Flouvi's Pledge

Flouvi's Pledge

A 500 word story



Flouvi gripped the shaft of his warhammer tighter.  Even through his thick leather gloves he felt the runes which ran the length of the weapon.  It was raining, again, the chill wind whipped more than just rain towards him.  He heard the distant thudding of war drums.  Unfortunately, the drums did not belong to the regiments of which he was part; they belonged to the enemy force facing them  across the muddy field.



This was Flouvi's first 'above' assignment – the first time he had ventured from the sprawling subterranean empire and set foot under the sun's harsh glare with only his armour to protect him.  He had been assigned to an Ironclad Troop.  They were considered a suitable proving ground for younger dwarfs eager to carve out a career in the military.



Flouvi craned his neck to see over his troop-mates armoured forms.  Despite his attempt to hide the movement, the dwarf beside him turned and, as a sneer played across his face, whispered 'What are you looking for, farmer?  You better scurry home – haven’t you crops to plant?'.  Anger flared through Flouvi.  He fought to control himself.  He would not let one outburst now tarnish his embryonic career.  One day he would take his rightful place as captain of a Shieldbreaker regiment. He needed a perfect record to accomplish such a feat without another clan's aid.



Flouvi half turned towards the dwarf beside him, in an equally whispered tone replied 'I know you, not your name -  your clan.  You're one of the young clans, the upstarts.  You arose after my clan protected us all from the Dark God of Winter, we sacrificed our warriors to save you.  What did we get for it?  You left us to suffer come harvest, left us to struggle while you took what's rightfully ours.'  Flouvi turned to look him full in the face,  menace unmistakably running through his voice 'My clan had no choice. We had to survive.  For generations we toiled and worked in the fields, laboured in the mines and foundries.  But no more.'  Flouvi spat on the floor, in front of the stunned dwarf's leather boots.  'Aye – farmers we became, we worked hard for our survival.  Now we're ready to reclaim our place as warriors, as protectors of our lands.  We will reclaim our territories – from whoever took them. Be he Orc, Man - or Dwarf'.



With that he turned back towards the enemy army.  A glint of steel in his eye, his resolve strengthened.  He would do whatever it took to return his clan to its rightful position as respected and feared warriors.  Those responsible for his clan's pain would repay it a hundredfold.



Dwarfs harbour deep resentment for anyone who crosses them.  Be it by causing them to loose face, costing them money, or most especially for threatening the security and prosperity of his clan.  Dwarfs may take years to exact their vengeance, but one thing is sure – no dwarf will rest until his enemies are crushed under his boot.