Behzaltag 5th Ulriczeit 2522
I did not plan on taking up the pen anymore this evening but I have just had a conversation I feel I should take note of.
Grunnd had been watching me write. Not that there is anything else to do as his equipment and belongings are now in fine fettle.
"What’s that you’re writing there little mouse?" I looked up to see his good eye watching me from below a raised thick black eyebrow. His wide mustache twitched a sly smile as he took his hat off to sit it on one of his knees. As if he didn’t know what I was writing.
He leaned forward with his elbow on the other, hand rubbing his chin musingly.
"A journal of your adventures, eh?” he winked and smiled widely.
“Grunnd gives this Inn three hammers....” he said laughing to himself for a moment then looked distant. “Heh... just remembering a jest I shared with my last companion. We would go from town to town on Verstohlen’s affairs. I remarked we should keep a journal of the towns and give them a rating based on the fights we were in or the trouble it caused us...a silly notion i suppose..."
I like this notion of his. Humour to lighten the severeness of the road.
"What does it say about old Grunnd I wonder? Am I dashing hero of a heroic fable?” I couldn’t help smile and laugh as he flexed an arm and posed in profile for a moment. “No, I should think not. You probably have Grunnd penned as a fearsome half man of furious temper and terrible wrath I imagine, and you wouldn’t be far wrong would you? But don’t be too harsh on Grunnd mouse. I have seen and done terrible things to men, but I am also a fair dwarf and, if I can avoid it all, I'd rather not spill blood.”
All I could do is nod quietly in agreement. There was an inner voice that laughed that he may not enjoy killing if he can help it but that bruising backsides was another matter. I bit my lip, trying hard not to let my amusement show.
"Any questions you'd like to ask of old Grunnd, mouse?"
By this point I had put my pen down and capped the ink lest either drip or dry. Queries came to mind. Most of our conversations had been like this. A query from me and an answer from Grunnd. He is a dwarf of little unsolicited words but if you take the time to ask he will answer.
I asked him about his and dwarven drinking habits. I had heard tell of their legendary thirst for the cask but was confused by his now self-enforced drought.
He nodded and wagged his finger at me. Serious now.
“You are quite right but I can do without the sore heads and the clouded senses. On a job like this the caress of a stupor can be the death of a man, especially in these dark times. I'll keep my wits sharp and the hammer blunt thank you very much." with that he patted the weapon in recognition.
It was valid reasoning, honest. I believe he will not lie to me without good reason. There is no pretense with Grunnd. I went for one of the bigger questions hanging in my mind, plucking the courage from somewhere.
“It is Sigmar you follow? He has chosen you, no?”
Grunnd nodded. I swallowed and fidgeted with a little braided lock of my old hair I had saved from the cutting. I looked down, a little shy to be asking such a direct question. If I was going to speak of this then there was no better time or person.
“How did you know he had chosen you? How do you know who walks your path and keeps watch over you? I fear none watch me.” I caught myself at that and smoothed the grimy strands between my fingers. Gold glinted in the candle light. Is it not the same in life? That the most precious is to be found within the most base?
I looked up when no answer came. The dwarf was looking at me with both eyes now.
Grunnd exhaled and nodded thoughtfully. He began to recant his tale.
"What Verstohlen told you about the sword and the thing that now wields it, was all true, but he didn't tell you all that happened in that crypt. With a single word that thing bade us to kneel. Compelled by some overwhelming force we fell to our knees in front of its spoken command. As I looked to my companions I saw the fear and anguish in their eyes. Thankfully the Van Tanncred ancestor sought only to bore us to death with more talking, but felt we needed to be a captive audience for that. I found myself ...defiant? I can’t explain the thoughts I had or the sense of injustice I felt. Slowly, ever so slowly, I got off my knees feeling empowered, unafraid, like someone was giving me the strength to stand and fight one more battle. I gripped Storm Breaker and with a voice I can barely call me own, I challenged this Van Tanncred wight to face me, words are for poets after all, put that sword to use and fight me." he went quiet, thinking on the memory.
"Was it just old fashioned dwarven stubbornness that got me to my feet? or was I chosen by some higher power? This Sigmar of the Empire. I've seen his work. It’s more obvious than the myths and legends of my gods. I believe he got me to my feet. Even my name - Grunnd - roughly translates as hammer to your tongue. Sigmar’s hammer, that is what I think I am now." he smiled wryly. "Anyway, the wight didn't accept my challenge, although he did promise me a swift death next time we meet. I look forward to it."
After another moment of quiet reflection Grunnd gestured at me, "Go on and get to sleep little mouse, I don’t think the nights adventures have begun, and you need to sleep."
It almost made me grin the thought that not even my own father has shown such open care for me and my physical wellbeing and safety in such a long time. It is comforting to know I am not so alone in the dark.
~ A ~
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