Prologue

like a little before note type thing.

 

Prologue

 

 

 

 

          

 

 

        The great mountains were very tall, obviously, and very structured. They were so innocent, and so concealed, one would not assume the great quantities of dwarves boarded them. For this great, colossal mountain was treacherous. The weather was so severe, it was therefore almost uninhabitable. It was one of the many reasons of which the dwarves had chosen this area for the foundation of their great city.  This mountain was home to the large city of Crotz’ Cryn. It’s population held many dwarves, for it was a great city. The dwarves hid their city from outside knowledge, for these dwarves preferred to keep their doings to themselves. As did every dwarf city. You see, dwarves did rarely converse with dwarves of other cities, for many arguments and problems would result.

        Though, all things could not always be kept in secrecy. Many people knew of this great city, though they dared not to go near it. Rare beings other than dwarf knew of what went on inside the mountainous dwarf city of Crotz’ Cryn.  The population of this great city was colossal. It was large, and obviously, many of dwarf-kind lived there. Crotz’ Cryn was one of the largest of dwarf cities.

        The large city often found themselves in a constant feud with the many quantities of Orcs inhabiting the land of Fireswift to the south. It was always something simple--- nothing other viewpoints would consider a problem. Though one between the two groups could simply call one a name such as “gorgdan” (meaning Orc slang for “ugly one”) and sparks would fly.

        This time, it was something a bit more complicated, but, obviously, nothing to get one worked up about. An orc party had ventured a bit too close to the city of Crotz’ Cryn, and an Orc-ish arrow was accidentally shot off. The arrow did not penetrate the dwarf city’s walls. But of course, the dwarves were angered enough to start war between the two. One would think a race as great and as noble as the dwarf would not think much of it, but years of anger had penetrated such thoughts.

        For you see, these two cities had been in constant argument for centuries. Even the older and wiser of the two races bore hatred for each other. Every being was brought up to hate the opposites, simply because everyone else was. Parents of the children did not know of what hit off between the two cities years ago. In fact, few elders within the dwarf kingdom knew of stories passed on between them.

         Though, actually, such an occurrence had happened, just days before the announcement of war.

         An old, stubbly dwarf sat in a dark corner. He cast a hood over his scarred face. Torches lit the almost blackened room, though it was dark enough so that a fellow dwarf could not see the old dwarf’s face. Only his long, crooked nose could be seen, poking out from under his long, brown hooded tunic. He watched as small, dwarf children played. He saw them, some practicing with sword, others playing with wooden, aged toys. He smiled to himself, for he remembered the days of long, long ago, when he too, was once a child.

         He looked around once more, for he grew bored of watching the children run around. He stopped his old veined yellow eyes on two young dwarf children arguing of the origin of the feud between Crotz Cryn and the Orcs. There was a boy, with short black hair shaking his fist at another dwarf child. He spoke harshly and yet quietly.

         “I’m right, and you know it!” he said. “You don’t truly believe that a foul orc killed our leader for he was merely wishing to advance territory. That’s nonsense”. He put his hands to his sides and looked at the other child with a smirk. The other child, a slightly taller, slightly fatter dwarf, grumbled,

          “No! I’m right. As if the orcs waged battle on our troop of scouting fighters for no reason.” They continued to argue and soon they began to fight, shaking fists and kicking clumsily at each other with all might. Seeing that there was a ruckus, and having overheard their immature argument, the old dwarf hobbled over.

          “Now you two stop it, right this moment!” he said nonchalantly. He shook his finger and gave a grin, flashing his, old stained teeth. “You’re both wrong! You should be punished for makin’ such  nonsense out of a great story.” He looked around awkwardly. “Shame on you both! Now, would you like to hear the real story?”

          The two young ones looked at each other with awed faces and turned to the old timer grinning.

          “Yes! Tell us!” they squeaked simultaneously. The old one smiled and held his head up, and whispered,

           “as I thought”.

           The old timer pulled back his staff and sat on an imaginary stool, thumping backwards and landing limply on his rump. Astonished, he simply growled and turned to the children as if nothing had happened. He began to speak, telling the tale with such great enthusiasm, that other children noticed the social gathering and hobbled over, sitting down quietly. So well did the old dwarf tell that story that almost all nearby wished to listen. Even adult dwarf strode over and stood near to hear the old dwarf tell his tale. Everyone was so eager to hear of it, that the old dwarf could have told them any story, and they would have believed him.

           As the old dwarf spoke, he hunched over, curving his spine to make him look like even more awkward of a personage. For one thing, he was an old dwarf who in general scared folks, and another, he was old enough to know of the story. The old dwarf probably scared the daylights out of little children; at the dead of night.

           The old dwarf, finishing his story, grew tired and yawned.  He looked about, just now noticing his great audience of many, many dwarf. He looked taken aback for a moment and then shook it away; releasing all opportunities of awkward silences. This old dwarf hated such a predicament, for he was very straightforward. He had been for his whole 462 years of life.

          “Now, get on all of ya! Git! Leave this old dwarf to sleep.” He turned off hastily and slowly, strutting back to his corner, inching his way along with increasing steadiness. He stopped, looked down, and pulled out crude, dented, almost destroyed piece of long cloth. He placed it allegedly on the floor and lye down, closing his eyes. But not before muttering,

          “Don’t want to sleep on a dirty floor, now do I?” (The Ironic edge of the cloth being that the dusty ground was almost shining with cleanliness compared to the filthy fabric the old dwarf now laid upon). 

          Through his eyelashes the dwarf watched as the disappointed children turned away and returned to their families, for they too were tired. Even the parents looked unhappy, as they took their children and returned to their bed cambers far throughout the large city. The old dwarf smiled and closed his eyes completely. Now would be his time of rest.

          The very next day, the children returned, seeking more tales of adventure and journey, things that all children enjoyed hearing; only to find disappointment. The old dwarf was no where to be seen. The children left and went home. The old dwarf, being of very much age, was found a few days later, just before the war would begin, dead. Whether it was purely his old age, or just his frail body overwhelmed with an unknown force, the disappointed children would never know.

Author's Note

the characters specified are not vital to the story. it just had valuable information.
love it.