The History of Svartalfaheim II

The second in a series that I am posting here. As a warning, it does get a bit dark.

The Age of Struggle

The Last Hold

The dwarves were defeated, brought to the lowest state. They wandered Southerland until they came upon an incredible sight: a ring of mountains, surrounding a large bright blue lake. They took it as a warning from Odin about Hreidmar, for they still held Hreidmar’s crime in the highest disrespect. They scaled the mountainside slowly but surely, until they at least reached the center of the ring, where they began to settle. Inside the mountainous circle, they mined and farmed, going about life the way a poor man would. Even the queen was forced to go out into the fields to sow crops. Fifty years later, a scouting party of elves and a hunting party of dwarves met in the center of Mossbranch forest. The two races battled until every man was spent, but it was the youth Argen, the next in line to be king, that won the day. However, as they returned to Gungnirmark, their home, the crows watched from the trees and reported to Garexus. He had only just begun to search the area for the dwarves, he had done enough defiling of the mountain hold. He ordered forth a massive army, full of spiders, the like of those he had found at Balchazad. He also brought a new asset, one that he would reveal to the leader of the mountain hold. His legions marched forth under the black flag. Garexus himself marched out as well but heavily guarded. A dwarven rider came to the Queen, warning her of a massive force of nightmarish creatures. Argen was sent to prepare the armies, and the long-prepared war was beginning. Trebuchets were poised on the mountainside, ready to launch massive stones at the attackers. Dwarves were sent below the mountain to make sure the elves did not make it past the third gate. Oil was prepared for the murderholes, and inside the crater itself, the villagers ran frantically about the town, storing food for a siege. However, when Garexus came, there was no wait. He sent forth large spiders to scale the walls and breach the gate and prepared an army of dwarves to swarm the grounds. They were not normal dwarves, for they had been corrupted by the Dark Hunters until they were beast-minded. Then the dark elves trained them in their sadistic ways. The spiders attempted to shatter the gate and climb the mount, but it proved difficult. Finally, house-sized spiders broke through the iron-bound gate in no time. Thankfully none were able to climb over the walls, as fast as they were. The spiders swarmed into the gate as the behemoth army approached. When the spiders were killed, Argen charged towards the army with his grandfather’s ax in hand. Most believed he was trying to die valiantly like his ancestors, but when he got to the elven pike formation, he stopped. His army ran behind him, trying to catch up before the dwarf prince was slain. He challenged Garexus to a battle, but instead, Brokkr came forth, a black dwarf. He was the champion of the dark army, wielding a threshing flail and armored in spiny plates. The deal was set: if Argen won, the dark elves would leave them in peace. If Brokkr won, the battle would resume. Argen prepared himself as the warrior charged forward. They fought for several minutes until Brokkr fell to the ground, bleeding out. Argen beheaded the champion, but he knew not the full hate of the dark elves. They charged forwards, and Argen got ready to face the army, but his men pulled him back behind the pike formation. He was already bloodied and exhausted. The battle kept ensuing for several hours, until Garexus left the battle, feeling uncomfortably close to the battle. When the elves learned their leader was gone, some fled, while others surrendered. The rest were cut down. The battle was won, but nothing had changed, besides a number of slain dwarves. The dream of reclaiming Nidavellir was farther away than ever before.

The Reclamation of Nidavellir

Months and years passed by, yet still, the constant attacks by the dark elves kept the dwarves at bay. One of these battles proved to be catastrophic, and the queen was killed. Argen stayed in his keep alone for days, until another battle. After the battle, he was coronated as Yfirkonungur of the dwarven race. However, he was obviously depressed. Finally, he announced that he was going to retake Nidavellir with volunteers. A surprising amount of dwarves stood and followed him across the moors of Southerland until they reached the barrier. The dwarves parted into two forces, one would scale the barrier near Nidavellir and the other would circle around and break through the gate and push the dark elves out of the countryside. Ergust Brazeneye, the young dwarven general, led the latter, while Vaskr (Cadus) and Argen led the former. Argen fought through the last city before the Delving Gate, and it appeared desolate. However, a horn sounded, and smoke bombs exploded in the streets, clouding the battlefield. Out from the smoke charged a huge force of corroded dwarves (deemed black dwarves). When the smoke cleared, the full force was revealed, stretching down the city street. On the buildings stood crossbowmen, shooting away at the dwarves below. However, a force of black elves flanked the full force of black dwarves and pushed them into a narrow alley. The javelins and polearms of the elves skewered the black dwarf infantry. However, the battle was not won yet. Flocks of battlecrows swooped down from the clouds, dropping bricks on the dwarves below. Then the Delving Gate opened, and out strode a legion of dark elves. Argen could not organize his troops with the constant hail of stones, so he ordered his men to take shelter in the crumbling ruins. The crows left for the moment, but Argen knew their tricks...he did not order his men to come out. The dark elves marched down the street and kicked open the rotting doors to find nothing. The dark elves continued to search the entire city but nothing could be found. Suddenly a massive volley of arrows came from within Nidavellir, and Argen began to yell battle cries and curse wildly. The dark elves, in crazed confusion, made their way through the alleys to the steps towards the hold, but as the elves rose up towards the stairs, the archer fire ceased and out from the town came another volley. Many dark elves fled, knowing there was a trap afoot, but several others continued to climb the stairs. However, the gate was shut swiftly, and the dark elves were locked outside. Then rocks were hurled down from the ramparts, and still, the archers in the city fired relentlessly until the dark elves were scattered. They were, however, swiftly picked off within the town. The dwarves and black elves met inside Nidavellir, via a tunnel running under the city and into the town. It was mainly for the civilians to get in and out of the hold, but it was well hidden with dwarven runes. Despite the fact that most of the dwarves were young and had not seen Nidavellir in its glory, there were some elders who were children at the time of the siege, and they remembered the route. The force of dwarves and black elves stared at the wide but ruined halls of Nidavellir and grew to hate those who had stripped it of its beauty. The dwarves passed further into the city, always keeping an eye out in the shadowy halls. Thankfully, elves cannot see in the dark, so it was lit at all times. Dead dwarves lay to the sides of the hallway, now nothing more than skeletons. Suddenly, in the light of the torches, the walls began to move. The dwarves then realized a swarm of spiders was descending down the pillars to feast. Even above them, spiders repelled down silk strands to land on an unwary dwarf. The thrashing of dwarves and hacking of axes could be seen down the hall until the spiders retreated. However, the dwarves that had been bitten were in no condition to move on. Many dwarves were sent to aid them while they were ill, though many were already dead. The remainder of the dwarves fought on, until they reached the great throne room, a circular chamber with a statue of Motsognir in the center, reaching several stories tall. However, today, his head lay on the ground, chiseled off as a mockery by the cruel elves. Argen shouted angrily, looking at his grandfather’s great statue and growing wrathful, something he had never really felt. These dark elves were surely not of Odin, they were from Helheim itself. From the top of the platform that the statue held, sat Garexus upon his throne. He stood and surveyed the army. “So few to take on the full might of the darkness. You are but a whiff of smoke, you are so mortal. Except you, Argen. Which is why I am asking you...do you really want to serve these...maggots? Surely you would rather serve at Lord Balcor’s side, as a general...or…” “You really are a coward and a crow, Garexus. If I was in your place, I would want a place to run.” “You are threatening, aren’t you?” laughed Garexus coldly. “You will have something far more dangerous than me to deal with. You will not be in Valhalla when my men are through with you.” From every side approached a large force of dark elves. The archers loaded up their crossbows and prepared to shoot Garexus. “No,” Argen shouted. “Leave him to me. Vaskr, I trust you. Lead the fight.” And with that, Argen passed through the ranks and charged up the stairs up Motsognir’s marble legs. Guards were called down to end Argen, but he swept them off the flight of steps with his axe. When he finally fought his way to the top, he met Garexus, who was staring down at the battle. “Are you going to kill me in this fashion? I have no weapon.” he showed his empty belt. “No.” Argen lifted a guard’s sword from the ground and handed it to him. Garexus reached out with one hand and grasped the sword, but with the other he pulled out a dagger from his jerkin and stabbed towards Argen. Argen reacted, knowing it was coming, and slammed his gauntlet into Garexus’ wrist, breaking it and causing him to drop the blade. Argen then let go of the sword and slammed the axe’s pommel into Garexus’s chest, sending him hurtling back and falling off the platform until he hit the ground so far below. “I AM YFIRKONUNGUR NOW!” screamed Argen. “FIGHT ON!” And so the dwarves overpowered the dark elves under the mountain, and won the day. They camped in the ruined subterranean city, keeping watch over the lands beyond. Only a few dark elf armies reached the mountain before Ergust arrived, and they were all slain. Ergust came with his battered army to the Delving Gate a week after Nidavellir was won. They sent forth a small gathering back to Nidavellir to immigrate the townsfolk back to Nidavellir. The construction was hard and laborious, but in the end Nidavellir was as good as it was going to get. The statue of Motsognir was fixed, though since nobody knew what Motsognir looked like, they carved it with the face of Argen. The forges were lit, the cities restored. The dusty and cracked stone was layered with marble, and the library was restocked, though they had lost most of their information. Argen stared into the cavernous halls, and realized this would never be the same home as it was to his father, much less grandfather. He had no home, besides as a farmer in Gungnirmark. But now, he was more than a farmer. He was a warrior king.

The Questing Days

The Death of a Yfirkonungur

Balcor had disappointed the Dark Hunters with his petty attempts to retake Nidavellir. They would have to take things into their own hands. They journeyed to Nidavellir, with an army of black dwarves. Argen was called to speak with them, but the dwarves did not immediately tell Argen, for fear of his capture. The dark hunters devoured several of the people on the walls, and the black dwarves burst through the gate, forcing the townspeople to call for aid. Argen rode to the gate and met the dark hunters there with a large army. The dark hunters asked Argen to come with them or his men would die. Argen instead challenged the alpha but was in turn brought down and ensnared. He was brought in a wagon towards Salkorvich, the diplomatic capital of the dark elves after the dwarven army was annihilated. Argen was sent to a trial in Salkorvich, where the general, judge, and usually executioner Dodrin deemed Argen guilty of crimes against the Dark Ones, and worthy of corrosion. There was no execution for Argen. Instead, he was brought to Dokkalwood and tortured day and night in the worst of ways, then forced to stare into the eyes of a Dark Hunter. He resisted each time, however, until the fifth day of his punishment, when he was covered in blood and lash marks. There he lay as the Dark Hunters discussed what to do next. They decided to bring forth Balcor to face him in a challenge, sure that Balcor could defeat him and thus bring him low enough to accept his fate. Balcor came down from Mar-Adun, armored in black iron plates with a horned helmet. He wielded his sword Cold Iron and shield Dwarfhalter. When he arrived, the Dark Hunters were not pleased. “Take off your armor, coward,” they ordered. “Give him armor instead...masters.” Balcor bowed. “We sent it to your black dwarves to be smelted, fool.” “Well, I’m supposed to win this, anyways.” Balcor sneered. Argen was called from his cage, shaking in the cold environment of Dokkalwood with no clothes other than torn trousers. The black pines rustled in the night breeze. “So you are the one they call Argen. I am disappointed. Here is your ax.” He slid Oatholder across the dirt and Argen reached over, straining his bare, lashed back. He lifted the ax and prepared himself. “Get it over with.” growled the Dark Ones. Argen, surprisingly, was the one who took the initiative to charge, ignoring the pains in his back. He swung at Balcor, but his ax caught on the shield. He dodged a sweep from Cold Iron and yanked his ax free, along with Balcor’s shield, drawing the elf forward. Argen slammed his cut forehead into Balcor’s helm, then glanced his ax off the shield again as Balcor staggered backward. The fight raged on in this manner for too long, but Argen slammed his ax into Balcor’s boot, not penetrating the armor but crushing his foot nonetheless. Balcor fell back, and then Argen knocked his ax’s pommel through Balcor’s eye. Balcor fell to one knee, and before he could stop screaming to plead, Argen did a final underhand swing, throwing Balcor back and crashing him against a pine. Balcor slumped over, dead. Argen kneeled against his ax, the thrill of the fight leaving him. He fell to one knee as the dark hunters paced confusedly. “He won against our hero. Let him go.” spoke one of the hunters. “No, that is not in the plan. He must either die or be one of our beasts.” “Then die he will.” spoke another voice. Balcor had risen again, and now he stabbed his sword into Argen’s back. The Dwarvenking crumpled to the ground after letting out a cry, and then he was gone. The last of the Hammerstone line was dead. Balcor’s armor had allowed him to revive himself through necromancy. Now he was ready to end the dwarves once more.

The Final Purge of Dwarvenkind

Balcor himself strode to Nidavellir, surrounded by a tremendous army. Both Mar-Adun and Salkorvich had come to this fight to annihilate the dwarves for good this time. This was the largest war on Svartalfaheim, and it required the utmost union of the dwarves to defeat the threat of extinction. Ergust Brazeneye was an old man at the time, but he led the people in Argen’s absence, though he believed Argen would make it out alive. When the legions of shadow arrived on the site, he rushed to the barrier, where an emissary rode forth on a dire wolf. “Your king is dead!” the envoy proclaimed. “And you will die just as he did! Surrender now and accept the corrosion, or we will defile you in death just as we did him!” Ergust needed no further news, the people’s king and his friend was dead. Darkness would fall over the land, and no dwarf or elf could stop it. He sent dwarves to the gates to defend it, then paced in his quarters, wondering what to do as he wept. When he left his room, he met Vaskr, who was the leader of the Moon Guard, an elite troop of black elves. He told Ergust of his plan to avenge Argen. Both the Moon Guard and the Steel Hird would lead the charge to defeat Balcor and General Dodrin. They would reuse the ancient strategy of Motsognir to win the day. The two gathered their forces and made a charge. They broke through the line of spearmen and battled with the swordsmen behind. However, they had trouble facing the foot soldiers, and soon crows showed up, dropping rocks on the dwarves and black elves. Defeat on this front was imminent. Ergust, seeing his men die around him, was ready to call the horn to retreat, but Vaskr, in a rage, kept fighting on. Then the dark elves turned and looked to see several boar riders charge through the first ranks and gore their way through the swordsmen. Behind them came several infantrymen, and archers fired over them all. Ergust was fueled on and began to fight harder, but then the dark elf cavalry smashed into the side of the army, the dire wolves chomping away at the unaware soldiers. A gigarachnid, the largest form of spider, smashed its way through the Steel Hird, but Ergust was able to distract it enough for the warriors to hack at its legs. The battle continued for several hours until finally, the Void Guard faced down the dwindling Steel Hird and Moon Guard. The Void Guard are the most elite warriors in the dark elf army, armored in black iron and equipped with serrated glaives. They guarded Balcor himself, the same way the Moon guard defended Vaskr. Now the combined forces of black elves and dwarves were pitted against the utter vacuum of darkness. The glaives of the Void Guard cut back the first wave of the two other elite troops. However, eventually they eventually were able to break the lines, but Balcor was able to keep them back long enough for the other guards to replace the fallen. The archers by now were out of range, and there was no hope of catching up without efficient weapons. Balcor laughed at Ergust and Vaskr. “You have given up so much for your morales! There is no glory in death, or honor in battle! There is only the darkness!” And with that, the five Dark Hunters sprung out of nowhere in a swarthy form. The tendrils of shadow reached out and drew soldiers into their maw. Finally, while one was devouring some dwarves, Ergust slammed his hammer down on one’s head, and the shadow dissipated, leaving behind a wolfish skeleton with a shattered skull. The dark hunters stopped and stared at the skeleton, then fled. Balcor fell backward as the next line of Void Guards were slain. “You’re next.” Ergust shouted. He swung his hammer at Balcor, but he blocked it with his shield and swung his sword down towards Ergust’s shoulder. Vaskr blocked it with his sword Waninglight, then slammed his shield Eclipse into Balcor’s shield. Balcor staggered back and swung a heavy blow at both of them. They fell back, and Balcor poised to strike, but a dwarf charged in and slammed him in the chest with a mace. Balcor struggled to stand as he threw the dwarf to the ground. Ergust blocked one of his swings and Vaskr cut at his armored arm, but it did nothing. Balcor cracked his shield against Vaskr’s head and cut into Ergust’s breastplate. They both fell to the ground, but Ergust recovered as the blow did not harm him. He stood up but his helmet was hit by a large rock dropped by a crow. Both of them lay on the ground, defeated, but as Balcor readied the murder blow, he looked ahead and several more dwarves and black elves charged forward. He retreated behind his void guard and controlled his armies from further in the back. Dwarven arquebusiers blasted away at the lines from the front as the Steel Hird and Moon Guard fought on leaderless, defending the unconscious bodies of Ergust and Vaskr. The dwarves and black elves finally were forced to pull back to the wall, even after their successes. The two generals were brought with several others to the medics, and the battle at the wall raged on, until the artillery on the wall was out of ammunition. Even the archers and gunners on both sides were forced to retreat for lack of missiles. The dark elves were fueled by their leader, but the people of Nidavellir were in a rage. The battle on the wall went on for even more hours, until nightfall. Then both forces were depleted to nothing, but still the gate was breached. The small force of remaining infantrymen fought the oncoming elves in the light of the moon. The spark of sword on sword could be seen all around, and the ground was shining with blood. Balcor knew he could not lose, yet the dwarves knew full and well the woes of exile. Neither side would give. Finally, the numbers won and the dwarves were killed. However, Balcor would not enter the city, and his men could not. The dark elves returned to Mar-Adun empty-handed.

The Retribution

The townsfolk came to the site of the battle after morning. They had been prepared to leave, but now it seemed their foe had left with no sign. The dead lay in massive heaps and were carried away on carts to fuel the blast furnace. There was no question who was killed in action and who survived, for all had died except the wounded that were fortunately brought off-site. When Ergust awoke and saw the death toll, he decided he must be the new Yfirkonungur. He must avenge Argen’s gruesome death, and end the threat of the dark elves. Balcor must die. Both sides took nearly half a century to prepare, and at that point, Ergust was nearly too old to fight. He sent Vaskr off to the North with a great army of gunners and warriors. In the last hundred years, dwarves and dark elves had mastered gunpowder, and now they had cannons and muskets. Infantry was coming out of use to dark elves, except with bayonets of course, but the dwarves were too attached to heavy weapons. The favored dwarven gun is, of course, the hand cannon, but blunderbusses were a close second. Dwarves also had come to use melee guns, such as pistol swords and ax muskets. As the dwarves continued across the Ashensteppes, they razed the very cities that the dwarves and dark elves first met at. The dwarves made a push to Salkorvich, the first major siege dwarvenkind has ever initiated. The stone walls had never before seen war come to them. Dodrin, the leader of the city, believed that the dwarves were a threat and must be destroyed. Despite this, he was much nobler than Balcor and believes there must be a reason for every war. Known as Drodrin the Crow for his armor shaped to the liking of the carrion bird, he had several beastmaster units such as the Murderlord berserkers. The dwarves lined up on the snowy knoll in front of Salkorvich. Salkorvich was the oldest capital of the Myrkalfar, and it was made entirely out of the bleached stones found about the heath. Now it was under heavy fire by dwarven cannons, and the archers were being sniped from the walls. The fusiliers desperately fired at the organized formations of dwarves marching towards the gate. A battering ram was brought up and the dwarves ran to the gate, where they powered the massive machine. The gate was felled after several hits, but the dwarves knew better than to rush into the killing fields. Vaskr ordered his men to scale the walls first and take out the soldiers in the gate tower. Siege ladders were brought out, carried all the way from Nidavellir. The dwarves stormed over the wall and killed everyone on it. Then the dwarves broke down the second gate and charged into the courtyard. Dodrin fought in the center of the action, swinging his great maul this way and that, skewering dwarves on the spiked end. “Dodrin, surrender and you and your people will live!” shouted Vaksr, walking towards the general. “I surrender to nobody!” Dodrin yelled and with that five berserkers jumped down from the rooftops. Vaskr fought them off and then dodged a blow from Dodrin’s hammer. “Justice will be served for the past!” Dodrin shouted, slamming his hammer into the cobblestone street. Vaskr cut at Dodrin’s arm, but as soon as he did so a berserker jumped out and slashed across his back his a foil. Vaskr fell to a knee as Dodrin pulled back for another swing. Vaskr rolled to the side just in time, then lopped off Dodrin’s right arm. The general screamed in pain, then dropped his hammer to the ground. The dwarves charged into the town, burning as they went. It was total war: nobody was spared. As Dodrin fell back onto the floor, dying of blood loss, Vaskr stood over him. “I am sorry, my brother. But your master started this, and I will finish it.” He stabbed through Dodrin’s heart to stop his suffering, then he charged with his men into the burning town. The dwarven flag was raised in the keep, and all the dark elves were cast off the walls. The victory was easily won that day. Vaskr stared down the hall where he imagined his old king Argen being taken and sentenced to death. But as the dwarves burned the dark elf tomes just as they had done in Nidavellir, he saw nothing that detailed Argen’s death, besides “he died like a maggot”. He finally found two contradictions: a plaque that read “Argen Hammerstone, sentenced to corrosion”. He now knew something had to be different. He walked around the city as his men camped out in the street. Finally, he found a clue in the forge. A black dwarf lay on the floor, slowly bleeding out. “Balcor...save me.” he croaked. “I did so much for you. Save me.” Vaskr knelt down to him. “What are you talking about?” he asked skeptically. “I gave Balcor a special...suit. Armor. It made him live again. He’s a wraith, you see.” he coughed violently. “Wraith, what do you mean wraith?” “He’s dead! Killed…” his eyes grew hazy. “Tell me!” Vaskr yelled, shaking the dwarf. He was dead. Vaskr wept on the floor until he was found by his men the next day. “General Vaskr. A dark elf envoy approaches.” He stood, covered in black blood from the dwarf. He wished to find answers, to see if Argen really would go to Valhalla like his grandfather. He had watched his father Hrothgar die, but Argen had died alone. Vaskr walked out with the dwarves to meet the envoy at the gate. “Vaskr, you have done well.” stated the envoy. “Balcor still can accept you, you know. You were once a mentor to him, only you could not see a threat when it hit you in the face. These dwarves had cost so many of our men. You remember the plague. Your wife and son died, Vaskr. Accept your true identity. Balcor needs a replacement for Dodrin anyways.” “Tell me this, you sniveling crow. What is the secret of my king’s death. What happened? Show me someone that was there!” “The only dark elves that were there were the void guard, and if they were to tell you that they would be executed painfully by Balcor himself. All we know…” “Yes?” Vaskr hissed. “He is not the same.” the messenger seemed to be nervous. “I-I...think…” his grey skin would have gone pale. “He is a wraith.” Vaskr growled. “He has taken up necromancy as a hobby, as I see it. He was once a good man.” “But now matter,” stuttered the emissary. “He has granted you safe leave.” “Leave? Why leave before he is dead? Why leave until you are all dead?” the emissary almost fell off his horse. “He will not harm you again.” the messenger stated silently. “Kill them.” Vaskr growled. The dwarf captain hesitated to give the order, but then Vaskr stared at him with cold eyes. He let out the order, and the entire envoy was wiped out. We go to Mar-Adun!” roared Vaskr. “I will kill Balcor even if I die trying!” And with that the dwarves and elves set off. None of them returned to Nidavellir.

Author's Note

There will be at least one sequel to this one. It also is mainly new to me, the rest was based off some other things I had written while this I came up with on the spot.

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

I liked this. It is well written. This sort of fantasy writing seems to be right up your alley. If you have done some study in Norse mythology I think it shows here. The tales seem related to Finnish and Norwegian mythology.

[Pearce Bishop]

Thank you for your positive review! I did base it very heavily off Norse mythology, while changing it quite a bit to fit my foul purposes. ;-)

[Fabian G. Franklin]

(laughing) Not foul at all...no more than book authors using whatever means available for inspiration. Funny thing, I just wrote a poem based on Finnish mythology so this caught my eye.

[Pearce Bishop]

Did you post it here? I'd like to read it! Everything Norse catches my eye.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Yes, just a bit ago, entitled Feast of The Frost King. I got the idea from an old Finnish and Norwegian holiday which was celebrated around Christmas.