The Dawn of Sylvan Hold

A tale you seek, is it? Hmm. I have a good one for you then. Come, take a seat. Let me tell you of Dhuergar Warhammer and the Utopian province of Sylvan Hold.

In the previous age of Utopia, there was a province named Mithrils Hold. It was a young province, with not much history in the second age. Yet, however brief its appearance in the Kingdom of The Second Empire, there were many in the lands of Utopia that would sing its praises. But what of this province, you ask? What has it to do with the province of Sylvan Hold? Was it not a dwarven province? Right you are.

Here is how we, the people of Sylvan Hold, tell this tale:

It was dark when the riders entered the elven fort. The lead rider dismounted and quickly entered the fort. He walked quickly, his cloak still draped over him, the hood pulled up, hiding his face in shadow. The soldiers standing guard throughout the fort snapped to attention at the sight of him walking the halls. The clasp on his cloak was easily identifiable, and so was the decorated hilt of his sword peaking through the folds of cloth that hid his frame. Even so, his long and quick strides were enough to identify the man as Qualath, personal advisor and right-hand man to Sir Dhuergar Warhammer. This was the second most powerful person in the province of Mithrils Hold. Though he was not dwarven, it was rumored that he was the next in line to rule Mithrils Hold. And there weren't many dwarves that would not accept him.

When the doors to the throne room opened, the second most powerful man in Mithrils Hold entered and went down on one knee. The only person he would kneel to gestured to him and called him to the side of the room.

"My lord."

"My friend, it is good to have you back. I could use some advice right about now. What news?"

Qualath sighed as he pulled his hood down and unfastened his cloak. "There is no easy way to say this."

Dhuergar glanced up at his most trusted advisor, the half-elf that saved his life so many years ago. He had feared that the news was not going to be good. Several weeks earlier he had received a message from a neighbouring elven province with which his own province had good relations. The two rulers had become close friends over the period of several years, and on more than one occasion, he had sent his berserkers to the elven province in military aid. The message did not come from his friend, but rather from one of his council advisors. The message was a short one, explaining that Sir Dhuergar Warhammer's presence was desperately required. It was grave indeed and he wasted no time responding to the summons.

Upon arriving at the elven province with his entourage, it was revealed that his good friend had been murdered at the hands of plundering orcs. The elves were not a strong military force and they were not prepared for a strike deep in their territory. Now their province was in disarray and they needed help. Fearing that the roving orcs might still be nearby, Dhuergar ordered his most trusted advisor to return to his province and oversee preparations for a search and destroy mission. Dhuergar himself remained with his personal guard to assess the chances of the elven province.

Now, his friend and advisor returned from his own province.

"It wasn't random, was it?"

Qualath lowered his eyes. There was no easy way, but he so wanted to save his friend from the anguish and pain that was sure to follow his news. "No. It was well-organized, beautifully orchestrated. Trolls from the north hit our search parties first. Then the magical assault began. Orcs attacked from everywhere. We couldn't regroup in time. It was your father's old nemesis."

"You are sure." It did not come out as a question.

"Yes. The pennants they flew were as those described. Some of the older dwarves would attest to this fact."

Dhuergar waved a hand at Qualath. "I do not doubt you." He paused to gather himself. "Mithrils Hold?"

"I am sorry." Qualath bowed his head.

Dhuergar's fist slammed down on the table. "Damn." Sorrow threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside. He still had problems to solve. Later, he would have time to mourn. "The elves here have asked me to lead them."

"I know."

"It comes as no surprise to you? You knew then."

"It was the only course of action from their standpoint. There is no one else in line to lead them, unless you go outside ordinary sources. Also, their mystics probably foresaw some version of what you would be put through."

"Yes. And they saved me so I could lead them."

Qualath nodded. "There is much that is different about leading elves and leading dwarves."

Coming from anyone else, that would have been an insulting remark. From Qualath, it was a reminder. "I already know."

"You accept then?"

"Yes. Now we must save as much from Mithrils Hold as we can."

"There are two marches behind me. All that is left, all who survived the onslaught are on the way here."

"Very well then. Now begins a new history. The history of Sylvan Hold."

"My lord, the elves...they will not recognize your human title of Sir, nor your dwarven title of Thane."

"I know. Here, I am simply - Dhuergar Warhammer."