Dugar and Bagdin

This entry is part 1 of 5 in the series War of the Soulhers: Dugar's Story

“Hotter! The forge, she needs to be hotter!”

“Are ye quite so sure about that lad?”

The sweltering heat emanating from the forge must have been getting to the burly Dwarf’s head. Dugar’s father, Bagdin, spent the last few centuries working the forge in the underground city of Adgad for the dwarven kingdom of Claddigen, located within the great icy mountain ranges of the north. The past few decades were dedicated to teaching his son how to use it. His skill was always second to none among his people, but lately, it seemed like it was becoming too much for him to handle.

“Don’t ye be calling me lad, laddy. I’m yer father, so ye best be showin me proper respect, aye?”

Dugar ran his dirty hands through his beard and looked at his father up and down, “Aye pa, my apologies, I’m just sayin that the forge is at peak temperature already. We can start workin on the new axes for the clan right this moment.”

“Son, ye shall either add flame to the forge or get yer sorry carcass out so I can get it done right proper.”

There it was. Bagdin Gedoon had officially gone over the edge. His mind was shot from spending too much time breathing in the fumes from the forge.

“So be it then pa. I’ll be headin for the tavern if ya change yer foolish mind.”

“Out with ya then, ya filthy mongrel”

Dugar couldn’t stand to see his father acting in such a way. It was hard for most of the clan that used to rely on him for the steady supply of axes used on the battlefield. But mostly, it was hard on his family, his wife, his son Dugar and his two daughters. The clerics of Moradin did their best to try to cleanse his mind, but as they said, there was too much damage for even their divine powers to fix. Age had quite simply caught up to him.

Better to have been a valuable hard working member of the clan and desist over your last years of life than to frolic around like some silly elf till the day you die, thought Dugar. Ah well, off to the tavern then.

***

Many years ago, at a time of greatness within the Kingdom of Claddigen, darkness came and swept the dwarven land.  The Dwarven Kingdom was sieged by a swarm of Orcs, Gnolls and Kobolds: a surprise attack that was unexpected, and of which the goal is still unclear to this day.

At that time, the kingdom of Claddigen had consisted of three great cities – Adgad to the west, Grabdek to the east and Liekad to the south.  Liekad was ultimately destroyed by the great battle, but the dwarves mounted a final, desperate attack against the dark forces and were able to drive them out, sparing the two remaining dwarven cities from destruction.

In the end, the battle cost the dwarves many lives, including the life of their King, who was replaced by an aid who had no governing experience.  Without strong leadership, Human influence over Claddigen slowly divided the Kingdom into two clans, and within several years, it was no more.  In order to protect themselves, Dwarves from Abdag soon gave their allegiance to the Tarra and started calling themselves Mountain Dwarves, whereas Dwarves from Grabdek eventually gave theirs to the Aquis, calling themselves Water Dwarves.

Although the dwarf community remained somewhat stable, tensions grew as both clans became suspicious of each other.  Growing fears of an all-out civil war were becoming more and more common and elders for both clans further encouraged missinformation between the clans.

Despite the propaganda, some dwarves spoke out and lamented the lack of a strong and united Dwarven Kingdom, similar to the one that existed prior to the great attack.  These Dwarves were laughed at and persecuted, and most now kept their thoughts to themselves.  They gathered in places away from both clans, places where no one cared who you were or where you came from, as long as you were a Dwarf.

One of these places was Dugar’s favorite tavern: the Foaming Froth.

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