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An attempt to write something anything in one go and release, iterate and improve later if I take it further.

Sunday, 21 May 2017

Day 18 - Dalgroth

To call the place idyllic was an understatement.  There had been 300 plus years, 3 generations of dwarves had lived in peace; with the human's village in the valley below Dalgroth, and the elves across the valley in the Turon Forrest.  In all this time there had been barely a trouble.
Yes, there was occasional banditry, family feuds and intrigues, some long-running grudges but that was about it. There were no major race wars, the kingdoms of the humans had no quarrel with the Elven lords and the Dwarves looking down from Dalgroth had no gripe either.

Over this time the three races had thrived, recognising the strength of each culture and leveraging that. The dwarves trading precious metals and tools with the humans, the humans stock in trade was livestock, cattle, sheep, goats and all the associated accoutrements, whilst the Elves, ever the keepers of the forest provided the wood to all three, nurturing the forest to ensure it provided for all.
This ability to live together in harmony, to trade and develop had resulted in wondrous advances, the blending of Dwarven iron and craft with that of the wood elves and their magical trees, whilst the humans had developed wool, leather and hide for use in clothing, carrying and more.
It was thought that adventurers from the Dalgroth Peninsula were the best-equipped, most highly trained adventurers in the world. Equipped with the best materials from all three races, as well as having apprenticed across the three races they were often hardy geologists and geographers, skilled woodsmen, ingenious tradesman and hardy labourers.
So rich was the culture of the Peninsula that the trade with the wider world was flourishing, ships were continuously docking at the small wharf in sanctuary bay, this being the only true and safe way to reach the peninsula. As the Ranger Elves of Turon Forest guarded the northern reaches of the peninsula which touched upon the northern continent.
It was here in this idyllic place that Bobmaddock the dwarf had been born and had spent the 40 years of his youth growing up, first in the mines and tunnels of Dalgroth until he was 20 years old, then 9 years in the village below, working the land, and finally 9 years in Turon forest with the Elves learning woodcraft and spending short periods with the rangers on the northern border.
For the last two years, he had returned home to Dalgroth to prepare for the journey in front of him. It was a custom for Dwarves to venture beyond the mountain, beyond the peninsula, north onto the continent for the next 10 years until they were fifty until they were considered an adult.
It was thought that this upbringing would ensure they appreciated the skills and qualities of the three races, as well ensure they have experience of a broader wild world that would make them appreciate the peace of the peninsula and therefore make better members of society when they returned to make there families.
Yes, it was true, not all returned, some gave over to the thrill and wilds of the north, others died on their journey, yet more though did return to establish families back on the peninsular.
Today was the day, Bobmaddock and his family would descend from the mountain and go to meeting grounds below, there they would meet with contingents from both the human village and elven forest. At this meeting, they two would present the youth who were to join him to adventure north.

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