"Norin p. 1" by Erik Jensen

Most humans would have reacted differently if the great gate closed behind them the way it did for Norin. Many humans would have been on the brink of desperation in a similar situation.

Although the event did mark his exile from his beloved clan, Norin felt only a dull, heavy sorrow. This separation served to put his loyalty to the clan in perspective. He didn't look back as he sighed and started on his journey to nowhere. It was midnight, and Norin wanted to make a good start before the sun came up.

The repetitious nature of the marching soothed his dwarven nature, and he began softly humming a sad march as he made his way down from the Copper Mountains and into the foothills below.

As he looked up to get a look at the surface, his brown eyes cut through the night with ease. The darkness under the mountains that he was born in was far more restrictive. He was not used to the distances one could see on the surface, though. He noted that the road soon joined the Grey River and then followed the river's ancient way out of the foothills.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to the Ceremony of the Pillars. Every one hundred lunar cycles the ceremony was made, and every time it pointed at the will of Lithos, the God of Earth and the creator of the dwarves. This time the complicated ritual had arrived at a result that had not been seen in a generation; the Stoneheart Clan was to send a strong representative of the ruling family away.

In the old days, this was a sign for establishing colonies or expanding cities, but there was no place to colonize, no room to expand, and no dwarves to do it. Nevertheless, the law was clear, and to send anyone but the second son of the former clan leader would have been blasphemous.

Everybody had accepted this without question, except Norin's eldest son Dorin. He knew that Norin was the de facto leader of the Stoneheart Clan, since Rûgir, Norin's elder brother and clan leader, was more of a soldier than an administrator. Dorin would take Norin's former responsibilities on his broad shoulders. Knowing that his son would take his place had made the whole ordeal much lighter on Norin, and probably all the more heavy on Dorin.

A couple of the Stoneheart Clan's most faithful had offered to accompany Norin on his way into the outside world, but he had politely refused. There was no need to bring more people into this exile. Whatever Lithos had in mind would be revealed in due time.

The thought of the divine will behind his leaving was more commonplace to Norin than it would have been to most humans. To the dwarves, the clan law was the divine will of Lithos. As such they were in direct contact with the divine every day. A religious dwarf was a law-abiding dwarf, and a criminal was a rare and dangerous blasphemer.

Norin hadn't been on the surface of the earth for many years. Since his father died he had had too many responsibilities to be away from home for any great stretches of time. In his younger days he had travelled with some of the merchants that traded for food with the humans, but the lands had changed much and no humans he had known were alive today.

Back then he had been young and soft. Now he was much older, the white stripes in his dark hair and beard giving him a badger-like appearance. Like all dwarves he had waxed tougher with the years, but only to lose his vigour so very fast when slipping into true old age. The next fifty years could have been his very best for the clan. What would he make of them now, he wondered.

As his short and sturdy legs carried him and his gear down the road, snow began falling. At first there was not much to be seen, and it actually took Norin a few seconds to realize what these white flakes were.

As the snowfall increased gradually, Norin stopped to get his things in order. He rolled up the leather flaps on his boots until they reached his knee and bound them tightly to keep the snow out. He found his scarf in his immense backpack and wound it around his neck a couple of times. Freda, his daughter-in-law, had made it for him when they found out he was to leave. He pulled his hood down over his face and tightened it.

As he continued, he realized that these had been good measures. The earth’s new snow coat soon reached Norin’s ankles. In a sense it was a very good feeling. He felt securely sealed in his attire, and the temperature was good for walking. His warm breath turned to mist, which settled in his beard and turned to ice. The first part of his route dropped him quickly from the hard stone-faced world of the dwarf and into the softer and less distinct world of humans.

As the night wound on, Norin was glad that the road followed the river, or he would have had trouble following it through the snow. He had been going on for some hours when he saw a group of trees that the river and road passed. If he had known more about those things he would have called it a plantation. He recognized them for a guard against landslides that could wash the road away in the spring. He intended to pause only for a moment, to study this phenomenon. He had been forced to work harder the last hour, as the snow was quickly reaching halfway up his calves.

The plantation had kept much of the snow off the ground, and under some of the larger trees there was actually some form of shelter. The trees stood quietly in contrast to the falling snow, and they looked very peaceful and solemn. The naked twigs swayed gently in the slight wind. The deeper darkness beneath the trees was more comforting than being unable to see because of the snow. Norin took a deep breath as he stood there, and he wiped the snow from his hood and beard. A few breaths passed hesitantly, but then the dwarf grunted and pressed on. He had barely been on the move for five hours, he thought. He would have to get a lot further tonight before he could rest with peace in his mind.

He began the march once again, and the horizon eventually began to show the first hints that the sun would make an appearance, and just then the snowfall ceased. Norin took the opportunity to beat the snow off of his clothes and boots, and he wiped it off his face and beard. Then he stood and looked in the direction he was going.

The clouds made a roof of the entire sky, and they were a dark, leaden grey. The foothills made a final drop ahead of him. It seemed the snow was not as deep further ahead. Perhaps, Norin thought, the surface wouldn't be so bad after all. He noticed what seemed to be a town or city a considerable distance away. The river, and presumably the road, led there, although not very directly. Norin decided not to try any shortcuts. When he couldn't see the ground clearly, he felt less at ease up here.

Another couple of hours later, Norin finally reached the town of Highton. In his youth the town had been little more than a trading post, but trading with dwarves was very profitable, and in the mean time Highton had become a prosperous town. Norin chuckled at the name. He reckoned he had descended some one thousand and five hundred human feet measured vertically; he had exited through the lowest gates available; and still the humans thought it high enough to call it Highton. It lay just above the Grey River’s final drop into the plains below, the river making a natural fortification on one side of the walled town.

As he reached the city gates the guards cast a glance at him and let him pass. They had taken shelter from the cold weather within their guardroom and were loath to come out. With the snow covering most of the city and with most people staying indoors, the city looked rather more peaceful than usually. The mud of the smaller streets had frozen up, and the smell that would usually permeate the air was greatly reduced by the freezing condition and the snow. People heavily clothed and with covered faces made their way quickly about their businesses, eager to get back inside. They made a minimum of noise, and the only sure sign that Highton was not a half-abandoned city was the smoke rising from every chimney. Spotting a shrine for Valkyr, the goddess of travellers, Norin made his way towards it.

The shrine was an old stone building, built by dwarves. It had stood here before Highton, and provided nobody tried to tear it down it would stand here long after. The dwarves had made the shrine to pay homage to Valkyr. Her favour was very important for travellers, and dwarves were more reluctant travellers than humans.

The building was made with blocks of granite, carefully shaped and made to fit perfectly. The mortar was a dwarven secret. The only thing that marked the place as a shrine was the marble statue of a woman on a horse that stood in front of the building. The snow lay on the statue, and Norin carefully wiped it away with his ungloved hand. Then he bowed his head, kissed his hand and put it to the statue with a quiet 'Thank you'. Then he left a golden dwarven coin on the base of the statue. He turned and looked into the city.

Norin soon walked down the central street, looking about as he went. He noted how much wood humans use to make their houses, and noticed how most buildings in this the better part of the city were made of clay bricks. Where he came from, both materials were not readily available, unlike the granite of the mountains themselves. He stopped shortly, taking his glove off to run his hand over the wall of one building. It was pretty shoddy workmanship in his opinion. The bricks were not quite the same size, which made the wall rough and unsystematic to look at. A well-built brick wall could stand indefinitely if properly maintained. These walls would not do so. And the least the builders could have done to hide the bricks were to whitewash the buildings. Replacing his glove and slightly shaking his head, Norin proceeded down the street.

He soon saw the sign of the inn 'The Copper Nail', and as the name appealed to him he made his way towards it. He stamped his feet to get rid of the worst snow and dirt, and then entered. It was the first time he opened a human-sized door in two hundred years.

The relative darkness inside, the shudders closed and the fire flickering from two fireplaces and from the kitchen, it all reminded Norin more of a dwarven cavern than the outside had. There were only a few customers in the 'Nail, all huddled around the fireplaces. The innkeeper was a fairly short and heavily built man. He had day-old stubble on his cheeks and chin, and his long greasy hair was braided in one thick bundle on his back. He had a fairly clean apron on. When Norin entered he was delivering a new round of drinks to one of the groups by the fireplace. Norin stood still and took the place in. It was sooted near the fireplaces, and the furniture was heavy and clearly not new. Brown and dark yellow colours dominated. Still, some effort had been put into keeping it all clean. Norin noticed that the bar had a couple of steps on the right-most side, probably intended for the occasional dwarf. He made his way over there.

"'Oy there! Ain't seen new blood 'round here 'n a while," the barkeep called out as he put eyes on Norin while returning to the bar. "What'll it be, master dwarf?"

Norin had listened to some advice from the regularly travelling dwarves. First advice was not to drink water you did not know where came from. Better to drink beer; at least that water had been boiled, and what humans thought as strong drink was pitiful to dwarven tastes.

"First I need to quench my thirst, my good man. Beer, please." The barkeep smiled and showed that he was missing a couple of teeth. He turned and filled a pint mug and put it down before Norin. The grabbed it with some urgency and managed a quick "Thank you" before he threw his head back and quickly emptied the container. He put it down with a clunk.

"One more." The barkeep was not surprised, and quickly refilled the jug.

"Must’ve been on th’ road for such a thirst, master dwarf." Norin nodded quietly and grabbed the second helping of liquid and gulped down half of it quickly. Then he finally sat it down with a satisfied grunt. He wiped a little froth off of his beard and looked at the barkeep.

"What do you have to eat today?"

"If you wannit quickly we have th’ Lumberjack's Favourite. It's mashed potatoes with ox and brown sauce. Just th’ thing for the very hungry."

"Sounds good. Let me have some of that, and a jug of milk. Goat's milk preferably, but anything will do."

"Coming up. Do you prefer your milk completely fresh or cooled?"

"I'll take it cooled while the weather permits." Norin made his way to the nearest table with his beer in one hand, and he began to remove his travelling gear. His backpack weighed more than most humans would have cared to carry, and he plumped it down on the bench next to where he would be sitting. While removing his cloak, Norin noticed that the mumbling from the two groups of patrons was slowly beginning again. He sat back and stretched his legs out, finding the table had a crossbar for improved stability. He rested his legs on it. He gulped down the remaining beer and waited contentedly. He felt the light throbbing of his arms and legs as they began regaining full warmth. He had not made a long march like that in many years, but if he was to travel much he would soon regain the full stamina of his youth. Back then he had served in the army. Even in his current state he had walked farther and with a heavier burden than an untrained human could have managed, especially considering the snow.

The barkeep soon came over with his food and milk.

"’Ere you go, master dwarf. Please enjoy."
"Thank you, I'm sure I will." He dug in with fervour.

Norin could imagine why this dish would be the Lumberjack's Favourite. It required little chewing, and it was hot, so it could quickly fill the empty stomach of a cold body that had been working all day. He smiled slightly as he imagined the lumberjack coming home to his cabin, where his wife waited with his favourite. The goat's milk was up to standards. It tasted stronger than cow's milk, and it was a drink Norin was used to from his home. No cow could live so high in the mountains as the goats where the dwarves kept them in orc-secured vales. He drank the rich drink down in big gulps, feeling the almost pure energy pouring down his throat. He feasted with such abandon that he noticed nothing else until he had finished the first serving. He quickly ordered seconds, and was halfway through his thirds before he slowed down.

The barkeep considered dwarves some of the best customers. They were usually polite, but even when gruff they ate and drank great quantities. They never provoked trouble, they always paid up without fuss, and they almost always paid in the dwarven mint. It was the most readily tradable currency in the world. On the down side they rarely gave good tips unless you actually did something to earn it, so he was keeping the food and drink coming at a steady rate.

The inn-door opened again and quickly closed behind the individual that entered. Apparently the snowing had begun again, and the wind was picking up, because the man had to put some effort into closing the door.