The mines of Thrillem tremble with the voices of a thousand dwarves...HEIGH! HO! HEIGH! HO!
HEEEIGH! HOOO! HEEEIGH! HOOO! HEEE-
-igh! Du-ba-du-ba-dum,
Ho! Du-ba-du-ba-dum
Heigh! Du-ba-dum
Ho! Du-ba-dum
Heigh! Du-ba-du-ba-Ho!
This is the night, brethren, the eve of adventure!
Heigh! Of adventure! Ho! This is the night! The eve of adventure!
Heigh! Du-ba-du-ba-dum, Ho! Du-ba-du-ba-dum
Heigh! Du-ba-Ho! Du-ba-Heigh! Du-ba-du-ba-Ho!
Forward you go, brethren, to claim stolen treasure!
Heigh! Stolen treasure! Ho! Forward you go! To claim stolen treasure!
Aye, you feel it in your Bone,
Pride, and longing, for your Home,
Strength and honor, kin of Stone!
A L B E R I C H
The Great Hall trembled with the thunder of a thousand voices as the dwarves of Thrillem sang the Song of Farewells for their chosen heroes. The song was ancient, recounting all the previous times that heroes had been sent to the surface on glorious quests of revenge or conquest. It was staggering to Alberich to think that, at the end of that long and epic poem, his name and those of his fellow chosen would be added to it. He felt a stab of grief as he realized that his mate would not be mentioned, even in passing. The Song of Farewells had no room for casualties during minor raids. Alberich sniffed, stifling a sob. This was no time to show weakness. This was their night - the eve of adventure.
And what a night it was. The tables seemed endless, stretching into the distance in the cavernous Hall, bulging with a treasure of food and drink. Tens of thousands of candles burned bright, bathing the Hall in a warm, orange light. As far as Alberich could tell, every dwarf in Thrillem had brought their musical instruments, too. When the music started, its echoes would ring through the Deep Places for weeks to come. He glanced at his horn, placed at his feet, longing for the moment when he would join in the fanfare. What a night to be alive! His wedding had been grand, but it seemed a small and private thing compared to this.
The Greybeards, elders of Thrillem, sat at the dais above, smiling down on the proceedings. Somewhere up there were the old and wise dwarves who had decided on sending him and his companions in search of the Fist. Alberich could not fathom how or why they had noticed him among such excellent dwarves, but they had. Not only that, they had chosen him over scores of others, brave warriors and champions of the mines. It was a tremendous honor, but a heavy burden, too. He vowed to make his ancestors proud. To make his mate proud, in death. No matter the cost.
Alberich looked to his side, at the other chosen ones standing next to him. He had never met any of them before, but they were soon going to be his only friends and allies once they reached the surface world. Who were they, and what were they like? He could only guess, but he hoped he would prove himself to them. He wanted nothing more than to be a good companion. He wanted to be useful. As the song came to a close, he watched as the entire population of Thrillem raised their cups, goblets and mugs in their honor. In his honor. He raised his in return, trying to meet the gazes of the crowd before him but drowning in the sheer number of faces.
The dwarves roared as one. All hail the champions! All hail the heroes of Thrillem! Ancestors guide their path! Hail!
Alberich roared in return, raising his cup to his people.
Hail!