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Since the dwarves were the first to build a fortress in the realm, their forefathers had become the least obtrusive of the nine races. The dwarves alone had maintained their breeding grounds of rock and stone, and their cities made of stone were the most long-lasting. When we arrived, the dwarves had already erected several modest defensive routes and quickly began constructing an impressive capital city. When we saw the site of the dwarven kingdom, it was not an encouraging sight. The dwarves, while proud of the city they built, had made the mistake of not using any metal. This meant the walls, towers, and gates of the new city were all made of stone. When these walls came under attack, and their tops were melted by the dragon's breath, their city was quickly overtaken. It was now time for the dwarves to face the consequences of their decision.
As we took the survivors from the battle, it was clear there was little we could do for them. We had no means to transport them, and it was not our concern to begin a colony here. We only hoped that some of the dwarves would remain in their lost land, but that was all we could do. As our last bit of mercy, we appointed their king as a watchman over their fallen homes. The king had no one else to rule over, so it was the only position available.
We held a ceremony of peace and farewell. The dwarves, lined up on either side of the narrow road, waved their fists at the dragon and let their final shouts to our leader be their final salutes.
The dwarves had left us, and their city was now filled with creatures that no longer had any care for their people. The council offered us an all-out battle, and we were willing to take it on for the loss of the people, but it was not our son's heart.
We did what we could for the dwarves. We refused to speak of the atrocities they had committed, and we would not enforce any penalties for slaying. Their king became a model citizen. He took to official duties, and the people would follow him anywhere. The few that remained took to following the dragon. The king called them nomads, and it was the last name he heard of from his people.
During the years that followed, their kingdom fell into turmoil. The dwarves split off from their new tribe, and the city-states began to fall. It was also during this time that our underground factory began to produce a new magic. As the dwarves learned about magic, a new word was born amongst us. Not one of us knew the word for it, but we used it to describe the result of their new finding. This discovery would be a marvel, an achievement by the races, born from the magic of the dwarves. It took years for the dwarves' new discovery to draw inspiration from the council and those of us stationed with them. Our newfound knowledge would lead us to the realization of our holy weapon.
The council led us to a deeper understanding. Understanding our enemy, the council devised a method of operation. Rather than travel all over, using our military to defend something that could be easily retaken, we would use our attacker to our advantage. When the council's plan was complete, we knew we would need an extraordinary leader, who was nothing short of the dragon's henchman. Luckily for us, it shined down upon our cowardly king himself when he was promoted as the perfect candidate. He ascended as our leader, and has been in charge ever since.
While our king fulfilled his duties, he began educating us on the communications of the dwarves. They struggled to speak with urgency in their long-winded language. Our king quickly learned their language and soon began to translate all that he heard into our own tongue. The king pieced together their speech, like a puzzle, and soon we were able to learn their riddle. It was all we needed to plan our final strike against the dragons.
Our ultimate target was something that our enemy could not reclaim. Its secrets and location were found, but it would require our enemy to fight first. We would allow the dwarves to flourish in their new home, and then we would assault their home. This was the moment they had been waiting for, waiting to finish their hostilities against us.
Our king, together with our wisest, prepared the dwarves for their coming battle. They would fight as one, and they would not be left to stand alone. The true purpose of their journey to fight the dragons was revealed. They had known of our plans, but they could not have foreseen anything this acceptable. For many of them, the plan meant survival.
We approached the dragon. Our army marched enthusiastically. It was past dusk, and we took the dragon by surprise. We attacked the dragon with our newfound weapon, the kings weapon. It pierced the heart of a dragon. The cold ashes reached the depths of the animal's consciousness, and it felt the sting. It saw its kin, dead at its feet. As the dragons' numbers dwindled, they turned and fought one another, but it was not enough. It was as though they fought each other as much as they fought us. It was their end, and they knew they were done, but they did not give in quietly. A final show of defiance, they spewed fire from the mouth of their dead. They stopped fighting. The smoke from their last breath was consumed in the air, and the hill became cold again. The survivors of the volatile dwarves then lowered their arms.
For our fellow dwarves, we left them to the mercy of their new queen, with our promise that we would always come for them. For the dragons, we sealed their new kingdom in a tomb of stone. We did not bury them, but we did not want to know where they laid.
As a sign of good faith, in the years that followed we would send wings of dwarves as tribute to the former king.
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