Harald, muddied from crawling in the bolt hole, eyes red-rimmed from sleepless nights, straddled the chief's bench warily. He smoothed his blue woolen tunic over his furred breeches. He looked slowly at the humans towering over him, and darted an uneasy glance at the lone dwarf. Clearing his throat, he began. His words had lilt to them, a formal ring, like he was declaiming them in a sort of formula. The breath swirled around his young unlined face. The Skaldic magic that flowed in the ancient wood made his words flow easily to those nearby him.
My folk, the true beings, lived on the Gash, the place where the world was riven by Serpent. From there one could see the Frost Giants on the other side, and the places where the ice never left.
There were many villages of us, and we prospered there, making and weaving, spinning and sawing. Our leaders were artists, our value was tale tellers, cunning crafts and magical tools for the humans who braved the wild lands in the hills below us to trade. They brought us rare foods, wines, and odd bits of wood or stone. We bartered our goods, and kept to our burghs when the snows would come, hoarding tales and deeds for the long nights.
One night we were all roused by a fire in the longhouse of Farekki, who was a holy man who kept our places with the Gods. There was so much fire, we could not stop it. Some of us were burned trying to get Farekki out of the long house, but he fought off any attempts.
So we could not save him, nor could we his family. He had a son, Tawi, who was a friend. So he died too.
It wasn't until later that winter that we discovered that other burghs had suffered also, although differently.
All the holy men had died. Some had walked off into the snow, some had eaten hemlock, others had opened their veins.
The fathers were concerned, and they knew that these holy men had taken others with them at times.
So Hacbutt turned his face from the holy men, and he went to ask the three witches why this happened.
Hacbutt came back, and we had a Thyngmoot, where all the folk argued for three days. At the end we decided to leave our homes, because of the witches' wyrd.
Hacbutt said the witches told us that our gods had gone mad, and could not help us any more. We would be destroyed unless we found other dwarves, and whether their gods would help us.
We knew of the greenlands far across the sea roads. So we went across the wild lands, all of us in a great mass. We had to fight some creatures, trolls there were and also gnolls. Some of us died then, too.
After we came down to Jarl Haakons steadings, he told us that in exchange for crafting, he would build us some longships, and we could fare from there.
Our fathers agreed, and we worked for some years in his mines, and in his shops and his halls. Many times we were told that it would be soon.
The fathers put hard words aside, and we worked on.
Then one night Hacbutt and some fathers acted. We went to the place where the ships were, and there were hard words with the men there. Then there were harder deeds.
We took some of the men, and some of the ships, and we destroyed the rest. We took what we could carry, and fled in the ships, across the sea roads. It was spring.
We did not see land for many days, and then finally we did, finding a great cliff of stone. We followed this to a bay with many small islands there. Here we left the boats, and let the men leave in a small one.
Hacbutt and some fathers had another yelling thyng, and some of us went further south in boats, some went with Hacbutt inland and west, and some went inland and north.
We traveled through the valleys, and followed some rivers into the the great mountains. It was like home almost. There weren't any men, and there was game to hunt, and we found a place where silver was. We stopped there and made a burgh.
We had been there for almost four months when we had some visitors. They were pale-haired and could not speak to us. Hacbutt talked to them in the hall, and they went away.
They came twice more, and Hacbutt gifted them each time. Each time the fathers had thyng afterwards. They were not happy.
They built a log tower.
I was afraid, of myself. I had begun to dream that under the ice, a great rough thing was coiled. It rotted there, and foulness stained the air.
It knows my name.
It calls to me sometimes, and I will find myself walking outside.
So I gather my few belongings: my knife, some foods and a cloak. I take to the mountain, and hope to fast and pray to our old gods, or any new gods to keep me from the Jarl beneath the ice.
It is when I am there that I see the smoke. I am weak from fasting. I do not understand the smoke. Later I come down, and I have not found anything in the dream world, but I did find a beautiful rock.
When I came down I saw the tower, it was burned. I saw where my fathers had been, and it was empty. I saw where there were dwarves in the ground, dead.
I hid in the House of Bjarni, and was there for some days. The dreams would come, and I would drink the mead, and I would be alright. Sometimes the rock I found would comfort me.
Then you came.
Harald paused. He is young, his black braids hang over his face, and he has small streaky bits of face hair. He slugs back some mead.
It is getting late, give me some more mead so I can sleep.