Tales of the exiles

A Chosen Man

I was back at the battle of the Northern Orcs. I was leading my men into battle. My good friend and second in command Jaharus Blackrose was at my side. The young human smiled down at me as we led our heavy armored infantry toward the front lines of the Orc horde. We watched as our heavy cavalry crashed into the front lines of the overwhelming Orc army.
My vision went red with blood. I could hear screams of the wounded and dying all around me. I looked back at Jaharus. He turned his head at me. Half of his face was smashed in. It was all viscera, gore, and blood. He cackled at me.
"Why not you captain?"

I woke in a cold sweat. I had been having one of the dreams again. I wiped the sweat from my brow. My hand was warm and sticky. Looking down at my "ssheets I saw my mithril razor. It was slick with blood. I had been holding the blade in a tight grip during my sleep again. I could still hear the bellowing laughter even in my waking mind. I realized suddenly I wasn't hearing dream echoes. Someone was actually laughing. It was deep hearty laughter, almost a bellow. It was in my room.

As I came to the realization that the laughing was real it grew louder and more mirthful. Then I noticed the shape of a horned demon sitting in a chair in the corner. I reached for Mathilda, my maul ever at my side. A feeling of dread and disappointment in myself for not sleeping in my armor anymore came over me.

"There's no need for the weapon or the armor boy." The voice laughed. But more importantly. It spoke dwarvish.

It's eyes lit up like orange coals of a forge fire. No candle or lamp had been lit, but the light seemed to fill the room. I saw the dwarf sitting in a chair in a corner. He was dressed for battle in thick dwarven plate. Two battle axes strapped to his waist. His helm was horned, explaining my initial mistake for a demon. His face was totally obscured by his helm face-guard and his totally unkempt beard and mustache. His eyes, the only thing i could see beyond the armor went back to the color of black coals.

"By Moradin's beard!"

"Now Laddie, I've spoken with the forgefather and you'll be wantin' to be rethinnin' all them curses by his beard. Especially considerin' you don't have a beard yourself... or very much devotion to 'im fer that matter." He reached for a large tankard made of what looked solid gold and encrusted all matter of gems from the desk next to him. I knew then I was speaking with a god. The dwarven god of drunkenness and battle-lust, Hanseath.

"The Beared One."

"I know what ye be htinkin' boy. The dwarven god they call the bearded one, callin in upon a dwarf with no beard. Just now now though Ive been in my cups and I'm feelin rather devious."

Hanseath was the god of dwarves that embraced the festive sode of dwarven cultures. Brewing, drinking, fighting are his ways. Clerics of Hanseath act as healers and beserker units in battle. often letting their drunkenness overtake them. It is uncalcutlated and undisciplined, but sometimes effective. Hanseath's temples are basically large fest halls. his hymns are uncouth drinnking songs. His clerics are known for grwoing long, unkempt unruly beards.

" I can not grow my beard."

"now tell me agin the tale of how they took your beard." He took a mouthful of ale, some dripping out of his lips and dribbling into his beard.

" I shave my own beard each morning."

With an exasperated gasp, the drunk God spat out his mouthful of ale. Spraying it all over me.

"How's that for a baptism!" He laughed again and slapped his knee as he rose to his feet. He was enjoying himself thoroughly.

"You SHAVED your OWN beard!? And they say I'm the crazy one. What could possibly drive a dwarven warrior to shave his own beard?"

" I am shamed. I have shamed myself and my clan. I am not worthy to wears a beard."

Hanseath listened while I told him my tale. How because of me my unit had been slaughtered. How everywhere I go I am followed by shame and failure. Companions under my care have fallen. My hometown was sacked. The loss all around me has been unbearable.

"So you've exiled yourself from the clan and removed your beard?" The god seemed amused by my Lamentations. He was fighting back fits of laughter each time he took a long pull from his tankard.

"Well I suppose there's nothing for it then. Your actions in combat amuse me, boy. You may not have chosen me, but I have chosen you." His laughing jovial nature had changed almost instantly. Gone was the buffoon drunken dwarf. He had embraced his role as the God of war.

" you will combat this threat of the coming dragonbitch as a warrior faith. You have a higher calling."
He made sense. I had not been living a very productive life. I had only been adventuring up until now not for some greater purpose. I was only interested in hitting things as hard as I could with my hammer.

"You don't need to be forgiven by anyone else Magnus. It seems that until you do you'll be living with a death wish. If you don't end up killing yourself, maybe you'll end up living with yourself."

The gods proposition was madness. He was going to make me one of his priests. I wasn't sure I liked the idea. Followers of Hanseath were crazed with battlelust, or drunken buffoons.
Had he heard my thoughts? Had I spoken aloud?

"I can hear your minds voice, priest."

He was right. I had not lived my life with much more care than a thoughtless brawler drinking his mind away. I had attracted the dwarven God of war and drunkennes with my own actions.

"You're going to be an excellent follower of mine, priest." He began his deep laughter again. He was enjoying this far more than he should be. More than that I think he was trying to goad me into a fight. Fortunately for me I knew when I was outmatched. A look of disappointment, almost pouty came across his face.he was still in my mind. His smile was crooked and toothy. He took a deep pull from his golden tankard.

"But your followers are thick bearded warriors."

"That's the best part Magnus. How hilarious will it be for the dwarven God nicknamed the bearded one to have his favorite priest with no beard?"

"Your favorite?"

"The other gods and I will have a great laugh over it."

"Are you not?"

He explained how the gods watched our deeds and misdeeds. Often providing them with amusements of their own.

"Yes a beardless dwarf chosen by the Bearded One will be great fun."

I felt reluctant. The aid of the gods would be welcome in the coming fight against the dragon cult. R'huaric was a paladin of Bahamut and at times seemed possessed by the powers of his God.

"Ok I'll do it."

Hanseath bellowed in laughter deeper than he had before.

"I'm not giving you a choice dwarf. YOU have been chosen." He continued his chuckles.

I woke again to the sound of laughter.

I sat upright in my bed. I was in my room of the barracks in the Hornraven house.
Had I dreamed the entire conversation? I tried to get my bearings but the room would not stop spinning. I felt almost as if I was hungover. I reached for the tankard on nightstand. The cool water would clear my senses. I took a long pull and drank the entire contents down before I felt a distinct burning sensation. The whole tankard was filled with strong dwarf spirits. I know I had filled it with water the night before. I placed it back on the nightstand and realized the tankard was not mine. This tankard was a white clay with wooden handles. It was fit with brass rings. Emblazoned upon it was a golden battle axe; the symbol of Hanseath.

I had been chosen.