The Legend of Vaerskaldr
In the first year of our ancestors’ rule many centuries past, seeds were planted that soon flourished into our fine city of Vaerskald. A ship containing around 100 dwarves and 30 crewman sailed into the bay of what would become a bustling center for trade, art, and community.
In the hamlet that once was, a young dwarven boy was born, and his name was Vaerskaldr. No one could imagine that they walked alongside the makings of a legend as he grew, working alongside his father to create their new home.
Life was hard for our young hero, who worked the land as his forefathers had, carving mountainsides down to rubble to build a city of stone and gems like a gleaming crown upon the shore. Under the leadership of his elders, the city grew, sprawling on the north side of the (Insert river name here). Soon the city became a beacon among the dark coastal nights, forges and flames roaring throughout the night.
In the city’s fifteenth year, a traveling band of high elves were shocked to see the dwarven workings of a city for the first time. After exploring the city for the next few years, they discovered how eloquent settled life could be compared to the barbaric orcish lifestyle they’ve witnessed and were in awe that something so majestic could sprout up in such a short amount of time. They soon shared with the dwarves their fine gifts of magic in exchange for residency. Within the next decade, elves could be found among the upper class and High Council of the city, and the friendship between elves and dwarves was quickly wrought into the stone heart of the city. Soon after, the humans arrived. Though their friendliness and ingenuity were welcome additions to the city, their miniscule lifespans limited their impact. Although the dwarves were more hospitable, the elves looked down on their human allies like a master to his pets. Finally, select members of the Dark Elves trickled into the city, seeking refuge from their own as they carved out a life among their fairer-skinned brethren, their disdain for surface-dwellers cast aside.
Among the growing population stood our savior, Vaerskaldr, who grew to become a gifted stonemason. Leading construction of the chieftain’s longhouse and the surrounding walls, it is said that the foundation he laid for the Council’s great longhouse still stand beneath the everstone, having withstood the ravages that were to come -- and indeed they did arrive in all their brutish glory.
On the last day of the month of Samryn, Vaerskaldr found himself leading the construction of a new harbor storehouse when a loud crash resounded through the air. Just off the coast, a ship that had just departed land had been torn in half as a dark creature leaped clean through it, toothy maw agape as it splashed down into the water. People began to gather around the dock to witness the spectacle as sailors jumped into the sea to flee their sinking vessel, only to disappear below the waves. Hardly minutes passed before the vessel disappeared below the waves, with nought but a few empty barrels and crates of goods floating back with the tide. Without warning, the beast burst above the water but a few feet from the dock’s edge, slamming a metal container the same size as itself open onto dry land. Men and women turned to flee as the metal container released the creatures it held within, each pitiful soul bound to its will like an unending nightmare. As the captured souls advanced on the crowd of fleeing citizens, Vaerskaldr hefted a stone brick as big as his head (which was quite large, mind you) and heaved it at the nearest corrupted seaman, knocking him clean over the head and sending him sprawling. He sprinted over (as best as dwarves can) and swiped the scimitar from what was an elvish man’s belt before he could climb to his feet, kicking him in the head to knock him out.
By now, the citizens struck by the monster’s tentacles began to secret a transparent slime. Vaerskaldr continued to fight mightily, jumping over tentacles and hacking his way through ten servants of the aboleth with no more than scratches upon his visage! It was a sight to behold, for the brave few who took shelter in nearby buildings rather than flee. The great beast reared up in the water in a rage, ready to unleash a powerful blow on our valiant hero who was approaching. Then, a ferocious lightning bolt arced through the air and struck the monster. Seemingly unfazed by the display of magical strength, the monster turned to face its new attackers, only to catch an arrow through one of its massive, snake-like eyes. A pair of elves had come to help! The dark elf let loose another spell, throwing stones that exploded against the monster’s slimy skin as the archer unleashed a hail of arrows, but the monster refused to yield. It reached out with its slimy tentacles and brought them down against the pair of elves, who narrowly dodged the heavy blows as they approached.
Soon, however, the elves ran out of luck: the high elf misjudged his step and caught a blow from the monster’s tentacle, slamming him into a nearby building, leaving him gasping for breath. The dark elf wizard was forced to retreat into a nearby building, but even this couldn’t hide him from the beast’s wrath as it relentlessly pounded away against the structure, bringing the stone walls tumbling down. As Vaerskaldr cut his way through the last elvish sailor, the beast turned to him, its remaining eyes filled with agony-driven hate. The monster lashed out with its tentacles, and the dwarf responded in kind with powerful strokes of the curved elvish blade that slashed at his foe’s appendages. Without warning, however, another tentacle came from behind and wrapped about his foot as it lifted him high into the air, then slammed him down into the stone. Slime from the monster’s body poured down over him as the monster leaned over the dockside, ready to engulf Vaerskaldr in a single bite of its toothy jaws when suddenly, he grasped for his scimitar and tossed it upward, deep into the beast’s gaping maw. Caught by surprise, the creature recoiled from the pain of the blade slicing deep into its fleshy throat, and retreated into the water.
For Vaerskaldr, however, the fight was far from won; he could feel his lungs start to constrict with every breath as the slime that had covered his body ate at his body and sapped his strength. He crawled towards the shore in hopes of finding a healer but in a spasm, the beast leapt back out of the water for one last attack. It grabbed hold of Vaerskaldr and the two injured elves and drug them down with him under the sea.
No one quite knows what happened under the murky waters. Some say that Vaerskaldr’s steel-clad working boots carried him right to the bottom of the harbor, where he fought tooth and nail against the beast, besting it in its own lair. Others say that the sword he tossed deep into the beast’s maw was used to cut the entire beast in half and is lodged into the seafloor. Doubtful prophecies state that the aboleth is just biding its time in the Elemental Plane of Water before returning to lay waste to the city once more. The last things for certain, though. Triton mer-folk noticed his great courage and valour, came to his rescue, and returned him safely to his home. Some were even drawn to live on land by the city lights like so many races of people before them. Within the hour of him entering the soggy abyss, the brave dwarf hero was safely sheltered amongst the Council’s mighty halls, attended to by healers for days.
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