Chapter II: Peregrenation

the unlikely team of Rimm and young, foolish Smashy embark on their journey.... *Smoke appears and you see this in a cloud*

 

Chapter II

 

 

 

 

Peregrination

 

 

 

 

          

 

           Smashy gazed around at the great hall of preparation’s beauty with great pleasure, and often, he could not help but astonish a few muttered words of awe. The hall was gigantic compared to his home. There was a small reclining area and his and Thunderbuff’s sleeping quarters, and that was about it. Here he could roam! He could even jump up and down, and no one would yell, or say, “Shh! It is our hour of sleep; do not dare wake the king!” although he did receive a few strange glances in his direction. So awestruck was Smashy that he had no idea as to where he should go or what he should do. There were so many things happening. A few dwarves told tales here, some explained a few proper techniques with the blade; but no matter what, everyone was occupied. It was all so awing and mysterious.

           Smashy stopped before a group of laughing dwarves. They were drinking quite a lot, and ridiculing their companions’ weapons and how sharp or how effective in battle each other’s were. Smashy figured that now was his chance. Now was his chance to be recognized as a fighter. That was what he had so dreamed of. He had never even met any great warriors before. Besides his father, anyway, but that was the least of his concerns.

           He walked passed the fighters, purposely waving his back, covered by the great wooden hammer strapped to it. Little did Smashy know that hammers were considered the lowliest of weapons and a child’s toy. Though, in a sense, Smashy was a child. He was only 18 years old.

           “Boy my weapon,” Smashy made sure to stress the word “weapon”, “is sure getting heavy from my— great battles!”

            Instead of sincerity though, the group laughed and ignored the young dwarf entirely. Smashy sighed and looked down, disappointed as ever at his attempt to unanimously “fame” himself. Though, deep down, Smashy knew this would be the outcome, he could have figured this out hours before. He was not a stupid dwarf— just a clumsy one at times. If Smashy wanted to be a respected as a great warrior then he would have to make it so by becoming one. Smashy retorted at the thought of such hard work. How he hated such hard work! Thunderbuff had been giving him endless work his whole life— and now that he was not here, Smashy would not, and he promised himself this, do anything too hard to handle.

            Little did Smashy know that hard work was evident. Hard work was everywhere— whether he liked it or not.

 

            Smashy trudged through the hall as though in a trance. He saw many strange people, and he even saw a few creatures. Pets, Smashy figured. They were probably acquired in the last trade scout to the human towns. There were archways leading off into other areas. There were wooden booths, simple and sturdy for it could withstand tons of heavy, crushing metal.

            He saw the pets, which were intricate wooden creatures. It was so complicated and complex that it must have been gnomish. The wooden cranks and levers within were concealed and hidden by a layer of some strange sort of material that resembled a live creature’s flesh. Protruding from their spine was a small wooden crank. They did chores, shined armors, and then returned to their masters (by gnomish enchantment, little to Smashy’s knowledge) and fell limp until their owners would wind them back up to do more chores.

            So it was that he wandered about until he stumbled upon a very muscular old dwarf, hurrying through the crowds at quick pace. He looked very wise and— judging by his ancient steel armor, bearing the symbol of a great warrior, he was once something great. The dwarf seemed to have little time for the young dwarf. Smashy gazed at him in awe, gaping.

            “Greetings!” Smashy cried, astonished. “What is your name, sir?” The old dwarf looked down on the young Smashy and replied hastily,

            “’Name’s Rimm,”

            Smashy looked up, taken aback. His eyes widened.

            “My name’s Smashy.” He paused to consider the old dwarf. Then his eyes filled with realization. “You’re Rimm Broos!” he cried. Smashy could not believe his eyes. This was the greatest warrior of all in Crotz’ Cryn (or so Smashy thought). He bowed as if in trance, and said,

            “Will you be fighting in our great battle tomorrow?” Smashy bowed even lower.

            The old dwarf scowled. He seemed in far too much of a hurry to worry of this boy. He glowered at the young dwarf before him. This dwarf— no more than a child— he would be soon sucked into the lies of his own home! Rimm shuddered. He did not want to even converse with this child. It would save him a moments peace without intense anger. He suffered highly form this problem. He still needed to come forth quickly, though, for he bore news of great importance.

            “Unfortunately,” Rimm said through gritted teeth. “I will not be joining your great leaders this time!”                      

            “But you’re so great!” Smashy yelled. “You have killed so many things in your days!” Rimm simply glared and paid the compliment no measure of attention.

            Rimm closed his eyes and breathed heavily.

            “I have no time for this!” He said, his tone still as attaint as ever. “I must go now, before anything else happens from of my control!” The old dwarf ran toward the front of the hall, and, Smashy, still intent on excitement, watched all the while.

            The old dwarf Rimm had come and gone to the great hall that evening with grave news. He had come and gone just as quickly as he had even arrived. Many of the dwarves had drank quite a bit, and perhaps it was the unsurprisingly high rate of low sobriety with this group of merry dwarves that caused such stubbornness as the dwarves gave old Rimm that night. He had come simply with a message- or more so, a warning.

            You see, the old dwarf had done some traveling for the previous days: a dwarf such as Rimm could not find much fulfillment in the rather dull city within the mountains. Smashy thought otherwise, though, when gazing upon the dwarves’ happy mannerisms and drunk stutters, but Rimm, being of noble indifference, was a different dwarf. The old dwarf had come across something terrible—more war. Although it did not have to do with their city, he was sure that if they prepared, disposed of the impending threat, that a crisis could be fully averted. Therefore, defeating an imposing complication that Crotz’ Cryn would not have been able to discompose. Smashy watched as the old dwarf bore his news.

            “The southern mountains,” Rimm gasped for air. He was tired from the long journey upward to the city. It was a great climb, after all.

            “The mountains! Every child, father, mother warrior—all that you can imagine—have been desecrated.”

            There were several moments of seemingly endless silence that, except for the sound of the old dwarf’s gruff, heavy breathing, seemed to never end. Rimm lowered his head, looking down at his shining adamantine armor. How powerful and effective his armor was. Smashy gazed at it with jealous eyes. It was trusty indeed, for it managed to keep the sinewy old dwarf alive after all these many, many years. Though, he was a dwarf, of course, and was quite capable of genuine survival with or without his armor. Although, as many dwarf philosophies suggest, a dwarf’s image is much more idealistic with his armor, rather than without!

            Another dwarf, another bigger, larger dwarf, intruded upon the silence then. It was Valnaar, the heavyset dwarf general of the great Crotz’ Crynnian armies. He was a widely respected dwarf— and among dwarves, many were indeed deeply respected on levels of authority. His stout, narcissistic attitude— amplified by many glasses of beer— did none to reduce Rimm’s sorrowful news (The old dwarf obviously had a few not too pleasant feelings about the general). Valnaar fell drunkenly to the side, breaking the silence that no one else seemed to intervene.

            “And, Where,” he growled. “Have they gone ‘teh?” The general grumbled deeply with a scratched tone.  He swaggered for a second moment, and then regained his balance. He grabbed a half drank mug of beer, obviously not his, and chugged it. Valnaar wiped the wet substance from his black beard and leaned his elbow against a table.                   

He looked up at Rimm, all eyes on the two.

            Rimm sighed, and the old dwarf filled with sorrow. These dwarves cared not for him anyway! They were too foolish to consider consequences of the future. How naive were they that they were to drink their lives away before battle? The old dwarf swallowed and his eyes began to moisten with his obvious inner problem. He felt sorry, not only for his city, the great city of Crotz’ Cryn, but for others. This was something rare indeed. These dwarves did not care of other cities! They cared not much for each other even. But Rimm was a rare dwarf. He had spent many years at war— but when not guarding or protecting his city, he would often think.

            “Every man, woman,” repeated the old dwarf. He swallowed again, trying to continue. “Child even— dead. And to what do we owe the favor for the slaughter of the southern dwarves?” Rimm looked down, Smashy watching with widened eyes. This was so much excitement for the young dwarf! His features were not even visible in the fire lit room. He returned his gaze up. “The trolls.” Rimm muttered. Even his thick, shortened white beard began to show signs of quivering sadness. How sorry Rimm was for them. How sorry he was for the city he did not even know. Yet here he was, beginning to shed a tear.

            Once again, Valnaar intruded upon silence. He laughed hysterically, loudly, and obnoxiously.

            “Yes!?” he snarled. “And what of it?!”

The general began to slip into a seemingly never ending laugh. “The trolls are attacking them not us!”

            The whole hall unanimously broke into laughter. It was as though they just now understood what the two very different dwarves were speaking of. All pointed and laughed loudly, louder than they had ever even imagined. Smashy looked around angrily, for he wasn’t even that rude! Perhaps they had awakened many others that night (for it was very late) and they were simply enjoying an excuse for another big laugh. The majority more than likely did not know what it was that was so hysterical.  Rimm scowled.

            These buffoons! They were a sick bunch of children was what they were. They had not a care for anyone but themselves. Not to mention foolish. They were careless with their actions. It was surprising that they could stand on two feet and support them— or so cried the angered old dwarf.

            Rimm shook a fist at the hall filled with vast quantities of dwarves— or pawns. They would all be sucked into a barrel of lies as soon as they were due fit. He looked at the Young dwarves, probably no more than fourteen years. He imagined them tainted and blackened by the prospect of war. A deep chill went up Rimm’s spine.

            “In my days…!” The old dwarf attempted to yell over the hall of screaming dwarves. “It was care for the dwarves that care for you!”  Of course no one heard the yells of the angry old dwarf. He was nothing. He was just an old dwarf lost in memories. He didn’t know fun. He did not know a good time!

            The old dwarf scowled a last time and kicked the air, swearing.

            “Slime!” he screamed. “Slime!”

            The old dwarf, red faced, stormed the hall with a fury that none other could define. But not before Rimm could leave the hall without even a moment without ridicule, a drunk dwarf waddled over to him.

            “The trolls are ‘tackin’ them, not - hic- us!” he hiccupped. His weakening voice trembled for a moment. He seemed to be an older, perhaps wiser dwarf.

“We- we should stick to - hic – ourselves, you old, rambunctious dwarf!” he called idiotically. The dwarf fell over hiccupping a last time, and humming a simple tune. Smashy could not help but notice the similar words of this old drunk to the words of the general Valnaar. The drunken dwarf grinned at the enraged Rimm and, batting an eyelash or two, fell over asleep. He talked still, though, beginning to tell a strange tale in his sleep, unaware of his previous comment. His large beer mug slid and shattered on the hard ground; tiny shards flew everywhere, the majority to the old dwarf, Rimm.

            This, of course, could only anger the already enraged Rimm even more. As Rimm left, the laughter died down. Valnaar, raising his mug high, toasted incredibly loudly,

            “To the old fool!”

            “Aye!” the rest replied. They held up their drinks, toasted, and the entire atmosphere reurned to the preparations. The merriness— the laughter— all the feeling had returned. Though the only dilemma— it did not include Rimm.

            Smashy watched as the old dwarf left the hall, grabbed his possessions, and was soon off. The young dwarf stopped for a moment, and considered his options. Smashy’s thick dwarven lips (he had his mother to thank for such a trait) curved into a strange smile: not an evil one, but one with many tricks up its sleeve. Smashy knew that his father would not approve of this, not one little bit. But he was the least of his concerns: the young dwarf had all of his precious possessions, and as far as he was concerned, was fully equipped for any danger. Smashy needed an escape. His father was far too strict, and this was his chance for a break. (If anything, the old dwarf would send him back, so why not try?) Smashy knew that a full punishment would be in order when and, if, he returned. He figured that he could deal with his father then. He darted off silently and agilely (to Smashy’s standards, at least) to the direction that the angry old dwarf Rimm had gone.

 

* * * * * *

 

 

            The road down the mountains outside of Crotz’ Cryn was a highly treacherous, not to mention a dangerous route indeed. Old Rimm was in no condition to be traveling in such harsh weather, especially when he was in such a bad mood. He was very old, for one thing. How he could travel alone with no help any help for miles was another!

            At least a whole foot of snow covered the entire mountainside for miles. He could not see any color besides white and grey until the mountains ended at ground level. A strong wind began to blow, and as though appearing from no where, the old dwarf noticed a tall tree. Through the strangeness of it all, there were leaves! Many, many leaves filled the great branches. Surely there was reason to this image— this sudden image— thrust into his mind. Was his mind truly playing tricks on him? Or was this gigantic green piece of nature truly there, in front of his aged eyes?

            No matter— if the tree really was there, in front of him, teasing him with its beauty, it would not have affected his trek otherwise. Although, (and he was quick to admit this) the tree had distracted Rimm from the long journey ahead of him, it was now time to disregard the beautiful landmark and continue along his way. So this was indeed what the old dwarf did.   

            He began to continue, not at a fast pace, but a steady one. “A sight to remember!” he huffed as he slowly made his way along. He would soon be rid of this horrid city. He would soon be rid of it all!

            A sudden rustle within these trees nearly made Rimm fly to Scotaris and back! The old dwarf bent down slowly, reaching for the dagger at his heel. It was his weapon of speed: a “quick-shot” he had nicknamed it. It was meant for times of danger when he needed a weapon quickly. As opposed to his axe, tied and knotted expertly, side to side, a net seemingly formed, it was extremely slow compared to the dagger.  

            Rimm threw the dagger with such agility, that one would not guess that someone of such age could throw so accurately. A loud yelp protruded from the lively tree’s depths, and a fat dwarf lost his balance and fell from the tree flying quickly to the snowy ground with a cantankerous Splat! And snow exploded in all directions. The image of the lively tree began to flicker and slowly disintegrated.

            The dwarf’s body lye halfway in the snow; his head and his legs writhing in the open air. His armor was of lesser iron armor, normal for that of an average dwarf. It bore the symbol of the dark eye, the symbol of the mountain dwarves. This dwarf was from Crotz’ Cryn!

            Rimm made his way to the dwarf and ripped his body from the snow, holding the dwarf close to his face, a fist held close to the dwarf’s neck. Rimm’s eyes widened and he loosened his grip on the dwarf.

            “Masher?!” he growled.

            “Its Smashy.” The young dwarf moaned. He clutched his hand and he moaned once more. Rimm released his hold upon the young dwarf and Smashy fell backward into the snow. Smashy yelped and used the dagger that was sticking out of the snow a few inches away to slice a piece of fabric from under his mail. He pressed it to the bleeding hand and returned the dagger to its original owner.

            Rimm frowned and took his weapon, looking upon him with his wise, all knowing eyes.

            “How did you conjure that illusion?” he inquired, referencing to the fully green tree. Rimm then noticed that his voice was slightly quivering; and he hoped Smashy did not notice. Fortunately he did not.

            Smashy shrugged.

            “I’ve been doing that sort of thing for years!” he said with an unenthusiastic smile. “My pops says it is strange though; that I should not tell anyone of this. Probably even you.”

            The old dwarf looked at Smashy strangely. A magic-friendly dwarf? Who had ever heard such a thing? Unknown to Smashy’s knowledge, he, and many dwarves for that matter, were, actually, quite afraid of magic. At least dwarf magic-users for that matter. How odd it was, that this young dwarf was an illusionist!

            “Why have you followed me?!” The old dwarf demanded. He eyed Smashy suspiciously, and Smashy, trying not to look too conspicuous, eyed him back (and with a certain measure of sarcasm, as well.)

            The young dwarf shrugged. He stopped talking for a moment to reconsider what little options he had left. Smashy decided that his only choice was simply— the truth.

            “Eh, me father is gettin’ too aggressive. He wants me to do everything!” Smashy said. “I figured with you, there’d be adventures and quests that we can surely embark on!” Smashy shot a fist into the air and said, “With you, master-full one, at my side, we will be unstoppable!”

            Rimm smacked the young dwarf aside the head and sighed.

            “That’ll be enough talk about that!” he growled. “You should not have followed me.” Rimm let out another deep groan, this time obvious to the young dwarf, Smashy. Smashy figured that he had done something wrong. Quickly, he lowered his head, not wanting to look old Rimm in the eye. He figured he was at fault, but did not know what he had done. He wanted to act strong though.

            “I deeply apologize, me master.” He said with great sincerity, in the deepest voice he could. “Give your punishment as you see fit!”

            Smashy bent down to one knee and lowered his head as if under the Queen Meithar’s guillotine. Rimm watched in wonder and amazement. He could not help but release a small chuckle.

            “My last request is that you— please, make it quick!” The young dwarf cried. Rimm was almost on the verge of hysteria.

            He smacked the dwarf once gain aside the head.

            “Get up, you buffoon!” he yelled.

                       

            The young dwarf looked at Rimm with a confused expression and grasped the old dwarf’s outstretched hand. He stood up and did not move. He did not even say a word.

            “You’re a strange one, youngin’, aren’t you?” growled Rimm who turned from the awed dwarf and continued his way down the snowy path. Smashy frowned and followed Rimm, trying his best to catch up to the old dwarf, whose pace was surprisingly fast, not to mention consistent. 

            “Aren’t you gonna send me back?” Called Smashy, finally reaching Rimm.

            Rimm continued walking.

            “If you want to return, be my guest,” he chuckled. “But remember, we’re already three quarters of the way down the mountain, and a blizzard’ll soon be stirring.”

            The young dwarf’s expression turned from realization that he would not see home for a long time, to the dream of adventure and battle coming into reality. He smiled.

            “You’re a great warlord, are you not?” he asked as they continued down the road.

            Rimm turned to look at the young dwarf and snorted.

            “A warlord? Ney, I’m no fiend of a leader who kills mercilessly,” He said. “But a warrior, in my day, I was.”

            “Oh,” Smashy said. “So you are good with a weapon?”

            Rimm ignored the rhetorical question and kept his firm pace.

            “Can you teach me?” asked the excited dwarf rather enthusiastically.

            The old dwarf groaned, sighing,

             “Why in blazes do you ask so many gods-forsaken questions?!”

             Smashy yelped at the sudden outburst from the old dwarf.

             “Well do yeh think I’d be any good with a weapon, teaching me self?” he said hopefully, his tone much quieter.  

             Rimm snorted a second time and let out a deep chuckle, which soon turned into rumbling laugh, causing the old dwarf to bend over, clutching his stomach. He wiped his bearded mouth and let out a last chuckle.

             “Let us just say this:” he said. “When the forests sail, then you shall prevail!”

             And he left the confused dwarf standing there dazed. Smashy soon followed without a single word until Rimm stopped on a Cliff edge, gazing about the night sky with a smile. He saw the young dwarf approach the edge of the cliff, and Smashy took a step back in amazement. Over the cliff edge, he could see all of the lands to the north. It was a wide view, and he was amazed at such a sight. He asked,

             “What… what is it?”

             “It is called land’”. Rimm replied.

             “Of course!” Smashy frowned. “I mean where. What is the name?”

             Rimm smiled. This young dwarf would be a very large pain, he could feel that. He knew that he would have a lot of work ahead of him. Not too far from where they stood, there was a village.  Smoke was erupting from the chimneys, and candlelight could be seen, shining from the open windows. 

             “There. That is our destination.” He said. “It is Heilek. A human town.”

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

how is it?