The House of Goren

(Quick author's note! These chapters will be fairly short but I will make a lot of them!)

Chapter 1 ~

Fallen from the sky in burning orbs of glowing debri and hot flashes of light, Rillen, Forren, Monden, and Arethamen collided with intense fury into the bitter dirt of Surfenhallen, the land where outcasts are sent, hurling through the Dark Sea of Stars and over the Grove of Serbal. Rillen, Forren, Monden, and Arethamen had angered their dwarf overlord, Lord Branlen of the Seven Pieces. The four dwarfs of Annen had failed to complete their daily quota of magic making for the building of the dwarf's new city. Lord Branlen cast their sorry souls through the Shadows of Sorren and past the Volt of Voraine. They now lay, crumpled in a pile of moonlit tunics, dust rising from their bodies as the earth settled around them. The air was still as though four furious dwarfs with fire on their heels had not just crashed violently through the atmosphere. The pile of bodies shifted on the sparse terrain. Pointy shoes made of silver laden leather became discernible from the heap of fumbling limbs as the dwarfs commenced the untangling of their beards from his neighbor's equally bushy whiskers. The moonlight glinted off of their shiny black eyes as the dwarfs fallen from Annen steadied their statures, surveying their depressing surroundings. Rillen adjusted his tool belt, his magic-making tools tinkling in the stale night air. It would never be light in the land of Surfenhallen. The outcasts sent there never gazed upon the sun nor felt the warmth of its golden rays on their skin. Only moonlight lit the Land of the Lowlies. Surfenhallen had many names: the Haven Before Hell, the Sands of the Sorrowers, the Forbidden Floor. Outcasts would live a life of moonlit doom, wandering the sandy dunes in search of The Lost Passageway, a doorway leading to the glittering waters of the Silver Sea which would in turn carry one to Ermentrine, the City of Lit Halls. Whenever a fortunate soul arrived at the front gates of Ermentrine, a star would burst with with its golden treasures, exploding around the victor in brilliant particles of light, transforming the being into a heavenly sight to behold. Clothed in garments woven from liquid gold shaped in the very arms of the crescent moon, the creature, having obtained eternal residence in the City of Lit Halls, would be transported on wings of silver bells to the heart of the city. The dwarfs of Annen had heard of this door but had never sought to find it as it resided within Surfenhallen's darkness. To venture into the Haven of Hell meant traveling the Forbidden Flight, the path leading from all kingdoms surrounding the Center-Most Abode, Surfenhallen. Any creature caught traveling this route would be subsequently banished permanently to the Sands of Sorrow, deprived of all transportation back to any of the 9 worlds, and his would be memory erased from the minds of all who knew him. The 9 worlds, Steeron, Silaction, Malvod, Regina, Strathe, Wiport, Gigapion, Lantheeumtim, and Annen were each homes to individual races. The dwarfs resided in Annen under the protection and leadership of Lord Branlen of the Seven Pieces, so named for his position as protector of the Seven Pieces of Gallen. The Seven Pieces were seven segments of the Orb of Gallen, a ball of lightning and thunder, surrounded by seven ancient stones of an evil nature that were torn from the mass of energy as it crashed into the rocky cliffs of the dwarfs' land. Lord Branlen guarded these pieces with as much soul as he guarded his own people. The pieces, if reunited with the Orb of Gallen, could destroy entire worlds given the chance. Monden combed through his bright red beard, with his calloused fingers, rough from years of work in Annen, repairing and building old and new cities, magic cities. Arethamen and Forren straightened their hair woven caps and tightened their chain link belts. The brothers stood in a row, overlooking the frosty land with eyes of steel, flitting from one unmoving object to the other. When a creature had remained in Surfenhallen for too long, he would turn into a statue of moonstone, stationary for the rest of his pitiful life and beyond, into eternity. Strange figures dotted the sloping hills, crimns from Gigapion with their jutting chins and hairy under eyes, their slithering limbs with bony joints covered in dull scales, yellow pupils frozen in a gaze that would never again rest on anything but the desolate plains of Surfenhallen. Dartins from Malvod sat, dejected, in their skin of stone, their flowing hair and teeth of ice contained in their tomb-like prison. Whipchards from Strathe stood erect, populating the cold desert with their flowing robes and jeweled shoes, their speckled skins surrounding the hollows of their cheekbones. Scaltips from Wiport mingled among the frozen figures in tight fitting tunics, their scalps covered in tentacles trailing down to the stony earth beneath their seven-toed bare feet. Midlorgs from Lantheeumtim, their furry faces frozen in furious expressions, their three stout legs stretching in all directions beneath the midlorg dress, a shiny cape and jeweled trousers topped with vests made of water. Dwarfs from Regina stood stationary in their proud postures, their pointed ears and graceful gowns reminded he who gazed upon them of the glorious realm from whence they came. Giants from Steeron looked down with stony eyes on the blackened earth, their stout shoulders and menacing fists hovering above the heads of those beneath. Wizards and witches from Silaction haunted the still surroundings in their magical robes. Their lordly garments flowed from their stately figures like proclamations of their glorious days before, battling the evil witches and wizards who used their powers to fly the Forbidden Flight from Surfenhallen into any world they wished if the Guardians of the Dark Sea of Stars could not prevent them from passing. Though their bodies slept the Sleep of Sorrowers, these doomed creatures shared an unsleeping desire to someday return to their beloved homelands.