A Dwarf's Letter Home
Dearest mother and father, beloved sister, honored aunts and uncle,
Barak Varr lies behind me now, and Karak Eight Peaks ever closer ahead.
As I write, King Belegar Ironhammer and we all are encamped at a convenient port on the Blood River. An entrance to the Underway is close nearby. Soon the ironclads of Barak Varr will come to give us supplies and take this letter. Then we will set out on the final stretch to the reconquest. Therefore do not be swift to weep if my next letter is slow to come, as I expect there will be less time to write from the front. But our march has gone well so far, our scouts have been swift, and even Kragg the Grim has joined our train - I have seen him with my own eyes, and count myself happy to have done so. With him and his anvil present, I have great confidence that our battles shall go well and I shall survive to write again.
Common purpose and close proximity has led to my finding a new acquaintance in one Sigord Sourface, who hails from Karak Norn. For a month now he has told me stories about stupid elves, I've told him stories about ill-timed explosions, and we have both shared legends and speculations and rumors of what we will find in Karak Eight Peaks. I have yet to see how Sigord holds up in battle, for the Rangers have outdone themselves in making sure no greenskins trouble the expedition in the least, but if he acquits himself well I think we may become good friends.
In addition to the skill of the Rangers, I trust you will also enjoy hearing of the misfortune that the greenskins suffered the one time they did manage to gather nearby and looked like they might attack the Expedition. Blinded by their stupidity and hatred, they charged through the Forest of Gloom without scouts of their own, and bungled right into a colony of giant spiders. By the time the report from the scouts had come and my unit arrived expecting battle, the greenskins had already broken, half fleeing, half caught in webs and poisoned and paralyzed, and we had only to watch as one monster devoured another. Just what the stinkers deserved.
I have also had the opportunity to observe some of the
zhufokri manlings who joined us. They are not quite as explosively dangerous or useless as I had supposed. One of them can make a forge burn hot without the need for fuel, and another can make a horse gallop all day and night without tiring. The catch is that it requires the manling to be present and working
zhuf to maintain it, which is excusable in an army on the march, but still mostly useless in circumstances where one has the opportunity to gather fuel, such as practically anything other than being in an army on the march. I worry that the manling-assisted forge is nonetheless going to explode sooner or later. Sigord has offered a wager that the horse will explode first.
Sigord has also suggested as a joke telling the
zhufokri manlings they should study runecrafting, so they can make a runed forge instead that safely and permanently burns hot without the need for fuel. As Kragg did not bring any apprentices or lesser runesmiths along, you can imagine how hilariously bad an idea it would be for a manling to approach Kragg and ask to be taught runecrafting.
What little I saw of Barak Varr was surprising and confusing. Huge market. Noise and manlings and garish color everywhere. The ironclads were impressive, the many manling ships in the port less so. I was fortunate enough not to encounter any elves there personally, but Brostok swears he saw one. Certainly Barak Varr is large and prosperous and happy, but it just seems disrespectable somehow. Maybe the inner parts are better, but I didn't see those. Did see quite a lot of the ocean, though, it's stupidly large and oddly fascinating to look at.
Yours in confidence,
Momri Durksson.
