R.L Alencar
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Chapter 121 (From engineer to Conqueror)
🕑 Added 2024-11-14 18:19:42 +0000 UTCMiguel and his entourage, accompanied by the delegation of beastmen, were on a long trek towards the governor's residence on the island. The journey was made on foot, as, according to the dwarves, there were no carriages large enough to accommodate all members of the entourage. Around them, the landscape shifted from rustic, compact buildings to more wooded areas, where the path wound between rocks and sturdy trees, adapted to the island's cold, damp climate.
As they walked, Miguel approached Baromir, taking the opportunity to satisfy one of his curiosities. “Baromir,” he asked, “why did the dwarves isolate themselves so much from the world? What was the reason behind it?”
Baromir grew thoughtful, his gaze distant, as if searching his memories and ancient stories for the most appropriate answer. “It's an old story,” he began, “but, according to the legends of my people, the dwarves were part of an ancient trinity, alongside humans and elves.”
Miguel raised his eyebrows, surprised. Elves… the mention of that race made his imagination wander. He wondered if any of them still existed, perhaps hidden in unknown lands, but he soon refocused on Baromir, eager to hear the rest of the story.
“The trinity,” Baromir continued, “divided the continent into three great zones, each destined for one of the races. The dwarves, humans, and elves lived in relative peace, each ruling over their own region. But over time, the legends say that a conspiracy arose. The elves, ambitious and silent, supposedly began a scheme to make the dwarves and humans clash.”
Baromir paused, as if the words carried weight, echoing through centuries of resentment. “And so it happened. The dwarves and humans ended up confronting each other in a long and terrible war. After years of conflict, the dwarves were pushed off the continent, forced to seek refuge on these islands. But the elves, seeing the humans worn down, took advantage and attacked them as well, trying to seize control.”
Miguel listened intently, absorbing every word. The story was filled with betrayals and ancient grudges, but it reflected a reality he recognized from his own world.
“However,” Baromir continued, “the humans were resilient and resisted the elves' advance. The elves ultimately lost as well. What happened to them afterward is a mystery. Some say they were exterminated; others believe they still live, hidden somewhere. Perhaps a few remain, or maybe the race has disappeared.”
Baromir sighed, his eyes returning to the path ahead. “As for my people, the beastmen… we were just nomadic tribes back then, scattered across territories. We weren’t part of the great kingdoms or alliances.”
“These events,” Baromir concluded, “forced the dwarves to isolate themselves here, on these southern islands, where humans rarely venture. They prefer to keep their borders secure and avoid humans as much as possible. That’s why the dwarves still look upon them with such distrust to this day.”
Miguel nodded, absorbing the complexity of that ancient story and the legacies of mistrust and isolation that shaped the present. He thought of the world he came from, where betrayals and divisions were just as common as in any other place. “It seems like things like that happen everywhere,” he said, reflectively.
At that moment, one of the dwarven guards in front interrupted the conversation, announcing that they were nearing the governor's residence. More elaborate buildings began to appear ahead, and Miguel knew he would soon be face-to-face with one of the dwarven kingdom's authorities.
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Miguel stopped in front of the governor's residence entrance, a structure that immediately caught his attention. It was an impressive mansion carved directly into the side of a medium-sized mountain. The structure seemed molded from the rock itself, with doors and windows perfectly aligned as if the stone had yielded to the dwarves' will. Meticulous details adorned the facade: sculptures of dragons and legendary creatures guarding the entrance, along with robust columns and arches reminiscent of ancient fortress gates. Each detail was a work of art in itself, blending strength and elegance.
"It's enormous," murmured Alistair, with a hint of reverence in his voice.
Miguel, still gazing at the monumental entrance, heard Alistair's question. “Are you ready, My lord?”
Miguel smiled, but his answer was honest. “I'm not. But I need to do this.”
Together, Miguel and his entourage climbed the wide steps leading to the massive iron doors, intricately engraved with battle scenes and mythical figures, likely ancient dwarven tales. Two heavily armored guards, with helmets shaped like fierce animals, opened the doors with precise, silent movements, allowing the entourage to enter.
As they crossed the entrance, Miguel felt the impact of being inside a true dwarven masterpiece of engineering and architecture. The entrance hall was vast, with a high ceiling supported by columns carved directly from the mountain's walls. A gentle light came from suspended bronze chandeliers, each glowing with the warmth of torches and oil lamps that illuminated the stone sculptures.
The floor was covered in dark, polished marble, with golden details forming geometric patterns that reflected the light in an almost magical way. Around them, thick tapestries hung from the walls, depicting scenes of ancient wars, celebrations, and moments of great importance for the dwarves. Each tapestry seemed to tell a story, and Miguel imagined how many centuries of history and tradition were represented there in the vibrant colors and delicately embroidered patterns.
In the center of the hall, a stone fountain poured crystal-clear water, its structure composed of dwarf figures seemingly bearing the weight of a large jug from which the water flowed. The fountain brought tranquility to the space, contrasting with the austerity of the sculptures on the walls.
Around the room, a few sturdy, well-crafted pieces of furniture were positioned — wide benches and chairs made of dark wood and metal, with cushions in red and gold tones. It was evident that everything there was made to last, built to withstand time and use. The chairs and benches seemed heavy but comfortable, with hand-carved details showcasing the dwarven craftsmen's skill and dedication.
Miguel and his entourage were led to an area near the fountain, where the dwarven guards indicated they should wait. Around them, a few dwarves hurried by, dressed in fine and discreet attire, casting curious glances at the visitors. Miguel felt the weight of the walls around him, as if the place held more than just physical structure — it carried memories, legends, and secrets of dwarven history, filling him with a mix of admiration and humility.
While they awaited the governor, Miguel glanced at Alistair, who was observing the surroundings with attentive eyes, visibly impressed by the richness and grandeur of the mansion carved into the rock.
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As they waited, a deep and welcoming voice echoed through the hall, breaking the respectful silence. “Brother Baromir, it's so good to see you again!” Everyone turned towards the voice and saw a robust dwarf with a thick, red beard that reached his chest. His eyes sparkled with a charismatic liveliness, and his face displayed an open smile that brought a warm presence to the environment.
Baromir smiled, greeting him with a nod. “Baudor, it’s been too long! I thought you had forgotten about us.”
The dwarf laughed, a sincere and booming laughter that filled the hall. “Oh, Baromir, you’re the one who disappeared. I was starting to think you'd abandoned our good beers.”
Baromir chuckled lightly. “Unfortunately, duty has kept me busy. War, you know, requires all my time and attention.”
Baudor nodded, his smile fading slightly as he grasped the gravity of the situation. “Yes, I understand. These are hard times…” He then looked at the group, his curious eyes scanning each face until they settled on Miguel. He approached Miguel, his firm steps echoing on the stone floor, and stopped directly in front of him, examining him with a mix of assessment and respect. Baudor's gaze was penetrating, and silence fell as he looked Miguel up and down.
“So, you are what they call the king of Drakmoor?” Baudor asked, without preamble.
Miguel took a moment to respond, the formality and seriousness evident on his face. “Yes, I am Miguel of Drakmoor. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lord Baudor,” he said, in a polite and courteous tone, making a slight nod with his head.
Baudor laughed heartily, giving Miguel a light pat on the shoulder with his heavy hand. “Ah, drop the formalities, lad! The pleasure is mine! If you're a friend of Baromir, then you’re my friend as well,” he stated with a welcoming smile. “Here on Emerald Island, all who come in peace are welcome.”
Miguel, feeling a bit more at ease with the dwarf's warm demeanor, nodded. Baudor did not have the rigid and distrustful behavior he had imagined. On the contrary, there was a genuine friendliness in his manner, and Miguel felt received as a guest, not as a stranger.
Changing the subject, Baudor looked at the entourage and noticed the weariness on their faces. “I imagine everyone is hungry. Come, I’ll take you to a proper table. Here, we don’t let anyone go hungry, especially those who have faced long and hard journeys!”
He motioned for them to follow, and Miguel's entourage, now relaxed by the dwarf’s warm hospitality, accompanied him through the corridors of the grand mansion.
