Hearth Fire

All across the ground lay wooden splinters and ancient wrought iron that has been bent and twisted remnants, from the towering double doors which had once sealed the hold. Stronric bent over the rubble and wiped the dust from the only intact parts of the door. He could see it had once been masterfully carved and detailed in finery. An image of a cornucopia was all that was left, not destroyed by time and invaders. The cornucopia had holes around the brim of the basket where gems had been inlaid.

His fingers traced outlines in the old wooden door. He stood in the entrance of the hold and stared down the 20x15 foot wide tunnel before him. This size tunnel would have allowed into its depths wagons, or a press of twenty bodies. Empty sconces lined the dark tunnel, leaving nothing for Stronric to use for light but he carried on unaffected as he could see in the dark. After 50 feet it opened up into a wide cavern. The vast expanse of the cavern was covered in moss, debris, and stones. The bowl shaped walls were flat. Across the opening sat dwarf carved walls like a mesa breaking the smooth and cylindrical shape of the cavern. A well designed traffic circle was carved in to the stone floor, as to avoid congestion, leading those coming and going. Along the sides of the walls sat broken benches and tables. Small and forgotten floral gardens stood dead and trampled.

This had once been an underground courtyard. The roof was chiseled and polished into a smooth surface, that formed a cupola at the center. This hold must of have been of high prestige to accommodate such effort into an area that was not in the main hold. Stronric rubbed his beard in thought. Walking around the perimeter of the courtyard to take in the land, he found shrines of the ancestors had been carved into the walls. Their contents spilled across the ground as if someone with a hammer or mace bashed them apart. Even the names were carved away and destroyed, forever forsaking the ancestors. No wonder there are no true dwarfs left. There is no way to know who to ask for guidance when one is lost.

Stronric made it across the courtyard to the hold’s true walls. Old ramparts and battlements hewed from the stone stood forgotten. There were no holes in the old siege walls, but many of the parapets had been destroyed. The old siege doors, which once stood strong and were thought to be impenetrable, lay tattered on the ground, demolished. They were not as intricately designed, as these doors were made for war and intimidation. I can only think of a few things capable of destroying such powerful doors. What happened here? Some great battle, a war, or was it something worse? A betrayal? Destroying such a place with a full garrison of dwarfs would be damn near impossible. The courtyard was welcoming but also easily defended. Nothing short of a Thane with the battle sense of an elf could let such a place fall.

Stronric entered through the broken door and found the portcullis with a massive hole blown through it. Its metal bent toward Stronric. Why would the damage from the gate come this way? If an enemy was laying siege, wouldn't the damage be going the other way? Stronric was puzzled. Maybe there was truly a betrayer. But no dwarf would ever betray their kind. It simply wasn’t how the dwarves worked. A dwarf never broke an oath, and all swore to defend and protect their holds. A sinking feeling was coming over him, as he stood there thinking of to just what he had agreed to. If the dwarves here had fallen, that was one thing, but dwarves that didn’t even keep the most basic of traditions alive when they were in power was a disheartening thought. How can I make dwarves of them, when they never truly were?

As he passed through the portcullis he could see two rooms off to the Left and the right. He figured they must have been garrison rooms. Walking further down the tunnel led him to a large room that could fit thirty dwarves. It was an open room, once filled with laughter and comradely, now devoid of any signs of life. He could see three outlets; a bar, a kitchen and a storage area. The bar was across the room to the right, with the kitchen mirroring it. On the left side of the room was the broken door leading to the storage. All of them ransacked, thrashed and abandoned, and bit willingly by the looks of it.

On the right wall was a massive hearth, carved into the mountain itself. An oak mantle set upon two defaced stone corbels over the fireplace. Above the mantle were sinuous grooves in the stone. The stones weaved together a large symbol of a cornucopia. The chiseled lines must have been filled with something of value. Gashes covered the work of art. Empty slots told of old gems cut and polished to adorn this ancient shrine to the god of Hearth and home. The Shrine was so large that not even the attempt to deface it could hide the name of the god who had visited him.

“Thoranthana,” he spoke out loud. There was a rising of wind from nowhere which kissed his face and blew a warm breeze throughout the room. A pile of dust was blown away, reveling an ancient gold colored box without hinges. Stronric set down his pick axe and picked up the box. He ran his fingers tracing the outline of a Cornucopia. Slowly and gently opening the lid to not damage it, he found inside flint, steel and some dry shavings to start a fire. He set down the box, closing it. He set about cleaning up the hearth and collecting firewood. There was no shortage of things to burn.

. The ground was litter with broken furniture, shredded tapestry, and shattered plate ware. While exploring the room, he found a door on the far side of the room leading deeper into the hold. He would need some where to eat, collecting a broken chair that still had three legs and a table top he had laid across a pile of debris. He sat in his chair; it wobbling and giving him a scare till he found the balance. He licked his lips and stared at the old bar and kitchen.

“I ain't no buzzard, but a dwarves gotta eat.” He said out loud to himself.

He set to work finding dinner and a drink. Before long he had three vases of preserved mush corn, a plate, some bent cutlery and a tankard with a crack at the top.

“Ill have to drink fast, that's a good problem to have tho.” He chuckled to himself. “Now if I know a brew master, he’ll have a cache not even his kin will know of. Stronric set to work knocking and tapping around the old bar. Soon, with a click and a clunk, a secret compartment on the old bar slid away; Revealing an old cellar below. Climbing down into the small hole, Stronric's eyes rose with surprised as he found five kegs of different brews. The words were old and worn. He grabbed a beer tap and slammed it into place. He lowered his broken mug and filled it. With the beer spilling onto his beard, he smacked his lips and let out a long “ooooohh” in satisfaction.

“These creatures can't be called dwarves, but they can brew.” He said out loud to himself.

He took his food and his drink and sat down by the hearth. His firewood was place, and he was ready to relax. He grabbed the hinge-less box and opened it. Using the shavings from the box, he struck the flint and steel and a spark caught on. He was on his hands and knees blowing the fire to life when a warm breeze escaped from the wee fire. He sat back and saw the runes and carvings over the hearth begin to light up, Slowly from the top of mantle. The golden threads of light filled the designs and the words. The name Thoranthana was lit up on the hearth.

He let out a breath as the cold was banished from his body. He felt at home. He said a quick prayer thanking Thoranthana, then mixed beer and the mush corn together to make hardtack. He laid them on the heated stones of the hearth and drank while he waited for his food to cook. He took in his situation.

He had about four weeks of food, and months of beer left. He had his clothes on his back, and a pick axe. Other than that, Stronric had nothing else to his name. I need water, a food source and somewhere to sleep. This room will work for now but I need to clean it up and fix the doors so nothing makes it way inside. I need to clean up this room. I need a room to smith and tinker in so I can fix things. What I really need is a map of the area. I do not know what this Hold has or what lies around it or even beneath it. Does it have fields to plow or grounds above for sheep and goats? I just don't know enough about the area. Tomorrow, I will explore the hold and learn more of these dwarves.

He laid back with his head on a broken chair seat, and thought of his past life he had left behind. The anger and hurt still whirled around him. He was a torment of emotions. Thinking of his family, he drifted off to sleep.