Poem: The Burial

2005-10-15T16:36:33Z

The Burial.

Put his blade beside him,
It must not fight alone.
With him, the blade was honoured
And now, with him, goes home.

No compensation, kinsmen!
Now I revenge would see.
A treasury of wergild
Won't pay for such as he.

What gold will pay for honour?
What price is set on pride?
The whole world was diminished
When this, my husband, died.

What worth's set on a father?
My sons will lack one hence.
No, blood alone will answer
For this most foul offence.

If you, brave kinsmen, falter,
Then give the task to me.
Ere grass has graced his barrow,
His foes will punished be.

Please lay the blade beside him
And raise his death-mound high,
Let all his foes be vanquished
Before of shame I die.

_______________

Ssivla - The Largest Dwarven Kingdom.

2005-09-29T12:08:51Z

Ssivla.

Ssivla is the Dwarven homeland, ruled by King Klistar III (called Klistar the Invincible). Most of the country consists of mountains and the small, fertile valleys are farmed by humans known as Chiglings. The prefix “chig” means, “field” or “of the fields” and Chigling, like Rockling (the widely known name for the Dwarven tongue) is a Chigling term. They hold land in freehold for as long as they and their heirs live.

Coniferous valleys fill some valleys and provide the timber for mine supports. Wasteland and rough heath make up about 15% of the region, especially high on the hills and mountains. Most roads are rough cart tracks. Few go directly to city gates, but outside mine entrances the telltale tracks are largely unavoidable. One beautiful main road goes from the border city of Felkazzor to the foothills of Mataric and the first of many temples on and around the holy mountain. The road is maintained by the lords who hold the land along its length. It is cobbled, but the stones include carnelian, jasper, quartz and even rough ruby. The road itself is considered sacred. Triumphal processions travel its full length, newlywed couples parade down it for a few miles and small babies are often placed on it facing Mataric (to start them moving in the right direction).

Ssivla has western and northern coasts, but both Dwarves and Chiglings distrust the unpredictable sea. A few of both races become fishermen or sailors, but when a member of either group acts strangely, his neighbours say, “He’ll be building a boat next!” Dwarves prefer to travel overland or underground whenever possible. South of Ssivla is the Desolation, destroyed in an ancient war where Elves, Dwarves and Northmen were all involved to their eternal disgrace. Like most northern lands, Dwarves mark the old shame by wearing Desolation drab (dull colours, no decoration and often mud or ashes) and fasting on the appropriate day. Otherwise, they choose not to discuss it, referring to it simply as “that land” or “the southern wastes”.

Life is hard, but at least the weather is predictable. The growing season is brief, and the winter long. Floods rarely damage crops, because the farms are almost always on sloping land. Rainfall is regular (and plentiful). In winter, blizzards and hailstorms are frequent. In summer, thunderstorms happen from time to time (if one is expected patrols wear leather armour). Everybody wraps up warm and puts up with whatever Ssivla throws at them. There is a Chigling saying, “Better chilled on my own land than chained in Borea”.

Ssivla is strong and well defended. Most buildings (except those of the Chiglings) are underground, often going into the heart of a mountain. In times of danger, Chiglings run to the Dwarven cities for which they grow the crops and stay until the trouble has passed. The mountain passes are patrolled. The entrances to settlements are hidden and guarded.

Klistar is an absolute monarch. In theory, his power is limitless. In practice, he adheres to ancient traditions of honour and righteousness. No despot has ever ruled Ssivla. Ssivlans are taught from infancy the Dwarven virtues of courage, honesty, justice and diligence. The king is expected to be a moral as well as temporal leader.

Klistar himself is an impressive ruler. He came to the throne at the comparatively young age of seventy-three. His father died in battle, as all Dwarves would like to. Klistar had already killed a dragon. Its head was the bride price for his wife, Faris Gentlesoul. That was how he became known as “the Invincible”. He has ruled for over a century and is greatly loved by his people, not least because he leads them into battle with the courage of a dragon and yet shows an interest in the happiness of the smallest child, Chigling or Dwarven. Klistar would never betray his people. He defends Dwarven tradition fiercely, honours all treaties and alliances and kneels only to the Dwarven god, Mataric. He rules from his capital Palcarror, which lies next to the holy mountain (also called Mataric).

Klistar and Faris have three sons. The eldest, Falorin, is his heir. Falorin married Ladris Diamondgaze and they have three children, their sons Dagnar and Logan and their daughter Taris. Falorin’s brothers are both so far unmarried. Their names are Garrak and Ragnus.

Beneath Klistar, the most influential people are the priests and priestesses of Mataric, rulers of other Dwarven cities, the Guildmasters of the various craft guilds, the elders of the clans and the headmen of the Chigling villages.

Dwarves make use of donkeys and mules to move loads, pull carts etc. For riding, ponies are preferred (although Dwarves do not often love riding). Chiglings use donkeys too and some breed and train ponies or mules. The fastest means of transport are wagons, ponies or on foot. In the mountains, many places are only accessible on foot.

Some winged mountain-dwellers will carry Dwarves in exceptional circumstances. Klistar’s father once got straight to a Hobgoblin leader by riding on a great eagle’s back across the battlefield. Dwarves do not like most forms of transport. Whenever possible they like to walk. Boats are especially disliked. “If Mataric intended us to travel by water, he would have made us fish”. Only in flooded mines or tunnels are boats used, even then with profound reluctance. Drowning is so undwarven!

Aside from all that, Dwarves are good travellers. They walk long distances without complaint, have no fear of the wilderness and little fear of foreigners. Travel by Ssivlans is unrestricted. The poorest peasant can leave home at any time and wander as he wishes.

Young Dwarves in particular often travel to learn about the world beyond Ssivla. Travel in the northern lands can never be considered safe, but a Dwarf alone is considered a match for most dangers. Even a female will be allowed to travel alone if she wishes to do so. Of course, this does not prevent her father from sending some protectors after her at a discreet distance.

Every guild, clan and city has its own messengers. A message can get from one city to the next in a day. Mataric’s priests use homing pigeons. They also control most magical methods of communication, and use them as they see fit.

News moves quickly with travellers and messengers. Most is coloured by the Ssivlan perspective on life but little deliberate distortion goes on. Freedom of speech is taken for granted, but each speaker must accept the consequences of what he says. For example, no-one is required to defend him if his insulting remarks get him thumped.

Chiglings are in no way considered inferior to the Dwarven citizens of Ssivla. The Dwarves recognise that they need farmers, but they themselves are unsuited to the task. When Borean settlers (most of them fleeing slaves) came to farm in the valleys, the Dwarves welcomed them. Members of other human races have swelled the numbers, but they are mostly of Borean ancestry. They now make up somewhere between 25% and 30% of the population. The Chiglings live by Dwarven law and have the same rights and protection. A lot of Dwarven attitudes have rubbed off on the Chiglings, and both groups are true Ssivlans.

Hunting is not a sport but a necessity, especially in winter. Game belongs to any Ssivlan who catches it, but outsiders who steal the game will be punished if caught.

Dwarven society revolves around lineage. He who wrongs a Dwarf can expect the resulting feud to last for generations. A Dwarf never forgets, and he will teach his children to remember too. At the same time, an act of kindness to a Dwarf will be remembered just as faithfully. Fortunate indeed is the person who becomes known as a Dwarf-friend. No Ssivlan will refuse him help.

The basic unit of Dwarven society is the hearth, consisting of a married couple, their children, grandchildren and any other dependent relatives (a Dwarf-friend is accounted as a member of whatever hearth chooses to adopt him/her). A Dwarven male may remain in his father’s hearth all his life, especially if he does not marry. This is a fairly common occurrence, as less than a third of the race is female. The eldest living male of a bloodline has great authority, even over relatives who have their own hearths. As for the dead ancestors, they are revered. They are said to be part of the community until their names are forgotten. For that reason, even the poorest Dwarf will pay for a memorial stone for his deceased relatives. Once their names are carved into “deathless stone”, they are securely part of everyday life and do not become wandering spirits, the vengeful Garasken, seeking to hurt those who have neglected their filial duty.

A Dwarf judges much of his own worth by that of his relatives, particularly his ancestors. An average Dwarf can recite the deeds of at least six generations. If one of those ancestors has brought shame on the family, he will often be left out. A Dwarf who says “I am Rogar, son of Nandor, grandson of Thel” has left out his grandfather for a reason. A polite Dwarf would not enquire about it, but an enemy would take great pleasure in extracting the full, painful story.

The birth of a child to this race of low fertility is a time of joyous celebration, especially if the child is a daughter. In any case, children are loved and cherished. This does not mean a lack of discipline, but goodness is rewarded as quickly as bad behaviour is punished. Young children, up to the age of about ten, usually spend most of the time with their mothers. After that, more and more time is spent watching their fathers at work. In practice, even small babies are often present in workshops and mines, because the mother is there. Dwarves consider it good fortune to have a woman watching while they work. It puts a blessing on their work. Most Dwarven sons follow their father’s profession, some daughters do as well. There is no restriction on women working. Childhood is long and pleasant. All Dwarves tend to be indulgent with children. No “bedtime” exists. Adults and children alike gather around the hearth fire to hear stories (and to tell them). These long evenings continue until the last Dwarf goes to bed. Children may fall asleep in the arms of their parents and then be gently put to bed. The firm rules of Dwarven etiquette bend a little for the children and until the age of twenty-five, their education is mainly a matter of spending time with their elders and being taught such necessary skills as writing the runes and handling a weapon. At twenty-five, most begin some form of apprenticeship. This goes on for the next twenty-five years. At fifty, a Dwarf is considered an adult.

However, few marry at fifty. The scarcity of females means that both women and their fathers can be choosy. High bride prices are always asked and it is considered a serious failing if a Dwarf must ask others for the money. He should earn it himself in some honourable fashion.

A small town consists of about 100-300 hearths, an average town hovers around the 500 hearth mark, a large town has 600-1,000 and a major city has over 1,000. Because the cities were dug into the rock of the mountains, each is different and each fits uniquely into its mountain. However, the tombs of the city’s dead are generally in the most easily defended area, together with clan records.

Great variations occur due to the practicalities such as ventilation and defence. In safe areas (often at the city’s heart) wide avenues are popular, lined with statues or other decoration. Where attackers may come, narrow passages, traps, sheer drops and other defences are built. Few Dwarven cities have ever fallen. When they do, it is more often to treachery than violence.

There are no public parks or gardens. Underground, such things are difficult to arrange (Gnomes can do it). Dwarves see little point. The natural world is like a design catalogue to them, from which they copy (in stone or metal) things that are beautiful but fleeting in their natural state.

Each Dwarven city has one or more guest halls where they display bountiful hospitality with no charge at all for one lunar month. The hall is invariably near a gate and outside the inner defences. Chiglings will also offer hospitality to strangers.

Dwarven religion is mostly respectful and private. Even in public services, a lot of time is given over to silent prayer. However, Dwarves have an uplifting line in religious music. A hymn to Mataric may ring out in the mines or in the middle of a feast. Most hymns express joy and gratitude that Mataric has given such bounty to his children. One hymn begins:

I cannot praise enough the hand
That nurtures hidden veins of ore
And keeps them safe for us to find
And guides our labours evermore.

The same hymn continues into a chorus that an Elven bard conceded is “an ingenious use of sound that ends up as the very essence of joyous laughter, belying their sombre reputation”. Few Dwarves discuss their faith outside their own hearths. Like so much of the Dwarven heart, it is revealed only to those most trusted. Besides that, Dwarves are fairly orthodox. A new idea might be discussed around hearths for several generations before anybody adhered to it.

Non-belief is viewed with amazement. How can anybody not believe in a mountain? There is no persecution of non-believers, but blasphemers within the faith face exile and excommunication.

Dwarves worry less about the distinction between miracles and magic than other races. Magic is seen as Mataric’s gift, but like a strong arm or a clever tongue, it can be misused. Evil magic is forbidden. The priests and priestesses do not preach against all magic.

Mataric’s church is the state religion. Though the priesthood is beneath the king, their support strengthens his rule. Worship of Astarion (said to be Mataric’s brother) is acceptable, but worship of other gods is not. Chiglings occasionally worship their ancestors’ gods, but never openly, and usually as well as Mataric, not instead of him. When evil occurs, it is blamed on Rishullan.

The temples are popular. Ssivlans give generously to make them places of beauty. Whether petitioning Mataric or giving thanks, they offer whatever they can afford without hesitation. Priests and priestesses work full-time and for life. Temples and their clergy are maintained by the communities they serve, but also by crops grown in the foothills of Mataric by priests and Chiglings.

In warfare, Dwarves are fierce and fearless. Virtually all the Goblinoid races, the Shadow Dwarves, occasional Borean warlords and the warriors of Lictland have all tried their luck. The mines, especially the Amethyst Caverns, are very tempting, as are Dwarven treasures in the cities. One reckless Borean swore he would return home with sixteen Dwarven slaves to serve him. Sixteen of his warband were left alive to carry his corpse home. His family may be unwise enough to attempt revenge.

Crossbows are in common use, although battleaxes are the quintessential Dwarven weapon. Most siege weapons can be made. Cannons are in the early stages of development, but explode about one time in three. Gunpowder is also difficult to make and store. It’s an idea that may one day work, but for now the “Bombasta” is a nicely cast white elephant. Magical combat is considered to be cheating (except in the case of magical weapons). To fight against it, they will try to take out enemy spellcasters by crossbow at the start.

The Dwarven mines are justly famous. Craftsmanship and mining are seen as equally valuable tasks. In addition to metals (precious and common), gemstones are sought in the miles of tunnels. The world-renowned Amethyst Caverns (Palcparren Kerriska to the Dwarves) are in Ssivla and produce the best amethysts in the world.

Although Dwarves may be natural miners, there are still dangers in the mines. A miner’s shift lasts for as long as his lamp burns. To keep in touch and know where their friends are working and that all is well, Dwarves sing. Songs vary widely, but all are harmonious and sung with enthusiasm. One popular work song says:

Behind this rock there lies a seam,
Within that seam is purest gold,
That gold will buy a gentle wife
And soon I’ll have a babe to hold.

That babe will grow to give me pride
And bring much honour to our kin
I only have to move this rock
And find the treasure locked within.

When a mine ceases to be viable, it is filled with offerings to Mataric and closed. The entrance is lightly filled. When a Dwarf involved with the mine dies, he will be interred in that area. If it is not needed for burial within about ten years it will be added to the areas to be built into dwellings.

Homeward

2005-09-29T12:04:31Z

This is a poem of the Elves of the land of Glassissvellir for one of their kind who has gone from the land.

A Certain Time.

There will come a time, a weary time,
When the path you took in sunshine,
With glad heart and merry step,
Will turn through a dark valley
And the stones will bite you.

There will come a time, a sorry time,
When the dreams on which you have fed,
Which sustained you through all trials,
Will be stale and flavourless
And will come to choke you.

There will come a time, a lonely time,
When those friends who have shared your path,
Making you joyful and strong,
Will abandon you at last
And you will weep alone.

There will come a time, a doubting time,
When the map in which you had faith
And of which you were so sure
Will be found inaccurate
And will lead you falsely.

There will come a time, an aching time,
When the burdens you never felt
While your back was strong and hale,
Will weigh you down and grieve you
And you will cry for rest.

And when that certain time comes,
You will find, beneath your weary feet,
Before your doubting eyes,
To ease your lonely heart and aching back,
To bring you back from sorrow,
Another road, which is an older road,
A brighter road with steady upward slope,
A road that leads to lands you have forgotten,
Hearth fire and heart's desire, your soul's home.

Come back along that road, come home.
Hear the voices that still speak your name,
Softly, as in a prayer, softly as in a dream.
Your presence is more dear to us than rubies,
Too precious to be given up for gold.
Your love is as the fragrant air of the mountains.
The storms in the mountains are the echoes of our cries
Calling for your return, or news of you.
We will not summon you back, breaking your journey,
But when that certain time comes, we are here.
When you come, there will be music in the glades of Glassissvellir
And feasting in the mountains, and dancing by the sea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edeba

Poem: The Burial

Ssivla - The Largest Dwarven Kingdom.

Homeward