Legacy of Ekrund

Written by Gankom

Thuri Groinson was a grizzled old prospector. Blind in one eye, and skin that hadn’t seen the sun in a century or more. He also had much more recent injuries. Currently he was propped up in a bed in Khaz Vithang while a priestess of Valaya tried to do something about the stump where his left arm use to be.

“How is it?” Lord Freyr asked from the doorway, remorse tinging his voice. Thuri gave a dark chuckle before the priestess could answer.

“This mess of a thing?” He croaked, waving the stump weakly. The priestess stilled it, grasping it firmly to finish bandaging it. Thuri chuckled again, but it sounded weak and there was a gurgle to it. “It’s not half as bad as the grobi arrow in my lung. Although that scunner lost his head, so can’t complain too much about the trade.”

There’s silence while the priestess finishes her grisly work. With a sad look, he shakes her head to Freyr and leaves. The thane sit himself on a crate beside the dying prospector, it’s the closest thing to a chair they’d been able to recover on short notice.

“Twenty Dawi. That’s what went into those underhalls.” Lord Freyrs say’s finally, to break the silence. “Ten of them I know are dead, we found the heads to prove as much. You’re the only one to come back.” He stares into space for a moment, his face dark and depressed.

“Was it worth it? All this death?” He asks quietly. “Have I led us to destruction, instead of resurrection?”

“Sod off with that dramatic philosophic Elf squat.” Thuri replies fiercely. “I have enough problems without listening to you whine.”

The Thane looks apologetic, but the prospector continues. “Twenty of us volunteered Fairhair. We believe in this just as much as you do. By the ancestors we believe in this because of you. So don’t start getting all moody because a bunch of us wanted to do our part for the war.” Thuri slouches back, exhausted. There’s blood at the edge of his mouth and even his beard is flecked with it. Despite the situation he grins. He wiggles his fresh stump weakly. “Bedside’s, I’ve always been willing to lend you a hand Fairhair. Even if this time I had to trade it for good. You want to know if it was worth it? Well I’ll leave that to you, but I can tell you this. We found it Lord Fairhair. We found the bloody thing!”

Freyr gasps despite himself. Without even noticing his hands clench hard enough to turn the knuckles white. “You found the vault?”

“Oh aye! It’s deep below Mount Bloodhorn, just where the runesmiths said it would be. Its runes of protection are weak, but still there. Probably the only reason the stinking grobi didn’t loot it.” Thuri casts an exhausted eye at Freyr. “So go get it already. Keep the dream alive and use to resurrect Ekrund already.”

“By my beard and the mountain roots I’ll do just that.” Freyr vows. He gives one last nod to the crippled prospector, who only waves him off. “Brokkr! Get the lads!”

**

There was still fighting nearby. Sounds like another ambush in one of the adjoining halls. Once the prospector had confirmed the location of the vault, and that it was still there, Freyr had acted fast. There wasn’t time to summon more then a handful of his hammerers and iron breakers before they plunged into the underhalls of Mount Bloodhorn. The goblins still there were disorganized and panicky. Some were survivors of the waagh that had held here until recently, others were survivors from the locals the waagh had obliterated. All of them were desperate and fighting like cornered animals. “Which they are.” Freyr muttered darkly as he thought about the situation. His warriors about him, they delved deeper and deeper.

They where deep below the mountain now, deeper then even the splendid courts of the kings hall. Once Mount Bloodhorn had been the center of Ekrund, the beating heart of it’s kingdom. Home to nobility, guild masters and kings. Time had not been kind to it, but despite that Freyr could still make out it’s grandeur. The chiselled features, mosaics that had once held gems of every color, and statues of ancestors lined the way. Given, many of them had been defaced by the grobi. Crudely hacked apart or disfigured, but no matter how hard they had tried they couldn’t completely ruin it. The very stone of these halls seemed to call to Freyr. To sing to him. Even down here in the lower levels the singing continued, but away from the noble halls there was a strange kind of… simplicity. A harsh, almost spartan quality. It was said that this place had been carved by the very first settlers. Dwarves who understood what it was to have nothing. To have to survive with nothing. When these passageways where young, the king of Ekrund had returned to Ankor Drakk to find his own brother had betrayed him and seized power. Rather then expend his people in a pointless war he had instead led those loyalist here. To Mount Bloodhorn. They barely survived, only a small herd of goats kept them alive long enough to thrive.

That particular tale can be told another time. All that one needs to know is that these halls held a special meaning to those original settlers. This is where they started again. The symbolism would be important, but it was also where a secret vault was hidden. The vault had been carved hastily in the dark days when the hold was overrun. The king and his heirs were dead, orcs were everywhere, and there was no way to get out. Not anymore. So the last survivors of this place dug one last room and protected it with what rune magic they had left. Inside they left what artifacts they had been able to save from the destruction. It was a miracle it had held this long.

The small band of dwarves watched with nervous apprehension as the runesmith Durin Steelhand slowly undid the runes of protection. He was meticulous, for he had heard dark legends about what some of these would do if disturbed. Meanwhile the warriors watched the darkness for signs of grobi that might attack. Durin murmured happily to himself as he worked. Completely oblivious to the danger all around them, he instead was thoroughly enjoying his time. “Look at this craftsmanship.” He mumbled as he fiddled with what looked like a blank, uncut wall of stone. “A bit rushed it’s true, but impressive! To think they were on the run when they did this!”

“Yes, on the run from the horde of dangerous orcs all around them.” Freyr said from nearby, hoping to remind the runesmith of their current situation.

“And look at this!” Durin murmured instead, not hearing the Thane. “I’m sure this is some kind of ad hoc version of Master Stronginthearm’s rune of illusive preservation. Very untraditional, but it appears to have worked.”

Freyr peered closer but couldn’t see anything out of place. It just looked like a raw stone wall.

There was a small clicking sound, then suddenly a section of wall seemed to almost melt away to reveal a small room. It was nothing like the great halls they had passed through to get here. Rough, uncleaned stone walls and floor. Debris scattered everywhere. Freyr grimly noticed the bones of at least two dwarves, likely runesmiths or guards who had stayed to the end to protect the treasure.

The treasure…

It was there! A small chest lay beside one of those unfortunate dwarves. Freyr opened it with a trembling hand and saw it… He saw the crown.

It was Hruk Za Gronazi, the Goat Kings Crown. Made and named in the honour of the king who led them here- a steel headband set with poorly cut (for dwarven standards)sapphires, to mirror the harsh life of that time. It may not have been the most impressive work of art, but it’s symbolism for the dawi cause was unimaginable. This was a true and solid connection to the previous Ekrund. It was everything Freyr could have hopped for! Not only did this legitimize their reclamation attempt, but news of its recovery would be celebrated throughout the dwarf world.

“Brokkr, Durin. Recover the bones. They will be reinterred as the heroes they deserve to be known as. As soon as we reach the occupied levels I want messages leaving for all the dwarf holds. Inform them we have recovered a great artifact! Inform them that Ekrund, it’s people AND it’s history live! We now have a direct line to that hold of old, even more then the stone halls themselves. Yet tell them that we need them now more then ever. We need them to send people to populate these halls, warriors to guard it’s walls, to defend it’s history and work it’s mines. Let them flock here to aid in this great endevor!”

Freyr handled the crown with care as his eyes gleamed. A lesser man (or dwarf) might have thought it greed. That perhaps he would use such an event to crown himself king of these dark halls, but it was not greed. The crown would do more good on someone elses head. The king they had already raised up and supported. No, that light in his eyes was a very different kind of obsession.

“Ekrund lives!” Freyr Fairhair whispered to himself.