The Battle for Stonehearth

[Garbhan]

((Written by Feldspar. It's a perfect climpse to all you forign races what exactly it means to be a Regiment Dwarf))


The hand-carved tauren dice cup rattled loudly in the thick heated air of the bunker. Weapons hung on pegs next to the rough hewn wooden doors and furs were thrown about liberally, to keep stocking feet from touching the cold hard stone. At an old, worn-out table, the remains of the evening meal reposed, awaiting a porter to come and carry the refuse to the midden heap behind the battle-scarred building. In the center of the great room, a roaring fire buffeted the air with wave upon wave of drowsy heat, as the smoke rose up to the chimney trap to escape into the chill wind of Alterac Valley. Beside the fire, a lone dwarf sat on a short stool, softly strumming the strings of a dark lute, humming a wordless tune along with the mournful sounds of the instrument. Scattered about the room, the disparate races of the Alliance were gathered in groups, waiting out the violent storm that raged against the walls.


“Ye Gods, Belgan, can ye no’ play something wi’ a bi’ o’ bounce to i’?” came from a group of dwarves gathered around the rattling dice cup. “Ah know ‘tis a storm outside, bu’ ge’ with i’ man!


Drowsily, Belgan looked up from the strings, as if awakening from a deep sleep. “Aye, ye poncy li’l git, Ah can play somethin’ else”, he growled.


Turen Longrifle, the current owner of the dice cup, rattled it yet again as he cooed into the opening, “C’mon ye tauren beasty…ye gave up yer horns tae me, now give up some gold!”


He dumped the knucklebones upon the stone floor and they tumbled against the wall, careening off one another. All the dwarves leaned into the roll, eyes shining brightly.


”Tha King’s Paddywack!” crowed Turen. “Hand ‘em over lads, lemme see the color o yer money!” He leaped to his feet and twirled a quick jig, his mailed glove holding the tauren dice cup high in the air.


Grumping sullenly, the other four dwarves pushed their coins into Turen’s pile, adding bits of copper and silver to the already formidable mound that had been accumulated, as Belgan began the opening chords of Oh Hail, Ironforge Regiment.


At the sound of the opening stanza, each dwarf stood quickly and placed a clenched fist over their heart and waited for Belgan to begin the March.


“Oh hail, Ironforge Regiment!
The king of battle, heavensent.
Nothing in this life's for free,
Bought with the blood of you and me.”


They joined in at the second verse, each barrel-chested voice resonating with Belgan’s and blending smoothly with the cool sounds coming from the lute.


“A Regiment soldier takes a knee.
He says, "My lass, please marry me.
Over the sea's where I must go.
When I'll come home, well I don't know."



Their voices began to raise and different timbers and pitches took the song to a different place.


Oh hail, Ironforge Regiment!
The king of battle, heavensent.
In my heart I have no fear,
For my Battle God is near.”


As the song flowed into the next verse, tears glistened on the cheeks and beards of all the dwarves. Though the March was a testament to the resolve of the Regiment, the blood and sacrifice that had gone before became evident upon the battle-hardened veterans of Magni’s Own.


Twenty years have come and gone.
He left his wife, but not alone.
His little girl is now all grown,
Regiment axe to call her own!

Oh hail, Ironforge Regiment!
The king of battle, heavensent.
Nothing in this life's for free,
Bought with the blood of you and me


The song truly began to take a life of its own as the strings of the lute began its approach to the crescendo. Belgan was standing with his brothers and sisters, a concentrated fury upon his face as he relentlessly plied the strings of his instrument.


Lt. Cedes Hammertoe and Capt. Huffy Ironhammer were singing madly, a crazed look upon their bearded faces as they belted out the Regiment BattleSong.


She says, "My ma, I love you so.
But over the sea's where I must go."
Says her ma, "I've heard it before,
When your father went off to war."

Oh hail, Ironforge Regiment!
The king of battle, heavensent.
In my heart I have no fear,
For my Battle God is near.


The final note hung in the air as all dwarves present thrust their fists high, exultance visibly and audibly clear to the few non-dwarves in the room. Master Sergeant Feldspar was glaring openly, daring any present to refute the beautiful fury of the singing. Lt. Livingstone had his eyes closed in rapture as the chorus of Dwarven voices bathed him in battlesong. The sound reverberated through out the stone room and pierced every heart who listened, dwarf or not. Humans felt their chests swell with pride, Gnomes lifted their chins as a gleam came to their eye and Night Elves squared their shoulders as the weight of the World Tree lifted but for a few precious moments of those lasting, dulcet tones.


As the singing slowly faded away, Belgan continued the March, until the echo of voices stopped reverberating through out the Hall. He ended the tune with a melancholy finish that made a heart yearn for the open mountain ranges of Dun Morogh and the deep majestic forests of Teldrassil.

[Garbhan]

Outside of the bunker, the wind howled its fury as it battered the weary soldiers standing watch over the Field of Strife. Stinging snow blown horizontal peppered battered faces covered and protected against the elements and icy rain attempted to seep through layered clothing and leech heat from the bodies being protected. Broken and burned siege equipment dotted the landscape while the desolate no-man’s land that was the Field lay in repose, awaiting the slaughter sure to come. A small group of dwarves huddled around a meager fire, cursing the officer that placed them on the "Balls to Four Watch". They all bore the insignia of the Ironhull Company of the Ironforge Regiment and to the dwarf, were disgusted with their predicament. Through the howling winds, they could hear the soldiers within the bunker singing and drinking the praises of the Regiment and unconsciously, each briefly touched a clenched fist to heart, in silent tribute to their comrades. That did not, however, warm them against the violent cold, nor stop the steady stream of vitriol that rolled from bearded mouths.


Corporal Thaine Silverbeard eyed his companions in turn, as they shivered in the cold. Koenig, Kurlen and Paderick were veterans of the Regiment and had served with distinction on several actions against the Horde. However, even they were having difficulty with the chill night air and the abrasive snows that relentlessly grated away at their faces.


Paderick glanced about and rumbled, “Have ye lads e’er heard tha story o’ Lokholar, tha Ice Lord an’ the fell Primalist Thurloga?”

Though the other dwarves glanced uneasily at the Field of Strife, they all answered in the negative. Stories abounded about the area that comprised Alterac Valley, but as none had seen combat in the area, they could only go by scuttlebut from fellow soldiers.


Paderick cleared his throat, a sure sign the dwarf was ready to begin. The other dwarves pulled their coats tighter, not against the chill, but against the legends that were about to be told. The wind pushed stronger against them, urging Paderick to begin his tale and the snow tapered off, as if in supplication to the lord of Ice.


“In order tae unnerstan’ the Ice Lord, ye must unnerstan why we fight here,” began Paedrick. “Yon Frostwolves were exiled here many a year ago by a warlock, name o’ Gul’dan. This be prior tae the First War, which we all mus’ study as children o’ the ‘Forge. Tha’ exile damn near killed the lot o’ tha bloody orcs, tae bad it didna. Bu’ the orcs did managed tae survive til the coming of Thrall, an no’ only survive, but develop a kinship wi’ the denizens o’ the Valley as well as tha damned magical ways what we dwarves no naught aboot.” Paderick paused to take a deep drink of the skin of Dwarven Stout he pulled from his field pack.


“Ahh, tha was right as snow, it twas,” he sighed in pleasure. “Noo, after Thrall united tha clans, he gave tha leader o the Frostwolves, a gentle lad we know well as Drek’Thar, the opportunity tae return ta the lands of their birth an take a position o' honor among the chiefs. Well, the git said no an' decided he wanted his people tae remain in Alterac Valley, unsullied by the machinations o' the outside world.”


“Ahem,” he continued, “enter inta tha picture, one Stormpike Expadition an’ its leader, General Vandarr Stormpike, along with his various Captains and Lieutenants. Those intrepid explorers knew tha Valley held its secrets mos’ dear, an’ they wanted those secrets fer tha Grand Alliance, namely valuable ore, other resources, an tha chance tae explore tha area fer relics.”


“Well, obviously tha Frostpups didna take tae there be a bunch o knee biters in their precious valley, an we have the current predicament o’ guardin Captain Miss Fancy Pants in her lil beauty spa from the frosties, as well as bein the firs’ line o defense from a Horde incursion.”


Gruff laughter was the response to Paderick’s flippant commentary. Each dwarf had heard stories of Captain Stonehearth and her…eccentricities. Known for taking baths in the distant hot springs, she was more often than not absent from her post and rarely in any type of garb that could be called armor. It was commonly held that, if she ever got into a close action with the Horde, she likely wouldn’t last but a few minutes before dying horribly at the blade of some undead rogue or Tauren Shaman and her precious outpost razed to the ground. The only thing that held the dwarves to the tower was iron hard discipline and loyalty to the Regiment.


“Now ye know why we fight here, so let’s ge’ tae the real problem,” continued Paderick. As if on queue, there came a great buffet of wind and snow that blotted out what little light was being shed by the fire and torches. The cold increased to the point that was painful and the dwarves huddled closer, fighting off the urge to move inside, where the spirit was more jovial and much warmer.


“Not much is known aboot tha Primalist, cept tha dark and evil deeds wha' be done on an alter of blood. ‘Tis said tha’ the shamans of Frostwolf ha’ entered inta unholy pacts with the demons of the valley an’ can summon a fell creature of ice and pain. Tis said tha’ Thurloga sent his very own whelp inta the depths of the hells, as sacrifice tae open a kind o’….channel….tha’ will allow a creature so fell and evil access tae our land, tha’ the only way tae control it, is wit’ tha blood o the enemy. An’ we all kin who tha’ be…dinna we lads?”


The fact that this was new information was clearly evident on all the dwarves faces. There was a mixture of revulsion, fear and loathing as each dwarf imagined the foul deeds that would be performed on the blood-stained alter and too, they imagined it was their blood that fueled the summoning of such a loathsome creature.


Koenig spoke up,” Are ye tellin’ us that we may be facin’ more than a few nancy-horde?”


Paderick looked him square in the eye. “Aye lad, tha’s wha’ I be telling ye.”


Kurlen fingered the axe at his side and glanced at Thaine. “Well lads, then tha thing tae do is not let ‘em take yer grog!”


The laughter felt good after Paderick’s short tale, but it seemed the dwarf was not done.


“Tha’ brings us to Lokholar, lads. ‘Tis he what be the foul creature summoned by tha blood o’ such as us and our allies. ‘Tis said he is a demon lord, what can freeze a dwarf’s blood cold in his veins, enou’ tha’ he canna move a muscle tae save himself from death. His eyes glow with a green fire an he is but the elements, all cobbled taegether by magic an spilt blood. ‘Tis also said tha he…..grows….with each kill and can become almost as tall as the verra mountains…” Paderick trailed off, the fire gleaming oddly in his cobalt eyes.


The dwarf seemed to be absorbed in the fire, as if the world had disappeared about him and his spirit was one with the flames. The other three leaned closer, waiting for him to continue his tale. They knew there was more to come and they were eager to hear what the learned dwarf had to say.


Paderick breathed deeply, a sigh escaping his lips as he prepared to finish the tale. He looked slowly to each dwarf, his eyes boring into theirs. He sighed once again, took a deep breath…


And yelled,” BOO!!!!!


As loud as he could!


The other three dwarves acted as if they were shot out of a ballista engine. They yelled, jumped back and promptly fell over the logs they were sitting on. Cackling madly, Paderick himself fell over his log, his laughter echoing down the road leading to the Field of Strife. Swearing loudly, the dwarves jumped to their feet, chagrin etched across their faces. They stared at the dwarf as he slowly turned a deep crimson. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.


Slowly he came to his feet, his laughter coming in fits and starts. Just as it seemed he had stopped, a fresh gale would assault the dwarves and he would plop down, holding his sides in mirth.


“Ahahah hahhahah, lads….heh heh..ooohhh my goodness…he he he he…ooohhh…” he continued.


He looked up at his companions in glee, an imp-like slant to his bearded face. “What? Do ye think any o’ that is true? Good night lads, tha’s all just fancy talk tae scare tha skirts off some willin’ wench! Lokholar the monster…aaahhhgggg!’ he screwed his face up and made bug-eyes at the other dwarves.


“’Tis none o’ it true!”

[Garbhan]

[Saved for part III]

[Keraph]

((Wonderful bit of Dwarven storytelling! I'm in such a dwarf mindset, with the book I'm reading and the new character I'm playing, that this really hits the spot! I always said that if I could roll just one alliance character on TN< I'd join the Regiment! ))