It had been twenty years since Took had been inside his parents’ mansion. The thick, sturdy manor had been cut out of a sharp hostone (one of thousands sharp rock formations that knifed into the open air across the overall flat landscape of Dragont). The dwarfish architecture could be plainly seen for miles, that is when the view wasn’t blocked by an obnoxiously tall hostone, which was always. A perpetual mist blanketed the ground, and evidence of the sun was only found by the clouds over the valley basin turning a lighter shade of gray. Other than that, you might have just said that there were no blue skies in the dale, only gray ones.

The heavy stone door on the front of the house would have been impossible for a dwarf even with Took’s stoutness to open. This is what made the people of Dragont of the Dale unconquerable; they needed no central manor around which to build a town for protection. All homes of the Dale where made from hostone and all hostones connect to each other in a series of tunnels, for they are what remains of the dragon nests of the dragons that had long since disappeared. Instead of a doorknob there was only a keyhole into which only the signet of a family member or close friend could fit. Took clenched his fist, placed the ring into the hole, and twisted sharply. A stone clank and a low rumble could be heard as the lock responded and triggered the door open. For a moment there was blackness and dust swirling out of the door like smoke. Presently, torches triggered by the opening of the door lit themselves; they burned very low, however. “After twenty years, it’s a wonder that they even flamed up,” said Took. The family treasure chamber lay at the center of the home, as did all dwarven treasure chambers. This too had a stone door guarding it, but this one was decorated with the family crest in silver and gold with two specific gems-a perfectly circular diamond surround by a ring shaped ruby-placed in the center as the key hole. The keyhole at the front door was heavy iron and could be changed as friends and family rose or fell out of family favor, thus their signet mark would not work. The treasure chamber keyhole however could only be opened by one signet, the heir’s.

Raising his clenched fist once again, slightly trembling, Took fitted the ring into the hole and twisted again. It worked! The lock clanked and the door sank back a rolled to the side into the wall. Here the torches were much brighter and stronger, for the chamber was rarely ever opened.

Scanning the heaps of gold and jewels, Took’s eyes landed on a very peculiar object. This object was not of dwarfish design. Not even glancing at the beautiful glittering treasure around him, he advanced upon the foreign object. It was a sword, a clear silver sword as strait and as thin as a needle but as wide as an ax head. On the silver handle, the Stulwart family crest. It was part of his family’s treasure, but it was not made by his family. It was an elven sword. Looking closer at the blade and flipping it over and over, Took noticed an inscription on both sides of the blade: one he assumed was written in an elven tongue for he could only make out a few letters, but the other was written in Dwarf. The shadows danced to much on this side of the room, so Took picked up the sword and carried it to a nearby torch. Putting the blade behind the flame, Took studied the words. With a gasp, Took dropped the sword, which hit the golden tiled floor with a sharp ring that echoed through the chamber. As the ringing faded, Took gingerly lifted the sword once again and this time trembling. He read the words once again behind the flame. There was no mistake. In our language the inscription read: “Sword Victorious.” According to Realm legend, he who bears this sword in war would surely be victorious so long as he did not seek his own gain. He who sought the gain of others would bring peace to the land, but he who sought his own gains by the sword would die by that sword and the it would be lost.