Knockwood: à venir bientôt
(The Dwarves That Used to Live)
In the times where Elves once took alliance with men, and dwarves crafted magical armor laid once a beautiful city called Knockwood. It was hidden perfectly within the Fury Mountains from travelers by the white stones that changed with the sun, was camouflaged by the outlying trees, and protected by the most bizarre of creatures and obscurred charms.
Mines, which were the inhabitant’s homes, were dug so deep that no human could penetrate its depth least they suffocate to death. Knockwood was home to the dwarf men, women, and children before it had become deserted.
“Deserted?” asked a young child named Percival “but how?” Musette, his mother, turned her sharp blue eyes at the youngster, who quieted knowing that he probably shouldn’t had interrupted his grandfather.
“My dear Musette,” his grandfather turned to his daughter “please don’t discipline the boy!” He chided “he is just merely curious like you were when I told this story to you when you were his age.”
“Sorry father,” Musette replied feeling ashamed when her father’s green eyes bore down into hers. She couldn’t help it. Like mother like daughter.
“Tis all right,” Musette’s father stated laughing at the sight, causing Percival’s curly brown hair to bounce in rhythm to the flames in the fire that licked at his grandfather’s feet from their stone prison. “Now,” he interrupted the awkward silence that had filled the air between them. “Where was I?” He asked. “Oh yes,” he exclaimed “I remembered!” Before continuing, he took a swig of rum which trickled down onto his white beard that was as curly as Percival’s, turning into a light crimson.
Knockwood was home to the dwarf men, women, and children before it had become deserted. On the day that the last dwarf of Knockwood breathed his last, started just like any other.
Before the sun rose, nearly all of the dwarves (except for the babes) had already risen and went off to work. The men went deep down into the mines where they would gather diamonds and other precious gems to help craft the jewels and weapons that kept their children and wives fed, the women went to work in the factories embroidering clothes that no objects of war could puncture, and the children well where else would they go except for school to learn the basics of the craftsmanship of their fellow people.
The phenomenon that shaped the dwarf history started around nine o’clock in the morning, when the horn signaling break time blew.
The hall of the mines were quiet, a light dusty breeze blew through the tunnels, scattering forgotten towels that the workers used to wipe the sweat from their brows. In the Common Hall sat families, waiting for their servants (which were enslaved men who tried to steal their gems without permission) to deliver their breakfast. Suddenly, in the distant sky, dragons appeared driven by cloaked figures of dark elves. Their eyes glimmered like rubies in the sunlight, contrasting their pale skin, which was smeared in blood!
The mission of the dark elves was left unknown to the dwarves of Knockwood as they ate a delicious meal of poached eggs, smoked ham, and toast. They were merry, drunk and confused as the war horn blew.
The dragon’s talons revealed large white stones, in which they would use to drop upon the mines. The dark elves revealed their swords, the cross of which was crafted with the purest gold and twelve rubies symbolizing the twelve nations; the three blades of the sword were of diamonds that formed into three points at the tip that were dipped in the blood of a sea wasp.
It was without warning when the dark elves struck. The women and children were hustled off into the mines and the men prepared for battle. It was within a matter of minutes, when the gate and walls were in rubble. Blood soaked the caverns of Knockwood and bodies laid so high that it was hard to decipher between the Fury Mountain and dwarf.
It was around ten-thirty when there was a mere one hundred left. Sixty-five were injured, twenty were all-of-a-sudden cursed with a disease so horrid that I won’t mention, because of the symptoms are unbearable to look upon and the smell would gag anyone standing within three miles of Fury Mountain. Vomit mixed with blood, blood mixed with sweat and bodies, as fifteen dwarves stood corralled like cows by sheep in a small circle of fear so astonishing that it would make you weep at the feel of the atmosphere encased within this bloody tomb.
All but one dwarf didn't whimper like a dog as the lord of the dark elves appeared, both beautiful and frightening at the same time.
Kirkwood, son of Kaliam, stood forward. With his deceased father’s sword, he sprung at the dark elf lord. Fury within his voice, he screamed, thrusting the sword into the lord’s skull with a sickening thud!
The others followed, but they soon were defeated by the angered elves and Kirkwood with his last breath formed these words “à venir bientôt.”
“What do they mean?” Asked Percival, He eyed his mother to see if he was out of line. Musette, nodded for him to continue.
“No one knows, but one can guess.” Replied his grandfather, as he tucked Percival into bed “but what I do know is that à venir bientôt was crafted onto Kirkwood’s headstone as he was placed to rest and nearly three hundred years later a prophetess prophesied that there will be a coming of a war that would call upon six brave young men and women to come to battle and help avenge the dwarves and protect these lands.”
“Why would we need protecting?” Asked Percival, his eyes growing weary with sleep, as his head rested onto his pillow
“Some say that the lord of the dark elves will arise once more to destroy the rest of the twelve nations.”
“I don’t want that,” stated Percival sitting up in his bed “I would fight, I would.”
“I’m sure you would,” said his mother “but for now you need your sleep.”
“Your mother’s right dear one,” agreed his grandfather “even a young warrior needs sleep.” His grandfather tucked him back into bed and his mother kissed his forehead.
“Sleep well,” his mother stated before turning off the lights and leading his grandfather out of the room.
“Good night,” said Percival as he drifted off into a blissful sleep.
© Copyright 2016 Faux Clove. All rights reserved.
Poem / Fantasy
Poem / Fantasy
Poem / Horror
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