The Dwarf of Silver Peak

The dwarf looked down from his perch on Silver Peak, puffing on his long stemmed pipe contentedly.  The serene beauty of Silver Peak continually left him in awe.  Small patches of evergreen trees with their snow capped tops; the chatter of small animals in the woods, and the sound of the wind rushing through the leaves of the trees was always calming to him.

What always caught his attention though was the sky, especially at dusk.  The sun was just finishing its daily journey across the sky, leaving behind a crimson silhouette that filled the already darkening night air.  No matter how many times he saw the sun setting on Silver Peak the dwarf knew that he would never grow tired of it.

He took the pipe from his mouth and inhaled the crisp mountain air; the nighttime chill was already creeping in and he filled his lungs to their capacity.  He exhaled slowly and watched as his breath froze before him in a fog.  His gaze drifted back toward the sky.  The first stars of twilight were already appearing.

As the crimson silhouette of the sun faded away below the horizon, a new shadow took its place.  Cast by the full moon, it was no less spectacular, its silver rays giving just enough light to travel by, though he didn’t need the light during the night.  He gazed down to the small pond below his perch, the moon’s reflection undulating slightly in the ripples of the water.  The chatter of the small animals in the nearby evergreen forest died down as they said their goodnights to each other.  The birds ended their daily songs and nestled into their cozy nests, dreams of the next day filling their minds.

The dwarf sighed, taking in all the tranquil sights that surrounded him.  He loved Silver Peak.  The beautiful mountain was only a few days walk to the majestic city of Salador, home of the fabled Knights of the White Bear.  He never went there though; he was the cause of too many distractions, too many strange looks…

The dwarf shook his head and turned for home only a few miles up the mountain.  He reached to the snowy ground and picked up his beautifully crafted battleaxe.  He admired its beauty for a minute before slipping it into its loop on his belt.  The axe was made of the purest metal: mithril.  He loved the way mithril was easy to craft, yet so strong and durable.  The sides of the axe blade were engraved with the runes of power and symbols of the dwarven gods.  The handle was masterfully crafted from dark oak and was carved with many exquisite designs, some of which included runes of strength to give it the extra support so it would not give way to stress.

The moon was at its full height and the stars were shining brilliantly on the peaceful mountain.  The stars shone in the rippling water, the moon’s reflection distorted by the slight ripples.  The dwarf looked at the moon.  Although he could not see them, he knew his eyes gave off a yellow glow.  He felt a strange sensation; he quickly repressed it.

The dwarf took a last look at the peace and tranquility that surrounded him.  He sighed and started his way up the rough trail that would lead him to his small home.  Even though he loved Silver Peak and he knew it better than anyone, he still fingered the axe on his belt.  For every peaceful and tranquil thing on this mountain, there was always something dangerous that could take a person’s life.  Whether it be from the a sudden rockslide or an attack by a mountain giant, Silver Peak could go from a picture of the purest serenity to a struggle for one’s life in a matter of seconds.  Only the strongest could survive on Silver Peak, a lesson he had learned throughout the many years he had lived on the mountain.

He shuddered as the wind picked up, and with it the howling of a foul creature.  “I must find him!  The Great Master will not be pleased until He has been returned!”

The dwarf quickened his step.  He knew this creature well.  Ivel was a creature said to have escaped the great Abyssal Roundup from the Age of Legends after the fall of the Lord of Demons, U’groth Jon Balog.  No one truly knew what Ivel’s motive was, but the dwarf assumed that he was awaiting the return of his master.  He had fought the creature on several occasions and had always come out as the victor, but he had no wish to fight it this night.

“I must find him!  I MUST!” Ivel screeched, its voice magnified by the howling wind.  The dwarf shuddered as the scream shattered the night air.  His grip on the battleaxe grew tighter, his eyes glowing fiercely in the darkness that surrounded him.  He needed to get to his home soon, lest there be a fight this night.

The dwarf felt the inner urge resurface inside of him; a low growl escaped his lips.  This was his territory, not Ivel’s.  It would be easy to find the demon; the wind made Ivel’s scent easy to follow.  He was the stronger of the two.  He had survived.

“No!” the dwarf shouted, quickly shoving the thought out of his head.  His pace quickened until he was almost running.

His sensitive ears picked up the continuous whining and screeching from the cold wind.  He breathed a sigh of relief when his stone house finally came into view at the top of the incline.  The house was carved into the side of the mountain, perfect for a dwarf.  He quickly approached the crude wooden door �" dwarves may be master stone craftsmen, but they weren’t the best woodsmen �" and entered his domain.

The inside of his house was simple, yet exquisite.  All of the furniture was carved out of stone and built in to the walls and floor.  A stone table lay in the center of his home with several small stone stools set around it.  Each piece of the stonework was expertly carved with ancient dwarven symbols.  The only piece of furniture in the room that wasn’t carved out of stone was an old rocking chair, which was set beside a stone fireplace.

In the back of the entry room was a door, which led to his bedroom.  The bed was built in to the wall from the stone like the rest of the furniture and it had a goose-feather mattress on it.  A plain wooden wardrobe was propped against the wall.  In the corner of the room a small wooden desk was filled with parchment and quills.  The dwarf walked through the bedroom to a small passage that led deeper into the mountain.

The passage was small and narrow, perfect for a dwarf to walk comfortably.  The roughly hewn stone walls kept a natural feel as if one were walking through a natural stone tunnel instead of a dwarven-made passageway.  The only feature that deterred from the natural feel of the corridor was the smoothly shaped floor that looked as if the rocks that had once covered it had been shaved away.

The dwarf walked through the passage to another heavy wooden door.  He put the back of his hand on the door to feel for any heat.  Judging it was safe to enter the dwarf held his breath and opened the heavy door with little difficulty.

An intense wave of heat hit him instantly, causing his sensitive eyes to water.  The inside of this new chamber was an immense cavern; the top of the ceiling was several stories high.  Natural stalagmites lined the ground and stalactites lined the ceiling like rows of sharp, jagged teeth.  In the center of the cavern was the dwarf’s forge.  Smoke drifted lazily from the forge and out of a hole at the top of the cavern.  A large bellows, furnace, and anvil were the centerpieces of the cavern.  Tools lay scattered on a large wooden workbench; hammers, tongs, pickaxes and chisels lay in their proper places on their racks.  Unlike most dwarves, this one was quite tidy and always kept his forge clean.

In the corner of the cavern was a small pool of water.  The dwarf walked to it and looked at his reflection for a moment in the shallow pool.  Yellow eyes, slightly pointed ears, hairy arms even for a dwarf.  He turned around.  Yes, it was still there.  He was still unchanged.  The dwarf shook his head and bent down to wash his hands and face.  The water was remarkably cool despite the heat from the forge.  This was because of the icy core of Silver Peak, which kept all of the water on the mountain cool.

Grabbing a small woolen towel from a hook that he had built onto the wall, the dwarf toweled his face and hands dry.  He set the towel back on its hook and walked out of the cavern, bolting the door behind him just in case a rogue wind decided it wanted to blow the door open.  He walked through the passageway and to his bedroom.  Walking to the small desk, he sat down on the small chair that was situated at the desk and lit a small candle.

He looked down at the page he had been writing on.  After writing a few words, he read it, took all of the scattered parchment, and carefully read over each page carefully, making a few slight changes.  The dwarf smiled and settled back in his chair.  He closed his eyes, finally content with what he had written.  A soft scratching sound brought him back to the present.

The dwarf silently crept to the wooden door.  He cracked it just a hair to peek out into the darkness outside.  The dwarf yelped as the door crashed open, knocking it from its hinges.  In the doorway was an enormous grizzly bear.  The bear had coarse brown fur and two rows of sharp white teeth.  Its brown eyes shown ferociously as it reared on its hind legs and let loose a terrible roar that filled the small house.  Settling back on all fours, the bear calmly sauntered into the house next to the unlit fireplace.  Annoyed by this inconvenience, the bear growled at the dwarf’s direction.

The dwarf ran to the dismantled doorway and shook his head.  “Look what ye did to my door ye fool!” he growled.  “Do ye not know how long I worked on tha’ blasted thing?”

The bear snorted.  “Longer than you have been working on the house itself.”

The dwarf snarled.  “Grizzle ye old brute.  I should skin ye alive for that.”

Grizzle rolled his eyes and shook his head in amusement.  “You’ve threatened to do that for the last ten years Darnin!  Come up with something new for a change you old dwarf.  It’s really cold outside.  Why don’t you light that fire like I so graciously growled for you to do?”

Darnin narrowed his eyes.  This bear got on his nerves sometimes…  He wished that he couldn’t understand the thing.  That thought immediately dissipated.  Grizzle was his only companion on this desolate mountain.  Silver Peak could get lonely for one who lived alone.

 Darnin quickly remounted the door on its hinges �" slightly askew �" and walked to a small cupboard.  Retrieving a tinderbox, he lit the wood that was in the fireplace, flooding the room with warmth and light.  Grizzle grunted contentedly.

Grizzle sniffed.  “I smell something new on you.  It smells like… excitement.  Have you done anything exciting lately Darnin?”

That brought a huge grin to the dwarf’s face.  “Actually I have.  I finally finished my memoirs!”

Grizzle snorted again.  “Took you long enough…  You’ve been working on that thing for how long?  Twenty years?”

Darnin narrowed his eyes again.  “It’s only been ten years ye old fool.”

Grizzle shrugged its massive shoulders.  “Pardon me, Master Dwarf.  Forgive my ignorance,” it finished with a roll of its great brown eyes.

Darnin was about to retaliate when Grizzle spoke again. “Well, what are you waiting for?  Bring them out!  Start reading my old friend.”

Startled, Darnin narrowed his eyes.  “What are ye after bear?”

The great bear rolled its eyes again.  “Is it too much for a bear to ask its best friend to read the memoirs he has been writing for ten years?”

“For ye it is…” he mumbled.  A grin suddenly split the dwarf’s face.  “Ye really want me to read it to ye?”

“For the last time yes!” Grizzle roared, the mere magnitude of it shaking the house.  “Read your memoirs to me right now or I’m going to rip your tail off!”

From the pain in Darnin’s eyes, Grizzle immediately regretted what he had just said.  Darnin looked behind him at what was there.  A tail.  Darnin, the dwarf who was half wolf.  “I’m sorry Darnin…  I didn’t mean it.”

Darnin shrugged.  “It’s fine.  I know ye didn’t mean any harm by it.”  He smiled warmly at his old friend.  “I never told ye how I got it, did I?”

Grizzle shook his head.  “You said the day you tell me would be the day you finished writing those memoirs.” Grizzle chuckled, which was a soft growl.  “Time to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Darnin smiled again.  He left the room and returned shortly with the large stack of parchment.  He sat down in his old rocking chair, relaxing in how it seemed to fit every part of his body perfectly.  He looked down at the blank front page.  “What should I call my book Grizzle?”

The bear sat up and thought for a moment.  “The Dwarf of Silver Peak.”