Rurik's Prologue
The Return of the Dwarves
An air of excitement rose as word of the summons reached the Mithril Isle. Our human friends across the sea needed our help to fight back the goblin hordes, and we all wanted to answer the call. Everyone, from metalsmiths to clergy to soldiers to the King himself, yearned to reclaim our place among the world’s heroes. In the 300 years since the fall of magic, the dwarves had had minimal impact in the world outside our mines. We were the main source of fine metalwork, especially mithril armor, in the Western Isles, but other than trade we had taken up a relatively isolationist mindset. We had enough to deal with at home, including occasional sorties into the Underdark. While wars with illithids and dark elves helped sate our thirst for battle, we longed to battle our traditional foes again. We had cleared the surface of our island of goblins and orcs long ago, and their raiding parties had all but stopped after learning the high costs we levied for their meager rewards of poor quality iron ore. The one place where they had been successful was the southern half of the human island where they continually harried the human forces and stretched the human army’s resources thin. While every dwarf able to lift an axe was ready to start the long trek through the tunnels to Glendale on the human island, the dwarven community could not stand to shut down while three quarters of the population went off to bash goblin skulls. Therefore, the King decided to send our greatest warrior, our greatest warrior as determined by competition.
Three days after the official summons had been announced by the King, the great hall in Darble Anvil was set for competition. The arenas were set to test every warrior’s strength, endurance, battle skill, and constitution. This is where I make my entrance in this story.
I am Rurik Mithrilheart, great-grandnephew of Rourke Mithrilheart, one of the last Dwarven heroes before the fall of Magic. For the last three centuries, our clan has continued to excel in two pursuits: religion and mithril. Despite the lack of divine presence in the Western Isles, we dwarves have always kept our faith. Led by those Mithrilheart’s of religious leaning, the church of the Father of Battles has remained strong through the troubling time. While our clan’s spiritual side faced a test of faith, our commercial side thrived. With magic lost, mithril and adamantite became nearly priceless. While the Mithrilhearts have always been a minor merchant clan, through shrewd bargaining and contacts with Lucresia forged by Rourke, our influence and power grew. We soon became one of the leading mithril producing clans in the Western Isles. Instead of choosing one of these paths to follow, my path takes advantage of both of my clan’s strengths. I have trained as a warrior for most of my young life. My faith is strong and keeps me disciplined. My clan’s mithril mines will provide me with powerful armor. In time and with increased experience in battle, I hope to join the elite force of Dwarven Defenders and initiate the return of dwarves to the forefront of heroic deeds. In order to achieve my goals, I needed to win the competition.
The first test was relatively simple, at least in theory. It was a simple test of strength in which each contestant would declare a weight he or she could lift. To make that level stand, the contestant had to lift and hold the weight for a count of 20. Dwarves as a race are rather sturdy and strong, so this part of the contest took several hours. Fortunately, with so many contestants, we had plenty of time to rest between lifts. Only the top 1000 contestants were allowed to continue to the next stage. While I am not the strongest dwarf on the isle, I easily made the cut and was greatly relieved to advance to the test of endurance.
An endurance test may sound simple, but dwarves pride their ability to outlast most other races in tests of physical stamina. A simple endurance run would have lasted days, so in order to help things along we were each required to run as far as we could through the interconnected tunnels of our mines while carrying 250 pounds of stone. This strategy greatly reduced the length of this part of the competition, but, as I said, dwarven endurance is legendary, and the contest lasted a good four hours. This time, the top 500 advanced to the next contest, mainly because these contestants showed no signs of slowing down before night. I excelled in this challenge, and am proud to say, I finished in the top 100. This ended the first day of competition and led to the first night of celebration.
The next day, we all woke early to prepare for the next competition: combat skill. This was a very important contest, especially since the request was for someone to combat the evils of the land. The format of this competition was not announced until we entered the arena. Each contestant was randomly placed into one of five teams. Each team consisted of 100 soldiers and was considered a separate legion. The legions were to battle until only one remained. All members of the winning legion would advance to the final contest. This contest was safeguarded to prevent serious injury by way of magic. Our weapons were magically blunted to do no harm and our armor was enchanted so that after we had taken three solid hits from opposing weapons, the armor would become rigid and the occupant would become immobile. The battle was immense and confusing at first. The less experienced warriors from each legion ran about in an undisciplined manner, attacking all enemies they could find. We did our best to keep our legion together, but we still lost ten soldiers in this way. Most of these rovers were easily dispatched without any sort of damage to the main forces of the five legions. Fortunately, our legion had a relatively experienced commander. We were able to repel several attacks from the other legions and we were able to help destroy two of the legions, all while only losing another seventeen soldiers. We were in a commanding position on the field. The two remaining enemy legions both numbered around 50 soldiers, but we still had 73. I gave a confident cheer as I assessed the situation and saw our advantage. Fortunately, our commander knew better, and held us back from making a foolish attack. I started to complain, but the reason for his caution soon became clear. The two enemy legions continued to maneuver while I was trying to push for an attack, and now they had us flanked and were preparing for a united strike. We were suddenly outnumbered and on the defensive. Because of our commander’s discipline and strategic sense, we were able to withstand this brutal attack, although at a hefty cost. We lost another 30 soldiers, but we were able to destroy one legion and forced the other legion to retreat. I was sent in the lead of nine of our remaining soldiers to clean up the stragglers, and ensure only two legions remained on the field. The remaining thirty soldiers in our legion pressed the attack on the retreating legion. As we cleaned up the field, we saw our fellow troops charge into the minimal resistance of the fleeing legion. Confident of our victory, we turned our attention to the job at hand and did not notice that our troops had actually charged right into a trap. The other legion had tricked our commander into concentrating his attack on one point. The defending legion was able to quickly split and once again flanked our legion, but this time we were not prepared for the attack. As we captured and immobilized the last soldiers of the other three legions, one of our squad noticed our legion’s peril. We ran to reinforce our legion, and made it just as our comrades were about to collapse. Our charge was unexpected and we were able to break one side of the enemy legion’s trap. With our line reinforced and no longer flanked, we were able to press the enemy and soon defeated the last enemy. Our legion numbered only 17 at the end, but we were victorious. These 100 soldiers who had just worked with each other would soon have to face each other in the final competition.
That evening, after all of the inadvertent scrapes and bruises from the combat trial were tended, we went to the great feast hall for the final competition: a test of constitution. This was the final and perhaps most important event. I do not want to seem immodest, but this was truly my strongest event. With all of my years assisting my clan with religious ceremonies and holy water blessings I had a huge advantage over my recent legion-mates. Each of the 100 finalists entered the great hall, and a hush fell over the huge crowd that had already gathered. Ten tables were left empty at the center of the hall, and we each took a seat. As soon as we were seated, the King stood and announced the beginning of the contest. A roar went up from the crowd as twenty tray carrying women hurried into the central circle of tables and distributed mug after mug of strong dwarven ale. After 15 rounds, the first of us fell. After that, another fell at 17 rounds, and another six at 20. Every time another dwarf passed out, a cheer went up from the crowd. By 30 rounds of ale, we were already down to our last 30 contestants. I sneered at my competition, knowing that they must be feeling the effects of so much beer. I was just hitting my stride, or at least that’s what I thought until an untimely belch interrupted my revelry. Our numbers were halved with the next 10 drinks, and halved again after just five more. By round fifty, there were only three left, the commander of the legion, a priest of Moradin, and me. We decided to take a short break to empty our bladders to make room for the next fifty rounds. During this short rest the priest dropped out of the contest. He made it to the latrines, managed to drop his trousers, and somehow managed not to fall in when he passed out. The commander and I returned to the tables and matched each other for the next six rounds. Finally, after a total of 57 rounds of ale, I could see that the commander was slipping, and unless I did something incredibly stupid, I would win. Knowing this, I proceeded to chug five straight mugs of ale. The commander gaped for a second, and paused to see if I was going to hold it down. He then slowly started his 58th mug. I was suddenly overcome by a severe case of vertigo and knew that I had just done that incredibly stupid thing. The room was spinning and I was about to pass out. I struggled to keep my head up. I tried to look at the commander to see how he was doing, but I couldn’t even see across the table. Soon I could no longer hold my head up. As my head fell toward the table, I heard a thud across the table. A second later, my head struck the table, echoing the thud I had just heard.
I woke up one week later to the cheers of a small group of fans. They informed me that I had won the contest of constitution by a mere fraction of a second. The thump I heard as I passed out was the commander passing out across from me. I had won the right to represent the dwarves in answering the summons. I tried to stand, but was still a bit woozy. After another couple of hours of rest, I was able to stand, and started packing my gear. I put on my armor and readied my glaive. I was prepared for my trek through the tunnels to Glendale. Unfortunately, my week of recovery meant that I no longer had time to walk my way to answer the summons. I had to ride on one of the trade barges that crossed the sea between our Islands. This was a terribly awkward ride. I have always hated boats, and was miserable for the entire trip. I was ecstatic to finally reach land and leave the dreaded boats behind. I found my way to the residence of the human lord and presented the summons. I was shown to a room and told that Lord Lucasson would see the group of summoned warriors that evening. I was disappointed to find that I was not the first to arrive, but also relieved that I wouldn’t have to wait to start this new and exciting crusade. I decided to take a nap so that I would be fresh and ready when I met this Lord Lucasson and my new companions. My dreams were filled with visions of glory and battle. I dreamt of a great heroic dwarf who could only be my great-uncle Rourke. He became more skilled as he battled orcs, ogres, and undead. Rourke continued to battle evil, moving to further and more exotic lands. Suddenly, Rourke exploded in a burst of light and grew from average dwarf height to a towering nine feet tall. At this point, the dream started to fade. Rourke continued his heroic deeds, but exactly what he was doing was no longer clear. A sharp knock at the bedroom door woke me from this dream, or what I now consider to be a vision. I knew that I too wanted my power and influence to increase and grow like Rourke’s so that one day I too would tower over enemies in the epic stories and legends. I wanted to be a powerful dwarf just like him. That goal was a long way off, and right now, it was time to meet Lord Lucasson. It was time to take my first steps on my road to glory for myself, my clan, and for all dwarves of the Mithril Isle.