Annabelle’s Bastion

Gromak was a busy man.

When he wasn’t running through the overhead for a dormitory full of obnoxious, uneducated Earthlings, he was dealing with the conniving politicals of an annoying mage organization.

As one of the few representatives of the Dwarven Clans trusted to maintain an… amicable relationship with Bastion, it was his so-called duty.

He hardly had time to cook! Or clean his beloved mithril! Or gamble on the human’s interesting card games!

Gromak sighed heavily as he finished tying the last braid in his long, beautiful, hearty beard.

The start of his day was always the same—cook something to train his craft, then clean his mithril at the front desk while waiting for his students to bug him. But not today.

Today had him working to the bone... mentally.

He put a note on his front desk telling everyone he had run away due to overwork, then left the dorm.

“Morning, sir!” a young man said, bowing his brown-haired head as Gromak walked by.

“Careful, John, or others might think I’m royalty,” Gromak said, half in jest and the other in annoyance.

The amount of respect and gestures he received while working in Bastion would make even the Dwarven Kings so envious their beads would fall out. Unfortunately, he wasn’t an ordinary Dwarf—such gestures and placations had little effect on him. He had seen too much political maneuvering.

The boy wryly chuckled but kept his head down as Gromak walked past.

Such actions were not uncommon, even this early. His path toward the inconveniently opposite edge of the island had many greeting him in a similar manner.

But once he got there, to a steel slab covering a hole that led underground, it got quiet.

“Maybe the girlie was right,” he wryly said, pushing open the thick, dark wooden door.

Dwarves were once cave-dwellers, choosing to inhabit mountains and living as close to the depths as possible. Some still preferred it, including the one who made their gathering ground.

It did make Gromak feel at ease to walk down the well-made, carpeted stairs in the tunnel adorned with shining cyan lights. They let him know he wasn’t alone—he didn’t have to deal with the other races by himself, and more importantly, that his culture was still here.

He could bear the brunt for his people, but he would not allow the Dwarves to return to what they once were.

Which only made his mood darken the closer he got to the meeting room, walking through a series of connected tunnels shining with the cyan lights. Of course, they just had to be maze-like! Some tunnels would lead to empty chambers, others to in-construction workplaces. Some paths had more branching paths, others had none.

It was a completely useless design only due to Dwarven history and the wars they fought. If they needed a new chamber, they had many to choose from. Most could also be rigged with traps.

But Gromak almost always got lost, which would be embarrassing for him as their de-facto leader.

Finally, he found the primary door—another thick wooden slab. They weren’t much for the eyes, but they were incredibly sturdy.

Other than the cyan lights, there were two stone statues depicting human knights kneeling.

Both statues’ heads lifted but went down the moment he made eye contact with their empty gazes.

“Beautifully made,” Gromak said in admiration as he rubbed his hand across the intricate designs on the statue’s armor. “Life stone crafted perfectly—no light seepin’ through, either.”

He sighed heavily, his opposite hand clenched. Those statues, as beautiful as they were, were to be made into tools of defense. That stone was damn near stronger than most metals. But he hated seeing them. Being away from the chains of his people was why he chose to work from the human facilities.

Shaking his head, he pushed open the door.

Turning his head, he found the third statue in a dark corner, ready to surprise anybody who somehow got past the first two.

“Elder!”

“You’re here!”

“We have must to discuss, Elder!”

The massive room, with only a long wooden table, already had each seat filled with Dwarves of all kinds. Only his—larger, taller, and adorned with gems—chair remained empty.

Once he sat, a wooden mug was deftly filled before him, one he picked up and raised.

Greldor, the second to him, stood. “To the Elder!” he shouted, raising his mug higher.

A shout all at the table repeated before they all chugged their drink.

Gromak followed, and soon, each cup at the table was flipped and slammed against the table. Each one was upside down, save for his own.

“Now,” Greldor said, returning to his seat. His hair was getting greyer, but his beard was nice and strong for its color, and his silver eyes still held a light. It was good to see. “Elder, I know you despise us having to meet over such circumstances, but we cannot let this go on any longer.”

A round of nods and agreements.

“I know, Greldor,” Gromak said. He sighed and looked around the room, catching the concerned and eager gazes of his people. Those eyes said they knew he would have the solution. “I take it somethin’ has changed?”

“Yes, Elder…” Greldor paused, collecting his thoughts. Eventually, he shook his head. “This time, it isn’t about this island. The issue goes further beyond..”

Gromak nodded. “The vanguard givin’ us trouble again?”

“Yes, but not just him.”

“Who?”

“A…” He paused, the nervousness in his tone palpable.

“Spit it out, Greldor.”

Of course, Gromak already knew the coming words. Despite how people thought of him and his general demeanor, he wasn’t at all out of touch with the happenings above.

“A tableman, Elder.”

There it was.

Gromak sighed heavily.

“Elder, we are not being treated as equal to the other races!” Rindel, a young Dwarf with dirty-blonde hair and a still-growing beard, shouted. His sapphire eyes contained fury.  “Despite all we do—making these facilities work, crafting their weapons, aiding in the discovery and habitation of new worlds, and so much more—we get nothing!”

“Calm yourself, Rindel,” Huldin, the steel-haired Dwarf missing an eye, said, pulling Rindel back into his seat. “We must maintain our heads.”

“Yet, his words ring true, Elder,” Greldor said, dejectedly sighing. He met Gromak’s gaze, and Gromak could tell just how much it was affecting him. “We… are still being denied a representative to the council.”

There was the problem.

Every other race that created Bastion had a person who could speak for their race to the council. They represented the desires and future of their people within the otherwise human organization, and these people were called tablemen. Despite how it sounded, they held a substantial amount of influence. For them, people who have contributed just as much and for so long, to be denied a spot… they were lucky the Dwarves still cared to stay.

And yet, Gromak understood their fear. Every race had that trial period before they could have someone with that much political sway, and no race ruined that chance as they had done so foolishly before him.

“Greldor,” Gromak grimly said. “The mistakes made before me aren’t goin’ to be forgotten so quickly.”

That made Greldor and just about every other Dwarf at the table shrink.

“We only did what we thought was best for our people’s future,” Yuldra said, her voice calm and her old eyes closed. She was the oldest and potentially the wisest in the room—if she cared to speak. But she was old. Her once long, silvery hair was thinning, the braids showing signs of her age. “Yet we chose incorrectly.”  She sighed.

“And I fault nobody for it,” Gromak added. He ensured his gaze met every Dwarf in the room at least once. “But I have learned that other races do not share the same connection as ours.”

For them, anything that pushed their whole race forward was to be done—period. Most of their history was filled with dreadful wars with the violent beasts in their home world. Even today, they cannot escape violence. Even after discovering Sigil’s, a new weight came that replaced the old one. No—that added to it.

So when an opportunity to potentially end all of it came, he could not blame his predecessor for jumping on it. He would likely do the same… just more carefully.

But Bastion did not take kindly to usurpers.

“They have lived in peace—conflicts among their own are hallmarks of each of their history,” Porul said. A young Dwarf but with wisdom beyond his years. This brown-haired Dwarf chose the art of history. He spends more time reading than he does speaking, especially about the other races.

“But, Elder… how long must we live with the mistakes of the past?” Greldor said, half pleadingly. “We have done so much for them since then! Those who had a part in that… error… are no longer here! We have shown—time and time again—that we are an irreplaceable part of what makes their plans work!”

From that, Gromak knew what he and the other wanted of him.

Gromak shook his head. “But you understand their hesitation. If another opportunity similar to the last was delivered to our door, would we decline? What if, this time, the odds of success are much higher? Would we reject it? Ask yourself—all of you.”

The table went silent. It was already quiet, but this time it was palpable.

“We would defer to you, Elder,” Porul said. “We have all agreed to follow your will over all else. If you see it as necessary, then we will go along. For us, it is now that simple.”

That was something each agreed with, even the old Yuldra.

Gromak resisted the urge to groan.

He should be shining his mithril right now.

“Which tablemen is givin’ us trouble?” he asked.

“The fishfolk’s representative,” Greldor said, his eagerness a result of his misunderstanding Gromak’s intent.

“The other races call them Mermaids—a name from the Human myths,” Porul said.

“As with ours, isn’t it?” Yuldra dryly chuckled. “It makes me wonder.”

“Yes,” Porul replied simply.

“Unimportant,” Greldor said. “For now, Elder—”

Gromak stood. “I will make inquiries.” He raised his hand to prevent interruption, continuing, “If I am left unsatisfied with the results, we will simply consider pullin’ ourselves from this damned place.”

He wasn’t one to talk in circles, so he offered a simple solution.

“You can’t—”

“Listen to me!” Gromak shouted over Greldor. But he could see and sense the shock in every Dwarf in the room. “I am not saying we do not be patient. But I want a path for us to take rather than empty words until someone moves their ass. I will speak with the headmaster myself, and her connections will give me the answer we seek.”

“Are you sure?” Huldin said, looking gravely at Gromak. “Elder, despite what we may delude ourselves into thinking, they do not need us. We need them—this relationship is not equal.”

“Huldin!” Greldor shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “We do not speak of that! Our world’s struggles do not and should not play a part in this! Our contribution is undeniable, our power vast, and our resources widely used. That is all that matters.”

Gromak nodded. “Greldor is right, Huldin. This is not a negotiation. Your belief is why our people have not pushed for this further.”

That, and the homeworld wasn’t as concerned with Bastion as the ones who had left. They—the ones Gromak and every Dwarf in the room was a part of—were the Offworlders. If they didn’t bring back a solution, the Dwarves would find something else.

Which was better.

Gromak did not want to deal with the King’s egos in a land where the other races would not care for their positions.

“If you say it, then I will trust it,” Huldin said, bowing his head.

“I will trust you, Elder— Gromak,” Yuldra said. “But please be careful. Until we have a hold in this place, I do not wish to go home and report our success.”

“Right.”

The Offworlders barely maintain contact with home, only reporting every decade with whether they had succeeded. Their mission was simple: find a new place. But getting one was only truly possible with Bastion, as their needs were highly specific.

After that, Gromak left.

It was time for them to have a little more control in this damned place.

Except, he’d actually have to purposefully meet with Alisha now.

He groaned, making his way back to his dorm—he’d do it after the expedition and when things were stabilized. Getting big plans into motion would end his peaceful days!