Far From the Mountains...

“Pheck, got dirt ‘an rock everywhere!” Dalmar annoyingly exclaimed.

“I really thought there wasn’t a trap there! I don’t understand what could have happened?” said Fingus questioningly.

“That’s becuz it’s one of ‘em dark-elves traps, son. Youu need ta keep yer eye on tha grround and trust yer gut! Not all of ‘em are like Jennifestein and his son Liberius of house Baenre! They are slyy devilz the lot of ‘em!” remarked Dalmar Smiley.

“I guess I just need to practice harder.”

“No son, yer need ta purfectly practice! Uderwise, you won’t git a second chance ta disarm. Now let’s git this cleaned up and get dinner” Dalmar replied.

Enter Fingus and Dalmar Smiley, son and father whose family came from the high mountains in Aethe, now finding refuge under the mountains. The war raged on as the small Dwarven family stowed all that they could carry. The Goblin invaders were too much for the small settlement to hold off. Then in the moment when all hope barreled forward the Dark-Elves burst from the Dwarven caves.

Caves that were once rich with valuable gems and ore had become the holding pen for the ambush. Dwarves, men and women ran whichever way possible to escape the onslaught. The young Dalmar Smiley grabbed his son and put him on his back. Then he noticed his wife was not running with them anymore. He quickly turned back and saw her get bombarded with goblin arrows. She was defenseless! In reckless abandonment he lost track of his goal of escape.

With a cat like grace he drew his magical battleaxe and hewed the first goblin in sight. His fury blurred his sense of reason and he soon began hewing and slicing through the horde of goblins and dark-elves. At last his senses were reawakened upon hearing his son, Fingus, crying.

In the Dwarven rage he had neglected to notice a goblin had bitten off part of his son’s ear! He yelled a great Dwarven Curse and the carnage ensued until he had made it out of the settlement safely. He headed south towards the great city of Turingard where there was hope. For always in Turingard dwelt the kings of Orin whose line was most exalted.

There was a time when no dwarf dwelt in Turingard, but not since before the time of Nikander. Little was know of Nikander except through the bards. Ashtar Hillendell gave his bards the stories of how Turingard was rebuilt.

It began with the slaying of the filth who occupied the ruins. Nikander being a Dwarf thought to reclaim the city for the smith’s who could still use a Dwarven hammer. Nikander discussed it with his cohorts Ranoc, Ashtar, and Aman. Upon the verdict, Ashtar began to sing a song “inspiring courage” and the battle commenced. Nikander was convinced that they did not come all this way to not reclaim his rightful Dwarven home. They slew all the beasts until reaching the throne room, where Nikander in a great voice yelled “DEMONS BE GONE, FOR IT IS THE SMITHEY NIKANDER WHICH OWNS THIS HALL AND IT’S FIRES!”

All of this was taught carefully to Fingus in his youth. It was made clear that he needed to be mindful of his surroundings. Dalmar unfortunately could not handle the loss of his beloved though. Every time he looked upon Fingus he saw the missing part of ear and remembered that sorrowful day. Finally it consumed Dalmar’s mind so much that he left Fingus with his Ranger friend Johin Haltmin.

Johin was the same age as Dalmar and the Smileys and the Haltmins had been close families for many generations. Johin thought only that Dalmar was going away for a short time, but that time ended up being a lifetime journey. Word was sent back of Dalmar and his group falling to Mind Flayers and Dark Elves. The transcripts of the battle were found on a Kobold, but no bodies Dwarf, Dark Elf, or Mind Flayer were ever found.

“Now Fingus, look at the tracks! Don’t just walk over them, you will never figure out what they are that way.” sighed Johin.

“I know Johin, but when do you tie me up and watch me escape! Ha HA!” excitedly said Fingus.

“When you learn how to track properly!”

“I know, but I don’t want to be a ranger. I want to be a great hunter like my father was!” replied Fingus.

“The key to being a good hunter is to be attentive Fingus! You can not hastily walk over a track, especially an animal’s track and still expect to kill it.” Johin responded.

Training went on while Fingus was out of the bars. Mostly one day a week, finally Johin quit trying to train him. “You will not be anything more than a Scout! They act like Rangers in some aspect, but it isn’t a way to live one’s life! Adventuring like your father, do you want to get killed like him? In that smelly, Dark Elf infested world? I know you have more sense than that!” exclaimed Johin.

“Well I’m not going down below. I am going east to the mountains by the coast. There I will be appreciated.” replied Fingus.

The next 50 years were hard on Fingus. He scrambled to make any money at all; he stayed drunk and fighting in bars all along the coast. For the coast brought in Pirates and other such riff-raff. He would work for a little while and move on to the next Ale House. Soon the days of doing this caught up with Fingus. He dreamt of his father and it was a warning. Dalmar warned Fingus of the path he was on. He showed him images of what would become if Fingus did not change his ways. After Fingus awoke, he grabbed what little he had and ran. He ran until he disappeared into the Underdark to conquer his own demons….

-- by Keith

Festival of Darkness

They tell us that it is our birthright, our strength, our defense, our way. We stand together yet apart and this they teach us from the beginning. Once upon a time we were a cowering, small community preyed upon by those that come from the darkness. We shivered in our beds each night as we slept uneasily to the sounds of graceless robbery. They stole our food, our drink, our tools, and unforgivably, our children.

When the sun rose again we were forced to look into each other's eyes once more, every face smiling with shame, every step heavy with hatred and fear. Powerless yet hardened, hopeful yet resigned to our fate, until he walked among us so many, many years before.

He came as they did, from the darkness, but different, he seemed to be of the darkness, quiet like the wind, piercing like the moon, cool like the night. A new day dawned that first day out of memory now. We awoke refreshed and confused. No thieving in the night, no choices of sacrifice, no muffled sobbing, something had changed and we slowly stepped out to see the darkness in the light.

There he sat in meditation amidst all of our fears, bodies from the night, dead without a sound. Many feared the worst, a new threat, a more powerful creature of the night, the end of freedom. One halfling approached this new menace emboldened by that first sleep filled night, “You would be our savior yet we would not be saved. Kill us or teach us, o angel clothed in the skin of night, teach us to be free.”

And so a new way was born, our way, the way of the shadows, together and apart.

Outsiders come now to our festival each year, our festival of darkness. They sing and dance, but they do not tremble in fear. They can not know our history, nor understand our way. I was afraid that night, when I was still a child living in safety and protection. That night he took me from my home without a sound. A reminder, an explanation and my birthright.

He takes the children each year in the night. Their parents are vowed to the same secrecy sworn when it was their time. When the carousing wears out and every good halfling retires, locking every door and window, they are allowed to tell you one simple phrase, “Do not be afraid my child, he comes for each of us when it is our time.” They look down at you with love in their eyes as you try to fight the fear welling up in your own.

“What do you mean mother?”

“Hush now little one, there are no more answers now.”

And they leave you alone in the darkness, trying to sleep as you see every shadow move, imagination sculpting them into horrific beasts until that moment when one finally steps towards you, reaches out as your throat closes in fear and your mind cannot explain this betrayal and you are taken in his arms. Whisked away with strength, speed, and elegance as if being led in a dance you never knew existed.

Fear slowly gives way to excitement and wonder. Is it a dream? In the darkness you cannot see where you are being taken, you cannot even see the arms that bear you yet you feel their strength, their will, unseen motivation. Before your mind clears enough to ask is it him, of story and legend? You are alone again in a grand hall you have never seen before. Finally, a voice to break the dream.

“Who dares to see the truth of the night?”

“What, where are you, who.....”

“What is your name?”

“Tava. What is this?”

“Your birthright, Tava. Step forward into the darkness.”

Swirling, spinning, dancing, they appear from the shadows without a sound. Halflings I've never met stood silently holding open a solid black cloak waiting to embrace me.

“Step forward and know the truth.”

Then it all begins. The bedtime stories you were told all your life come alive. You are taught fact from fiction and you are made to understand and you are sworn into the clan Lightfoot forevermore.

They teach you the beginnings of our way that night so that you also can defend and protect from those that would see the old ways return. There are dark secrets to our methods that come from the darkness itself as he had taught the elders that first new day so long before.

And so is the clan Lightfoot preserved and patiently holds the night at bay on the borders of darkness. As he said to them that day, they repeat to you, “and one day you will be needed when the darkness rises.”

I am Tava Lightfoot, sworn.

-- by Jon