Into the Dragon's Den by Christopher Johns

Author:Christopher Johns [Johns, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mountaindale Press
Published: 2019-04-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

After a couple hours, the food had been prepared, mead brought to the hall, and Dwarves filled benches with us at the front of the hall with Farnik and his kids. Before the feast began properly, Farnik stood and motioned for us to join him.

“Brothers and sisters of the clan,” he bellowed. “For too long, we have suffered from the loss of our general, my beloved. Too long have our heads hung low out of hurt and sorrow. Let us raise our mugs to our lost, drink, and sing of their glories.”

We all raised our mugs and shouted, “Mugfist!” before drinking.

Farnik addressed the clan once more, “Brothers and sisters of the clan, I have learned this day tha’ our cousin, Balmur, has been banished to the Hells by a fallen foe.”. There was a cry of outrage and for war. “Aye! And we shall have it!” Farnik pointed at us. “They seek power, better items, and in the coming time, Dragons so that they might take the fight to the Hells and WIN. HIM. BACK!”

The Dwarves in the hall shouted and roared so loudly I thought I would go deaf. There wasn’t a single member seated.

“We, Clan Mugfist, warriors, fighters, soldiers, and devout as stone, will assist this group as well as we can,” Farnik shouted. “Be there any among ye who wishes to withhold his support or deem it a waste o’ the clan’s power—let them speak their piece now.”

One Dwarf, his beard neatly kept with streaks of gray and white, stood with his axe in hand, and he stared at Farnik hard. “Ye ask ol’ Liltorq what he thinks? I thinks we should be with these boys when they invade the Hells. I thinks we should go NOW!”

The Dwarves around him stood and chorused his sentiment with robust yeahs and ayes.

“Ye know we can nae leave the city unprotected,” Brawnwynn reasoned. “I trust Jaken, Zeke, and all the others to see to it that Balmur comes back. And we will give them the aid they need.”

“Aye, well said, Brawny.” Farnik patted his son’s shoulder. “The Dragon Beast-kin, Muu, is a Fighter who fancies the spear and shield.” A bout of laughter and good-natured teasing erupted in the hall. “That’s what I said, but he seems adamant. We will see to it he’s as hard to kill as the others before his time here is up. On the morrow, Granda and the witch will come to see about their gear and arms. And we will see the arms holding those arms are stronger still. Are ye with me?!”

“AYE!” the clan roared.

“Tonight, we mourn and grieve—celebrate our fallen in true holding with the Way,” Farnik hefted his mug once more, “and tomorrow, we prepare our folk for war! Let the feasting begin!”

Dwarves of all ages and ranks tucked into the food before them, eating boisterously, bellowing insults back and forth, while a small band of clansmen struck up a lively tune in the back corner of the hall.

After the

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