Thorndais Tales

Thorndais Tales
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Written	805 BY
Country	Bormar
Author	Del
Genre	Folklore

This tome is penned by Thornheim resident Del. In this piece, Del records several tales and rhymes belonging to the Dwarves of the Thorn, as well as a brief description of one of its peoples.

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Tolin and the Winter Prince

Tolin was rumored to be a mighty hunter, searching for powerful beasts to slay. It’s said he fought the great stone wyrm, ripping out its obsidian fang and driving it through its heart.

On his final quest, however, he set out to fight the most dangerous beast of all: the Winter Prince. The Winter Prince was supposedly a human who desired to become like the Gods themselves.

His hubris was great, but whatever strange things he had done to himself, it did give him some sort of power, power to withstand the icy temperatures of the Thorn. Some even say it was he who turned a normal mountain range into the frigid wastes we see today.

Tolin, being a legendary sort of dwarf himself, decided that he would prove that he was greater than this proud human. In his heart, however, he craved the same power that the Winter Prince held – the power to be like a god.

After weeks of wandering the wilderness, straddling the edge between life and death in the frozen cliffsides, he finally stumbled into a cave to rest, and there came face to face with the Winter Prince.

The two struggled mightily, each powerful in their own right. Tolin’s mighty hammer struck blow after blow against the Winter Prince, which he blocked with a shield of snow. The Prince struck at Tolin with great rods of ice, which he shattered with his great hammer.

In the end, however, the two of them were evenly matched. The twisted powers of the would-be god were not enough to strike Tolin down, but Tolin’s hammer could never fell the Winter Prince’s icy armor.

It’s rumored that to this day, the two of them still struggle, deep within the heart of the Thorn, and Tolin’s mighty hammer blows against the Winter Prince’s shield is what creates these mighty snowstorms. And thus concludes the tale of Tolin of Dendir, the Dwarf who Withstood a Fallen God.

In the Hall of the Mining God

It is said that if you search deep enough in any mountain range, you may find a staircase that stretches downward. The stairs themselves are carved so perfectly that no mortal hand could reproduce their splendor, each step encrusted with gold and precious gems.

If a dwarf is worthy – and lucky – they may find the entrance to such a staircase, spiraling downward farther and farther. Days may pass, weeks, months, and ever farther downward they may stretch, each step more resplendent and beautiful than the last.

Such beauty is known to drive a dwarf mad should they gaze upon them and return to the surface, for lo, their clumsy hands and crude tools could never recreate such amazing, masterful craftmanship, nor minds conceive of anything that could surpass it.

At the end of such a staircase, should one ever reach it, lies the Hall of the Mining God. It’s rumored to be a cavernous paradise, filled with precious metals and stone carvings that span the entirety of history.

If one walks far enough down the paths, they could know all that ever was – every choice made, every outcome of every conflict, even the history of their own life, chiseled stone, laid bare before the gods.

But these halls are not for mortals to walk, and the gods know this. The Mining God himself, should he find a brazen dwarf wandering his halls, would expel him, lest his mind become twisted by ancient knowledge any further than it may already be.

For those more foolish still, who choose to resist or hide within the halls…it is said that if one wanders long enough, they may find a large, rectangular room stretching into blackness, lined with the petrified statues of cave divers who disappeared, never to be seen again.

The Tumitak Tree

Beware, my child, of the tumatik tree

When its flowers bloom and it’s thorns fall free.

The spores in the breeze,

Make you fall to your knees,

And your last words will be,

“Curse the Tumatik Tree!”

The Ruling God's Sheperd

The Ruling God is also sometimes known as the Judging God, which reflects his duel nature as both merciful leader and just god. Very few stories speak of both natures at once, but the following is a conundrum of a tale.

~--~ There are many endings to it, so I’ll leave it to you to decide which one is the truth, dear reader. ~--~

The Ruling God once visited a small community of farmers. As he entered the town, he was greeted by a commotion. One of the farmers had stolen and killed three of another farmer’s mar goats, but no one could determine for sure who had done the deed.

The town had narrowed the culprits down to three different farmers, each with an excuse for where they had been that night, and each just as convincing as the others.

One said “I was in the local tavern, enjoying a drink in the corner by the fire.” The bartender recalled seeing the man there, but couldn’t place the time or deny that the man could have committed the crime.

Another said “I was out travelling with my fellows, trading goods to another province.” The men he was with backed the story, but they were strangers all, and some known to be untrustworthy.

The last said “I was in the town square, buying goods to bring to my family.” The merchants recall seeing the man, but none could be found who could say what he bought, whether food or blade for slaughter.

The town was deadlocked, unable to decide who should be punished or how, so they all turned to the ruling god for advice.

Frowning, the Judging God looked at each man, then turned to the crowd to hear the murmurs.

“He’ll punish all three by killing one sheep from each in recompense,” some said.

“He’ll discern the intent of the guilty man’s heart,” others declared.

~--~ Now, here’s where the story diverges. ~--~

Some say that he locked all three up, giving them all a lighter sentencing – for the penalty for killing another man’s property was the loss of a hand – but ensuring whomever was guilty was punished.

Others say one man was dis-handed, but the man pled his innocence to his grave, long after everyone else had forgotten. Those are usually the ones who detract from the omniscience of the Judging God.

But the most common by far is this: the Ruling God, unwilling to punish the innocent unfairly to ensure justice to the guilty, acquitted all three men. A criminal went free that night, but two men were spared unjust punishment.

~--~ And that is the story of the Judging God’s Shephard ~--~

Four Li'l Dwarves

This nursery rhyme reminds children not to play near edges.

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Four little dwarves, frolicking about,

Four little dwarves did dance,

Take a wrong step,

Don’t go near, she said.

One little puddle of red.

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Three little dwarves, frolicking about,

Three little dwarves did dance,

Take a wrong step,

Don’t go near, she said.

Two little puddles of red.

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Two little dwarves, frolicking about,

Two little dwarves did dance.

Take a wrong step,

Don’t go near, she said.

Three little puddles of red.

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One little dwarf, frolicking about,

One little dwarf did dance.

Take a wrong step,

Don’t go near, she said.

Four little puddles of red.

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No more dwarves dancing about,

No more dwarves are left.

All took wrong steps,

Don’t go near, she said.

All are now puddles of red.

Govant and the Puldad Ice Trial

If you go high enough up into the mainland side of the Thorn, far beyond Beldun and the edge of civilized land, you may stumble upon one of the wandering Puldad tribes.

These nomads of the ice are fiercely tribal and – unlike the peaceful groups that occupy most of mainland Bormar – often fight amongst each other, though they still swear allegiance to the First House.

The Puldad are rigid traditionalists, their culture steeped in devotion to the Warring God, and their culture reflects this. From the time a young dwarf is able to stand, they are trained to hold a spear. From the time they can walk, they are trained to fight.

Preferring styles of combat that emphasize movement and the redirection of energy, Puldad warriors are considered highly proficient with close-quarters combat.

They strike with precision and grace as opposed to the more common, blunt-force attacks by hammer-wielding molir members.

It is rare that the Puldad are seen outside of the Thorn.

Their tribal tendencies usually incline its members towards isolationism and territorialism. However, every few years people in Belden and surrounding areas near the Thorn report seeing lone wanderers covered in ice coming down from the mountain.

Usually, these individuals wander off into the wilds, never to be seen again, but on occasion, they settle down in towns and integrate into society.

On this occasion, a Puldad was found wandering the wastes. The man was missing an arm, the bleeding staunched by packed ice over the wound. After being found by a local, brought into town, and cared for by the apothecary’s guild, he was asked to explain who he was, and what had happened to him. This is the tale that followed, as transcribed by a journeyman apothecary charged with recordkeeping.

Author’s Note

As the Puldad have developed their own colloquialisms and linguistic tendencies, the transcription has been translated from the man’s local dialect into Bormar Dwarven.

My name is Govant. I hail from Puldad-Duvak, second-mightiest of the Puldadim. I was the odjak-ta of my tribe, until a few months before my turning-time.

My rival, Tagroc, had become jealous of me, and using his guild he slowly began to turn the elders against me. They challenged me to an ica-tov-set, an affront to my honor that I could not decline.

Tagroc suddenly began coming to my defense, delaying the test, playing both sides. I did not understand why at first, but once the elders finally demanded the test, I understood.

By delaying, Tagroc has forced the test into the warmer months, when the ice is thinner. I warned of this, but the elders demanded. I stood upon the ice, and as I saw the cracks forming I knew there was no hope for me.

I fell under the ice, and the elders slide a block over the top, condemning me to drown. But Tagroc took me for foolish. I swam away quickly, knowing that this was his plan, and found a thin patch of ice to break.

I walked many days afterwards to get here, and the cuts I had received from falling through the ice, as well as climbing out, had my arm infected with sickness. To stay alive, I cut the arm off and discarded it.

When I recover, I will return and prove my devotion, and I will kill Tagroc.

~~~

Govant rested in the care of Beldun apothecaries for many weeks.

One day, he simply slipped away in the night, never to be found again. The apothecary guild reported, however, that they were missing two vials of poison, and one guard was found unconscious, stripped of armor and weapons but otherwise unharmed.