Jurduggin's Lament

Beneath the mountains deep and wide, Where shadowed halls and secrets bide, A dwarf-king rose, with helm of gold, His name in legend, proud and bold.

From fires of stone his kin were wrought, In songs of iron, his heart was taught. A whisper came, a dreaming omen, From Clangeddin, god of battle, spoken. Of a blade that sleeps on a hidden shore, In caverns vast, 'neath starlit dome.

With axe in hand and will resolved, He vowed to claim the blade decreed. Through rivers black and trails unmarked, Jurduggin journeyed, bold and stark.

Past cavern winds and stone-clad halls, Where echoes danced 'tween ancient walls, The warrior-king, with purpose dire, Pressed onward, fueled by kindled fire.

Upon a shrine of obsidian flame, He found the sword that bore no name. Its blade aglow with a battle's hue, As though it longed for vengeance due.

Then thunder roared—a voice on high, The god of battle split the sky. "Dwarf-king bold, with heart so true, This blade, my quest, I pronounced to you.

By blood and valor, your deeds are sung, Now wield this power with wisdom and heart. Through war and strife, let justice ring, And honor guide a warrior-king."

The dwarf knelt low, his oath now sworn, To reclaim the realm where peace was torn. With the godly blade, his fate entwined, A legend born, through time defined.

From mountain halls where hammers sing, The Silverstone clan served their king. Bound by kinship, forged in fire, They answered the call of his fierce desire.

Through banners bold, their heraldry bright, Symbols of honor, steadfast and right. The king declared, with voice so bold: “To war, my kin, let fury rise, For Silverstone blood never dies.

The goblin horde, a vile disgrace, Defiles the honor of our sacred place. With blades of steel and hearts of stone, We’ll crush their realm and seize our own.”

Through valleys shadowed, cold as night, They marched together, a fearsome sight. Upon the battlefield vast and grim, Their war cries echoed, a fierce, resounding din.

The clash of steel and dying cries, to the call of valor did warriors rise. The Silverstones, though fierce and strong, Felt the weight of the battle long.

For days and nights the battle waged, In blood and fury, lives were gauged. The goblins, relentless and with cunning sly, Fought tooth and claw, prepared to die.

Through grit and guile, the goblins stood, Defiant still, though drenched in blood. Their cunning struck with measured might, A fleeting glimpse of valor’s light.

Jurduggin paused, his blade held low, Their bravery earned a grudging glow. “These wretched foes, though cruel and sly, Have fought with hearts unyielding, nigh.”

The dwarf-king led with blade divine, A beacon bright in the goblin line. Yet even gods could not forestall, The heavy price for answering the call.

Brothers fell, and fathers too, With banners torn, and shields askew. Each inch they won was dearly paid, As Silverstone blood the earth had laid.

Through grit and grief, they pressed ahead, The king's command, their courage fed. Though numbers thinned, their spirits burned, For vengeance vowed, no foe was spurned.

At last, the goblins broke and fled, Their chieftain slain, their forces bled. The field was silent, death's embrace, A sea of fallen, a hollowed space.

Through winding tunnels of jagged stone, The Silverstones pursued, their fury grown. Goblin survivors fled in dread, Seeking shelter in darkness ahead.

In time, they reached a grove unknown, Where fungi glowed in spectral tone. Their soft luminescence cast a spell, Of eerie beauty in this hidden dell.

Here, the goblin trail grew faint, Their path shrouded as if by fate. Tracks dissolved in the fungal light, Leaving the dwarves in restless plight.

The grove's soft glow, an eerie balm, Imbued the air with tranquil calm. Its enchantment strange, a mystic snare, Bewildered hearts laid heavy there.

With resolve dimmed and courage drained, The dwarves withdrew, their will constrained. Retreating slow through shadowed halls, They left the grove where silence calls.

Ragged and weary, hearts weighed low, The Silverstones returned with spirits slow. Their stronghold loomed through timeless air, A haven carved with ancient care.

Within the hall of stone and flame, They gathered round, their spirits tame. The dwarf-king stood, though weary too, His eyes ablaze with purpose true.

And then it came—a booming sound, As Clangeddin’s voice shook the ground. “My chosen kin, I speak to thee, With truths revealed, your destiny.

The blade you hold, born of my hand, Shall safeguard peace in dwarven lands. Its name is Ranagrim, forged in strife, A weapon pure, in justice’s light.

Though losses burn, your hearts must mend, For battles yet shall not suspend.”

The king knelt low and raised the sword, “Ranagrim, I vow with this accord: By this blade and by my crown, No threat shall rise, to bring us down.”

Rising solemn, his crown of gold, King Jurduggin faced the stronghold. Its hallowed halls now stained with grief, For victory earned brought scant relief.

"My kin," he spoke, his voice a flame, "In honor’s song, we carve each name. For though we stand, the price was dire, Our blood was spilled to quench this fire.

To you, the fallen, my heart shall cling, No blade nor crown can balm this sting. May stone and stars your rest embrace, And grant you peace in death's vast space."

As silence filled the sacred hall, The king turned where shadows fall. A voice, ethereal, deep and slow, Delivered an omen from realms below.

"Beware, O king, though strength remains, Through passing years, fate shifts its reins. Centuries hence, this stone shall yield, To time’s cruel hand and foe’s dark field.

The Silverstones, though proud and grand, Shall lose the home their might has planned. Though hope may fade, remember this, Resilience springs where sorrow is."

Jurduggin bowed, his heart now torn, His clan’s bright future stained and worn. Yet still he swore to shield their land, Until his blade fell from his hand.

And so the tale of vengeance ends, In echoes deep where sorrow bends. Jurduggin's lament, through time shall ring, A mournful ode of a warrior-king.