Part One...PDF Attached
(Prologue)
DAWN OF THE DWEMER
by Stigweard Ruadhan
Towering stone giants stood, thick with lichen and frost. They rose up from the very depths of the land and held aloft an evening sky that hung low; bruised purple and orange by a setting sun that sunk steadily and fell away to the waxing pale glow of a crescent moon and the pin pricks of a thousand stars. In the distance, a further range of mountains loomed; their very peaks were enshrouded by a great bank of cloud that still held the dwindling light of the day but was slowly being swallowed up by the encroaching darkness. A bitter wind whispered among those mountains and the biting sting of an approaching winter was apparent in the swirling flecks of white that heralded the first snowfall.
A lone figure staggered down a narrow path that carved and twisted its way through sheer rock. With the growing threat of perilous weather, the traveller had found solace in the steep ridges, crowned with firs and frost, which had risen all around him. But the crumbling rock face now gave way on both sides to gentle slopes thick with dark patches of tangled briar, bramble and juniper trees. The sharp embrace of a growing wind was immediate and the cloak that had been pulled close across his chest was whipped from his grasp and flailed raggedly in rippling gusts. The traveller was grateful, however, for the path on which he walked now. It had been treacherous under foot; loose rocks and boulders, sodden and greasy from an almost constant misty fret. But they had now given away to loose stone chippings and a trail that appeared far more regularly trodden.
He was growing restless and weary. His pack hung heavily across his shoulders and he leant into a wooden staff as he continued onwards. The deepening dusk had given him cause for worry – lest he be forced to make camp for the night and doze so uneasily in such unfamiliar and unappealing surroundings. He had frequented the inns whilst on the other side of the mountain road and had partaken in good food and even greater ale. He was far from home and that much was assured, but he was almost at his journey’s end and sought solace in that belief.
It was then that fitful howls shuddered through the gloom that had swallowed the path into the mountains behind him.
His breathing ragged and shallow, the traveller had immediately burst into a sprint, kicking mud and stones up behind him and tearing through the final dim light of the evening. If he should be caught here – in the great wilderness with rampant wolves – he would not see the light of the morn again. It was this dread that spurred him on and gave him a swiftness that rarely returned at his age.
Coming to the brow of a hill, a valley stretched out before him – an end to which he could not see in the failing light. To his left there rose a sheer cliff face; to his right, across the tumble of fields thick with hedges and tall grass, a pale swirling mist was advancing with alarming speed and threatened to obscure the little path he could see ahead of himself in the dwindling evening. He stood for a moment longer, his chest heaving and his hair hanging lank with damp and sweat across his weathered face. He was heading the right way; he was sure of it and sure that he must keep on. His thoughts could not pass beyond that and he was compelled to rush onward in the vague prospect that he was not far from his destination.
A rage of howls erupted closer behind him and, trembling now with bewilderment, he careered into the valley and into the blanket of mist that had enveloped the path before him. All about him was a sickly pale gloom and he stretched out his hands, groping and staggering blindly. He stumbled frantically on with as much haste as he dared, straining to peer through the shroud around him. The ground below him rose and fell, seemingly pocked and furrowed but he carried on regardless, clinging to the surety that it wasn't far. Burning through the mist he could just to say make out the flickering of torch fire in the distance. He plunged onwards, increasingly certain of his direction and shortly found himself heading up a gentle incline.
The mist became thinner and he broke then into a sprint once more before emerging into the crisp air of the night. The last remnants of sunlight had relented to the darkness and the sky was enraptured with the glow of stars. The traveller was sodden with sweat and his tattered robes clung to him. After glancing back over his shoulder, he was convinced that the wolves had deceased in their pursuit of him and so his pace slowed considerably. Rifling through his bag, he had not looked up to see the hulking man who stood before him.
A voice rang out, booming and angry, “Stop there, stranger! State your business in Markarth!”