Rowdy Dead Productions

By David C. Daoust

Still off on their own, haven’t even noticed that the narrator is gone… hmmph!

Well then, here’s a tale of the darker days of the Mountain Dwarves.

Know this, there has only been a couple times where the Dwarves of Dath’ryn’vale were led down the wrong path. The first time, quite simply, involved all the dwarves born with a big black beard, deciding they were all that much more better than all the dwarves of, well, any other color– or the lack thereof… which, in my mind, would have included pretty much all the lasses. I always kind of wondered where they thought they were going to get more of them black-bearded dwarves, if they done away with all their lasses. Well, the rise and fall of the black-bearded have been well documented… but none of those documents answered any questions such as that! Ultimately, the black-beards were overwhelmed and put back in their place.

This tale, here, isn’t that though… this tale is of the next time the dwarves went down the wrong path.

The worst path…

All this, thousands of years ago, in the time of King Gaskar the Underhanded. Keep in mind he was not known as ‘the Underhanded’ in his lifetime. That’d be such a well-to-do, had it been! Probably be a lot less surprised dwarves if such a king was marked as such a king before he done what he done to earn such a brand. Alas that’s not how it goes. Truth be told, no one knows what he was known as in his time; such titles get chiseled away- replaced only with the truth of the King’s deeds.

What this King did though, that’s where our tale starts- and its not so far from that of the Black Beards.

King Gaskar fed into that same bad idea that almost drowned so many in hate. Ye’see, it’s not easy leading a bunch of stubborn dwarves; getting them to move- getting them to work together. It was all a bit more of a challenge than anyone without a crown ever saw. The test of this King, in his eye, was to move them in a way that had not been seen since King Arnn ‘the Black-bearded’. ::wink::

You see, this King realized he did not need just the black-beards to think they were better than all the other colors of beard. He could get them –all– to think, they were that much better than the rest.

All he need do was get the black-beards to think they were way out ahead… then he could get all the red-beards- and tell them, well, they were all way out ahead! Then the yellow-beards and then brown-beards, all told by this king, they were way out ahead. Like it was a race see, but no one ever need win.

There never was a finish line in this race, just a bunch of running fools. All running, all keeping themselves out ahead of all the rest. Or so that was what this king told them. But, you know, the copper-beards weren’t far behind. Neither was any other beard that ever thought they were in this race- so they all had to keep pulling away. They all had to keep running, fast as they could, hard as they could- all to keep all the others from taking the lead.

The dwarven people fell into a great folly, as this idea of a race, ultimately, led to weariness and distrust. And more, for each of these different colors of beard, it was not enough that they were all running –all the time– just to hold their place. As this race carried on- they had to carry an ever-growing burden with them.
The more the black-beards thought they were better than the reds and the brown-beards thought they were better than the copper… and the yellow-beards, well, they thought they were better than everyone… Every time this was brought into question- it was a slight. And not just to one or two that may be involved, but to all those that saw themselves as part of that group. Each time, the burden would increase.

This burden brought great strain on those involved, for every slight these ancient dwarves may receive, a chunk of ore got slipped into a sack on their back. They were small bits at first, sure, maybe a misdeed or slip of the tongue, aimed clearly at an opposing color of beard. But for everyone of these slights, was yet another chunk of ore for each of these many dwarves. That weight would build and slow them all down. More and more, they were anchored to each and every one that saw themselves as one of them, and not as who they were.

Who they were, surely, was more important then who they all said they were, but the greater the burden became, the bigger the sack on their back built and built, the harder a time they had seeing themselves for who they were meant to be— instead, they only saw all the horrible things that were done to their group!

The Dwarven people lost themselves. They lost their individuality. They lost sight of their beliefs and their ancestry. They lost it all behind this image of this running dwarf, with a sack on his back, so big, that he was surely carrying the weight of all the world on his shoulders. For each of these groups, this image was the same, with one small difference– the color of the beard!

So, that King Gaskar, though, through all this, had his control. He moved dwarves like none other before. Surpassing even King Arnn the Blackbearded. Surely, it was easier to manipulate a group, than it ever was to manipulate so many individuals. Especially a group burdened with such grief and despair.

This strategy bled further into the people, as the young were grouped away from the old; the young were elevated, and the old, well, they were shuffled away until …well, they shuffled away.

And don’t forget the females, all grouped apart from the males- which, again, is where I become baffled…

And yet, the King controlled them all!

‘But Mack,’ you’re surely wont to ask by now, ‘what kind of tale is this, without anyone to save the day?’

Hmmph! I asked myself that very same question! In I delved to how this horrible age finally came to an end. This is what I found:

That manipulative king, long did he reign… So long in fact, that all these different colored beards, started to turn grey!

Yet these grey beards– they were not as easy to shuffle away! For these were those that had lived their entire lives, standing behind their beard. They found themselves indistinguishable from those they thought oppressed them. Surely, at last, they could see they were the same! So much more, they found, they had in common. The most of which, just how large their sack of ore had become. It did not take them long to, at long last, set down that sack; all those sacks! Dump them out and see… see where it all came from. And not long after that, did they find their ‘why’.

Their lives, they saw as lost— surely, some things take time to learn; unfortunately, there is not a tale for every lesson. At times, ‘learning from the past’ is the best any of us can do. They did what they could for those still too young to see.

And so, we find ourselves at the Rise of the House of Sages– and the branding of King Gaskar the Underhanded! The foolishness of a ‘race’ was at last brought to an end. That is, until these ancient dwarves, ran into their first tribe of wild elves- living under the open sky!

::sigh::

But that’s a whole ‘nother, much longer, much more gruesome lesson.