A Damp Beard

"Damned human roads! How do the people of the Empire expect to become a might race on this world if they cannot build a road properly. How the great citadels of my people, carved into the very rock face of the World's Edge Mountains, put this 'engineering' to shame". This complaint, and many more like it, emanated from a travelling tradesman from Altdorf ... who was actually even further away from his real home. Glasur Oakenshield was in fact a Dwarf. As he trundled along the excuse for a road at less than half of his normal pace, the burly, short-tempered and gruff weapon-maker managed to alienate yet another band of potential companions through his eternal complaining.

The complaints stemmed from a deep sense of loss for Glasur and his people. The boundaries of his people had once spread all across the Old World, and their mines covered a similar area beneath the surface. His great forebears had built the weapons that had crushed the demonic forces of the North with the axe and the cannon. Yet his people were drawn into the civil war amongst the elves, eventually turning on their former High Elf allies. His people went on to claim victory in the War of the Beard, but were weakened so much that the hordes of goblins, orcs and trolls that they had once kept at bay were allowed to grow in strength. It was during this time that his fathers moved to the young human lands and rallied behind the great Sigmar Heldenhammer to crush the greenskins at the Battle of Black Fire Pass. The lands of the Dwarves remain to this day a zone of great conflict, in which war is the only form of diplomacy.

Yet the weapons of Glasur's people also found great use in the human lands, where kings armed with the finest Dwarf weapons created and defended the new Empire. The Oakenshield forge in Altdorf gained a great reputation as the weapon-maker of choice for all allied armies. But its production lines halted when many of the original dwarfsmiths returned to their homelands, answering the call of yet another invasion. Glasur was one of the younger dwarfs left behind, and because of his good negotiating abilities and his keen senses, he was designated the role of wandering merchant. For many years he had carried the wares of his forge around the markets of the Empire, hoping to rebuild the reputation and demand for the great dwarf weapons.

It was selling wares that first drew Glasur to the coastal regions of Middenland, and it was the fine examples of his craft that burdened him so, as he pressed ahead along the coastal path. Further and further he pressed until he reached the small gates of Mandredhaven. Like many of the towns that he had stopped at over the course of the past few weeks, the port town was due to hold a small market and fayre in honour of the Spring Equinox and the changing of the tides so important to the maritime community. Glasur noted that the town actually looked better than it had when he had first set his eyes upon the grey and miserable houses. He even discovered that some of the houses and bustling shops in the centre of the town had been made from quarried stone of high quality. People continued to trudge along the thorughfares of the town, some towards what appeared to be a gathering with the local Graf in the castle at the edge of the town.

The lingering odour of fish and of the salts of the sea clung to Glisur's drenched skin and great beard. He approached a young fisherman at the pier and asked if the weather had forced a change of plan for the market-day. The young man stepped out of his boat to the harbour pier, and beamed at the damp dwarf, "Oh no good master dwarf! The festivities for the Spring Equinox remain in place. Although I must say that I'm impressed with your resilient travels on the road. We have heard that some have had to turn back because of the great storm that is rolling in. Perhaps dwindled numbers, but all the more space to display your fine weapons may I say! If you are looking for a place for food and warm shelter this night good sir, I recommend 'The Crown and Trident Inn'. Best fish in the whole area they say. I may even see you in there in a while myself ... once I've dried off that is!" Glisur heeded the young captains advice and made for the local pub. Beer and a fire appealed after a long trek in the wilderness. As he passed through the streets, the local people smiled and doffed their caps to the travelling merchant. In Altdorf, Glisur might have sensed that the people were a bit too happy and welcoming. But in the rain and lightning of this backward part of Middenland, the tired dwarf put it down to too many hours at sea ... or perhaps the humour of seeing a dwarf with a very damp beard.