Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

The Pride of Dwarves

Nightmare had wandered the halls that night, studying the beautifully carved stonemasonry in the late hours, a droplet of silvery darkness amid the streets. He passed by certain locations several times, admiring the craftsmanship of the dwarves mutely, standing still in the long shadows when he saw a dwarf. The few he encountered often took great notice and would even freeze in fear, before scurrying away back from which they came. One even dropped what he was carrying and took off running, slightly irritating, but nothing too exciting for the skeleton.

Instead, Nightmare picked up the object; some sort of briefcase. Inside were a stunningly beautiful set of knives. He'd hummed with pleasure before putting it in his inventory. He was going to find their owner and return them. He had no purpose for them and it would improve his standing with the dwarves.

Since he'd already glimpsed the man's mind, Nightmare followed where the dvergr had disappeared, enjoying his task, remarkably enough.
He took his sweet time because the dwarf had long stopped running and was likely in his home.
At some point, Nightmare allowed himself to get sidetracked, following the patterns in the walls with fascination as the grey eyes of statues and figurines bore into him watchfully. He couldn't not appreciate it, these clearly took centuries of work and skill. He spent hours like this.

The sky had turned the color of lilac when he'd arrived at the meticulously carved door, rapping with the goat's head knocker thrice before pulling out the case and waiting. He could sense the groggy confusion and tiredness from those dwelling within the stone building.
It wasn't long before a weary dwarf opened the door, failing to look presentable with his tangled beard, wrinkled clothing and frazzled hair.
But the terror returned to his face all too quickly, his back snapping up stiff as a board with teal eyes widening.

Nightmare shook his skull, not bothering with language when neither knew each other's tongue. He simply presented the box of knives. The dwarf deadpanned at them for a second before he seemed to recognize them and took them, fumbling with his words. Nightmare stared as the dwarf spewed words he couldn't comprehend before remembering something from Chaos before he left Farthen Dûr.

He held up a hand and said what he hoped was the right word. "Etzil." The dwarf froze, staring with huge eyes and no small amount of fear. "Eta roth." He added, still worried he made no sense before he mashed what little dwarven vocabulary he had together in something he hoped got his message across.
"Grimstnzborith etalthargen ana knurla sagh."
Was that right? He said he was friend of dwarves, right? He was confident in only three of those words; king, skeleton, and dwarf. Grimstnzborith, etalthargen, and knurla.
Which was a greater part of that sentence, fortunately. Unfortunately, it was entirely possible he said enemy instead of friend for all he knew.

The dwarf repeated his statement incredulously, pausing before timidly raising a finger to direct at Nightmare. He asked a question, but the Guardian of Negativity only recognized one word of the sentence. Grimstnzborith. King.
Nightmare smiled uncertainly before pointing at himself. "Narho Grimstnzborith."
The mortal paled, dropping the case of knives, Nightmare catching them with blue magic and shutting it, closing the clasps.

The dwarf was a stuttering mess, bowing deeply and stammering words of honor and apologies whose meaning flew over the Guardian's skull, stopping short when Nightmare finally laughed.
A gentle laugh, a kind one, not a mocking chortle of a mortal's fear but a good-natured chuckle at his sheepishness. He pushed the formerly lost box of knives into the other's arms and smiled, not bothering with the dwarven tongue and instead speaking in English, not caring if he was understood or not.

"Take the knives, dwarf. They're yours, I've only come to return them. You need not pay tribute to me, I only wish to help you understand I am not your enemy, nor do I treasure overwhelming formalities. Your race is a good one, intelligent, loyal, and stubbornly honest. I've come to respect that, for you handle those traits far better than my own race ever did. With that being said, I bid you farewell and good fortune."