BFR-03: Dwagons
Have you ever seen a dwagon?
That was not a misspelling. I refer not to flying, fire-breathing serpents, but rather to dwarven merchants who wander across Avelliron with wagons. Or, as they are more affectionately called by most peoples on the continent, dwagons.
Dwagons are a relatively new arrival to trade in Avelliron. In fact, for the first thousand years after Starfall, little was known about the dwarves, their remote city of Buried Furnace, and their empire even deeper underground. After all, they kept to themselves. They saw no point in venturing to the surface world, where dangerous, allergy-inducing water could, quite literally, fall from the sky. Certainly nobody south of Hundral could even describe what a dwarf looked like.
That all changed in 1009 ASF, only a decade after Rivona’s Great Library burned down. Far away in Buried Forge, a dwarf by the name of Tholgun had a revolutionary idea. Tholgun was forty years old—an early adult, in dwarvish years—and belonged to the Iron Clan, famed for their prowess in brewing and trading iron barley beer. Their business centered around Buried Forge, with ties back deeper into the empire. Trade above ground trade was little and far between, for surfacers found their beer too strong.
As for Tholgun, he looked and played the part of an Iron Clan dwarf. He kept his dusty blonde hair and beard groomed at all times and was never seen without his ruby red vest. Ever ready to make a sale. But while his showmanship was superb, his brewcraft —at least by dwarvish standards—was lacking. Even the drunks of Buried Forge rejected his beer, branding it with the most terrible of all insults: it was too watery.
Tholgun was on the brink of financial ruin when word of Rivona’s Great Fire finally reached Buried Forge. It had been years since the disaster, but Tholgun sensed an opportunity. An idea. Surprising friends and clan alike, he sold most everything he owned, purchased a wagon, covered it with canvas, and filled it to the brim. Filled it with what, you might ask? He told nobody. He set out from Buried Forge, his wagon drawn by the standard dwarvish beast of burden: a cave sloth. It was named Tuber.
Soon after emerging onto the surface, Tholgun stumbled across a tribe of Yulekk. The dwarf was friendly with them, exchanging stories and news and pleasantries, but when they asked what was in the wagon, he refused to tell them.
“It’s fer the queen,” he said.
This happened again when he stopped near Iron Spire in Hundral, and again just below the slopes of Dragon’s Roost in Khorven. He and Tuber drew looks wherever he went, and the same question always followed: “what’s in the wagon?” No amount of poking or prodding would break his silence—and one growl from Tuber shut down any threats. Even still, he left wonder in his wake.
By the time Tholgun reached Great Forks in Rivona, hundreds of people trailed behind him. Word of his coming had already arrived, too. Gates opened. Crowds parted. After the guards inspected his wagon and the thirteen barrels within, he was allowed into an audience with Runa the Researcher, Queen of Rivona.
It was the first time most of the Rivonan court had seen a dwarf, and Tholgun knew it. His beard and hair had grown down to his waist, and his ruby red vest was frayed and torn. But he incorporated these into a performance, telling of his journey, of all the rivers crossed and storms weathered. Then he cracked open each of the thirteen barrels.
There were casks of his own beer, of course, which he correctly predicted would be the ideal strength for surfacer tastes. There was also dwarvish coffee and tea. There were many other goods, too: gemstones of eye-popping color, sculpted lava, reams of dwarven silk, among much more. There was even a caged mhulsit, a small furry creature with a head like a fox and a body like a monkey, a common pet amongst dwarves. It went on to skulk the queen’s castle for fifty seven years.
Last of all were the scrolls of dwarven lore, copies that Tholgun had purchased from scribes in Buried Forge. He humbly presented these to Runa the Researcher. “Fer yer library, Yer Highness.”
It was a grand gesture and an even bigger gamble, but it paid off. The Queen and her court showered Tholgun in gifts, favors, and riches. So much so that Tholgun needed three wagons and an armed escort to make the return journey home.
Needless to say, Tholgun’s tale inspired countless generations of dwarves to get into the dwagon business. None were successful as he, but they remain the backbone of trade between the surface and Buried Forge to this day. Out of respect, fear of bad luck, or simple stubbornness, most dwagon merchants won’t sell or disclose their goods until they reach their intended destination.
Even still, when one of those covered wagons rolls into town, it is inevitable that someone will shout, “Look! Dwagon!” It is also inevitable that it will be misheard as dragon, and will cause some amount of temporary panic. But if it’s the dwagon’s final stop, it is inevitable that the merchant will make a show of it, like Tholgun did, revealing new wonders and treasures of dwarvenkind.
