NationStates Jolt Archive

The large blimp, shining golden in the sun, with black chambers hanging from it, the lining done in bright crimson, floats through the skies above Khazad-dum. The side proudly presented the Crest of House Dougal and the Royal Crest of Fireforge. Slowly, the large air vessel descended towards the aerospaceport where Her Majesty, Elizabeth ni Dougal was expected.

As the blimp descended, Elizabeth sat in her private chamber, preparing herself for the visit. The queen was a stately woman, shining with the beauty of all sidhe but not in the youthful, comely manner of most sidhe ladies. Elizabeth was an older woman, a grey-haired stateswoman with a few laugh lines on her mature face. Sidhe do not naturally grow up, of course. Elizabeth choose to be this age. She found it both dignified and rewarding.

She went over the upcoming visit in her mind. Dwarves. They were the first race she'd encountered that couldn't be described as similar to any of the fairy peoples of the empire. Still, she had taken the time to research this visit beforehand. She knew her hosts were stout folk, long in beard, and known as both warriors and craftsmen.

As she grew ever nearer, Elizabeth rose, moving towards the gift she had brought her hosts, still concealed in its wrappings. She had made it herself, of course. Nothing less would do. It had its share of enchantments, as did most of her work, but nothing too powerful. Balance was the key to gifts. Enough to show good will and generosity. Not so much as to appear fawning or to give away something of too great a worth at first contact.

*bump*

The first thing Elizabeth ni Dougal would notice would be the disciplined formations of Barukzigil, the dwarven army's housecarl-like military elite, shining in brilliant silver armor, traditional, impractible, but awe-inspiring plate, axes sheathed and on their back. After the brilliant formations of silver caught the eye would be the towering giant of a dwarf that stood at their head, solemn and lordly, his black beard and dark face contrasting with the electrum armor he was clad in. His beard was exceptionally long, but unadorned, the hair looking more Asian than Nordic as was usual among dwarves. It was long and black and came to a point somewhere around his navel, having a somewhat wizardly look to it. This was not the most noticeable thing about Azaghal Nardukher, high king and Gabiluzbad over the dwarves of Liang. The first thing one noticed about His Majesty, other than his height of five feet and four inches, by far the tallest dwarf anyone had even thought up, was his eyes. In Andvari, Uzbad of the dwarven possessions on Mars, they were less pronounced. The famed Nardukher eyes were a brilliant flame color, and Azaghal's shone like twin suns. Completing the impressive outfit was the axe Burkushathur, whose material no one could name. What it looked like, and why it was named (Burkushathur means 'Axe of Clouds'), was solid clouds.

Finally, the view as Queen Elizabeth touched down was stunning. They were on the top of Zirakzigil, the Silver Spike, and down below and up top swarms of Khazad worked and toiled to turn Moria back into the capital of the dwarven race. On the top of Zirakzigil, where Durin's Tower once stood, was a giant statue of the wizard Tharkun who had freed the dwarven Eden from the grasp of Durin's Bane. Telchar Zirak, the renowned smith who had forged Tauravandil and the necklace of Sirithil, had directed the work on and helped sculpt the giant likeness of the wizard known to men as Gandalf and elves as Mithrandir from what little portraits and artwork remained (the rest being filled in by the grace of Mahal, as it was put tongue-in-cheekly), armed with giant monolithic representations of Glamdring and the white staff.

Azaghal stepped forward as regally as is humanly or dwarfly possible, flanked by ten Silver Axes, smiling warmly, and puts out a gloved hand. Around him can be seen a small shrine covered in dwarven runes which leads to the entrance of what looks like an incredibly large stairway.

Elizabeth stepped from her airship, her gown of fine red and black gossamer with golden lining seeming to almost float around her as she glides regally forward. Her silver hair seems to flow behind her elegantly pointed ears. To her right, she is flanked by a man in Elizabethan finery with complex black swirls on his pasty face and decidedly knobby joints. His ears ended in point abrupt rather than tapered. In his hands, he carried a large wrapped box. To her left, walked a nine foot tall man with blue skin and small horns. He wore shining steel armor and carried a large, ceremonial battle axe.

Elizabeth took a moment to take in her surroundings with perfect calm. Her lips turned upwards ever so slightly in appreciation at the incredible workmanship. The entire mountain was a work of art.

Elizabeth approached Azaghal and took her gossamer black glove from her delicate, white hand, just beginning to show the dignity of her 'age'. "Greetings, Gabiluzbad Azaghal Nardukher, High King of Dwarvenkind."

The dwarf-lord bowed low. "Azaghal Nardukher, at your service Your Majesty. Welcome to Khazad-dûm." Simple and yet effective. Arrayed behind him, the Barukzigil changed formations within seconds with an incredible discipline, opening up a pathway to the large stairway overshadowed by the massive statue of Gandalf the White.

Meanwhile, Azaghal took in the trollish bodyguard. Thankfully, the name of the race appeared to be nothing more than convenience, for the trolls of the Resurgent Dream were nothing like the evil, muscled behemoths that served as mobile tanks for the occasional orc infestation. He also appeared to like axes and armor. Azaghal decided that he liked this type of troll.

Admittedly, the Gabiluzbad whose very family name meant 'Mighty Warrior', and who had grown up not with etiquette teachings but in battle with every sort of monstrosity, was not exactly well-versed in every nuance of diplomacy. What he did know how to do was follow precedents. Removing the glove, he paused for a second and then shook the Queen's hand, bowing low (which wasn't much of a problem) and planting a polite kiss on it and hoping that was acceptable.

He smiled warmly before making a sign in iglishmek, or dwarven gesture-language. Iglishmek was as old as Khuzdul itself, perhaps older. Unlike Khuzdul, however, iglishmek was taught to foreigners who sought to learn the complicated system with which the military and civilians communicated without words. Within seconds as his hand went down, a team of dwarves carrying a velvet black box of considerable size appeared. Still they refrained from opening it.

Azaghal paused again. "In front of you, milady, is a statue of the wizard known to us as Tharkûn. This wizard, an angelic being of considerable power, freed Moria from the rule of a dark and ancient being, a Balrog of the god Narguzbad, known to elves as Morgoth and to himself as Melkor. I am told that the dark Vala still keeps an ancient bodyguard of the beings. They are great spirits of fire, and one of them drove the dwarves out of their homeland on two different occasions, killing a number of dwarflords in the process. This continued, until the wizard Tharkûn alone engaged the Balrog in combat. Both of them fell in the ensuing struggle, but Tharkûn was resurrected, more powerful now than ever before." Azaghal paused to gaze at the statue, and his fiery eyes seemed to glaze over a bit. "That statue stands where Durin's Tower once did, before it was destroyed in the final moments of the battle between two beings of immense power."

He seemed to emerge from the reverie quickly. "And that stairway is the entrance to the Endless Stair, which proceeds from the top of Zirakzigil, the Silver Spike, down to the bowels of the earth. Tharkûn and Durin's Bane, as the Balrog was named, fought a running battle from the bottom to the top. Quite tiresome, I would imagine." He smiled warmly before gesturing to the entrance, which seemed to spiral down into infinity.

"But, ah, they don't call it the Endless Stair for nothing. If Your Majesty pleases, there are elevators prepared to take us down to a less..." he searched for the word. "Elevated location."

Elizabeth bowed her head to Azaghal. "On the contrary, it is I who am honored to be in the presence of such master craftsmen. Nonetheless, I do hope Your Majesty would deign to accept a gift from a humble artisan." Elizabeth gestured and the nocker stepped forth, handing the package to Azaghal. "The work of my own hands, Your Majesty."

The sidhe colored slightly when he kissed her hand, glancing away demurely with a small hint of a smile touching her regal face. She looked back, peering curiously at the box.

Elizabeth listened quietly to the explanation of the statue. "We have heard of Morgoth. The name, if I am not mistaken, means Black Enemy of the World in the Elven tongue. He seems to us very similar to Domnu, the Dark Queen."

She inclined her head, gliding gracefully towards the elevator as she slowly replaced her glove. "Thank you, Majesty."

The burning eyes focus on the box, and Azaghal's expressions radiate happiness. He accepts it carefully, as if it is a fragile glass ornament that breaks at the smallest touch.

First, though, he cocks his head towards the queen, a bit of an amused look on his dark features. "From the elves, I presume? Morgoth, as the elves call him, has never made war on the dwarves, though my namesake, the first Azaghal, marched to war and fell in combat with a mighty dragon created by the dark god. That is where the emnity between the draconic and dwarven races began. They slew our king, we attacked Narguzbad's empire. We made war on them for years in northern wastes in the ancient areas known as the Iron Hills, fire and brimstone pushed us back to the other great dwarven holy place, the Lonely Mountain. We forged a new kingdom, it was torn down once more by a mighty red dragon known as Smaug. The events leading to Smaug's demise are complex and...disputed, suffice it to say once more the hell-spawned race were banished from dwarven halls. It need not be explained that the giant reptiles are hardly one of our favorite speices. Not even the balrog killed as many dwarflords as did the dragons." He paused to gauge the response. As the elevator descends, there is occasionally a sculpture or massive runic inscription etched into the wall, commemorating the "liberator of the dwarf mansions" who had once struggled with an evil counterpart up these stairs.

"Speak of the devil," he said, using a human phrase he had picked up. The massive elevator's upper half was transparent, and the queen was able to see into numerous levels of tunnels, caverns, and caves, most of all them packed to the brim with dwarves. As Azaghal spoke, they came to a particularly massive cavern, and here was a most wondrous thing. Rearing up on hind legs was a massive stone dragon, carved to perfection, sheeted in thin gold plating, nigh on thirty or forty foot high. Behind it legions of stone orcs hold frightening poses, armed with an arry of crudely sculpted stone weapons. Arrayed against this petrified horde was an equally still division of dwarves, and in the forefront, sculpted into a battle pose, with axe poised to bite into the dragon's leg, was Azaghal the first, Uzbad of Gabilgathol (or Belegost as it is known to elves and men). Along the battle lines orcs and dwarves were locked into timeless combat, with all the grisly detail of hand-to-hand combat in a medieval age sculpted in with incredible lifelikeness.

Azaghal paused a moment in respect tinged with a little pride. "That, my lady, is the great wyrm Glaurung the Golden Cloud, father of dragons, who my namesake and fore-father died in combat with. A humble testimony to fallen heroes." The Barukzigil behind the Gabiluzbad all bowed and made signs in iglishmek, remaining silent.

"Ah, but I do not mean to bore you with war memorials, for they are thick as the orcs once were. Khazad-dûm is our most holy place, and many conflicts that have taken place here and more that have not are honored in its renewed halls. Your nation has had contact with the elves, if I'm not mistaken, and must know how they and the men of Sunset helped us to reclaim this citadel. Humm, you must excuse me if I ramble, my race does it well." He chuckles lightly.

"Ah, but what have we here. A gift from a mighty queen, hardly suited for a rustic dwarf from an insignificant nation. Durin's beard, but I feel unworthy.' He laughs quietly once more. "Ah, but suspense is worse than the humiliation. With your permission, majesty." He lowers his voice, and quietly opens the box.

Elizabeth smiles ever so faintly at his reaction to the box, her visage seeming to shine all the brighter.

Elizabeth listened politely to the rather extensive story. "Well, indirectly from the Elves. Fireforge has yet to have much direct involvement with the Menelmacari and I have never been myself, though the High Queen travels there frequently enough that she considered it worthwhile to personally by a residence on Menelmacari soil. The Aelosians are less known to my people, though what we have seen finds favor in our eyes. We also have contact with a number of non-Quendi Elven races, though I do not believe they are the ones to whom you were referring."

Elizabeth studied Glaurung for a long moment, lowering her eyes briefly. "He looks a formidable beast. Your people were brave to fight him."

The sidhe just smiled and shook her head. "I greatly enjoy your stories, actually. I am very curious about your people. As I said, we have had contact with the Elves. We have not heard that particular story. Though, if I am to believe my High Queen, as I do without fail, the Elentari herself told her a tale of a race of great smiths who forged a staff of true power for her."

Elizabeth blushed slightly, lowering her eyes. "You flatter me, my lord." As he opened it, it seemed to contain a finely carved, silver hammer, shining as it caught the light in the chamber, the smooth lines seemingly perfect. A small piece of paper was in the box with the hammer, containing only the word 'Francelian'.

The dwarf king raises an eyebrow at the hammer, his face holding a questioning look. He is no master smith himself, he leaves the artifacts of incredible power business to Telchar Zirak, the greatest smith in Liang and certainly on par with any in Sol. But he still has enough knowledge to know that this seems no ordinary hammer, not quite for smithing, perhaps for something else? And the aura of magic around it was unmistakable, despite the fact that magic of the wizardly kind was non-existant among dwarves. They harnessed a different type, runic in nature, the power inherent in symbols, to forge supernatural objects.

"Elves and dwarves have....disagreed over past issues, to say the very least. They are not very popular amongst the more....retroactive? segments of the populace. Suffice it to say that we have had our fallings-out in times past, and they have been great and terrible fallings-outs, but now is a time for healing of past grievances in this age of warfare and division.

On the matter of religion, you will again find two differing versions. Iluvatar, as the elves call him, is their creator, Mahal, or Aule as the elves call him, is ours. Mahal is who you will see honored in these halls, for he forged the dwarves before ever men or elves awakened, to survive hardiness and corruption, and for this reason we have never fallen to shadows as men have not out of unwilling corruption has a dwarf ever fought. We make our own decisions, and we are happy that way.

Where we differ with the elves is on the matter of death. The elves believe we become one with the ground, but the dwarves know the truth. The earth and the things in it are our tools, not our essence, and Mahal will bring us to fight the Last Battle, when the time comes. And after the dark forces of the world have been vanquished, Mahal and the dwarves will rebuild the world to its former glory. Atleast that is what we believe, milady. Mahal does not show himself much these days, neither do any of the Valar except Narguzbad, but he alone is evidence that they exist. Someday, perhaps, when the dark god is beaten, Mahal may forge a new and better chain for him."

The dwarf stops, and eyes the hammer once again. "Ah, but what is this? I must admit I am quite a loss, your majesty. I am no mastersmith as most of my race are, but I think I am correct in thinking that there is something out of the ordinary in this hammer?"

Elizabeth listened quietly to most of the tale, having little to say in response. She smiled faintly at the words. "That is all rather fascinating. I had not heard any of that before. The stout hearts of the Dwarves sound like worthy friends, however, and I am here on a mission of friendship."

She looked down at the hammer with a wry smile. "Just say the word inscribed there."

Her gossamer gown seemed to float as she smiled fondly at Azaghal. "We are children of our gods in a more direct sense. House Dougal, I believe, has much in common with the Dwarven people. We believe in hard work and staunch integrity and are among the foremost crafters in all the High Kingdom."

She drew back after a moment, watching him with the same soft smile, waiting to show off her gift.

The word 'interest' was inscribed all over Azaghal's face as if a Runemaster had carved it there himself. A magic hammer, and its power lay in a word, similar and yet different to the dwarves' own particular brand of magic.

He laughs once more. "A staff of true power....yes, that was our handiwork. Or should I say his handiwork. He calls out an order in Khuzdul and a gruff dwarf walks forward. His beard is fire-red and frizzy, and its hard to tell if there was ever true skin underneath all the callus. His clothing is somewhat battered, but his eyes speak of skill, and learning, on a level not easily equalled by others of his race or any other. "Telchar Zirak, your majesty, at your service." He bows low. "A humble smith."

Azaghal laughs heartily. "Humble?! If not for this man I would hardly have a kingdom left to rule! Two great dwarven smiths once walked the Earth, milady. One of the name Gamil, another of the name Telchar. The first one forged many works of great reknown, and was a fast friend of a powerful elven king to which he gifted many works. The second one, Telchar, was a friend of men. Among his works, there was a knife that got to within an inch of Morgoth's head to free a powerful jewel, a sword that destroyed Morgoth's greatest servant, Sauron, and was later reforged to serve as the personal weapon of Man's greatest king, Aragorn Elessar. The third was a mighty helm worn by another of men's heroes, Turin Turambar, who slew the dragon Glaurung who you have already heard killed my forefather. The man in front of you is the descendant of both of them, and already he has forged some things surpassing even them. Tauravandil, the Staff of Might, was his gift to the elven queen Sirithil nos Feanor, and well might she use it."

"But now there is something not of dwarven craft in front of me. Look now, Telchar, and behold that even great smiths can learn things." The great king paused for a moment, as if at some forbidden door, and then spoke. "Francelian!"

Elizabeth inclined her head to Telchar. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Zirak."

She listened to Azaghal's words, nodding as he spoke, her eyes shining with interest. She did arch a brow faintly to hear Aragorn called Man's greatest king, though she spoke no word to contradict the claim. "That is quite an impressive record."

When Azaghal spoke the word, the hammer was no longer in the box. It was in his hand. And it was no longer a small hammer but a large warhammer with the shine of silver, the hardness of steel, and a near perfect heft. "That is not the entirety of its power but that is the word by which you, and only you now, may summon and command it. That hammer will also shatter stone as though it were clay, glow when enemies are near, and burn the hand of any other who should seek to command it."

Elizabeth studied Azaghal, awaiting his reaction.

The dwarf lord's mouth opened for a moment and then closed. He cautiously tossed the warhammer from hand to hand, testing its weight and balance, swinging and clearly enormously enjoying the gift. A worthy weapon to be wielded alongside Burkushathur, he thought quietly. Worthy indeed.

He turned to Queen Elizabeth and gave an almost apologetic smile. "Magic of this sort, milady we have heard only whispers of. The dwarves wield runes of power, but this type of pure magic, in our history, was available only to gods, angels, and demons. We know nothing of it and likely never will. Dwarven Istari..." he shuddered a bit. "No, I seek not the powers of the divine in addition to the powers of the forge. That combination has had certain...ramifications amonst the ancient elven, mannish, and dwarven traditions. Mighty angels of Mahal used their incredible knowledge of magic and smithing but then fell to the dark god's seduction, forging artifacts of power that were never seen on Earth and probably will never be seen again. The most...infamous of these fallen servants of our god was known by the name Sauron, and with his knowledge of both magic and smithcraft pirated from dwarves, elves, our God himself, and his inherent power as a servant of Mahal, he forged one of the most terrible items in the universe. An artifact known only as the Ring, which the fallen angel used to control and manipulate other items of power and indeed the entire universe. With his combination of the arts, he became more powerful even than the Dark God Morgoth had been during his last days on Earth. Fortunately for the world's sake, the race of man intervened and then the race..." he struggled, as if trying to remember bits of mythology that had come down over thousands upon thousands of years. It was tantamount to a man thousands of years in the future being called upon to recite the Rig Veda. "Of hobbits intervened to keep the Ring from Sauron."

"Since then," he leaned in somewhat conspiratorially, noting the somewhat bothered looks on his Barukzigil's faces. "Non-runic Magic, especially when combined with smithcraft, has been something of a taboo. Especially when you consider that the only powerful user of magic of this sort in Liang is the demon lord Yorinaga, who we have fought on and off again for millenia and who rules over the men of this land. A useless bit of trivia, milady, but..." He grins and grips the warhammer again. "No harm done. All fear what they do not understand, milady, and we do not understand magic that can't be inscribed on steel. Telchar Zirak, on the other hand, has no such fears. The staff of power that he crafted for Lady Sirithil was not magic of your kind, but it did amplify it for the Elentari's use as an archmagi of some power."

Once again he looks admiringly at the silver-shining hammer, and bows low. "From a race of smiths to another, lady, I thank you. But certainly you didn't think we had nothing in return?"

He smiles quietly and motions to Telchar Zirak in iglishmek, who walks forward while a Silver Axe brings forth a small velvet box, kneels in front of the queen (making the already four-foot dwarf quite short indeed) and opens the box.

Inside is what looks to be a golden locket. Azaghal smiles and takes a step back to allow Liang's mastersmith to step forward and explain his the dwarven gift.

Zirak hurries forward and bows. "Telchar, at your service, queen," he says humbly. "The locket you see in front of you was smelted into the purest gold we could find, and you will see that it is solid gold all the way through, from it itself to the necklace to hold it." When one looks closely, in the center of the locket itself can be found a series of tiny mithril runes that look, quite contrary to the somewhat ugly looking runes that crop up on dwarven walls, quite artistic. "A thanks from the dwarves. It has power in it, of a different sort. Whenever you find yourself in a dire situation, assaulted or under great stress, perhaps confronted with a problem to solve, just...will it to activate. You will find that the tiny runes will glow red, that your strength, mental faculties, senses, and reaction time will increase tenfold. In short, milady, it gives you a brief trip into the realm of the superhuman or the technologically augmented. It is...unique, for the same reason that magic is rare in Liang, but like all goods things it is limited. It is, though...somewhat flexible. The longer you need it, the longer it lasts, and the longer it takes for the runes to regain their power. Also, it is quite the dazzler as a purely aesthetic piece." He chuckles a bit nervously. "Think of it as our gift to you."

Elizabeth nodded to his tale. "The Noldor tell me that Hobbits bare a great resemblence to our Boggans. I have heard, actually, that they still have holdings in the modern world but I have never seen one with my own eyes."

The Queen nodded. "I have heard much of the Elentari's powers. At least twice have we found ourselves the beneficiaries of those powers. I've found the Noldor to be most interested in magics, as whole, if not so much as the Tel'Quessir."

Elizabeth nodded. "That is certainly something I can respect. I have heard similar warnings about the dangers of magic from Men and it seems to have often been abused in the history of many people. There have even been peoples who have accidentally unleashed demonic forces upon themselves through its abuse. However, Draocht, fairy magic, is part of who and what we are, natural rather than an especial power. All of my people have at least some magic in them, though most only know a few parlour tricks. Sorcerers of true power are quite rare, as they seem to be everywhere. My gift to you is what we call a Driabhar or a Treasure. It is...what we give to those we hope shall be our friends."

Elizabeth returned the bow with a deep curtsey of her own. "A House of smiths, Your Majesty. Outside of House Dougal, most Sidhe could not forge so much as a paper clip."

Elizabeth looked at the locket carefully, smiling lightly. She looked appreciative from the second she laid eyes on the fine work but it was when she saw the mithril runes that she looked deeply impressed. "Mithril...I have seen it once before when I toured the Menelmacari-Danaan Friendship Musuem on Uinen but I have never owned any before. It is still exceedingly rare in the Resurgent Dream. None of our smiths have learned the secrets of its making and it is a metal too precious to come in through normal economic means. All the mithril in the Danaan High Kingdom comes from especial gifts from the lords and ladies of the Quendi."

Elizabeth smiled more as he explained its powers. "And you were thanking me for such a simple work as Francelian. That does sound...surpassing useful. Thank you Your Majesty, Master Telchar." She bowed her head deeply to both.