The freezing wind blew viciously throughout the craggy lands of Ellador. The great pines were bent by the wind's ferocity, and weighed down by the snow from the blizzard. All signs of life were absent from the cold bleary plains of Ellador. The snow hares had long ago retreated to the warmth of their burrows huddled together to keep the chill out. In the distance a dire wolf howled sullenly, but the sound was soon lost in the whirlwinds of the blizzard. To the outside world Ellador was a graveyard of ice, rock, and snow. All except for a dwarven stronghold, that towered high into the frozen moonless night. The stronghold was built purely of stone and brick, save for the thick spruce doors which stood guard against the howling force of the winds. The guards that once stood outside these doors had retreated to the blazing hearth of the grand hall.
In the grand hall there were six hearths that each had two large boars roasting over a spit. The hot fat and juices dripped and sizzled into the roaring fire. The long wooden tables that occupied the majority of the grand hall's space were piled high with various types of fruits, honey, all types of nuts, and huge platters filled with all variety of meats. Hundreds of dwarves were crammed along the benches, hungrily eyeing the platters of meat, but they had been forbidden to touch a morsel of the feast. The grizzled dwarf king sat on his throne, gazing out across the masses of dwarves before him. He was supposed to have prepared a speech to address this monumental anniversary, but the king now sat attempting to make a grand improvised speech. Finally he rose from his throne, and in an instant the grand hall was silent, except for the crackle of fire from the hearths, and the sizzling of the juices being vaporized by the intense heat. "Today" boomed the king "is the anniversary of the defeat of the wretched beasts, the Dakkar. Ten years ago they tried to bring this fortress of stone down, but we drove those beasts of hell back to where they belong, in the fiery pits of the ground. Tonight we feast!" The king grabbed his doubled sided battle axe from a servant nearby and roared, "Bring out the casks, bring out the wine, tonight we eat until light is seen on the horizon!" A cask of ale was rolled out in front of the king. With all the power in the old kings' body he smashed the center of the cask open. Like a wave of blood, the ale come pouring forth, drenching the old stone floors with its dark liquid. The dwarves in the hall let out a great cheer, and soon more casks of ale were being rolled out, but they were meant to fill cups, and not the floor.
For hours to come the dwarves feasted on some of the delights that the land of Ellador had to offer them. Platters upon platter of roasted boar glazed with honey, tender chunks of bear meat with a honey ball sauce imported from Drowda drizzled over it, and the most terrifying of all the dishes was the direwolf. A group of 25 hunters went out to kill a direwolf to server at the most important feasts of the year, and only 4 returned dragging along the bloodied corpse of the animal. There was something at the table for all dwarves, especially the ale. All varieties of ale had been brought in to try and sate the ever growing thirst of a dwarf .The mead and ale had been brought in from all over the world, from Regalia, all the way to Ithania, and even then from Drowda. Despite all of this food and drink the dwarves ate with a ferocity that would scare any normal host into the fear of not having enough food for their guests, but not the king of the stronghold. When the direwolf was brought out the room grew quiet once more, perhaps out of respect for the creature, or for what was soon to happen. The wolf had every manner of spices on it, it's sizzling cracked skin had been stuffed with honey, and the smell was the most delicious thing most of these dwarves had ever smelled in their lives. It had taken 13 cooks tending to it for a week to create this culinary work of art. The 13 bared the weight of the wolf on a massive platter on their shoulders as they brought it before the king. The succulent smells that wafted from the beast made even the fullest of dwarves' mouth water. The platter was set before the king. The king ever so slowly took hold of his carving knife and sliced a piece of the meat from the tenderest of joints. The air around the king was filled with the aroma of spices, herbs, and best of all, honey. The king slid the meat into his mouth and chewed slowly. He then proclaimed in his booming voice, "I declare this edible!" The dwarves roared in anticipation, while the chefs who had prepared the direwolf were beaming at one another over such a grand compliment.
Many more hours of feasting had passed. The blazing hearths had been reduced to glowing embers, while the dwarves had slumped off in their benches asleep. Not one dwarf was left awake, not even the guards who had been deep into their cups. Not a dwarf heard as the heavy wooden doors swung open on its hinges. Not a dwarf stirred as the cold wind blew into the grand hall extinguishing what remained of the fire. Not a dwarf belched as dozens of Dakkars lumbered into the halls dragging clubs, and maces as they went. The dwarves closest to the doors were smashed with the weapons of war. A few dwarves woke, but were killed before they could sound an alarm. The king of the stronghold woke blearily, but soon realized what was happening. "Dwarves too me!" boomed the grizzled king. The dwarves woke, and reached for the weapons that were always at hand. The king stood from his throne and grabbed his battle axe from the ground. Screams were heard as many a dwarf woke to see the grotesque face of a Dakkar glowering down on him, before his face was smashed in with a hammer. The dwarves who could still walk surrounded the king, creating a barrier of bodies in the path of the Dakkars. Even though the reflexes of the dwarves were dulled with the ale, their spirit and vigor were only intensified. The king pushed his way through the barrier of his dwarves and let out a bellow fierce enough to give the Dakkar a moment pause. The dwarves rallied to their king and rushed to meet the creatures head on. Axes screamed against armor, swords and maces shrieked as they clashed together. The dwarvers used their short stature to maneuver around the massive Dakkar, while the Dakkar used their spiked tails as whips against the dwarves. Many dwarves fell for everyone one Dakkar, but there were far more dwarves than the Dakkar. Blood was spilling everywhere, the king himself had many large wounds that covered his body, yet he did not seem to notice or care.
After hours of fighting, the dwarves had gained the advantage in the fight. Reinforcements had arrived when the women appeared brandishing their own swords, and they were completely sober. Finally the Dakkar turned and fled the stronghold with many dwarves giving chase. Even though the dwarves had won the fight it had not been without cost. On the floor lay dozens upon dozens of dead dwarves, many of whom had not had the chance to defend them from the slaughtering. The king, however, remained mostly intact, but his stubby pinky finger had been severed, when he had dueled with a Dakkar 4 times his size.
The king pulled aside one of the servants and grumbled to him saying, "What's the date?" The servant was confused but replied, "The first of March your rockiness." The king said, "Alright, put down on my calendar to hold a feast to celebrate our victory here for next year." The servant rushed off to do his bidding. The king looked down at a dead dwarf and said, "You are the lucky one, you don't have to attend another one of these bloody feasts." The dead dwarf chose not to comment.
In the grand hall there were six hearths that each had two large boars roasting over a spit. The hot fat and juices dripped and sizzled into the roaring fire. The long wooden tables that occupied the majority of the grand hall's space were piled high with various types of fruits, honey, all types of nuts, and huge platters filled with all variety of meats. Hundreds of dwarves were crammed along the benches, hungrily eyeing the platters of meat, but they had been forbidden to touch a morsel of the feast. The grizzled dwarf king sat on his throne, gazing out across the masses of dwarves before him. He was supposed to have prepared a speech to address this monumental anniversary, but the king now sat attempting to make a grand improvised speech. Finally he rose from his throne, and in an instant the grand hall was silent, except for the crackle of fire from the hearths, and the sizzling of the juices being vaporized by the intense heat. "Today" boomed the king "is the anniversary of the defeat of the wretched beasts, the Dakkar. Ten years ago they tried to bring this fortress of stone down, but we drove those beasts of hell back to where they belong, in the fiery pits of the ground. Tonight we feast!" The king grabbed his doubled sided battle axe from a servant nearby and roared, "Bring out the casks, bring out the wine, tonight we eat until light is seen on the horizon!" A cask of ale was rolled out in front of the king. With all the power in the old kings' body he smashed the center of the cask open. Like a wave of blood, the ale come pouring forth, drenching the old stone floors with its dark liquid. The dwarves in the hall let out a great cheer, and soon more casks of ale were being rolled out, but they were meant to fill cups, and not the floor.
For hours to come the dwarves feasted on some of the delights that the land of Ellador had to offer them. Platters upon platter of roasted boar glazed with honey, tender chunks of bear meat with a honey ball sauce imported from Drowda drizzled over it, and the most terrifying of all the dishes was the direwolf. A group of 25 hunters went out to kill a direwolf to server at the most important feasts of the year, and only 4 returned dragging along the bloodied corpse of the animal. There was something at the table for all dwarves, especially the ale. All varieties of ale had been brought in to try and sate the ever growing thirst of a dwarf .The mead and ale had been brought in from all over the world, from Regalia, all the way to Ithania, and even then from Drowda. Despite all of this food and drink the dwarves ate with a ferocity that would scare any normal host into the fear of not having enough food for their guests, but not the king of the stronghold. When the direwolf was brought out the room grew quiet once more, perhaps out of respect for the creature, or for what was soon to happen. The wolf had every manner of spices on it, it's sizzling cracked skin had been stuffed with honey, and the smell was the most delicious thing most of these dwarves had ever smelled in their lives. It had taken 13 cooks tending to it for a week to create this culinary work of art. The 13 bared the weight of the wolf on a massive platter on their shoulders as they brought it before the king. The succulent smells that wafted from the beast made even the fullest of dwarves' mouth water. The platter was set before the king. The king ever so slowly took hold of his carving knife and sliced a piece of the meat from the tenderest of joints. The air around the king was filled with the aroma of spices, herbs, and best of all, honey. The king slid the meat into his mouth and chewed slowly. He then proclaimed in his booming voice, "I declare this edible!" The dwarves roared in anticipation, while the chefs who had prepared the direwolf were beaming at one another over such a grand compliment.
Many more hours of feasting had passed. The blazing hearths had been reduced to glowing embers, while the dwarves had slumped off in their benches asleep. Not one dwarf was left awake, not even the guards who had been deep into their cups. Not a dwarf heard as the heavy wooden doors swung open on its hinges. Not a dwarf stirred as the cold wind blew into the grand hall extinguishing what remained of the fire. Not a dwarf belched as dozens of Dakkars lumbered into the halls dragging clubs, and maces as they went. The dwarves closest to the doors were smashed with the weapons of war. A few dwarves woke, but were killed before they could sound an alarm. The king of the stronghold woke blearily, but soon realized what was happening. "Dwarves too me!" boomed the grizzled king. The dwarves woke, and reached for the weapons that were always at hand. The king stood from his throne and grabbed his battle axe from the ground. Screams were heard as many a dwarf woke to see the grotesque face of a Dakkar glowering down on him, before his face was smashed in with a hammer. The dwarves who could still walk surrounded the king, creating a barrier of bodies in the path of the Dakkars. Even though the reflexes of the dwarves were dulled with the ale, their spirit and vigor were only intensified. The king pushed his way through the barrier of his dwarves and let out a bellow fierce enough to give the Dakkar a moment pause. The dwarves rallied to their king and rushed to meet the creatures head on. Axes screamed against armor, swords and maces shrieked as they clashed together. The dwarvers used their short stature to maneuver around the massive Dakkar, while the Dakkar used their spiked tails as whips against the dwarves. Many dwarves fell for everyone one Dakkar, but there were far more dwarves than the Dakkar. Blood was spilling everywhere, the king himself had many large wounds that covered his body, yet he did not seem to notice or care.
After hours of fighting, the dwarves had gained the advantage in the fight. Reinforcements had arrived when the women appeared brandishing their own swords, and they were completely sober. Finally the Dakkar turned and fled the stronghold with many dwarves giving chase. Even though the dwarves had won the fight it had not been without cost. On the floor lay dozens upon dozens of dead dwarves, many of whom had not had the chance to defend them from the slaughtering. The king, however, remained mostly intact, but his stubby pinky finger had been severed, when he had dueled with a Dakkar 4 times his size.
The king pulled aside one of the servants and grumbled to him saying, "What's the date?" The servant was confused but replied, "The first of March your rockiness." The king said, "Alright, put down on my calendar to hold a feast to celebrate our victory here for next year." The servant rushed off to do his bidding. The king looked down at a dead dwarf and said, "You are the lucky one, you don't have to attend another one of these bloody feasts." The dead dwarf chose not to comment.
