The Saga of Dunwoody the Disperser

Come one and come all while I Nhoj the Bard weave ye a tale about Dunwoody the Disperser. A great wizard that has had misfortunes as well as great luck. He has known life and death, he has known happiness and sadness, and he known great wealth and poverty. So please my lords and lasses, and for a little spare coinage to aide me, take a load off your weary feet and I will regale ye with this tale. If ye cannot spare the coinage, I bid you fare well.

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Listen to the story

The only way to spin this saga is to start at the very beginning of his life. Dunwoody the Disperser was born to King Trebor and Queen Amleht of the hill dwarf clan of Sh Tiffirg in the kingdom of Ana Idni one hundred and thirty eight years ago. King Trebor was a powerful man with great wisdom and a caring spirit. He ruled over his lands with a gentle spirit that made all his people prosper and happy. Queen Amleht was equally loved by all in the Kingdom and when Prince Dunwoody and his brother Ec Nerwal were sired the kingdom rejoiced knowing that the King would teach his offspring to be as fair and just as he was.

As with most youths, the early years of Dunwoody's life was spent learning from his father values that he would carry with him throughout his glorious life. He learned to trust people and to honor his word. He learned learned the art of combat so that he could defend himself in battle if ever it arose. As with any King, King Trebor desired that when his time to pass the torch of ruling the kingdom came, his son's would have a kingdom that all the lands would admire. Ana Idni was rich with trees, but lacked in other resourced need to build a pwerful kindom. So he expanded his empire one kingdom at a time. Unlike many kings who rule with an iron fist and take lands by force, King Trebor, would take kindoms peacefully.

First came the lands of Oiho in the north country. Lush green fields of corn and wheat. The lands provided the kingdom with enough foods to feed all the people so they would never feel hungry. And the people of the lands rejoiced.

Next came the lands of Ees Sen Net. Within the mountains of Ees Sen Net, were found the stone needed to build strong and sturdy buildings. Paths and roads were built to aid in the movement of goods from one part of the kingdom to other parts. Walls were built to help protect the people from unwanted attacks. Wells and aqueducts were constructed for fresh water and the people rejoiced.

Following Ees Sen Net, the lands of Aig Roeg, to the south joined the Sh Tiffirg realm. The hills and mountians in the northern part of the lands were full of the iron needed to build stronger weapons. Mining in the mountains brought great joy to the two princes, as dwarves crave mining. For close to eighteen summers, the Sh Tiffirg clan maintained their base of power in the Aig Roeg until once more the urge to expand came to King Trebor.

Again to the south went the kingdom. This time it was the lands of Adi Rolf that joined the kingdom. Rich in minerals and surrounded on three sides by great oceans, it was a perfect land to end his expansion. Building docks and ships, allowed for the food supply to increase even during rough winter months. You can almost hear the waves on as they caress the beaches if you listen.

Dunwoody had a burning desire to have adventure in his life. He would spend months traveling to and fro seeking knowledge. On one such adventure, he came across a sight that made his dwarven blood boil. In a clearing he spotted an Orc battling a large force of brigans. Though outnumbered fifty to one Dunwoody could see that this Orc was well versed in the art of combat. The Orc would not let a single brigand get the better of him, but Dunwoody knew that it would only take one lucky hit of the blade and the Orc would be finished.

With a mighty battle roar that froze the brigands in their place, Dunwoody rushed into the frey to aide this unknown Orc. With his weapon of choice, the War Hammer, Dunwoody smote brigands to the left and right. Subduing handfuls with each mighty swing of his hammer. Within a matter of minutes the battle was over and any surviving brigands fled for their lives.

The Orc was unsure at first of what to make of this Hill Dwarf, for neither of the races desire to be with outsiders. But this was a bond that was forge in battle, so the gods must think that they should be friends. The Orcs name was Kram of the Snik Taw clan and like Dunwoody he was searching adventure while honing his skills.

For eighteen years the two adventurers traveled the lands of Adi Rolf. For eighteen years Kram taught Dunwoody the Orcish toungue, while Dunwooody did the same for Kram. It seemed that the two would never part company, but that would not be the case.

In Adi Rolf, both Princes grew into adulthood and King Trebor felt it was time to turn the running of the kingdom over to them. Before that could take place they must first find a Queen for no land is complete without a Queen. They both search all the lands for a suitable queen and in Nerak of the Nehc Tuccm clan of the shire Apmat Dunwoody felt he had found his.

Dunwoody would find out all too late that this queen was in reality a temptress. She had her our plans for conquest and once she had conviced Dunwoody that she would honor him, she put her plan into action. She placed into his ale one evening a drug so powerful that it imoblized his very soul. Unable to defend himself or speak, she sold him into slavery to an aquaintance of hers, Ecrof Ria.

Ecrof Ria was a evil person, but he was not a dumb person. He knew that he could not keep Dunwoody in Adi Rolf, else face the wrath of Trebor, but did not wish to kill him either. He saw that Dunwoody was an excelent fighter and would earn him a fortune in the fighters ring. So he shipped Dunwoody off to fight in Dnaly Ram.

For six long years Dunwoody faught in the arenas. Facing all sorts of opponents, both on two legs and four legs. very time Dunwoody would enter the ring made a large sum of gold for Ecrof Ria, but he learned that trebor had learned of his location so he sent him across the great ocean to the lands of Ynam Reg.

Once again into the arenas he went and once again gold he made for his owner. Dunwoody was not bitter at his owner, for he knew that one day his freedom would come and he could once again take his place at the table of honor. Nine years passed and once more Trebor learned of his location and once again he sailed. this time to Aksar Ben.

With each move to a different land Dunwoody would learn as much of the cultures and languages that he could. He always reminded himself that his father would want him to build his knowledge, which is the cornerstone to being a great leader. it seemed that every six to nine years, King Trebor would learn of Dunwoody's location and Ecrof Ria would send him to another land.

In the lands of Amanap Dunwoody almost lost hope. he had gotten word of the death of his father and that his mother was sticken with an aligment that the healers could not cure. At this point in his life Dunwoody vowed that he would some day return to his father's kingdom and be the King that he was supposed to be.

At about the same time that Dunwoody's father died, his capture Ecrof Ria also met his end. His passing was sudden and unexplained, so that word could not be passed on to the new owner, to not ever send Dunwoody to Adi Rolf.

The slaver that took control of all the salves that Ecrof Ria owned had been a slave in the past. He was gentler than the previous owner and had a kinder heart. Things were beginning to look up for Dunwoody. Dunwoody did not feel the whip nearly as often with this new master. As popular of a entertainer as Dunwoody was the master would invite him to chat for hours at a time.

Less than nine years passed when Dunwoody received word that the caravan was headed for some land to the north, Adi Rolf. He had to not show too much excitement over the announcement lest the master figure something was awry and cancel the trip. It seemed to take a lifetime to get to their final destination, but they finally arrived in Adi Rolf.

Gloom once more took over Dunwoody when word reached his ears that they were no longer in the kingdom of the Sh Tiffirg clan. Whilst his father was out scouring the lands near and far for his missing son, other leaders had been taking advantage of his kingdom and taking over the lands. All that was left of the once mighty Sh Tiffirg kingdom was the one shire that his brother was able to hang on to. As with most of his life in bondage, Dunwoody's fate was about to have a silver lining.

You see, a powerful Orc King got word of a Hill Dwarf slave, that fought in the arenas almost like he was possessed by the gods. What caught the king's attention was the fact that this Hill Dwarf also knew the orcish tongue, which is not an easy tongue to master. He had to see this fighter in action. To the arena in Adi Rolf, the king traveled. In the ring he did spy a familiar face, one he had not seen for years. If you had not guessed who this mighty king is, his name is Kram.

In his own way, Kram conviced the slaver that it would be in the slavers' best interest to sell him the ownership of Dunwoody. After all these years in bondage, after all these years of humilation, after all these years of fighting for his very life, Dunwoody was once more breathing the air of freedom.

Now it is time for Dunwoody to do what he was meant to do all these years. He is about to reclaim his right as king and he is going to start right NOW. He is going to start with the lands of Arragoth and go from land to land. He does not wish to take the lands by force, just as his father had done all those years ago, but the arena has made him a fighter to recon with. He willingly will take on allies as long as they are ture of heart, but be forwarned, those who wish treachery upon him as his former Queen found out, will not be living a long life indeed.

This has been the saga of Dunwoody the Disperser. I Nhoj the bard hope that you have enjoyed listening to the tale as much as I have enjoyed telling it. May that sun shine bright to lead you on your journies and the rain be kind to your crops. I am sure you will hear from me again when once more I can weave the coninuing saga of Dunwoody

Vacationing in the Dimensional Prison

New smoke billowed silently from the Castle paraphets. The screams from inside with pleasantly endless, as the smell of freshly ashen Drarves wafted down the valley wind drive currents to Gholan the Conqueror, as he calmly directed another assault. The battle had raged for days, thousands of Orcs continually storming the castle walls, in wave after wave, only to be driven back repeatedly by the noble Dwarves, in their desperate, but futile attempt to survive the onslaught. The Keep was simply a skeletal shadow of its former self, its beautiful walls pock-marked by boulders from the multitude of rock-hurled catapults that had rained down upon it over the past few days.

He grimly assessed the damage done by another failed assault on the sturdy defenders. His rage quietly grew inside, as he watched the river of black blood flow down the crevices in the road on either side, feeling the blood-lust grow, and encouraging it. His tight muscles gripped the handle of his great mithril axe until he thought he would break it. The Dwarves, proud and fearless or not, would pay dearly for this debacle. Where the hell were his Heroes? Could they not manage a simple castle assault without this slaughter of his fine army? Must he micro-manage everything? His temper flared, his eyes blazed with hate. In one fluid motion he rose from his chair, hoisted his shield and blade, and strode down the blood-stained path among the troops, rallying their retreat, turning them, directing them, glaring menacingly at his hapless Heroes all the while.

The Dwarven army saw it coming, or at least the remnants of the once proud Dvarven clan witnessed the final moments of their lives. With a mighty roar, Gholan charged the crumbling walls, and began to climb them, placing his feet in chiseled out holes, as he rose. His army followed, abandoning the assault-ladders in favor of the simpler and more direct approach, and within minutes, he had scaled to the top, as was over, swinging his bloody weapon with a ferocity few had ever seen. The last vestiges of a defense crumbled and them completely fell apart, as the fear driven Dwarves ran for their lives in the face of the living embodiment of Death itself.

Within an hour, it was over, the Castle, such as it was, was his. He looked at his great, hollow victory, and the rage boiled up to a froth. Thousands of his men were dead, the Castle was a shambles, his Heroes had demonstrated an appalling lack of leadership, it was a completely Pyrrhic victory for the great, proud Orc King. Before him were a thousand Dwarves, and interestingly, the “Blessed One”, the Dwarf King himself, a favorite of WOW Gods, who had ordained that he was not to be touched, not ever, for reasons that were still a mystery. What was He doing here, Gholan wondered? This was not the Royal castle of the Dwarves, it was simply another of their holdings, placed over a thick and reportedly endless vein of mithril, running deep into the earth, a priceless source of metal which Gholan craved for his famed Black Dragons, and armor for his troops.

He watched them carefully, as they were paraded before him, wondering what to do. To kill the Blessed One was unforgivable, and would really piss the WOW Gods off. The penalty of such an act was to be sent to a place so hideous, that it was beyond description, a thousand times worse than death. However, he smiled as he imagined seeing the look on their faces when the parchment arrived in their realm, detailing his latest act of defiance. In an instant, the decision was made, a course taken, from which there would be no return. He calmly looked at his shocked Captain, as he uttered the words, " Kill them. Kill them all."

The Dimensional Prison. A place of unspeakable horrors. The birthplace of blackest nightmares. A swirling pit of bleakest hell, swathed in the stench of death, bathed in blood, forsaken of the tiniest ray of hope, murder incarnate run amok, a place of absolute dread, stealing courage, sapping life, gaining daily sinewed strength daily in the torture of its hapless victims.

Just the mention of the place, just a whisper of its dire name, was enough to elicit whatever information desired from a cowering, blubbering captive. It was a incarceration from which there was no return, no escape; the only remnant of ones existence was the echoes of the dying screams and gasps, carried on the wind and spread by whispers and rumor among those more fortunate than the designee, as they sat in dark corners of taverns and campfires.

Gholan the Conqueror sat in the only chair in the great Throne Room, a huge chair, made of bones of Black Dragons, stronger than mithril, crafted by the finest carpenters in the realm, the pieces so black that even light seemed absorbed by them. It was a chair fitting a king, a conqueror, but in fact, in this situation, it was a Prisoner’s chair, regal, but indestructible, brought in for the sole purpose of containing the most dangerous prisoner ever tried by the Gods of WOW.

Gholan grinned at the Gods as the verdict was read, a mirthless smile, lined by huge jagged fangs, dripping saliva and blood as well, as he bit himself unconsciously in his black rage. He strained lightly at his bonds, a forged combination of mithril and Dragon King scales, unbreakable, perfect in conception and implementation. Over twenty loops covered his immense body, now stripped of armor and clad only in a leather tunic, weaving around him and interlaced within the spines of the chair.

The Gods were droning on again, preparing to deliver the verdict, which of course had been reached long before charges which were being read had ever been prepared:

1. eating your own peasants.

2. putting wigs and make-up on Dark Lords before sending them out in battle, making them appear to be the wives of enemy Wizards.

3. using Thieves to change the locks on the Dimensional Gate in the Wizard's Chamber, preventing the enemy wizard from making their escape at the end of their existence on a particular world.

4. getting drunk with Monks of Fire, and watching them roast elves for snacks, and playing “Stamp Out the Flaming Elf” for shots of Dwarven whiskey.

5. having six of seven peasant maidens not survive the night in the Conqueror's bed-chamber on a recent celebratory evening following another victorious battle. ( how did he know he happened to pick six maidens with weak hearts??)

6. and lastly, of course, killing the Blessed One, roasting him over an open spit, and serving him to his men before their execution, as their last meal.

Guilty, of course, was the word written at the bottom of the parchment detailing the charges. The sentence, a foregone conclusion. Dimensional Prison. Forever.

Gholan malevolently glared at the Gods, their smugness evident in their speech patterns. Like they were finally ridding themselves of a sandspur in their shoes. His black eyes stared straight ahead, memorizing every detail of their appearance, realizing what it took to bring all three of them together to the same place at the same time. No one had ever taken a WOW God out before, no one had even ever planned it, as far as he was aware, but the first ideas of a plan began to swirl in the recesses of Gholan's mind, tickling his brain, as he began to think. His grin broadened.

He tested his unbreakable bonds again, inch by inch, checking for any weaknesses. He ran his shackled hands along the smooth edges of the arm of the great chair, where the loops of his bonds joined together. His muscled arms tightened, and he felt the slightest give.

Now they were talking about the Prison, and he listened more intently. The more he heard, the better he liked it. How exactly this place was different from every sun-soaked hellhole he had been sent to so far he could not imagine. He mentally began to calculate his survival chances, and though not good, it was no worse than usual either.

He had heard enough of this drivel. With a mighty roar, he arched his back and pulled his great arms upward, and the chains that held him creaked ominously, the chair structure itself began to shudder. Discussion ceased, as the now concerned WOW Gods looked at him in stunned silence. At that moment, the mithril-scales bonds strained past the breaking point, and shattered. Long cords of razor sharp mithril flew outward, decapitating the nearest guard, and disemboweling another.

The chair shattered, and in one fluid movement, Gholan picked up a long wing bone of the famed Black Dragon and flung it toward the closest WOW God. Gholan had no idea of what to expect, but what happened was almost beyond belief, and most satisfying. The God did nothing, sat as stone as the missile flew true and pierced his chest. He glanced down in disbelief, and looked up again at Gholan, then down again, as if this attack was just beyond comprehension. Golden fluid began to ooze from the wound site, turning black as it contacted air. The other two Gods also were paralyzed, watching in horror as their compatriot began to dissolve. A trinity for millennia, it was simply impossible that an Orc, especially THIS Orc, most reviled by the Gods, could reduce that to two.

Black juice began to drip off the edges of the table they stood before, for that was all there was left of the God. Gholan, shocked by his unexpected success, nevertheless recovered quickly, and roared in laughter as the Gods’ fatal flaw was illuminated in such gory detail.

"Better add another charge to my list, Gods of WOW", he sarcastically snarled. "But be quick, because I’m going on vacation!" He swiftly bent down, but before Gholan could reach for another bone fragment, the lead God recovered his shaken wits, and raised a wand banishing the Conqueror to the Dimensional Prison in an explosion of light. And thus Gholan the Conqueror’s well deserved vacation did begin.

Yes, and no