the Darkness of Khmol'ze Pt. 1

Our story begins, as every good story should, in a place far away, actually you have most likely never heard about it, a village far up in the highlands. Right by the mountains rests the small village called Gimni, by the villagers and That-Place-Where-Our-Iron-Comes-From by the proud family of Befverhanskenhjelm who owns most of the mines around Gimni. This is where we find our first actor, Sir Gregory II Befverhanskenhjelm's eldest son, Leopold Befverhanskenhjelm, sent to That-Place-Where-Our-Iron-Comes-From by his father to learn to look after the family's business (and to teach his no-good son what the world looks like outside their estate down by Uinford).

In the Archives of the University

Going through the old archives I found a few pages from a journal written by some unknown scholar back in the early 1st Era. Not much is known of their journey, beginning or end, but a small parchment attatched, most likely written by the scholar called Mataijas here, hinting that only a few of them returned, and empty handed at that.

Day 302

Once we had the Dark Claw behind us we headed straight north for a few weeks, then turned northwest to reach the highlands between the Dwarven Mountains and the Goblin infested mountains to the northwest. If one can trust the tomes in the University's archives we should be the first men to walk these hills for at least three or four hundred years, but most likely much longer. Inspired by the

A Necromancer's Choice

      As the Goblins invaded the Dwarven kingdom of Thi'Betor year 1103 of the 2^nd Era no accounts of the events that took place at the capital of Maso Betorim, the last stand of King Daeken, survived. When the Goblin horde breached the gates no one got out alive, or so the Dwarven historians write. One month before the inner walls were soaked in the blood of both Dwarves and Goblins a series of extraordinary events took place that can only be found retold in one peculiar book, the chronicles written by a certain necromancer.

      The invasion was a fact, by 1124 all bastion in the north had fallen to the seemingly unending flood of Goblins. They had cut of the remaining resistance from the rest of the kingdoms and were now forcing them to retreat to their last stronghold, the capital, from where they would have no where to run. In all tunnels the Goblins were gaining ground fast, raiding all chambers with settlements in them. As the horde completely encircled the last stand all seemed lost. No Dwarves had been able to stand against the relentless Goblins, but their new enemies feared not death.

A Necromancer's Disciple

          In the far east of the Dwarven Mountains, where the Black Ridge stretches south-east, casting its shadows upon the Old Alliance-Road, rises a high menacing dark claw. Mag-Ogor, the Mountain of Darkness, has always been home to a large variety of terrifying creatures and the 2^nd era was no different. Back then, when the Alliance had recently been forged, living corpses roamed its highlands and lurked in its many caves, all answering to their master; Arthom, Garfereas a'Har.

          The winds were howling outside the mountain and their screams reached the heart through all the cracks and openings in the mountain's slopes. Through one of these tunnels a man walked, shadows played with the light from the torch he was carrying on the walls around him. Tall with black hair, proud posture and a longsword in his belt, a thin face with determined eyes, all these descriptions could fit any noble of the Indorim but there was something darker behind his cold eyes. He walked as if he knew the dark caves like his own home. He knew he was followed, and now he also sensed a presence in front of him, but he did not stop.

Alone in the Valley

      In our village we were about 120 inhabitants. Our families had lived in this valley for hundreds of years. I liked our village, I liked the people there and the valley itself. Everything could still have been exactly like it was then if that day had never taken place…but it did…

       It was an ordinary day like any other. I was sitting with my family by the table eating dinner. It was around midday. Suddenly a man, one of my father’s friends, came rushing in and shouted; “He’s here! He’s here again!”. My father quickly reacted and stood up, grabbed his bow and his quiver and ran out with the man. My mother took me and my two sisters and led us upstairs where she told us to stay until they returned. I wanted to follow them so when my mother went I grabbed my dagger, a gift from my father, and ran out. It was a beautiful day, the snow lay thick and reflected the sunshine. I stopped for a moment. Everything was so beautiful. Then I suddenly remembered why I was out here. I heard voices from the other edge of the village. I began running in that direction. Then I saw him. Garfereas, the dragon who had punished our village for many years. His wings threw a huge shadow over the village; it almost seemed like the sun had disappeared. He was about 30 metres above ground and his flames consumed the snow beneath him and ignited nearby houses. He began to fly towards me. He crushed a house before he flew over me. I was thrown backwards. I laid still, scared. I heard the sound of houses crumbling behind me. I just couldn’t move. He seemed a lot larger when he was this close.

       Minutes passed. The dragon had flown away at least ten minutes ago. I stood up, still shaking. I picked up my dagger which had been thrown away some meters when the dragon passed over me. I looked around me in shock. The whole village was destroyed, some houses were still burning and slowly falling apart. I began walking to the other edge of the village from were I had heard voices before; first with slow, shaking steps, but soon I found myself running. I came to the slope were our village ends. Then I knew why the dragon had flown away from there and into the main part of the village; his work here was done. I was looking at a morbid scene of slain men and women, all of the village’s adults were laying there scattered all over the area. Slain in the most ruthless ways. My dagger fell from my hand. I couldn’t move. I knew my parents were down there. I went down the slope. Some people had been charred unrecognisable by the dragon's flames, others had been shredded by his claws, pierced by his sharp tail or even bitten in half by his huge jaws. I wasn’t able to find my parents among the recognizable bodies. The snow was red. It seemed that the sky turned red too. My world trembled. I was left alone, alone in this world, alone in the valley…