From the Journal of Gneelix, Apprentice Illusionist
In the Year 5823, The first Week of the first Moon of Harvest, a Wavesday.
Master is having a bad week. I think he has eaten Gnostwick and Gnarlsley just as he has always threatened he would eat all of us. When these black moods come over him none are safe. We try to remind him that he is a vegetarian, but he seldom seems to hear our objection. Surely he must be jesting about the ignoble deaths of his own apprentices. But still, where are Gnostwick and Gnarlsley? To be invisible from Master is punishable by death. So even if it were true that they did not die under Master's hand (fork?) surely they will for this.
The week began with His High and Frostiness blaming Master for not having the foresight to see that this fortress would be stormed. For the Jarl flew past the first of the interlopers while they were yet upon the cliff's face, and then dispatched his Stone Giant minions to bombard them with rocks. "That will sweep them well clear," he said to Master. "Now, see that it is so."
At His Icey Greatness's command Master bowed low, just as he, and we, must always be careful to do. For while the Jarl is not ever even the equal of Master, he must be made to think he is mightier than him. This is the command of the Master. This bit of theater pleases the Master though we, his apprentices, understand it not.
So then Gnod and Gnurdel went to the watchtower that overlooks the climb. There they espied the fools and had to watch them alongside of an ever-infuriated Master. The interlopers made so much sport of the Stone Giants and their vaunted Cave Bears that Master could not contain his anger. He blamed Gnurdel for the failure of his most creative illusion... a great skeletal ice dragon. I heard this from Gnurdel himself, who could still cast such phantasms then. For his hands were intact before Master held them in the fire and relegated him forever to the kitchen. Now poor Gnurdel is but a mere larder apprentice under the Ogre Chef. I shudder to consider such a fate.
After that terrible failure, it was two days later that the first of the infernal Dwenir was dropped off by Snowflake. That one beat His Imperious Frigidity near to crippling before he was stopped. We were surprised that Master did not intervene in this beating, and the truth be told, I think it pleased him a little. Then Master sent us to find find fresh woolblades among the moutain grass on the South slopes so that they might be mixed with the Trollsblood -- all the better to make potions for healing the Jarl, Master said. Some of us, like Gnadine, were frightened to see the Jarl so hurt. As if his pain might someday be mistaken for our own. As for me, I do not fear these interlopers who challenge the Jarl. I fear only the Master. As for Gnadine, the sound of her weeping kept me awake that night.
The very next day, it was my morning turn to watch upon the tower. I stood watch with the Big Nasties when Snowflake brought back the second of the Dwenir and deposited him at the door to the back terrace, just as he had the other. Alerting the house with his keening, Snowflake summoned His Sleety Grace. I saw that Master was following close behind, so I took the stairs two at a time to join them upon the ramp. Then the Jarl gave the accursed bearded freak leave to speak. This one turned out to be a Dwennir of many words and obfuscations, not like the terse one from the other day.
This time, His Lofty Numbness the Jarl was taking no chances. He traded some blows but ended up beating the Dwenir with his crutch until it was unconcious. Then in a fit of good humour, called for volunteers from the slave warrens. It was delightful to see those Dwenir vie and scramble as though they were coming out to be a work party for an extra ration of meat. Out they came, falling over one another, and the Jarl decreed they chain the captive hand and foot and run lengths out to opposite ends of the field. Then at his command, they might be pulled taut and the hideous freak could be ripped in twain. The fawning fools still could not see the point and voiced no opposition. This fact brought both Gnute and I no end to mirth. When the preparations were over, His Glacial Grandiosity had the Dwenir revived.
"How many more Dwarves are there?" the Jarl demanded.
The Dwenir dissembled and the chain was tightened by his own kind which caused him to cry out. I clapped and laughed to see the look on his face as he realized who was doing the pulling.
"Why do you come one at a time?" the Jarl shouted. In truth, I think this betrayed some fear.
The Dwenir only taunted him by saying that he was all the little dragon could carry. So, the Jarl ordered the chains be tightened again. I swear we were seeing the life pulled out of that stunted freak before our very eyes -- what fun!
"Are you not Dwarves?" the Dwenir captive shouted to those who manned his fetters, but he would not so much as gasp in pain. Were it not for the look on his face, one would think he was merely stretching before a day's labor.
His Hoary Lordship took his crutch in both hands and made like it was croquet mallet. His wounded knees meant that he hobbled to one side before measuring off the distance of his stroke.
"Tell me how many more Dwarves there are coming," the Jarl said.
The Dwenir dissembled still, but this time when the command was given, the chain pulling Dwenir would not pull. So, their Ogre taskmasters descended upon them with stinging whips of fury. Urdlen's Laughter could be heard crackling along the line. Finally, with tears in their eyes and low moans, the captives put their backs into the deed.
The Dwenir interloper did not cry out, but his eyes lolled back into his skull. The sound of popping could be heard in the joints of the captive. When they had ceased he shouted at his cousins, without taking his eyes from the Jarl, "FIGHT your captor, you are Stoneborn!"
His Regal Wintryness laughed long and loud then, saying, "These are slaves of Dynkyr, you fool. They are conditioned from birth to follow orders. They like it. Its all they can aspire to." Then he bent low and over the wind blowing across the peaks would could just barely hear him say, "Tell me why you insist on presenting yourselves to me, one at a time. What is the ploy? I already know, you might as well confess it."
"I never said I was alone," the Dwenir menaced.
I saw Master look around then, and beginning his incantation for second seeing, motioned that we others should be watching, too.
The Jarl sent a runner back out along the Easterly road with these words, "I want a count of the Dwarves coming," he threatened. "If you don't bring me a number, or if you cannot count beyond your fingers and toes, send somone else... or else take a gnome."
The Frost Gonom nodded and trotted away. I assume he was numerically capable. Many of them are not.
Just then, the sound of the whips brought my head back to the scene. The chains clinked as the slack was taken off of them. The Dwenir prisoner cried out this time and swooned.
"Last chance," the Despotic Hailstone warned.
The Dwenir looked up at him and affecting a mocking feminine tone taunted him with a vulgar word that disparaged his masculinity.
The Jarl growled in fury and cocked back his mallet for a pause before letting forth with a tremendous swing. I heard the wind whistling at the end of the shaft just before it made contact under the Dwenir's chin. The body simply collapsed then as those holding the chains dropped them. The head of the defiant captive spun through the air and came to a halt many yards later.
Just then the Dwenir who had been pulling the chains rose up with a roar and fought the Ogre taskmasters with their bare hands and fetters. The Jarl rolled his eyes and sighed loudly with sagging shoulders as he turned to look at Master. It was almost as if the Polar Prince was blaming Master for the uprising.
Master only shrugged as the two of them strode back into the keep. Of the six ogres left behind, five were killed almost immediately and a sixth was left burbling in his own lifes blood, torn asunder by the bare hands of the suddenly savage slaves. The Frost Gonom guardsmen looked on in confusion. Finally, the subjarl turned to the Jarl and Master before they entered the keep.
"My Lord?"
The Jarl paused, finished whatever sentence he had been speaking to Master, and then turned his attention to the Frost Gonom awaiting orders.
"Kill them all," he said. "I have never cared for Dwarves. I care even less for those that do not know their place."
The subjarl Frost Gonom turned back with a roar to the chained Dwarves who had formed an advancing semi-circle and shouted orders to his fellows. Minutes later, all fifty of the Dwenir were dead. We did not lose any guardsmen, but the Frost Gonom they call Jurgel had to be treated later that day for fever and festering bite marks with a vial of Trollsblood. I have always wondered what that tastes like???
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