Jargo
08-30-2008, 06:03 AM
((Quick note – Every month the Red Blades have a story contest where they make up a scenario (in this case we are commissioned to hunt for a rare herb) and we need to come up with a story about it. This was my entry for July.))
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Jargo shivered.
The unrelenting icy winds of Dvergheim seemed to assail him from every angle. Even beneath the insulated leather armor he’d brought along for the trip and his thick black fur he could feel his skin growing numb from the intense cold. It could have been worse though; at least he wasn’t one of the near hairless manlings he’d traveled to this desolate place with. Jargo reflected upon his good fortune at having been born a Mahirim as opposed to one of the lesser races. How they managed to survive from day to day with their tiny size, inferior strength and pathetic sense of smell was an ever-present mystery to him.
They had journeyed to this part of the world at the request of a wealthy merchant in order to secure specimens of an incredibly rare plant, a flower to be specific, that supposedly bloomed in the snow. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what was so special about a stupid flower, but the Red Blades had accepted the exiled Mahirim into their ranks and Jargo had been trained to follow orders without complaint from a young age. If the hairless ones all wanted to freeze to death then that was fine by him. Just so long as he did his duty.
Since Jargo had wandered off in search of the fabled Snow Crystal blossom the weather had worsened considerably. He knew that camp was somewhere to the south of his current position but what had started a light snow had grown into a freak blizzard, reducing visibility to no further than 15 feet. The ever changing swirling winds made it impossible to discern from what direction a scent was coming from, further complicating matters. Just as he was ready to give up the search and attempt to make his way back to camp he finally caught wind of something.
It was the smell of roasting meat. It was there on the wind only for a moment and then it was gone, but it was enough to make Jargo’s empty stomach roar loudly and tremble with hunger. Too far out and dangerous weather. I should go back. Then another smell, this time of garlic and onion. He waited for a moment and concentrated as the icy winds whipped around him. There it was again, now he was sure that the scent was coming from the east. Jargo took a moment to reflect upon his breakfast of frozen meat-pops and once again his empty stomach won out over his brain. He got down on all fours and sprinted through the blizzard like a wild beast on the hunt, saliva making tiny icicles upon his maw.
After a good 10 minuet dash the smell of food grew stronger and before long he came upon a wooden structure that looked like an inn from the front, with the rest of the building extending deep into a large hill. From the inns interior Jargo could make out the muffled sounds of laughter, music and merriment. Unsure of how to proceed, he knocked upon the small (for a Mahirim at any rate) wooden door a couple of time and waited. Nothing. He knocked again and after receiving no response for a second time he concluded that between the howling wind and the clamor of the inn’s patrons there was simply too much noise for anyone hear him. Jargo shrugged his shoulders, hunched down to fit into the door frame and stepped inside.
The spacious inn was jam packed with armor clad dwarfs, at least 50 of them by Jargo’s estimation. At every table, every bench, all along the length of the bar and huddled around the roaring fireplace in the far corner of the room, dwarves everywhere. As Jargo made his entrance they all froze as one and the room grew silent. They all stared at him in shock, mouths agape and bushy eye brows raised. Uh, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Say something to explain your presence here! Quickly!
“Hi, I’m Jargo!”
The dwarves burst into mad laughter, faces turning red and eyes watering. Some fell out of their chairs and rolled on the ground. It wasn’t quite the response he was expecting but Jargo thought it was better than being attacked by an entire inn of angry dwarves. He grinned toothily and waved.
“Haw, hay Dog Man! Down here!” Jargo looked down to the dwarf who had addressed him. He was a typical dwarven specimen, short, stocky and sporting a gigantic red beard, but he was dressed in some of the finest plate armor the Mahirim had ever seen. It was crafted from a silvery metal Jargo was unfamiliar with and made with dozens of different sections, most likely designed to provide its wearer with maximum mobility and range of motion.
“Ya hungry Dog Man?” Asked the red bearded dwarf as he looked the gigantic Mahirim up and down appraisingly. Jargo’s stomach grumbled loudly in response. “Haw! Yer a big one aren’t ya? Well sit down and eat with us already!” Jargo could hardly believe his good fortune. Too big to fit in one of the dwarf sized chairs, he kneeled down at one of the many tables along with his new friend and was treated to what seemed to be an endless amount of food and drink. Plump spicy sausages, baked garlic potatoes, thick slabs of roasted boat meat and more sausages, all smothered in brown gravy. The other dwarves seated with them at first seemed curious and amused by the Mahirim’s presence, but before long they were laughing and dancing on the tables as though he’d never been there. The red bearded dwarf poked Jargo in the ribs.
“Bet ya never ate like this, huh? Haw, haw!” He said waving a large drumstick in the air like a club.
“I’ve eaten dwarf before. Err, dwarven food I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a feast quite like this.” Jargo replied.
“That cause we’re dwarves!” Red Beard exclaimed, prompting cheers all throughout the inn. “We do everything bigger than everyone else! Haw!”
“Thank you for accepting me into your company,” Jargo began using what he thought was a diplomatic tone of voice, “but what are you celebrating? And isn’t this a lot of food to be eating during the winter months? I would think that game is scarce at this time of year.”
“Ooooo Mr. Smarty-pants huh? This is a celebration! Tonight we hunt and I tell ya what dog man, there’s big game to be had in these mountains!” A dwarf dancing on the table edge let out a loud guffaw.
“Yeah, BIG game! Haw, haw, whaaaaah!” he managed to say before losing his balance and falling face first to the ground. Red Beard thrust a large frosted mug of brown liquid into Jargo’s face.
“Try some of this stuff! It’ll make ya into an unstoppable ass kicker just like me! Haw!” Jargo rarely partook in alcoholic beverages of any sort, but he didn’t want to offend his gracious hosts. He took the mug and downed it in one gigantic gulp much to the dwarves approval. “Haw! That’ll put hairs on yer chest friend! We’ll, I guess that doesn’t matter so much for you huh? Have another!”
Jargo tried to push the incoming mug away. “I really probably should not. You see. . .”
“Bah, fiddlesticks and goblin shit!” Red Beard interjected. This is the finest larger of our clan!” At that all the dwarves within earshot again cheered loudly. “Ya don’t think I’d just offer this to anyone do ya? Drink damnit!” Worried that he was going to disappoint the dwarf Jargo drank down the second mug of ale. And then a third and a fourth.
For Jargo the night just got crazier from there. Tables and other assorted furniture we’re smashed, much ale was drank by all and fights broke out between some of the dwarves both male and female alike. (Jargo couldn’t tell the difference between the two sans the beard.) They beat one another mercilessly while laughing insanely the whole time. Red Beard explained to him that this was called “Good Natured Brawling” but Jargo thought it was madness and the powerful dwarven alcohol wasn’t helping things. Finally at what seemed to be the height of the dwarves frenzy Red Beard jumped up on the table and addressed his kinsmen.
“Not a bad party huh?” The dwarves roared in agreement. “I say it’s time to do some hunting, what say ye?” The battle cries were deafening and before Jargo knew what was happening he found himself being swept away in a river of dwarves as they poured out from the inn and into the dark, snowy midnight.
“Red beard, what’s happening here? Where are we going?” Asked Jargo catching site of the dwarves silvery armor amidst the crowd and approaching him.
“Well friend, we’re going on a hunt! And thanks for agreeing to help us out Dog Man. It’s not that we dwarves can’t do it without ya or anything, but I could see from when ya first stepped into our inn that you weren’t no stranger to a good fight. Haw! He’s a gods damned battering ram, aint he boys!” The marching dwarves call out words of agreement.
“Yeah he’s huge!”
“I seen it eat a whole boar!”
“That’s a big fucking dog!”
“I’m happy to help Red Beard and I wish to repay you for your hospitality, but if we’re hunting why is everyone carrying battle axes and swords?” asked the Mahirim.
“What? Err, because we’re dwarves, that’s why! What do ya think, we hunt with cute little bows and arrows like them sissified flower eating elves?” Again the dwarves chimed in.
“Those skinny pansies!”
“I hear they live in trees!”
“Well of course we need weapons if we’re gunna try to kill the OUCH! Why’ed ya bite me?”
Due to the howling blizzard Jargo could see little of his surroundings but he could tell that they had been traveling downhill for some time now. Soon it became clear that they were marching into a narrow canyon. The ice glazed rocky walls helped to block the wind at least, but he was beginning to sober up now and didn’t like the direction in which things we’re headed. Jargo concentrated hard on trying to think of a way to gracefully excuse himself from the hunting party.
Before he could gather his thoughts the dwarves at the front of the column began to crawl into a small opening in the canyon wall. Jargo sighed; resigning himself to whatever fate had in store for him and crawled in as well. While the tunnel was spacious enough for the dwarves to crawl through quite comfortably, the huge Mahirim had to scoot and wiggle on his belly while holding his twin bastard swords our in front of him. Half way through the narrow passage Jargo thought he was stuck and he froze in panic, thoughts of being trapped in that damned tunnel until he starved to death racing through his mind, but the dwarf crawling behind was able to push him through with relative ease.
Bruised, scraped and shaken up from his experience he crawled out from the tunnels exit and looked around. They were in an enormous glacial chamber, the largest cave Jargo had ever seen before. The ice walls and ceiling glowed a pale blue, amplifying the light from the torches that the dwarves we’re busy strategically placing about the cave. Jargo observed that the dwarves smiling faces and booming laughter had been replaced by looks of grim determination and uneasy silence. A battle was about to take place.
“Enough!” he roared at Red Beard, unsheathing his blades and assuming an attack posture. “The deception ends now! I’ve come to this place with you on good faith and now I feel as though I’ve been as prey led to the slaughter. Give me answers or I swear by all the bloodiest gods that I’ll cleave your tiny body in two!”
As if in reply to Jargo’s threat, the cavern began to rumble, causing large pieces of ice to plummet from the ceiling and forcing everyone to dodge and leapt lest they be crushed. Out of the corner of his eye Jargo caught sight of the dwarf who had fallen off his table earlier in the evening get struck by an ice-chunk, exploding his head like an overripe pumpkin and killing him instantly. Then from a large crack in the caves walls along the ceiling there came the sound of a monstrous creature hissing, and the sound of sharp claw’s scraping against ice. Jargo looked to Red Beard for answers but all he found was a look of profound sorrow in the dwarf’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” Red Beard rasped, and then from the fissure there emerged a gigantic white scaled head much like that of a monstrously large lizard. Its ice-blue eyes quickly darted back and forth assessing the situation, and then it hissed malevolently and seemed to pour out from the impossibly small crack; first a large serpentine neck, then powerful broad shoulders and arms that ended in hideous claws as large as Jargo’s blades. It slipped gracefully to the ground, extended its mighty wings and roared at the intruders. Then all hell broke loose.
When Jargo was a pup of only four autumns he once thought that he’d spotted a dragon flying high above the clouds while exploring the sweeping plains that dominate the landscape outside of Red Moon, the Mahirim capital. As far as he knew the tiny silhouette could have been nothing more than a bird but that didn’t stop him from bragging to his den mates when he returned home that evening. It was an experience that had captured the young Mahirim’s imagination and many a night before falling asleep he would wonder what the creature might have looked like up close, how it would have moved and behaved.
Nothing in Jargo’s wildest childhood imaginings could have ever prepared him for this horror however. The shear enormity of the white dragon was overwhelming and both he and the dwarves found themselves momentarily spellbound by the presence of the ancient creature. We’re nothing compared to it, Jargo realized. Nothing. Faster than he thought possible the dragon struck out with a clawed hand, snatched the nearest dwarf and bit him in half. Then it threw the unfortunate fellow’s lower torso and legs back at his companions, striking one square in the chest and knocking him off his feet.
They charged.
Like a living wave crashing against two huge rocks Jargo and the dwarves set upon the dragon. Brandishing battle axes almost as large as they were, some of the dwarves began chopping at the dragon’s front legs as one would go about felling a tree. Snarling in pain and anger, the mighty beast reared onto its hind legs and then came down hard and fast. Those who we’re crushed beneath the dragon’s weight we’re quickly replaced by more dwarves who went back to fearlessly hacking at the monster.
Jargo ran to the creature’s hind legs and spun around, his left blade chopping into its armor like scales followed by the right blade which struck the same spot, opening up the wound even deeper. The white dragon roared and kicked at him, but instead of striking Jargo the beast’s foot connected with an unfortunate dwarf, sending him flying through the air to crash upon the caves far wall with a sickening crack, leaving a bloody smear on the ice.
“Keep it up fellows!” Red Beard shouted. He took a small pellet of bat guano that had been rolled in sulfur earlier that evening from his pocket and muttered an intelligible incantation. A ball of white-hot fire streaked from the war wizards open hand across the cavern and smashed into the right side of the dragons face with a tremendous boom. It shrieked and wildly slammed its head into the side of the cave, its once white scales now charred and smoldering.
A dragon vulnerable to fire? Thought Jargo as he dodged the behemoths sweeping tail. The legends say they are creatures of heat and that they can breathe flame, so if this is a creature of ice. . . Still reeling in pain, the dragon sprayed what looked to him like a mixture of water, ice and frost indiscriminately at the dwarves. The temperature in the cave dropped dramatically and even in the heat of battle Jargo could feel himself go numb. Those unfortunate enough to have been hit with the spray we’re frozen solid before their lungs could even draw breath to scream, their faces twisted in horror and locked in an icy death mask.
But the dwarves were unrelenting. Several of them had begun to scale the creature’s sides with mountain climbing equipment, using their spiked boots and pick axes to gain perches while they drove iron stakes with long ropes attached to them deep into its flesh. The dragon roared and rolled over, crushing the dwarves on its left side but at the same time more dwarves scaled Mount Dragon from the right, using the ropes and pegs to climb onto the monsters back and hold themselves in place. Working in unison, two of the dwarves chopped deep into the creature just bellow its wings, severing it’s tendons in order to keep the thing from taking flight.
One of the beast’s hind legs gave way, eliciting a cheer from the dwarves as it stumbled once and then collapsed onto its stomach. They scrambled over the dragon like ants, chopping into it with their axes and plunging their swords deep into its body. Following the dwarves lead, Jargo leapt onto the dragon and relentlessly hacked at the point where its long neck began with the sword in his right hand while holding onto one of the dwarven spikes for dear life with his left.
The dragon’s once pristine white scales were now slick with crimson as was the floor of the cave. Its movements began to slow and it screamed horribly in panic and desperation. Jargo had cut through perhaps two feet of scales and muscle when he hit one of the monsters arteries. Deep red blood sprayed from the gaping wound in powerful rhythmic spurts. Then its head slowly sunk to the ground and the bloody spray came slower and weaker until the beast was still.
Suddenly the dragon reared up and thrashed about violently, sending Jargo and the dwarves flying. There it stood for one more glorious moment. Proud, untamed and unconquerable. It lifted its head towards the sky and bellowed triumphantly, spraying bloody ice into the air before collapsing to the ground with a tremendous thud that shook the walls of the cave. The ancient creature was dead.
What had just moments before been the scene of a horrifying battle was now suddenly still and quiet; a moment frozen in time. The dragon’s icy breath spray was drifting back down from the high domed ceiling of the cavern in the form of crimson snowflakes which began to slowly everything red. Jargo pulled his battered body up into a half sitting position and tried to make sense of it all. Why? Why did this have to happen?
Red Beard was standing over him and Jargo was shocked to see that the gruff dwarf was weeping, the tears from his watery eyes mixing with the blood of the dragon as they streamed down his cheeks and into his beard.
“Gods forgive me,” he croaked.
“I think you own me an explanation.” Jargo said softly. “Please, help me understand all this bloodshed.” The dwarf looked down to the floor and shuddered.
“I’m Cadby Heartrock of Clan Heartrock. Look about ye, we’re all that remain.” Of the 50 dwarves who entered the cave fewer than half had survived the battle. Those that lived and could still walk were tending to the wounded and gathering the dead. “We’re a merchant clan. We were. . . This place was going to be our future. I heard that there was something precious in these mountains, something valuable. The dwarf began to choke up but then quickly regained his composure. “I moved us all here early in the summer and we dug ourselves in for the long haul. I told em we could corner the market. . .”
“Winter came for your clan, didn’t it?” Jargo asked.
“Aye, winter came for us all. And with winter came that son of a bitch.” Red Beard pointed at the corpse of the dragon and spat. “It came with the blizzards and the blizzards came every night. We could hear it but we couldn’t see the damned thing. We could hear them all screaming and their houses being torn apart, but we couldn’t see it and we couldn’t stop it.” Jargo nodded his head in understanding.
“It must have migrated, as a bird does.” the Mahirim said. “It must have gone to Niflheim during the summer and then when winter came. . .”
“Aye. It came back to hunt it did. Ya didn’t think we just had an inn sitt’in out in the middle of nowhere did ya? When you came to us you were walk’in on the ruins of our town buried under the snow. The inn is all that’s left.” Jargo’s eye’s widened in realization.
“The feast. That was to be your last meal wasn’t it? You didn’t think you were coming back. None of you did.”
“My Son Delling followed the beastie to its lair through the storm and found the entrance. When he came back he’d just enough time to give us the directions before he died from the cold. First it took me wife and then me son. Gods, me only son!” The dwarf crumpled to the ground and sobbed violently.
“Jargo, I don’t know what in the hells a Mahirim from the Tribe Lands was doing in the asshole of Dvergheim knocking on the door of me inn, tonight of all nights. It don’t matter, maybe ye were sent by the gods, maybe it was fate. Whatever the case; there’s no excuse for what I did to ye.” Jargo shook his head.
“It is forgiven.”
“What? No, ya don’t understand. Me honor. . . I figured we’d need all the help we could get and when you just strolled I thought you were just a big dumb dog I could use. I except full responsibility for. . .”
“I have already forgiven you. Therefore it is senseless to discuss it any further” Jargo carefully rose to his feet, testing the strength in his legs.
“Damnit Dog Man I’m telling ya that I’m ashamed! I have no honor!” The dwarf waved his stubby arms in the air frantically to make a point. “No honor you overgrown mongrel!” Jargo sighed and seemed to grow distant.
“When I was younger I lost something very important to me. For a while I was . . . not myself. Do you understand what I mean Cadby? I did things. . .that I’m not proud of. Things that I would not have done had I been myself. So you see, I understand and I harbor no ill will against you or your kin.” The dwarf cracked the ghost of a smile.
“It’s hard to be all ashamed and stuff when you refuse to git pissed.”
“I know.”
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They made their way back to the inn and set up a crude shelter to house the dead before their burial tomorrow. Broken, battered and bloody, Jargo and the survivors of Clan Heartrock sat in a semi circle around the fireplace gazing deep into the twisting red and orange flames. While the battle had been won for the day, Jargo knew that for each of the dwarves it was still raging on in their hearts and minds, just as it did his. The ghost of the dragon will be with us always, and it won’t die quite so easily. After some time Red Beard spoke up.
“So just what the hell were ya doing all the way out here by yerself anyway?” In all the commotion Jargo had completely forgotten about his mission.
“I was supposed to pick a flower. That’s all I had to do. Easy job.” The dwarves laughed.
“Well it just so happens,” Red Beard began, “That you’ve stumbled upon what’s probably the only clan of flower pick’en dwarves in all of Agon. Haw! Follow me.” The dwarf led Jargo into an office at the back of the inn and there in a glass case were five specimens of the fabled Snow Crystal. They truly did look like ice, and as the light refracted off its fragile petals they seemed to faintly shimmer blue, green and yellow. “This is why we came here and this is why you’ve come. You show up at our door in our most desperate hour and you fight along side us. I’m not much for superstition but you gotta admit that’s some weird shit.” Jargo barked in laughter.
“There are natural forces at work outside of the influence of all of us, even the gods. The tide of the ocean, the wind in the trees, the. . .”
“Eh whatever just take one. For what you did I’d give em all to ya if I could, but we’re gunna need some capital to rebuild.”
“So you and your clan will stay?” Jargo asked.
“Hells no! It’s time for us to move on. But like my dear old pappy always said, ‘it’s never too late to start over’. We’ll take care of business here and figure out what we’re gunna do.” Jargo gathered his things to leave and Red Beard walked him to the door. “Remember, if yer ever in these parts again and ya need some help find a dwarf, mention Clan Heartrock and what happened here today. As far as I’m concerned you’re a brother to us all.” The dwarves hooted and hollered in agreement.
“That’s right!”
“Yer a good sport!”
“Biggest damn dog I ever seen in me life!”
Jargo stepped out of the inn and into the glacial air. The others don’t need to know of this. I’ll just say I had a hard time finding the Snow Crystal and leave it at that. As far as he could see there were only endless rolling dunes of white, sharply contrasted at the horizon line by the darkness of the starry, pre dawn sky. He looked back at the inn and the make-shift mausoleum they had constructed for the dead and sighed. The storm has ended for now, he thought, but how much longer do we each have until the dragon comes for us in the night?
Jargo shivered.
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Jargo shivered.
The unrelenting icy winds of Dvergheim seemed to assail him from every angle. Even beneath the insulated leather armor he’d brought along for the trip and his thick black fur he could feel his skin growing numb from the intense cold. It could have been worse though; at least he wasn’t one of the near hairless manlings he’d traveled to this desolate place with. Jargo reflected upon his good fortune at having been born a Mahirim as opposed to one of the lesser races. How they managed to survive from day to day with their tiny size, inferior strength and pathetic sense of smell was an ever-present mystery to him.
They had journeyed to this part of the world at the request of a wealthy merchant in order to secure specimens of an incredibly rare plant, a flower to be specific, that supposedly bloomed in the snow. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what was so special about a stupid flower, but the Red Blades had accepted the exiled Mahirim into their ranks and Jargo had been trained to follow orders without complaint from a young age. If the hairless ones all wanted to freeze to death then that was fine by him. Just so long as he did his duty.
Since Jargo had wandered off in search of the fabled Snow Crystal blossom the weather had worsened considerably. He knew that camp was somewhere to the south of his current position but what had started a light snow had grown into a freak blizzard, reducing visibility to no further than 15 feet. The ever changing swirling winds made it impossible to discern from what direction a scent was coming from, further complicating matters. Just as he was ready to give up the search and attempt to make his way back to camp he finally caught wind of something.
It was the smell of roasting meat. It was there on the wind only for a moment and then it was gone, but it was enough to make Jargo’s empty stomach roar loudly and tremble with hunger. Too far out and dangerous weather. I should go back. Then another smell, this time of garlic and onion. He waited for a moment and concentrated as the icy winds whipped around him. There it was again, now he was sure that the scent was coming from the east. Jargo took a moment to reflect upon his breakfast of frozen meat-pops and once again his empty stomach won out over his brain. He got down on all fours and sprinted through the blizzard like a wild beast on the hunt, saliva making tiny icicles upon his maw.
After a good 10 minuet dash the smell of food grew stronger and before long he came upon a wooden structure that looked like an inn from the front, with the rest of the building extending deep into a large hill. From the inns interior Jargo could make out the muffled sounds of laughter, music and merriment. Unsure of how to proceed, he knocked upon the small (for a Mahirim at any rate) wooden door a couple of time and waited. Nothing. He knocked again and after receiving no response for a second time he concluded that between the howling wind and the clamor of the inn’s patrons there was simply too much noise for anyone hear him. Jargo shrugged his shoulders, hunched down to fit into the door frame and stepped inside.
The spacious inn was jam packed with armor clad dwarfs, at least 50 of them by Jargo’s estimation. At every table, every bench, all along the length of the bar and huddled around the roaring fireplace in the far corner of the room, dwarves everywhere. As Jargo made his entrance they all froze as one and the room grew silent. They all stared at him in shock, mouths agape and bushy eye brows raised. Uh, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Say something to explain your presence here! Quickly!
“Hi, I’m Jargo!”
The dwarves burst into mad laughter, faces turning red and eyes watering. Some fell out of their chairs and rolled on the ground. It wasn’t quite the response he was expecting but Jargo thought it was better than being attacked by an entire inn of angry dwarves. He grinned toothily and waved.
“Haw, hay Dog Man! Down here!” Jargo looked down to the dwarf who had addressed him. He was a typical dwarven specimen, short, stocky and sporting a gigantic red beard, but he was dressed in some of the finest plate armor the Mahirim had ever seen. It was crafted from a silvery metal Jargo was unfamiliar with and made with dozens of different sections, most likely designed to provide its wearer with maximum mobility and range of motion.
“Ya hungry Dog Man?” Asked the red bearded dwarf as he looked the gigantic Mahirim up and down appraisingly. Jargo’s stomach grumbled loudly in response. “Haw! Yer a big one aren’t ya? Well sit down and eat with us already!” Jargo could hardly believe his good fortune. Too big to fit in one of the dwarf sized chairs, he kneeled down at one of the many tables along with his new friend and was treated to what seemed to be an endless amount of food and drink. Plump spicy sausages, baked garlic potatoes, thick slabs of roasted boat meat and more sausages, all smothered in brown gravy. The other dwarves seated with them at first seemed curious and amused by the Mahirim’s presence, but before long they were laughing and dancing on the tables as though he’d never been there. The red bearded dwarf poked Jargo in the ribs.
“Bet ya never ate like this, huh? Haw, haw!” He said waving a large drumstick in the air like a club.
“I’ve eaten dwarf before. Err, dwarven food I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a feast quite like this.” Jargo replied.
“That cause we’re dwarves!” Red Beard exclaimed, prompting cheers all throughout the inn. “We do everything bigger than everyone else! Haw!”
“Thank you for accepting me into your company,” Jargo began using what he thought was a diplomatic tone of voice, “but what are you celebrating? And isn’t this a lot of food to be eating during the winter months? I would think that game is scarce at this time of year.”
“Ooooo Mr. Smarty-pants huh? This is a celebration! Tonight we hunt and I tell ya what dog man, there’s big game to be had in these mountains!” A dwarf dancing on the table edge let out a loud guffaw.
“Yeah, BIG game! Haw, haw, whaaaaah!” he managed to say before losing his balance and falling face first to the ground. Red Beard thrust a large frosted mug of brown liquid into Jargo’s face.
“Try some of this stuff! It’ll make ya into an unstoppable ass kicker just like me! Haw!” Jargo rarely partook in alcoholic beverages of any sort, but he didn’t want to offend his gracious hosts. He took the mug and downed it in one gigantic gulp much to the dwarves approval. “Haw! That’ll put hairs on yer chest friend! We’ll, I guess that doesn’t matter so much for you huh? Have another!”
Jargo tried to push the incoming mug away. “I really probably should not. You see. . .”
“Bah, fiddlesticks and goblin shit!” Red Beard interjected. This is the finest larger of our clan!” At that all the dwarves within earshot again cheered loudly. “Ya don’t think I’d just offer this to anyone do ya? Drink damnit!” Worried that he was going to disappoint the dwarf Jargo drank down the second mug of ale. And then a third and a fourth.
For Jargo the night just got crazier from there. Tables and other assorted furniture we’re smashed, much ale was drank by all and fights broke out between some of the dwarves both male and female alike. (Jargo couldn’t tell the difference between the two sans the beard.) They beat one another mercilessly while laughing insanely the whole time. Red Beard explained to him that this was called “Good Natured Brawling” but Jargo thought it was madness and the powerful dwarven alcohol wasn’t helping things. Finally at what seemed to be the height of the dwarves frenzy Red Beard jumped up on the table and addressed his kinsmen.
“Not a bad party huh?” The dwarves roared in agreement. “I say it’s time to do some hunting, what say ye?” The battle cries were deafening and before Jargo knew what was happening he found himself being swept away in a river of dwarves as they poured out from the inn and into the dark, snowy midnight.
“Red beard, what’s happening here? Where are we going?” Asked Jargo catching site of the dwarves silvery armor amidst the crowd and approaching him.
“Well friend, we’re going on a hunt! And thanks for agreeing to help us out Dog Man. It’s not that we dwarves can’t do it without ya or anything, but I could see from when ya first stepped into our inn that you weren’t no stranger to a good fight. Haw! He’s a gods damned battering ram, aint he boys!” The marching dwarves call out words of agreement.
“Yeah he’s huge!”
“I seen it eat a whole boar!”
“That’s a big fucking dog!”
“I’m happy to help Red Beard and I wish to repay you for your hospitality, but if we’re hunting why is everyone carrying battle axes and swords?” asked the Mahirim.
“What? Err, because we’re dwarves, that’s why! What do ya think, we hunt with cute little bows and arrows like them sissified flower eating elves?” Again the dwarves chimed in.
“Those skinny pansies!”
“I hear they live in trees!”
“Well of course we need weapons if we’re gunna try to kill the OUCH! Why’ed ya bite me?”
Due to the howling blizzard Jargo could see little of his surroundings but he could tell that they had been traveling downhill for some time now. Soon it became clear that they were marching into a narrow canyon. The ice glazed rocky walls helped to block the wind at least, but he was beginning to sober up now and didn’t like the direction in which things we’re headed. Jargo concentrated hard on trying to think of a way to gracefully excuse himself from the hunting party.
Before he could gather his thoughts the dwarves at the front of the column began to crawl into a small opening in the canyon wall. Jargo sighed; resigning himself to whatever fate had in store for him and crawled in as well. While the tunnel was spacious enough for the dwarves to crawl through quite comfortably, the huge Mahirim had to scoot and wiggle on his belly while holding his twin bastard swords our in front of him. Half way through the narrow passage Jargo thought he was stuck and he froze in panic, thoughts of being trapped in that damned tunnel until he starved to death racing through his mind, but the dwarf crawling behind was able to push him through with relative ease.
Bruised, scraped and shaken up from his experience he crawled out from the tunnels exit and looked around. They were in an enormous glacial chamber, the largest cave Jargo had ever seen before. The ice walls and ceiling glowed a pale blue, amplifying the light from the torches that the dwarves we’re busy strategically placing about the cave. Jargo observed that the dwarves smiling faces and booming laughter had been replaced by looks of grim determination and uneasy silence. A battle was about to take place.
“Enough!” he roared at Red Beard, unsheathing his blades and assuming an attack posture. “The deception ends now! I’ve come to this place with you on good faith and now I feel as though I’ve been as prey led to the slaughter. Give me answers or I swear by all the bloodiest gods that I’ll cleave your tiny body in two!”
As if in reply to Jargo’s threat, the cavern began to rumble, causing large pieces of ice to plummet from the ceiling and forcing everyone to dodge and leapt lest they be crushed. Out of the corner of his eye Jargo caught sight of the dwarf who had fallen off his table earlier in the evening get struck by an ice-chunk, exploding his head like an overripe pumpkin and killing him instantly. Then from a large crack in the caves walls along the ceiling there came the sound of a monstrous creature hissing, and the sound of sharp claw’s scraping against ice. Jargo looked to Red Beard for answers but all he found was a look of profound sorrow in the dwarf’s eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” Red Beard rasped, and then from the fissure there emerged a gigantic white scaled head much like that of a monstrously large lizard. Its ice-blue eyes quickly darted back and forth assessing the situation, and then it hissed malevolently and seemed to pour out from the impossibly small crack; first a large serpentine neck, then powerful broad shoulders and arms that ended in hideous claws as large as Jargo’s blades. It slipped gracefully to the ground, extended its mighty wings and roared at the intruders. Then all hell broke loose.
When Jargo was a pup of only four autumns he once thought that he’d spotted a dragon flying high above the clouds while exploring the sweeping plains that dominate the landscape outside of Red Moon, the Mahirim capital. As far as he knew the tiny silhouette could have been nothing more than a bird but that didn’t stop him from bragging to his den mates when he returned home that evening. It was an experience that had captured the young Mahirim’s imagination and many a night before falling asleep he would wonder what the creature might have looked like up close, how it would have moved and behaved.
Nothing in Jargo’s wildest childhood imaginings could have ever prepared him for this horror however. The shear enormity of the white dragon was overwhelming and both he and the dwarves found themselves momentarily spellbound by the presence of the ancient creature. We’re nothing compared to it, Jargo realized. Nothing. Faster than he thought possible the dragon struck out with a clawed hand, snatched the nearest dwarf and bit him in half. Then it threw the unfortunate fellow’s lower torso and legs back at his companions, striking one square in the chest and knocking him off his feet.
They charged.
Like a living wave crashing against two huge rocks Jargo and the dwarves set upon the dragon. Brandishing battle axes almost as large as they were, some of the dwarves began chopping at the dragon’s front legs as one would go about felling a tree. Snarling in pain and anger, the mighty beast reared onto its hind legs and then came down hard and fast. Those who we’re crushed beneath the dragon’s weight we’re quickly replaced by more dwarves who went back to fearlessly hacking at the monster.
Jargo ran to the creature’s hind legs and spun around, his left blade chopping into its armor like scales followed by the right blade which struck the same spot, opening up the wound even deeper. The white dragon roared and kicked at him, but instead of striking Jargo the beast’s foot connected with an unfortunate dwarf, sending him flying through the air to crash upon the caves far wall with a sickening crack, leaving a bloody smear on the ice.
“Keep it up fellows!” Red Beard shouted. He took a small pellet of bat guano that had been rolled in sulfur earlier that evening from his pocket and muttered an intelligible incantation. A ball of white-hot fire streaked from the war wizards open hand across the cavern and smashed into the right side of the dragons face with a tremendous boom. It shrieked and wildly slammed its head into the side of the cave, its once white scales now charred and smoldering.
A dragon vulnerable to fire? Thought Jargo as he dodged the behemoths sweeping tail. The legends say they are creatures of heat and that they can breathe flame, so if this is a creature of ice. . . Still reeling in pain, the dragon sprayed what looked to him like a mixture of water, ice and frost indiscriminately at the dwarves. The temperature in the cave dropped dramatically and even in the heat of battle Jargo could feel himself go numb. Those unfortunate enough to have been hit with the spray we’re frozen solid before their lungs could even draw breath to scream, their faces twisted in horror and locked in an icy death mask.
But the dwarves were unrelenting. Several of them had begun to scale the creature’s sides with mountain climbing equipment, using their spiked boots and pick axes to gain perches while they drove iron stakes with long ropes attached to them deep into its flesh. The dragon roared and rolled over, crushing the dwarves on its left side but at the same time more dwarves scaled Mount Dragon from the right, using the ropes and pegs to climb onto the monsters back and hold themselves in place. Working in unison, two of the dwarves chopped deep into the creature just bellow its wings, severing it’s tendons in order to keep the thing from taking flight.
One of the beast’s hind legs gave way, eliciting a cheer from the dwarves as it stumbled once and then collapsed onto its stomach. They scrambled over the dragon like ants, chopping into it with their axes and plunging their swords deep into its body. Following the dwarves lead, Jargo leapt onto the dragon and relentlessly hacked at the point where its long neck began with the sword in his right hand while holding onto one of the dwarven spikes for dear life with his left.
The dragon’s once pristine white scales were now slick with crimson as was the floor of the cave. Its movements began to slow and it screamed horribly in panic and desperation. Jargo had cut through perhaps two feet of scales and muscle when he hit one of the monsters arteries. Deep red blood sprayed from the gaping wound in powerful rhythmic spurts. Then its head slowly sunk to the ground and the bloody spray came slower and weaker until the beast was still.
Suddenly the dragon reared up and thrashed about violently, sending Jargo and the dwarves flying. There it stood for one more glorious moment. Proud, untamed and unconquerable. It lifted its head towards the sky and bellowed triumphantly, spraying bloody ice into the air before collapsing to the ground with a tremendous thud that shook the walls of the cave. The ancient creature was dead.
What had just moments before been the scene of a horrifying battle was now suddenly still and quiet; a moment frozen in time. The dragon’s icy breath spray was drifting back down from the high domed ceiling of the cavern in the form of crimson snowflakes which began to slowly everything red. Jargo pulled his battered body up into a half sitting position and tried to make sense of it all. Why? Why did this have to happen?
Red Beard was standing over him and Jargo was shocked to see that the gruff dwarf was weeping, the tears from his watery eyes mixing with the blood of the dragon as they streamed down his cheeks and into his beard.
“Gods forgive me,” he croaked.
“I think you own me an explanation.” Jargo said softly. “Please, help me understand all this bloodshed.” The dwarf looked down to the floor and shuddered.
“I’m Cadby Heartrock of Clan Heartrock. Look about ye, we’re all that remain.” Of the 50 dwarves who entered the cave fewer than half had survived the battle. Those that lived and could still walk were tending to the wounded and gathering the dead. “We’re a merchant clan. We were. . . This place was going to be our future. I heard that there was something precious in these mountains, something valuable. The dwarf began to choke up but then quickly regained his composure. “I moved us all here early in the summer and we dug ourselves in for the long haul. I told em we could corner the market. . .”
“Winter came for your clan, didn’t it?” Jargo asked.
“Aye, winter came for us all. And with winter came that son of a bitch.” Red Beard pointed at the corpse of the dragon and spat. “It came with the blizzards and the blizzards came every night. We could hear it but we couldn’t see the damned thing. We could hear them all screaming and their houses being torn apart, but we couldn’t see it and we couldn’t stop it.” Jargo nodded his head in understanding.
“It must have migrated, as a bird does.” the Mahirim said. “It must have gone to Niflheim during the summer and then when winter came. . .”
“Aye. It came back to hunt it did. Ya didn’t think we just had an inn sitt’in out in the middle of nowhere did ya? When you came to us you were walk’in on the ruins of our town buried under the snow. The inn is all that’s left.” Jargo’s eye’s widened in realization.
“The feast. That was to be your last meal wasn’t it? You didn’t think you were coming back. None of you did.”
“My Son Delling followed the beastie to its lair through the storm and found the entrance. When he came back he’d just enough time to give us the directions before he died from the cold. First it took me wife and then me son. Gods, me only son!” The dwarf crumpled to the ground and sobbed violently.
“Jargo, I don’t know what in the hells a Mahirim from the Tribe Lands was doing in the asshole of Dvergheim knocking on the door of me inn, tonight of all nights. It don’t matter, maybe ye were sent by the gods, maybe it was fate. Whatever the case; there’s no excuse for what I did to ye.” Jargo shook his head.
“It is forgiven.”
“What? No, ya don’t understand. Me honor. . . I figured we’d need all the help we could get and when you just strolled I thought you were just a big dumb dog I could use. I except full responsibility for. . .”
“I have already forgiven you. Therefore it is senseless to discuss it any further” Jargo carefully rose to his feet, testing the strength in his legs.
“Damnit Dog Man I’m telling ya that I’m ashamed! I have no honor!” The dwarf waved his stubby arms in the air frantically to make a point. “No honor you overgrown mongrel!” Jargo sighed and seemed to grow distant.
“When I was younger I lost something very important to me. For a while I was . . . not myself. Do you understand what I mean Cadby? I did things. . .that I’m not proud of. Things that I would not have done had I been myself. So you see, I understand and I harbor no ill will against you or your kin.” The dwarf cracked the ghost of a smile.
“It’s hard to be all ashamed and stuff when you refuse to git pissed.”
“I know.”
**************************************** ****************
They made their way back to the inn and set up a crude shelter to house the dead before their burial tomorrow. Broken, battered and bloody, Jargo and the survivors of Clan Heartrock sat in a semi circle around the fireplace gazing deep into the twisting red and orange flames. While the battle had been won for the day, Jargo knew that for each of the dwarves it was still raging on in their hearts and minds, just as it did his. The ghost of the dragon will be with us always, and it won’t die quite so easily. After some time Red Beard spoke up.
“So just what the hell were ya doing all the way out here by yerself anyway?” In all the commotion Jargo had completely forgotten about his mission.
“I was supposed to pick a flower. That’s all I had to do. Easy job.” The dwarves laughed.
“Well it just so happens,” Red Beard began, “That you’ve stumbled upon what’s probably the only clan of flower pick’en dwarves in all of Agon. Haw! Follow me.” The dwarf led Jargo into an office at the back of the inn and there in a glass case were five specimens of the fabled Snow Crystal. They truly did look like ice, and as the light refracted off its fragile petals they seemed to faintly shimmer blue, green and yellow. “This is why we came here and this is why you’ve come. You show up at our door in our most desperate hour and you fight along side us. I’m not much for superstition but you gotta admit that’s some weird shit.” Jargo barked in laughter.
“There are natural forces at work outside of the influence of all of us, even the gods. The tide of the ocean, the wind in the trees, the. . .”
“Eh whatever just take one. For what you did I’d give em all to ya if I could, but we’re gunna need some capital to rebuild.”
“So you and your clan will stay?” Jargo asked.
“Hells no! It’s time for us to move on. But like my dear old pappy always said, ‘it’s never too late to start over’. We’ll take care of business here and figure out what we’re gunna do.” Jargo gathered his things to leave and Red Beard walked him to the door. “Remember, if yer ever in these parts again and ya need some help find a dwarf, mention Clan Heartrock and what happened here today. As far as I’m concerned you’re a brother to us all.” The dwarves hooted and hollered in agreement.
“That’s right!”
“Yer a good sport!”
“Biggest damn dog I ever seen in me life!”
Jargo stepped out of the inn and into the glacial air. The others don’t need to know of this. I’ll just say I had a hard time finding the Snow Crystal and leave it at that. As far as he could see there were only endless rolling dunes of white, sharply contrasted at the horizon line by the darkness of the starry, pre dawn sky. He looked back at the inn and the make-shift mausoleum they had constructed for the dead and sighed. The storm has ended for now, he thought, but how much longer do we each have until the dragon comes for us in the night?
Jargo shivered.