First Posted by Thror HammerSong, Barbaric Warlord of Rage on December 05, 1999.

Cursing in vain, I paced through the dwarf forest, well-named since the small
trees were hardly larger then I am. As I pushed myself toward the eastern road,
my eyes could only see the red haze of hatred that I had for the Witches that
would slay my brothers and sisters. Never would they know the purity of the
gods, or the hours spent in the forges to create us, only to have the rare few
steal the craft that they would weave in the heavens. Do they think I do not
know of the betrayal they brought to the ancient ancestors that would forge
from the earth? Strange that the ones who bring such bloodshed are so soon to
forget. I don't forget.

Eastern road was less then traveled that day. It was ghostly. Dead weeds, and
dirt carried by an angry wind would dance away from my firm step. At times I
would spot a buzzard circling a corpse to the side of the road, dead elf's, the
dark armor of a black knight, even the toppled figure of a massive giant. I
would never understand why the Arbiters did not spend their worthless vigil
along this road rather then in the city where they felt safe, even at home.

The wind grew chill, and the sun faded behind the mountains of Mortorn. Still I
would not alter my pace until I reached the accursed tower of the damned mages.
So disciplined are they that they would slay the mighty Athrakagar, laughing as
he would be found the next eve, run through by his own pike. I would remember
that day, not a sorcerer in sight would forget it as well. If I was not quick
to beat them with the mithril maces Grime was so kind to forge me, I would at
least send them with a shattered forearm, or some crushed ribs. Let's see how
they would utter their magics when blood was wheezing through their lungs.

Faintly, I could see the dance of flames atop the battlement walls of the city
Galadon. Yes, the torches carried by the city watch. I would take my rest there,
then continue to the Tower by boat. How I hated the rivers. Many a dwarf would
drown by the slight topple of a wretched boat, or the sea snakes that were
quick to strike over the wooden panels. Their bite as poisonous as the wine
that the ebony-skinned drow consume. Still, my purpose and determination could
be unhindered by the choice that was given to me. Defeat would build day after
day, as the village huts would be torn asunder. Lions would shred the skin of
the young giant defending the homes of the clan. Rams and falcons would strike
even quicker, bringing a mystical hell to the homes of the villagers. I was
trusted leadership, and this day, I would change the tide of this war, if it
meant my life, I would change this Battle.

I neared the gates of the city, were I was promptly halted and searched by a
guard wearing the standard armor of the watch.

"Halt Dwarf, and state your name!" His voice was deep, like the growl of a bear,
still I needed rest. This city was all that stood in my way from reaching the
Tower, and with luck I could be at the Tower in the early morn' bathing in the
blood of the Sorcerers who studied the art of theft from the Gods. After a
thorough search, I was granted permission to enter the city.

The streets were littered with debris. Torn parchments, broken glass, even
stains of blood could be seen by the faint lights of the taverns and guilds
that illuminated the streets. I passed a small alley to the north, hardly
giving it a second glance…that was my first mistake.

Pain lurched through my spine, the force alone knocking me to my knees. A large,
clawed paw batted me to the side, knocking me up against the stone walls of the
warrior's guild. Cursing, I staggered to my feet, finding myself face to face
with the shaggy mane of an enraged lion.

"Damned warrior, put yer rusted blade te use en help me out!" I bellowed,
towards the large guildguard on my left. The lion was quick to leap, bloody
claws outstretched toward my face. It was all I could do to duck and strike it
just below the ribs, before it fell upon me.

Thumb arched, knuckles against my palm.

I struck, and tumbled under the lion as it crashed to the ground. Even I was
amazed at how successful I was in striking a critical blow, that would stun the
lion.

"So quick to dodge the physical, but you know nothing of the mystical young
dwarf."

A slender drow, with runes sewn into his velvet robes held an outstretched arm
toward me.

A roar of hatred flooded through my mouth, as I reached my fingers toward his
ebony throat. My hatred alone caused his spell to unravel, inflicting minor
pain to his fragile body. He winced, giving me the time to wrap my fingers
around his neck, and strike him in the chest.

"Yer te die Mordrack!!" I cursed his name, recognizing the runes upon his robes.
"I'll not have ye strikin' me kin…."

Fire enveloped me, searing pain that could only be described as thousands of
needles gently ripping my skin from my soul. From the corner of my eye I could
see another robed figure, shorter then even myself, chanting the soft words of
magic while pointing at me with outstretched fingers. Yet not before I struck
the drow beneath his ribs.

Beard singed, I rushed toward the gnome, sending him backwards as my fists
struck him time and time again. His face became twisted with fear and marred
with blood, his eyes began to roll as his small frame was pummeled by well
placed blows. Zhaeliyn was feared more for the power he had aquired while
studying at the Tower, rather then his ability to stand toe to toe with a
trained warrior, let alone the Leader of the Village. Another well placed
strike, and the three sorcerers lay sprawled on the city street, slumbering as
blood flowed from my wounds, and pain rippled through my body. Faces stared at
me from the nearby taverns, and the cry of the city watch could be heard as
battlement guards were called to arms. I had to reach the Tower, else my War
would be hindered by the Arbiters and their questionings.

Darting through a narrow alley, I came upon a road that lay just north of the
dirt marred, Murky River. I stumbled through a couple shops, looking for a
boatmaker. My anger was fueled even further when I came upon a two drow who
appeared out of thin air before my very eyes. One was clad in velvet robes of
black, with a humble look upon his face that was rare to see upon the ebony
skin of a drow. The second was clad in black robes as well, though his robes
carried archaic runes of power that could faintly be seen from a distance. I
turned tail and darted toward the battlements, rushing past guardsmen as they
yelled for me to stop. The drow appeared once again right before me, staggering
me backwards. Cursing, I raced for the southern battlements and up a narrow
road back towards the river. Once there I found a boat secured, and leapt
within it, hoping to reach the tower before the two drow found me in the murky
waters. A black mass of runed robes found me instead. Second mistake.

Let your hatred rise and your foes know your thirst!

Fire raced through my blood and red hazed my vision, I could not tell if it was
blood from my lip that I could taste, or the blood of my foes. Still, my heart
raced twice as fast, my senses became clearer and my only purpose in life was
defined. Destroy these robed, black-skinned elves before me, or die trying.