Four Sojourning Sages

“Come now, get a move on!”
The four of them made quite a sight, as they rumbled down the mountain pass and worked their way, wagon and all, westward towards Savarica’s borders. The snow was streaming down heavily now, and the ever blowing winds of the wild heights threatened to upset the cart once in a while, but the driver and three followers behind stubbornly pushed on.
Four dwarves, one on the cart driving the stout, strong little dwarf ponies along through the mountain pass, and three following beside or behind it, singing or shouting to the team of ponies to ‘get a move on’ once in a while, for no apparent reason. With sheer cliffs on either side of them, the massive walls and sides of the icy mountains, the willing pony team had nowhere else to go but forward. And they pulled the laden cart and dwarf atop it with them.
The one riding on the cart, holding the reins, was almost hidden in his massive red beard. Though no taller than three and a half feet, Thibble Strongofarm was the leader of the foursome. As the eldest of the four brother dwarves and probably the strongest, he was unchallenged as long as he kept his command well enough, and kept his three brothers happy. Almost buried atop a wagon of goods and various weapons and items for sale, he slapped the reins and pulled his beard and cloak tighter about him, hiding from the chill wind.
“Hoy, Thibble!” Called the next closest dwarf, who strolled along with his massive axe over his shoulder beside the wagon. “How’s about ye think of yer team for once, and call it a day! It's well past eventide and gettin’ colder by the minute!”
This dwarf, the speaker, was buried in a golden and yellow beard instead of a bright red one, though not nearly as long nor was the dwarf as tall as his brother. Three feet tall, perhaps a little more, he wore typical dwarf leather and armor that glinted in the starlight as he looked up with grim eyes as his elder.
“Aye Thrable Roundshield, I knows that yer always lookin’ to get outta the cold!” The elder dwarf shouted back gruffly, though not unkindly, “I do believe that ifya were given a choice you woulda stayed behind at yer anvil!” A chuckle from one and a giggle from the other dwarf followed this statement.
“I’m thinkin’ of yer team, ya gobber blasted fool!” The one called Thrable shouted over the wind, yanking his beard as the flying breeze caught it. He tucked it into his belt. “Yer pony team won’t do much good if they’re frozen solid, now will it!?”
“Ach, Thrable, they can make another mile I tell ya!” Thibble, perched up on the cart, decided briskly. “Jest watch the trail ahead and lemme know if you see any goblin kin!”
“I’m watchin’!” Thrable Roundshield spat back, grumbling.
There was a moment of silence before a third dwarf broke it, shouting also to be heard over the wind as the dwarf wagon creaked along its trail down the mountain, winding between the walls and drops of sheer rock and ice.
“By the hammer of me anvil, I wouldna be surprised to see human pests more like!” A gruffer voice, gruffer than even most dwarves, shot towards the leading one.
Prable Rumblegrumbler strode behind the wagon with his mighty hammer thrown over his shoulder, watching the wagon with careful, dark eyes to make sure it stayed secure as the wind pushed and shoved it. His ash black beard wasn’t as long as Thibble and Thrable’s, but still long enough to be tucked down inside his heavy armor out of reach from the howling breeze. His heavy brows just as black and grim looking, he was by far the most serious and grim of the four.
“Bah, Prable! Yer seein human bandits behind every rock and tree from here to Usadel!” Thrable shot back at his brother, which brought a chuckle from the one on the wagon, “There are a FEW good ones, ya know lad!”
“Not that I’ve seen in forty years!” Came the grumbling reply. It was also common fact among the four that Prable Rumblegrumbler was a ‘human-hater,’ or rather, one of a small collection of dwarves who really had no love for humanity in general, despite the good business humans often afforded them.
It must be stated here and dwarves, and especially mountain dwarves of this far northern type, were not an evil, nor a cruel race, and indeed were better friends to man than man was often to himself in those regions. But the dwarves are a hardworking, hard-fighting and hard all around folk, who alone have survived outside of the safe borders of the Six Spires because they are strong and hardy. Like all dwarves, the scattered colonies and underground cities of those areas were mining cities and forging colonies, where every dwarf worked with metals and stone, carving and hammering, forging and melting fine crafts and goods of every kind of metal and rock. They were growing fewer, but it wasn’t unusual to see the occasional dwarven caravan work its way out of the mountains and down into Savarica to do business and trade their excellent metal wares once in a while.
“Tee hee hee!” Another, much higher-pitched voice from the back of the caravan reached all their ears, followed by a gruffer shout.
“Pibble Thickskull, get the blazes off that wagon!” Prable Rumblegrumbler roared, suddenly reaching forward to yank his youngest brother off the back of the laden cart.
The last of the comical four, Pibble Thickskull, has been born strangely, and had never been much of a talker…or a thinker. Though perhaps his brains had been slightly scrambled for reasons known only to himself, Pibble wasn’t to be underestimated. He could show some brilliance. Once in a long while.
Flaunting his strangely bright blue beard, the smallest armored dwarf was grinning happily when he hopped up on the back of the wagon, dangling his legs like a five year old, making faces at his black bearded brother. Wearing only tough leather and some light armor, he was the only one of the four dwarves who wasn’t armed with a large hammer or axe for protection, and even his own brothers weren’t quite sure how he planned on defending himself if they were attacked.
“Yer wretched face would scare off ten thousand orcs!” Prable growled as he yanked the simple-minded Pibble off the cart, who hit the snow rolling and bouncing away, apparently gleeful to have made his brother so angry. Prable merely glared after him, muttering darkly under his breath, and went on following the heavy wagon. It must be said also, that these four brothers were not enemies and were indeed the best and truest of comrades, despite their bluster and shouts. It was nothing unusual for even the closest of dwarves to squabble and argue, and indeed, they meant very little of what they said in any anger.
Pibble managed to scramble out of the way of a snowball and managed yet another majorly insulting face at his dark brother before Prable got tired of it.
“Ach, leave ‘em alone, Prable!” Thibble shouted over his shoulder, shivering ever so slightly in the wind. “I need y’all in one piece when we get to Savarica, I’m gonna need every tongue of witness I kin get when I stand up in front of the Council!”
“Ach, but they won’t DO nothin’!” Thrable Roundshield complained, glaring up at his brother on the cart. Another thought suddenly appeared to him.
“Besides, ye talk well when yer sittin up there on yer comfy cart, while we trudge through the snows! Gedown from that and let someone else have a turn till camp!”
“Like yerself, ye soft fool?!”
“Aye, someone harder than you, I pray!”
At this insult, Thibble made a hasty scramble down off the cart, tumbling unceremoniously into the snow, made a dash for Thrable, picked him up and bodily threw him up onto the top of the cart, while it was still moving and the team still going.
“STAY up there then and don’t come down, Thrable ye softie!” Thibble spat, roaring, “We’re campin in short time as ‘tis!”
“Bah!” Was the only comeback Thrable could think of in short time. All of them shared a grim chuckle before Prable spoke again.
“This human council in Savarica won’t pay heed to a word we say anyhow!” He shouted, “They could care less if goblins are pouring out of the mountains and nasty white-skinned snow elves roam the slopes! They prefer to hide behind those Spires of their anyways!”
“They’ll worry when we tell ‘em the goblins are coming for THEM after they’re done with US, and besides, humans have been good to us before, remember!”
“Twas them that drove back the troll hordes fifty years ago, in our very mines!” Thrable called out.
“Uh huh.” Nodding vigorously, Pibble agreed entirely.
Prable shot him a look, before he went on. “Well whadya plan on tellin ‘em? ‘Excuse me, but we’ve got upwards of two thousand goblins wretches runnin riot in our tunnels and need some help?’”
“No, ye fool!” Thibble snorted, “I plan on tellin ‘em that there’s too many goblins and elves about for good comfort, and we oughta DO something aboot it! I assure ye, humans are just as worried about protectin’ themselves as we are about protectin’ us! They’ll lend a hand when we need it! Besides, they’ve a right to know about those humans that’ve been wandering around by the cities!”
“Aye brother, sometimes they ARE half decent folk!” Thrable remarked dryly.
“I’m not a-sayin’ they aren’t decent enough sometimes!” Prable retorted.
“Tee hee hee!” Pibble commented, giggling from somewhere up in front now.
Prable glared coldly. “What are ya gigglin’ about, ye wee noodle?!”
“Nutin!” The other replied with a face of complete innocence.
“Alright, ‘nough of it!” Thibble interrupted. “Then what ARE ye sayin, Prable?”
“I’m a-sayin that what yer gonna be sayin’ won’t say much to humans that don’t like to be said to!” Prable returned. “Them humans aren’t ones for listening understandingly when ye tell ‘em tall tales about hordes of creatures and renegade humans runnin’ loose!”
“Would ye be believin’ it either if they came here?” Thrable shot back.
“Nope.” Pibble dared to comment solemnly, and had to duck a snowball.

Southern Allies

For a moment, Count Chace had thought the man serious. He and a few servants, and one or two guards, were dotted here and there in the castle's grand gardens, which seemed to literally glint and sparkle in the gentle, cool daylight. As always, the might river flowed past undisturbed by times or changes, constantly watering the strong count's riverside orchards, crop fields and personal luxury gardens...as with the one he stood in. Occasionally a small skiff would sail downriver, and from his shady perch among a few close growing trees by the bank, the count would watch it sail past lazily, hands behind his head as he leaned back in the chair. The guards and servants stood a little behind him, talking quietly among themselves and also enjoying the (relatively) warm weather.

However, when the messenger arrived on weary horseback, dusty from the road and eyes wide, and had nearly dashed into the garden with his news, the count had stood up frantically, almost instinctively fumbling for his sword.

"What?! Slow down, man, slow down!" He ordered briskly as the guards rushed forward.

Coming up from the castle proper and stables there, the messenger was still breathing hard from his ride. Dressed in Kairok green and grey, he looked like a fairly young man, dark hair and eyes and bold face. His look was one of grim fear though as he got as close as the guards would let him.

He bowed, as the count turned to face him, the quiet afternoon forgotten. "My lord, Count Herrsan!" He gasped out, "I bring urgent news from Count Samuel of House Kairok, your allies beg your assistance in mass numbers!"


The count's eyes narrowed. "What happened? Did goblins come down from the mountains again?"

"No, my lord, far worse...Kire'falaedis has been attacked. And lost."

The same dead silence that had been at House Vadirska and Kairok at that same news filled the garden. The quiet was broken only by the river's constant flowing and a bird not too far away in the trees.

"What kind of sour joke is that?" Chace spat at last, honestly annoyed. If someone had walked into his garden and fearfully proclaimed that his friend Count Samuel had turned into a dwarf, he would found it about as believable as this.

"My lord, I beg you believe me, it is no jest!" The messenger returned frantically, "Count Kairok and his family beg you assemble whatever forces you can spare and march to their aid! Already forces of snow elves, trolls, and goblins sweep down from the gap in Savarica's defenses in the north!" He paused for a moment, regaining his breath. His eyes betrayed his shaken look.

The count snorted. "Your humor is misplaced, man. Now get back to wherever you came from, before I have you thrown into a jester's clothes and a cell where you can wear out your own sense of humor."

"My lord, PLEASE! You MUST listen!" The poor, wretched herald recruit tried to argue further, and realized he had made a small mistake.

As the huscarl guards grabbed his arms, the count waved a hand wearily at him, grumbling. “Go put him back on his horse and get him out of here.” He muttered, and his servants nodded, all hastily dragging the poor limp man out.

The count got to have about ten minutes of a little of his restored peace, until his garden was interrupted again, this time by a visitor he knew wasn't going to be lying.

He was mildly surprised to see his ranger captain, Christopher, striding hurriedly across the grounds, and the look on his face alone made him sit up.

You're supposed to be halfway to Kire'Sephal, Christopher!” The count looked up narrowly, trying to decide if this was good or bad.

Seeing the ranger's pale face made him stand up yet again. The ranger, let alone by the guards, walked up to his employer easily, standing though a little bowed over.

"Kire'Sephal is under siege." He paused, letting this information sink in. “I've just come from the forest around it...we rode for four days after crossing the river, and ran into a siege line...of various creatures. The Spire is being slowly beaten down.” He swallowed. We rode back as fast as we could.”

Within the space of an hour, the entire of House Herrsan was in an uproar. Various guards and forces were called in, the rally bells were rung in the higher towers, and the countryside was immediately put on the alert as all of the Count's strong fighting forces were called in. Taking hand of the situation as best as his shaken nerves could manage, Chace hurriedly organized two companies, one to march north to the aid of his friends in Kairok and one to march with himself leading, to Kire'Sephal. The following morning, Herrsan would be on the march.