornate Lady?”

     “Oh, dear no. No one so gaudy.”

     “Then, perhaps, the Silver Silhouette? The Moon Weaver?”

     “I’m not much one for helping others keep secrets, Digleby.”

     “Uh...well, then perhaps the Iron Judge of Justice?”

     “Syr? By the Nine Hells, I hope not. Haven’t you heard the rumors that she’s blind? I don’t know about you but following a blind woman has never ended well in my experience.”

     “Then, Zook, I’m rather stumped on who you might be in the service of.”

     “All you need to know is that my goddess is a benevolent, merciful, and loving deity who wishes you to obtain that which you want the most.”

     Nervously folding my arms, I stammer, “What would that be, precisely?”

     Sir Nackle reaches into his robes and presents to me two ancient rings covered in Primordial, Celestial, and a script that I couldn’t discern just before saying, “Whatever you need to get you and Nel Ironfist that happily ever after you deserve.”

     Immediately tempted, I take a deep breath before reaching for the rings and request, “How would I be able to trust you?”

     “You wouldn’t until you found out,” he speaks back, beginning to levitate and spin the two rings around each other, “I have made no deals with anyone before, so a referral is out of the question. There are people I’ve worked with before, but they’re scattered around the world, enjoying their best lives. The only thing you have to vet me is my word, but, Sir Eversharp, do I sound like a charlatan to you?”

     As he completed his sentence, I felt this odd wave of trust and familiarity exuding from him, as if we had known each other my entire life, so I respond, “No, you don’t.”

     The rings vanish into his fist while I’m reaching for them, as he shouts, “Good to hear! So, what do you need to win over your beloved’s heart, huh? A love potion? A chance meeting? A night alone, you sly dog?”

     “Oh, none of those,” I reply with a graceless smile, “We already love each other. Deeply, actually. Have for a long time, my friend.”

     The excitement in his eyes swiftly vanished before continuing with a bothered voice, “Well...what is it you need then?”

      “Her father...I need her father to understand my worth,” I reply, opening my arms as my cautious mind comes at ease. 

     His disgruntled look turns into a perplexed glare as he pinches the bridge of his nose before demanding, “So how would you want to do that?”

     With Sir Ironfist’s last words to me echoing in my brain, I feel a demand for vengeance rise from within as I say, “I would want to take from him everything.”

     Upon hearing that, Sir Nackle’s eyes slowly came up to meet mine as a sickly grin continued to grow on his face as I continued to say, “I want his stores, all across the Frigid Peaks, to be mine. I want his customers to betray him for me. I want him to be worth less than nothing. I want him to be...”

     Stopping before I continued, I felt an unfamiliar tinge of wrath almost push me to say something drastic, but I stop myself just for Sir Nackle to finish it for me.

     “Gone? You want him to be gone, yes?”

     Taken aback by what the implication may mean, I nearly rescind my request before hearing Sir Ironfist’s words clearer than before slam my head again, pushing me to confirm my intentions.

     “Yes, I want him gone, so as to never bother me or his daughter again.”

     Sir Nackle’s face turns almost devilish as he says, “Oh, I can certainly manage that for my dear friend, Digleby Eversharp.”

     Holding me in an awkward hug, I keep my hands to myself as I request, “Um...Sir-”

     “Zook.”

     “Right, my apologies. Zook?”

     “Yes?”

     “What would you want in return?”

     “Oh...I’m so glad you asked,” Zook Nackle says after sighing so deep that I feel his lungs expand as he continues to hold me tight within his arms.

     Releasing me, I fix my shirt, glasses, and hair as he recites what he would want in return. He speaks of a mine nearby that was left abandoned after the Great War. He promises that if I go into the mine, explore it, and make certain that an artifact is still within then he’ll make it so that Nel and I will never have to worry about Sir Ironfist again.

     “That’s all you need to do, my dear friend. Just go in, confirm that the artifact is still there, leave it where it is and then report back to me. Anything else you find in there is yours to keep, if you’re so inclined,” he finishes, leaving a crudely drawn map in with a minor illusion on the ground between us.

     “I won’t be,” I assure him, recording the map to memory, “Nothing in there is worth what you’ll be giving me as payment.”

     Nodding joyously in agreement, Sir Nackle asks, “Any concerns?”

     “Two, if I am to be frank,” I respond, “First, what does the specific artifact look like? If there’s other items in there that are just as aged, it’ll be hard to know I’ve found what you wish me to find.”

     “Right, of course. It’s a simple armored breastplate with an odd leather inner lining,” he describes as he waves the map away with his foot, “Should have rust, covered in scarring and dents. It should be the most mundane looking armor you can imagine, especially compared to Dwarven artistry.”

     Nodding softly, I then lock eyes with him as I ask, “Second, is there anything dangerous in the mine?”

     With a coy smile, Sir Nackle swiftly responds, “No worries, my friend. It’s abandoned.”

     Hesitant to trust him, I feel another rush of faith and confidence in his words as I simply agree to our deal before asking, “How are you going to-”

     “Oh, Sir Digleby Eversharp, you worry too much, my dear friend,” he interrupts, with a wide smile and twinkle in his eye, “You stay focused on the mine. By the time you return, Fallond Ironfist will be an inconsequential footnote in your story that will never be brought up again.”

     Sir Nackle gives me one last pat on the back before turning around and walking off towards Sir Ironfist’s residence. After that final slap of his hand against me, all feelings of worry or possible concern I had after meeting Zook Nackle for the first time had dissipated. It was almost as if that final touch from him lifted the weight of the world from my shoulders, confident and secure in the deal we made together. Without any time to spare, I rush back to my apartment to gather what I can to aid me in the mine.      My apartment is a tiny, single room loft built above a bakery. Although waking up to the scent of freshly baked pastries is a dream, the reality of living in the same room with my ice box, my bed, and only a bath to wash with but no toilet to use makes the rest of my time there a nightmare. However, it’s far more tolerable with someone to share the misery with. Thanks to Nel being the only company who tolerates me, I sometimes forget about how sorry my situation is. Sadly, this isn’t one of those times as I enter my apartment to see Nel waiting in a chair.

     Caught off-guard, I slowly close the door as I ask, “Hey, Nel. How was the pie?”

     Wiping the crumbs from the corner of her lips, she slowly stands up as she says, “The pie was great. Where’ve you been?”

     “Oh, you know me,” I respond, trying to figure out some way to keep her from asking about how my conversation went with her father, “Just walking the city to clear my head.”

     “Is that so?” she asks, raising her eyebrows as she pulls a cigar from the inside of her tunic, “Do you want to guess why I don’t believe that, Dig?”

     With her about to pin me between her and the door, I shimmy to the side and open the one window in my apartment before attempting a lie with, “Uh...you were smithing again and saw me praying at the fountain?”

     Walking back over to me to smoke by the window, she gives a cocky grin as she says, “Wow, two lies. It’s cute that you’re trying, Dig, but you’ve never been a liar. That’s why I love you.”

     She hands me the cigar and I smile from the compliment while taking a few puffs as she continues to say, “What I don’t love is being left in bed, asleep, so that you can talk to my father alone when I told you that I wanted to be there. What I love even less is seeing dried blood in the corner of my boyfriend’s mouth.”

     Not realizing that I still had blood in the corner of my mouth, I hand Nel the cigar as I go to my sink and pour some water on the rag in my pocket. I begin rubbing the corner of my mouth vigorously to scrub off the blood as I hear her put the cigar out and walk up behind me. Ashamedly turning around to face her, I expect a furious glare and a bit of shouting. Instead, she calmly places a hand on my chest and another on my neck as vibrant golden magic softly warms where her hands are touching. I feel the pain in my throat slowly melt away, as if turning into a small pill that I’ve finally managed to swallow. The issues I’ve had with breathing since Sir Ironfist’s boot caved my chest in a number of hours ago simply alleviate as I take in a full breath.

     “Thank you for-” I try to say as she punches my arm, “Ow, I thought we discussed no knuckles. I bruise easily.”

     “I know you bruise easily, Dig! You’re accident prone and have a knack at rubbing people the wrong way,” she returns, now slapping the same spot on my arm with her open palm, “That’s why I wanted to go with you to talk to my father.”

     I start trying to walk around the room to escape some hits as I say, “I thought that it was just going to be a calm conversation, Nel! How would I know that he’d not want to discuss it?”

     Now chasing me around the room, she fires back, “Maybe you’d know after last night! You know? The night I told you about how much he hated the topic when I, as his only daughter, brought it up with him!”

     Holding a seat between her and I in the center of the room, I say back, “To be fair, you told me that during the first part of what became a six-part night. Many men would get a pass for not recalling information.”

     “ ‘Many men’ aren’t able to recall the entire history of five different societies, four different languages, and seventeen legends during a six-part night, Dig,” she shouts back.

     Cockily standing and hoping that flirting would calm her, I arrogantly release the chair as I try, “Perhaps my mind slipped because of how good you were. Ever consider that?”

     Putting her hands on her hip with an unimpressed expression, Nel responds, “Flattery isn’t going to save you, Dig! If that were the case, you would have slept for just as long as I did.”

     “That’s fair,” I manage to express just before she tackles me to the ground.

     We wrestle and roll around for a bit, but it swiftly ends when I tell her that I figured out another way. She let me up to continue talking, but I pause for a moment as something dire dons on me.

     “What’s wrong with you? You’re wearing that face you get when you experience a bad epiphany,” Nel tells me, taking a stroke from the cigar.

     Realizing that I had a magical influence placed on me while making the deal with Zook Nackle, I begin to say, “I met a...uh...gnome when I went to the fountain built in Nadari’s honor. He and I made a deal.”

     “A deal?” she asks, concerned at the sound of hesitance in my voice, “What kind of deal?”

     I’m still struggling to decide if I should tell her about my decision possibly being skewed by a charm as I say, “Tit for tat. He wanted to help me with my troubles in trying to convince your father to allow me your hand in marriage. I offered a trade in favors. That’s it.”

     Over the next twenty minutes or so, I explain to Nel everything I recall about my encounter with the gnome named Zook Nackle. From his odd attire to his disturbingly approachable visage to his side of the bargain, I told her everything I remembered but omitted the magical assistance Zook Nackle could have used on me.

     After hearing me speak about it all through incoherent and worrying amounts of uncertainty, Nel started packing her own spelunking gear as she said, “Well, I’m coming along into the mine, then.”

     “Look, beautiful,” I say, trying to place my hands over hers to get her to stop, “He said that it’s abandoned and all I need to do is confirm that the piece of armor is still down there. It should be a cake walk.”

     “Like speaking with my father was supposed to be?” she shot back, packing her things faster, “Face it. If you don’t trust his word, then I’m coming along to make for damn certain that you’re safe and I have my husband with me. If you do trust this Zook Nackle’s word, which you shouldn’t but if you actually do, then I’m still coming because you owe me for seeing my piece of shit father without me.”

     Unable to keep a smile off my face, I’m reminded that Nel is the only person who can fill me with enough confidence to face a whole pantheon of deities and not bat an eye. I try to thank her for putting up with my difficulties but she simply bats my hand away as she tells me to save my thanks for when we’re married. I nod and finish packing up my own rucksack before leading the way to the edge of Cudgel Keep, where the entrance to the mine is. We grab each other’s hand and hold on tight as we descend into what will be our final spelunking adventure as anything less than spouses. Although the mine swallows any light from around us, it’s the only light at the end of an arduous journey. The only concern now is if Zook Nackle sticks to his word.

Epilogue

     “Well, that was easier than I expected,” I say to myself, calmly making my way to Fallond’s home away from home.

     “The Dwarf isn’t a necessity to my goal,” my goddess’ voice rings, echoing through my mind.

     “I know,” I reply, turning down an alleyway, “But removing one of the last clerics from the old gods eases the process.”

     “He doesn’t serve Abbathor. He serves the Ascended named Altcher,” she informs me, much to my surprise.

     Having been caught off guard, I shrug as I say, “Well, even better then. That confirms that Fallond Ironfist has forsaken the old gods as well. He was the last cleric to clear out. If he’s switched pantheons, then that confirms that no old god has a strong enough hold on this realm to be a trouble for us, then.”

     “That also makes killing him a fruitless endeavor. The Ascended Pantheon of this realm are too weak to oppose me after their recent war,” She explains, pushing me to focus on her release rather than making it easier.

     “I beg to differ. Killing a cleric still weakens their god. I know that we could put this entire realm under your rule any time, but why not teach the ones here a lesson along the way?” I state, wishing to hide my true intent.

     “So you aren’t actually doing this simply to kill Fallond Ironfist? The man who originally incarcerated you before the Great War?”

     “I often forget the extent of the knowledge you wield,” I reply, “My apologies for trying to deceive you.”

     “I’ll forgive you if you send this ‘Fallond Ironfist’  to me malleable,” She scorned, releasing a bit of fire within me.

     Now supported by my goddess, a pleasant smile creeps from ear to ear on my face as I retort, “As you wish, so it shall be.”

     Opening the door to his auditorium, Fallond’s eyes immediately stick to me, interrupting his discussion with seven other business owners. He desperately ushers the other people out of the room as I simply share a warm smile with my old friend. As he locks the door behind the final leaving guest, I see that the color in his face has washed away as he cautiously approaches me.

     “Hello, Fallond. It’s been a long time since last we spoke,” I say, walking over to his throne on the opposite side of the room.

     “Zook, you’re not supposed to be here,” he replies, desperately trying to gather his thoughts.

     “Oh, I know, but I escaped incarceration thanks to the help of my goddess,” I tell him, finding his halberd behind the desk in front of his throne.

     Seeing him starting to sweat, I pick up his weapon and sit in his chair as I jab, “I see you’ve done well for yourself! Living a life of regalia and regrets, no doubt.”

     “What makes you think you have the right to-” he attempts to say as I interrupt him by filling his body with hellfire.

     “I’m sorry. Were you about to give me one of your famous speeches about what I have the right to do in accordance to your wealth? Were you going to tell me about how a lowly gnome has no right to belittle the self-proclaimed ‘Dwarven Dragon’?”

     I stop for a moment to stroll over to him with his halberd in hand, taking my time so as to enjoy the musical tones of his pained gags and retches as necrotic sludge begins to pour from his eyes.

     Kneeling down next to him with his halberd in my hands, I whisper, “There is a certain lady I know who takes offense to such claims, Fallond.”

     Kicking him over to lay on his back, I gently place the end of his halberd into his mouth as I say, “Here, I’ll introduce you.”

     With both hands on his halberd, I surge fire through my palms and turn the weapon into molten iron sliding down his throat. As his grunts are quickly silenced by the liquid metal solidifying in his throat, I stare down at him as a wave of peace washes over me while the last bit of life fades from his eyes. A flash of orange flicks across his pupils and my smile grows wider.

     Standing up and fixing my robes, I say, “Now, I should take care of the legal matters. The boy did say that he wanted every bit of Fallond’s wealth as his.”

     Pulling a long bag from my robes, I begin peeling the clothes and jewelry off of the corpse. After stowing its personal belongings away, I move back over to its desk. I find the multitude of deeds and property papers then proceed to change the ownership over to Digleby Eversharp’s name. For the following few days, I teleport around to every person who had sold the property to the corpse and convince them that Digleby is the one who approached them about it. For those who refused or resisted, a simple modification to their memory solved that issue. I went through all the trouble to make for certain that all was set for Digleby Eversharp’s triumphant return and the fool wound up getting himself and his wife-to-be cursed. They left the mine forgetting who each other were and quickly began to age and wither, both physically and mentally. Seeing our deal as complete, I simply handed him the proverbial keys to his kingdom and left. I even left him the rings as a parting gift, but if he’ll ever get to use them is anyone’s guess. After all, it’s not as if some group of heroes would befriend a crazed Dwarf to try to lift his curse. There hasn’t been a group of wandering heroes walking Baicia since the end of the Great War. Most people are smart enough to know that heroes end up deader than door nails. I mean, honestly, what kind of psychopath would want to try to save a dying world?