The Tale of Moggri the Orcmonger:

Moggri walked through the dimly lit halls of Karak Kinsgrund the ancient Albionic hold that he called home. Nearly was he at the entrance of the hold, ready to set out and explore the wide, rainy and dangerous world of Albion, were the orcs and the giants roamed.

He felt bad to leave his home behind, but he must, he didn’t have a choice, it was his duty as an Orcmonger to prove his worth in the eyes of his elders by slaying the toughest enemy he could find and bring back the head of the great beast as a trophy and carry the rune of the beast he had slain to protect him for the rest of his life. So were the ways of the dwarfs and so it shall be.

He looked at his companions, Drikki and Silfur, both were clad in the same armour as he was, simple light armour made from leather, ring-mail and pieces of wooden plate. Their weapons were different though, he carried a simple sword made out of fine steel and a wooden shield with his clan’s sigil himself, but Silfur carried a big two-handed war-hammer and Drikki carried a bow with a quiver full of iron-tipped arrows so he could kill his enemies from a distance.

The trio proceeded forwards and paused as the clansmen pushed against a big round wheel to open up the great doors of Karak Kinsgrund. Slowly but surely the great stone door turned inwards, revealing the light of the sun outside. It was a welcome sight at first, the great outstretched mountain glade that lay at the base of the mountain and thus right before them was fresh as spring and dotted with cows, flowers and dwarfs who used farming tools to herd the livestock and harvest fruit and vegetables from the land. But then the destroyed part of the dwarven settlements outside of Karak Kinsgrund came into view, the settlements were ransacked by greenskinned warriors not so long ago and the dwarves that inhabited the destroyed part of the village could not reach the hold in time.

Anger against the greenskinned warriors, or Orcs as they were often referred to by his clan elders filled him, fuelled him and so, he set the first step forwards of the three dwarves standing just in front of the now opened great door. A loud cheering came from the on looking dwarves. “He’s going to slay the biggest one” someone in the crowd cheered…

It was true, the rites foretold that the one who sets the first step should slay the toughest enemy.

“Let’s go” Drikki said, as also he stepped forwards. Drikki was the youngest of the three dwarves, also had the fewest beard hairs. The dwarf was blond haired and quite skinny for a dwarf, he was fast though and specialised himself with the bow from the beginning of his training. The talent for ranged combat must have come from his father’s side, who’s Clan were the first dwarven hunters on Albion.

“Yes, let’s.” Solfur, his other companion said. Solfur was older than Moggri, also taller, fatter and more muscled than any of the three dwarves, even while she was the only girl in the team. Solfur was more the dwarf who preferred brute strength to win combat…

The three young dwarfs, ready to prove their worth proceeded into the open world, following the road to the forest, where the orcs and other beasts lived and made camps, ready to hunt them down and prove themselves to be rightful member of the hold…

Hello fellow Dawi,

this is a small story i just wrote. It is a small scene of an unique dwarven hold located in Albion that employs their own special rites to become a real member of the hold by proving your skill as a warrior in the forest nearby. So, i hope you enjoyed this little piece of fluff, I hope i can write some more about these young dwarfs soon. ^^

Regards, Will