Chapter 1

The hall of Griminar Soulforger, the Lawgiver, The eastern range of the Dragon Back Mountains, Andor. Sometime in the past.

Griminar Soulforger, Lawgiver to the Dvergar, patron deity of what were now known as dwarves, sat brooding in his hall, deep in the bowels of his mountain. His mood related directly to the plight of his children. A slow decay over the centuries had left them scattered and disunited in purpose. Their obsession with gems and metals had caused this degradation. Singlemindedness in their passion for finding the next rare gem or precious metal had left them scattered, distrustful, living a disharmonious existence. A once great kingdom had slowly dissolved to grumbling factions, or clans, fighting over the precious items found within their subterranean world. They needed a shakeup, a wake-up call, but even he, their God, was at a loss, for in their blind ambition they had turned their backs on him and followed another deity: Greed!

His children had worshiped Greed for so long that they had forgotten the name of their God, even his clerics now referred to him as The Soulsmith, The Lawgiver, and The Shield (of innocence), three names for his three aspects. Because of his children's neglect he had withdrawn far from the cries of even the faithful few. The act of an enemy was about to draw him out of his self-imposed exile. He would then restore his children and bring justice and law back into the world of the dwarves.

Griminar was a typical dwarf in every way except size. Standing over seven feet tall, he looked more like a hero from Valhalla than a dwarf. He still embodied all that a Dvergur was even if his children did not. His white beard was long, reaching the middle of his chest, bound at three different places and his long salt and peppered hair dropped to his shoulders. His eyes were the color of emeralds and flashed when angered. He wore a leather tunic over a leather kilt and metal bracers on both forearms and a matching pair of greaves for the legs. Propped by his leg was his war axe, a double-bladed axe with a face three feet across and a haft five feet long.

He looked over to where his forge stood, the fire having gone out centuries before, and sighed. His anvil, a conglomeration of all the natural metals fused together stood close to the cold forge. His hammer, lying on top of the anvil, was coated with the dust of centuries marking the time of its last use.

"All hail the mighty Griminar, lawgiver to the pipsqueaks," he heard mockingly as motes of blackness began to swirl and form together in his hall. "All alone in his mighty hall and nary a dwarven maiden in sight. Although, one would be hard pressed to tell the difference between them and the males. And really if she had brothers she probably would not be a maiden anyway."

"Tread lightly, Belial, lest I squash you like the bug you are," Griminar growled, his voice grating like tectonic plates crashing against one another.

"What do you require, brother?" The last word spat out as if the word itself had left an offending taste in his mouth.

"Now, Griminar, is that anyway to treat family?" Lord Belial, Crown Prince of Hell, mocked him, finishing his manifestation. "I take time out of my busy day to stop by and see my brother, whom I have not seen in centuries, and what do I get in return? Threats, and insults. Most unbecoming of the mighty lawgiver."

"We both know your penchant for lying, Belial," Griminar remarked, glaring at him. "What is the true reason for this visit?"

"Well, one of my Demon Lords might have accidentally impregnated one of your children," Belial explained with a lopsided grin turning into a smirk, his hands spread out and shoulders shrugging. "Children, these days."

"What?!" Griminar roared, rising from his throne and gripping the haft of his war axe. "One of your spawn dare defile one of my children?"

"Now, Griminar, let us not get all riled up before understanding the situation," Belial replied, taking a step back and producing a longsword in his right hand. "Defile? Could one actually defile a dwarf maiden?"

"Do explain, dear brother," Griminar whispered dangerously, his eyes narrowing as he took a step closer. "Before I remove that smirk and the head that it is attached to."

"One of my lords who had been previously imprisoned, by the Host I am led to believe, was inadvertently released from its imprisonment by a dwarven miner," Belial started. "You know what? It would be better if I just showed you...

The Stronghammer Clan mines, The western range of the Dragon Back Mountains, Andor.

Thodred Alricsdottir, daughter of the clan chief, Alric Stronghammer was in a previously unworked shaft in the far reaches of their mines, looking for a rare blood-red ruby. Her husband, Kimril Starforge had been commissioned to produce a tiara and decided that a star of ruby would be the crowning jewel. It was Thodred's responsibility to find said gem.

Thodred had a knack - some say she was touched by the hand of The Soulsmith - for finding that which normally could not be found. Whether a new vein of ore, or gold, or a pocket of rare gems, Thodred was usually the one to discover it. Her intuition had led her to an opening and down a side shaft off the main tunnel. It was little more than an open fissure in the wall that revealed, seemingly only to her, a long sloping shaft deep into the heart of their mountain fortress, further than anyone had previously explored.

The darkness would be almost oppressive if not for her 'tunnel sight', another gift of The Soulsmith, which allowed her to pick her way through the darkness of her subterranean home toward her goal. At least she hoped it was what was leading her on. The shaft finally dead ended at a blank wall and Thodred looked around trying to understand why her gift had let her down. She felt drawn forward through the dead end and finally decided to reach out and touch the wall.

She was not really concerned about an adverse reaction as she, like all Dvergar, or Dwarves in the common tongue, was highly magic resistant. As she touched the wall white lines appeared revealing a doorway covered in runes. The white lines flashed brightly and the doorway swung inward.

"Come in dear maiden," she heard from the other side of the opening. "You have rescued me and because of your deed I will grant you a boon."

Thodred tentatively entered the cavernous room and looked around. Stepping out of the shadows was a tall handsome Dwarf! He was nearly six foot tall and dressed in silver plate and helm. His long silvery beard was plaited and banded as was the hair coming out of the back of his helm. An aura radiated off of him affecting her with its spell.

"Who are you?" she asked placing her hand on the haft of her axe.

"I am Dunrock Silverbeard," he bowed sweeping his hand backward. "Kin to The Lawgiver, and you have released me from my prison."

His words, coupled with the power emanating from him, caused her to swoon for a moment.

"A God?" she asked incredulously. "I have never heard of you."

"Tis true, fair maiden," he nodded and then leaned forward close. "Well, truth be told, a Demi-God, but herald to The Lawgiver. Now, what is your fondest wish?"

"To bear a strong son, a champion!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "A hero of old."

"Oh, that I can give you with little trouble," his eyes began to swirl with an inky blackness. "Just come a little closer so we can seal the deal."

She moved forward with jerking steps, almost as if she was moving not of her own accord. Once she was within range he reached out and grabbed her, throwing her to the ground, all the while cackling a demonic laugh.

"Oh, you are going to get a hero all right," the dwarf changed into a winged demon lord of blackest night, holding a flaming whip in one hand and a burning sword in the other.

The weapons disappeared as it mounted her like a wild animal. Its wings began flapping to maintain its balance as it took her, not once, not twice, but thrice before it laughed as it released her and then fled its Hostly imprisonment. Her screams of pain and fright echoed throughout the tunnel long after the coupling was complete.

She painstakingly pulled herself up and gathered her ripped leggings and other items that were thrown about during the rape. Slowly making her way back to the main corridor she headed for The Soulsmith's sanctuary and hopeful aid of his clerics. Arriving at the small sanctuary within the mines she collapsed in front of the altar, the many-metal anvil, and slipped into unconsciousness.

The hall of Griminar Soulforger, the Lawgiver, The eastern range of the Dragon Back Mountains, Andor.

"What was your purpose in showing me this?" Griminar growled in anger, stepping closer. "What did you hope to gain?"

"Brother, you cut me to the quick!" Belial exclaimed, bringing his hand up to his chest. "I just thought you should know."

"And?" Griminar asked, eyeing him intently.

"Fine! Since the get will be demon spawn, I claim the issue as is my right," Belial declared, stepping back.

"Only if I were to refuse the offspring," Griminar replied, rubbing his chin before smiling. "Which I will not. I claim the offspring as my Champion when it reaches the age of majority."

"Foul! The Host will never allow it," Belial cried, raising his voice and pointing his finger at Griminar. "It is demon spawn and by right mine."

"Only if it was conceived by choice, which it was not," Griminar stepped closer. "Admit it brother, the offspring is mine to refuse first."

"Yes, but the Host will never allow it to live once it reaches the age of majority," Belial began to scramble to recover. "You might as well just give it to me."

"Not, if my champion should become 'High Paladin of the Realm'," Griminar stepped in front of Belial, who was more concerned with the discussion than his brother's position. "Not if he should wield the 'Finger of God'!"

"What?! No!" Belial screamed and flinched, looking around as if invoking Lightbringer's name could somehow summon it.

"Yes, think of it, a demon crossbreed wielding the slayer of demons," Griminar began to laugh. "No one in Hell could stand against him or the sword, not even you or the other princes. It would be perfect."

"The sword would reject him," Belial countered, although half-heartedly.

"No, the sword would perfect him," Griminar replied, and then shrugged. "The sword might reject him still. It matters not; the issue is closed. The child falls under my protection."

"The Host will never allow that to happen," Belial replied again, with a smugness that he really did not have.

"The Host will never allow what to happen?" A blinding point of white light began to grow next to Griminar.

"My hall used to be such a quiet place," Griminar grumbled, shaking his head sadly. "Raphael, so nice of you to drop by."

Belial backed away as the white light intensified and vanished revealing a majestic entity. The entity was clothed all in white with a golden belt girding its loins. Piercing blue eyes and soft brown hair flowed down to its shoulders. It held a gleaming white sword it its left hand.

"Brothers," Raphael, Captain of the Host, greeted his two brethren. "Belial, what will the Host not allow?"

"One of his Demon Lords defiled one of my children," Griminar explained as he took another step closer to the Prince of Hell. "Since it was rape, I claimed the child. Belial is not happy."

"I understand that, but that does not answer my question. Belial?"

"Griminar wants the get to draw the 'finger'. I say he should not be allowed."

"If the 'Finger of God' accepts the candidate who are we to interfere?" Raphael replied with a shrug. "Do not presume to speak for the Host. Begone, evil one."

Griminar swung his heavy axe at Belial who disappeared leaving a black smoky trail, smelling of sulphur and brimstone.

"He will not bother you any longer," Raphael declared, and faded away as well.

Griminar stood at the ready for several moments expecting a counterattack. When none came he lowered his war axe and disappeared as well.

Sanctuary of The Soulsmith, Stronghammer Clan mines, The western range of the Dragon Back Mountains, Andor

Griminar appeared as a normal looking dwarf and entered the sanctuary where he found the unconscious body of Thodred Alricsdottir lying next to the altar. He dropped to one knee and placed a hand on her forehead and concentrated. A white light encompassed his hand and spread out covering her head in its glow. When the light faded she began to stir.

"W-where am I?" she asked groggily, as she began to come around.

"Shh, do not speak, my child," he softly encouraged her. "Just rest, you have been through a terrible ordeal."

"I remember!" she whispered in horror. "Oh, by The Soulsmith, what have I done? What if I conceive?"

"Nothing to be ashamed of, my child," he replied, and then added. "That question has already been answered. You will bear a son, a strong, healthy son. Just rest now."

She began to weep as Griminar gently rocked her trying to comfort her in her pain. Eventually she calmed down enough to ask an important question.

"Who are you?" Thodred asked.

"One who can ease your pain," Griminar replied with a smile.

"I have heard that before," Thodred retorted. "That is how I came to be in this position."

"Rest child," Griminar replied and then concentrated and manifested a glowing light around the altar. When Thodred saw the manifestation she gasped and pointed.

"Tis a blessing from The Soulsmith!" she exclaimed in awe. Forgetting her pain and humiliation, she slowly rose and bowed her head.

"Aye, you have the right of it," Griminar replied, smiling. "Now, let us get you home so you can rest."

The light dimmed and faded away revealing an amulet and chain. The amulet was wrought in the shape of a miniature dwarven battle shield with the crossed hafts of a hammer and double-bladed battle axe on top. Reverently she approached the altar, just stopping short and turned back to Griminar who nodded in encouragement. She gently slid her hands under the chain and lifted the amulet up and off of the altar, fastening it around her neck.

"He has gifted you with his token of protection," Griminar announced solemnly, pointing to the amulet around her neck. "He deems you worthy; who could nay say you now?"

Thodred smiled in return and blushed, which was no mean feat for a dwarf. Griminar escorted Thodred back through the tunnels to her small abode, she shared with her husband. As she crossed her threshold and turned to thank her rescuer she found herself alone. He had vanished! Come to think of it no one in the tunnels had acknowledged him when they passed by. She shook her head in wonderment and went inside to tell her husband of her ordeal.

Mines of the Stronghammer Clan, western range of the Dragon Back Mountains, Andor. Many years later.

Dwarves were like mountains; in that they grow at a very slow rate. For the first 15 years of life a young dwarf was still considered a child. Adolescence began at around 15 years of age and lasted until 25 when a dwarf was then considered a tween, no longer a child but not quite an adult. Their growth rate slowed down during the tween years, averaging no more than a quarter inch a year. It was during this growing season that a dwarf puts on the bulk of its weight and begins the long process of growing a beard. By the time a dwarf reaches adulthood at 35 to 40 years of age, depending on the individual, they have reached their maximum height of 4 foot to 4 foot, 4 inches tall.

When Thodred's child was born his skin was the grey of granite and so she named him Graydon. For the first several years of childhood he remained a typical dwarf baby; height and weight all within acceptable parameters, hair color brown, eyes the black of coal. She sighed a big sigh of relief thinking her son, half dwarf-half demon, might grow up to be a normal dwarf. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

The changes began upon Graydon's 20th birth year. Two small knobs, the beginning of horns, pushed through his skin of his forehead, above his eyebrows. The skin around his fingers and toes began to shrivel as if he was molting. His skin, already the grey of granite, began to twinkle as if the light was actually reflecting off of specks within the skin. The skin around his fingers and toes finally peeled away revealing talons, the color of blue slate, where once fingers and toes existed. Thodred's worse nightmares had come true; her son began to exhibit the physical traits of his sire. The one thing she had thanks for was the fact that he did not sprout wings; not yet, anyway.

Graydon never questioned the reasons for his oddities or why he was so different from other dwarfs. One of his Mother's favorite axioms was that one made do with whatever The Soulsmith created. Well, he had made do all right; whenever there was a particularly difficult rock to move or something the others could not move or get past, Graydon was called upon. He had hoped that those acts of goodwill on his behalf would endear him to the others but it had just the opposite effect; it widened the chasm that existed within the clan.

"Graydon," his mother called to him one day. "You are needed in the diamond shaft. There is a large rock with many diamonds within it and no one can remove it."

"Yes, Mother, I am leaving now," Graydon replied, grabbing a hammer and an axe before leaving.

Unbeknownst to Graydon he had an admirer of sorts, one who was invisible to the inhabitants of the Physical Plane. Lord Belial, Prince of Hell, had been watching Graydon periodically over the years. He wanted to alleviate his concerns about Graydon's path in life. His concern had intensified over the past few years and he decided that he needed a contingent plan just in case the half-breed decided to do what Griminar had threatened: search for and take up 'The Finger of God'.

As he watched Graydon travel through the hallways of the dwarven community a tug on his consciousness caused him to pause. Someone or some entity had started a summoning ritual and he was being pulled away. Lord Devlin, banished Godling, was summoning him. Perhaps there was some way to involve the Necromancer and thwart Griminar's plan. Now that was something to think further on.

Graydon's father never treated him any different than any other dwarf father. He spent time with Graydon teaching him all manner of things, including; weapon making, jewelry smithing, all aspects of the forge, and finally, how to protect himself in danger, both with and without a weapon.

During those formidable years Graydon grew to over five feet tall, making him taller than most dwarves, and he would add over a foot of height before reaching full maturity. His fluted horns finished their growth as well, ending up curled behind pointed ears.

On his twenty-fifth birthday Graydon's father gifted him a war-axe of his very own. Since he was so much taller and stronger than even the tallest and strongest dwarf a regular dwarven war-hammer or war-axe would be engulfed in Graydon's hands. His father, a renowned warrior himself, gave him an axe that he had taken from a dead hobgoblin many years before during the great hobgoblin uprising. The war-axe was over five feet tall from the butt of the haft to the point of the spike. It had a large blade on one side and a hammer head on the reverse. Graydon practiced with the weapon daily until his proficiency was unequaled by even the most skilled dwarven warrior.

For all that he looked like a demon from some dark nightmare, Graydon was a kind and gentle soul. Kind and gentle until he was pushed beyond his limits and then the strength of his frame and the terror found in his looks were brought to bear. His parents had done a remarkable job in instilling a sense of duty and honor and a love for the three faceted God that they worshiped. His mother reminded him daily that he was a gift from The Soulsmith, who took base components and wrought beautiful works. Graydon was his finest work in Thodred's eyes.

Not that Graydon's life was idyllic, far from it actually, for he was an oddity and in most societies' oddities were either ridiculed or ostracized. It was the latter for young Graydon, for it was a foolhardy Dwarf indeed that chose to ridicule him. Graydon might be slow to anger but he did not suffer fools lightly. One downward swing of the hammer that was Graydon's fist on said ridiculer's helm could cause even the most stouthearted Dwarf to imitate a turtle! No, Graydon was left alone, to the point that he had no friends or companions amongst the young dwarven community. He spent most of his time with his parents or in silent supplication in the presence of The Soulsmith.

He learned well the business of forging at his father's side and in time stood to inherit all of his father's working, for his father was a clan-renowned weaponsmaker. That would all change one day in the middle of his thirty-second year.

Local residence of House De La Rose, City-state of Malkur, Andor, in the first year of the reign of King Dorian Greyhawk, twenty-fifth in succession of mortal kings in Aithen.

Andorian humans on the other hand were not like mountains. Their lives were short, more like a flower, in that they budded, bloomed, and then faded away, only to be renewed the following year, or in the case of humans, the following generation. Life must go on, and even the stabbing pain of loss fades to a dull ache over time.

Even after six months time Anastasia still felt the sharp pain of her guardian's absence. She could still see it reflected in the eyes of her bodyguard and confidant, Rac-Nur, as well. But like the flower which blooms the following year, she knew she had to get on with life, such as it was. As a fifteen year old in a guild where you had to be eighteen before anyone would listen to you, her life was not exactly hers to do with as she pleased. Not that she was not involved in the decision process of the running of the merchant house, but, ultimately, the decisions made were not hers alone. She understood the direction that Aaron had intended when the new charter had been drawn up, she knew what his vision was, and she shared it and even tried to steer it forward, but her Merchant 'Uncles' maintained their individual houses on a more mundane course and used that same method when dealing with hers. At least her Thief 'Uncle' was on her side.

Her 'Uncles', as she called them, were Masters Gerard in Aithen and Bartholomew in Malkur, representing the Merchants' Guild and Master Drexil, who really wanted the house going in the direction that Anastasia wanted, representing the Thieves' Guild. Unfortunately the way the charter had been drawn up the three men only needed a majority to set policy and Uncle Drexil was constantly outvoted. She was a minor and had no vote, nor did she have any say in the running of her own household, but that was more her own fault than by any design. Catherine, her housekeeper, was so happy having something to manage now that her only child was away at the Merchant Marine Academy in Re-An that Anastasia normally deferred to make her happy. The only area of her life in which she really had any say was her studies, and then only because she pursued them relentlessly. She realized early on that the only way she would be taken seriously as a businesswoman and able to take care of herself was if she had the knowledge to backup her status. She sought out the best of both the merchants and the thieves to further her education.

Master Bartholomew was only too happy to instruct her in the business end of running a merchant house, so she set up a schedule to meet with him three times a week for her instruction in the merchant world. Master Drexil was a harder nut to crack, and had initially resisted her attempts at enlightenment.

"What would your guardian say if he knew that I was teaching you to be a thief?" he asked one day in response to her latest request, the previous requests having all met with "no".

"He would string me up and have me drawn and quartered," he continued, answering his own question. It was the same argument that he had used to steer her away each time before.

"He would most definitely not. He would say that I am trying to better myself and my house, and went to the best source available," she replied, trying to butter him up. "Who better to teach me than the head of all the thieves? Who better than the Grand Master?"

"Why?" He asked for perhaps the tenth time, but knowing her answer in advance.

"How can I interact with my contacts and procurers on an even playing field if I can not relate to them?" she replied, arms crossed. "In your business, pedigree and status is everything, and I wish to be taken seriously. It is not as if I am asking you to do something that is outside of your purview. You are a master and I wish to be your apprentice."

In the end he finally acquiesced to her request and so she became an apprentice in the Thieves' Guild, and began meeting with him for several hours each day. The last 'Master' she wished to learn from was right in her own home and was already teaching her how to defend herself with a sword. She had observed Rac-Nur on different occasions practicing techniques that he was not teaching her. She had been sneaking about, practicing the skills learned from Drexil, and had caught him unaware. Well, she thought she was discreet and unnoticed, but lately she was not entirely sure.

Rac-Nur was an excellent teacher and she had advanced so quickly in the art of swordplay that even after only six months she had bested every practice partner that they had employed. Rac-Nur had begun to spar with her himself, and that had turned out to be a humbling experience for her. The one thing that came out of it was that she began to have some insight into what made Rac-Nur tick. She also realized that she was being taught only a minuscule amount of what the Dark Elf knew and began a campaign to change that. A significant incident had forced her thought process and escalated her campaign. It happened several months after Aaron and Tanith had left when a stranger came calling on her residence.

Oliver, Anastasia's butler, answered the knock at the door finding a man standing at the threshold. He studied the stranger for a moment; he was tall, at six feet, and slender to the point of appearing almost gaunt, with a very angular face. He had shoulder length white hair, and sea green eyes, dressing in dark clothing with a black cloak trimmed in scarlet.

"Yes?" He asked politely.

"Is Lord Whiterune at home?" The man asked.

"No, he is currently away but Lady Whiterune is available," Oliver replied. "Who may I say is calling?"

"Prince Velen."

"Very good sir," Oliver replied and held the door. "If you would please wait in the entry here I will announce you."

Velen watched the butler disappear and looked around the entry way to pass the time. He had hoped to find Aaron home but Lady Tanith would do just as well and he smiled when the butler returned.

"Lady Whiterune will see you in the study," Oliver replied. "If you will follow me?"

Velen nodded and fell into step behind the butler, who had turned and led the way toward the study. Stopping at a closed door the butler knocked once and opened the door for Velen, who nodded his thanks and entered the room. He scanned the room quickly and frowned at finding not Tanith, but a human girl sitting at a small couch sipping from a cup. She sat the cup down and stood.

"I thought I was meeting Lady Whiterune," Velen announced with irritation evident in his voice.

"I am Lady Anastasia Whiterune, Marquise de la Rose," Anastasia announced. "You wished to see my guardian, he is currently not in residence."

"My apologies, Marquise," Velen replied, softening his tone. "I expected to find Lady Tanith when the butler informed me that Lady Whiterune was home."

"Ah, I see the confusion," Anastatsia replied and pointed to a chair. "Will you not sit down?"

"No, I believe my presence here is no longer necessary," Velen replied, stepping closer, and inadvertently violating her personal space.

Anastasia felt discomfort bordering on fear in the presence of the Thangdaemon prince. She felt like an insect being examined and it made her very uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that she unconsciously grabbed the medallion around her neck, the one that Aaron had given to her, and fingered it for reassurance.

Rac-Nur was in his room when he felt a vibration begin throughout his body. He knew what the feeling indicated so he grabbed his swords before the intensity grew and he finally vanished.

Rac-Nur reappeared in front of Anastasia and directly in front of the Thangdaemon Lord, Prince Velen, who took a step back at the unannounced appearance.

"Why are you intimidating Shoc-Ti's ward?" Rac-Nur asked, swords at the ready. "I know who you are, Shoc-Ti told me about you. He would be displeased with you over this."