Blade of Erogrund

Twelve years passed in the land of Niron before a Dragon’s roar was again heard breaking over the treetops.

Time continued to ebbed as it always does, and the clicking of Fate’s weaving could nearly be heard between the Elderwood trees.

In the West of Niron rose a new fortress from the ruins of a city long lost. Each year saw mighty blocks of stone laid in its foundation and the hammering of tools as they uncovered the broken stones until towers rose again over the hills and groves of Niron to gaze upon the Sea, the Draeknol, and, above all, the North. White was the stone of its faces and blue were the banners that fluttered proudly over the land. Its name was to be Icthennor - the Shield of Ennor.

Even as the fortress rose so did the courage and wisdom of its king. Always were Thain and Vyron faithful counselors to King Godric who ruled as well as he might. Long would the fires of the High Tower burn into the night as the Dwarf, the Sire, and the King discussed the fate of the people and the city.

As the twelfth year of peace drew to a close in the forested hills of those parts the sound of Dragon wings were again heard over the North Peaks and the scales of the beasts spied in the forest. It was with a heavy heart that the Men of Niron departed in the third month of the thirteenth year.

Mira, a fairer Lady than any might have believed twelve years hence, would lead three thousand men, women, and children from the gates of the city to the plains of the South. Always would Saracyir remain her faithful companion and guide even into the unknown lands that welcomed them. As for the fate of this company, who has seen the grasslands of the South or inscribed their story to the eyes of the Men of the North?

Behind remained fifteen-hundred strong men and their kin who filled the stone streets of Icthennor and faithfully kept its walls.

Time passed as it always shall until the steel of the city was put to its test. Blackened were the white walls of Icthennor and burned its banners but still Godric and the Blue Guard stood. Always was Erogrund displayed in the King’s hand over the city’s summit as a great light to drive back the dark and summon the lost. Silver shields encircled every tower and so it remained strong by the courage of its guard and the nobility of their charge.

The Prophecy’s words would always bring courage to Godric’s mind. It was set as a beautiful gem above his silver throne to always speak its charge in his thoughts and serve as a reminder for those who kept it. Beautiful, yes, even as the city it graced, but grim also as the occupants of the fortress.

In was in those days that Godric would walk the streets of Icthennor to visit its depths and stare upon its every passage. Favorite among them all was Eris Araon - the House of Kings - where Ennor Second of His Name was laid to rest in a great hall of white stone. For hours would Godric sit in silence in the low light of the torches and gaze upon the inscription carved upon the wall.

To the King of Men

Ennor II Son of Him Whom Bore His Name

Felled at the Battle of Draeknol

For the Life of His Kingdom

It would not be until the twenty-first year of the reign of King Godric that Vyron would join his Lord in the hollowed hall.

As the winds of the North stilled and the bitterness of the cold settled upon those hills, as the Sea began to freeze and its waves broke with ice, as grey touched Godric’s beard, Thain too would find his peace. It was not in Icthennor that his brow would rest but instead the few Dwarves that remained would journey into the Vales of Ilmara where he would be placed in the stone even as were his forefathers.

There in the vale would the Dwarves fashion for themselves a final House. And in the scrolls of Men it always was to be remembered as Gaundrun Biul-Caras - the Valley of the Faithful Friend. It is said by Men that the Dwarves each returned to the stone from whence they had come even as they kept the sanctity of that vale, leaving in their wake their likenesses in the rock to keep it in their place. Be it truth or myth is beyond the judgement of the pen that scrolls these words but so the story goes that no Dragon has lain claw nor fire upon that land and shall not for many a century.

Still Godric would watch the North from the Sea to the West to the Grove of Ordunn in the East.

Still Erogrund would keep serpent and fire from those who watched with him.

And so the Battle of Draeknol steered not the hand of the Fate’s weaving rod as the Men of Niron would have desired. The frost never departed from their woods even after the last shield and spear had been laid low, but their courage had stayed the dark for a little while. May it be that in the South still they persevere to keep the name of Niron upon its lips and the legends of the Dragons alive.

Above all may they still speak of the heart of Men and of the Blade of Erogrund.