Lanzi - The Claw

The Claw - General Detail

The claw was originally from a Falcon, the bird most closely linked to the Egyptian Mythos from which the Claw originated.

Lanzi’s Legend Lore

“What have we here? This is an oddity, beautiful work…yes, not a dwarfish hand, no…Orodruin himself perhaps - I sense great power in it…” Lanzi looks into the deep, dark eyes of a female dwarf. She is not exactly ugly – she does not have much facial hair – but she is not to Lanzi’s taste. Her broad nose ensures that her dark, kindly eyes are set wide apart on a moon-like face. Her lips are full and hide well cared for white teeth. Her large, unfeminine and calloused hands cradle Lanzi as she appreciates the magnificence of what she holds. “I wonder what power you hold; are you what I suspect you to be? It is a shame I have such little time to consider you more carefully. I have other…” “My Lady Mala,” another dwarf interrupts, “the enemy pursues us, we must delve deeper into Kaled Zem.” The dwarf carries a banner on which is embroidered the symbol Ϣ. Turning to face the warrior-clad dwarf, the lady replies, “Yes Gallos, summon the guard, we’ll use the Inderfell pass and hope our enemies do not arrive before us.”

“We have done it my Lady!” A taller than average dwarf, which Lanzi now knows to be Gallos, walks across a scree slope wiping blood from a mighty battleaxe. The background is a mountain range and the foreground is rolling steep foothills, broken and battered by the weather. These rock-strewn slopes are a battlefield, littered with the dead of all races - good and ill. “Yes, I believe we have,” comes the somewhat stilted reply of the female dwarf. As Gallos approaches, Lanzi notices the damage inflicted on his armour and the blood which trickles from his shoulder, “Look yonder, ma’am, Ythanos comes.” “Have you completed the count?” She feigns indifference. “No, ma’am, but the first indications are better than we could have hoped. Lord Grash entered the Minas from the Stair of Garag and encountered little resistance – no sign of the Demon.” “That is a relief. You have secured the outer battlements?” “Yes ma’am, the fighting was fierce at first, but the enemy has lost the stomach for it.” He stands astride, placing his hands on the newly polished blade and letting the axe take his weight. Together they look down into the valley from their vantage as a human warrior approaches. “Aah, I wager that Ythanos senses a greater victory than returning the House of Zem to its rightful home.” She smiles again, regarding the man’s approach. “My Lady?” “Sorry, I do not mean to talk in riddles; I just know how impetuous these young folk can be. Watch as he approaches – the confident swagger of a victor, the occasional acknowledgment afforded to those that fought well, the concerned look to the fallen or injured. He has stomach for more, of that I am certain.” “Lady Mala,” a tall, handsome man with long, well kept, blonde hair calls as he bows deeply (as much as his armour allows). As he rises, his burnished mail displays a rampant white horse on his breast plate and the symbol Ŷ, “I am relieved to see you well; I heard the battle for the outer bastion was fierce.” “My Lord Ythanos,” the female dwarf bows deeply, “my axe-men did well; our House no longer provides shelter for a Demon Prince.” “Is that not a fine thing,” the man’s mouth breaks into a smile which threatens to break his even, blonde moustache and displays gleaming white teeth. “We have the advantage Lady!” “Yes, Ythanos, we do,” and in a whisper to Gallos, “here it comes…” “Perhaps we can count on your assistance as we press the advantage to Maedus?” “Of course my Lord…” The knowing smile is grim but resolute.

A group of dwarves gather around a table on which Lanzi is sat. On the table, partially obscuring the Ϣ symbol are maps which Lanzi recognises as Kaled Zem. The conversation has revolved around the re-emergence of a Demon Prince. “Our withdrawal has worked well, my Lady, many of the enemy’s spearhead forces have been smashed and his advance has been slowed. We have made them pay for every inch.” “Thank you Glorin. I now need you to reinforce Barad Duin and bring Prast back from the peak of Gurinor. He needs to make that traverse quickly so that he can block any move up the eastern approach. You will then press from Barad’s door here,” she points a stubby, nail-bitten finger at the map and moving her finger across the map, continues, “to the point of Crag Tun. You’ll encounter wargs there I have little doubt. I’ll be here,” again, she points as all around listen intently, “and will bring my guard in a circle to close the escape of those trapped in Mira’s valley.” Her voice breaks and a tear threatens to run from her face. “My Lady we have had nigh-on 100 years of peace; no-one can take that from your expert reign.” “Get out of my arse Sharack, now fetch Gallos!” her words said with more venom than she had meant. “Yes my Lady.” A dwarf bows and departs, hurt but not bitter. Clearly waiting, Gallos enters as soon as Sharack opens the door to leave, “You summoned me, my Lady?” “You know I did; ‘though I thought you to be too old to listen at keyholes,” she smiles, and the wrinkles which spread across her forehead showed the last 100 years had taken its toll. “I have good news for you ma’am; the tide turns and the House of Hamar joins our cause. Your husband reports success to our north and is forcing the enemy back. The Demon will be hard pressed to cling onto his gains in Kaled Zem.”

“So it comes to this?” “Ma’am?” “We have harried the Demon Prince for the last ten years from our very door to this bridge.” Gallos and his Queen stand on a wide fortified bridge which crosses a very broad, fast flowing river. Eight towers point skyward from the river, sixty feet wide and nearly twice as tall; the floor of the bridge passes through each tower, twenty feet above the river. They look at the setting sun as it sinks behind a horizon many miles away. The surrounding land is vast, wide open and rolling down-land - so alien to a dwarf. “Yes my Lady, your husband will join us shortly. He brings the rear guard which we believe fight fresh enemy forces that have emerged from the forgotten lands.” Gallos turns about and stares into the distance. The Queen turns to follow his gaze. “When will he arrive?” She enquires searching into the gloaming. “The day after tomorrow; just in time. We expect the Demon to release his grasp on Gos and attempt to cross here. We are asked to stop him.” “Yes, yes…Who is to join us?” “The Lords Hasfast from Rodrus and Hillick from Ishtur will join our happy throng. As you know they are well versed in warfare, although none of us know how to hold a bridge of this size.” “And the men of Gorgoroth who built this beast and the elves that live in the oldest forest?” She turns back to look down the length of the bridge in time to witness the setting of the sun. “They siege Gos.” “Why not just surround them and let them rot? Surely it would be better to face the fresh forces from the East? We are the ones now surrounded…Can I withdraw?” “They are expecting us to hold. I am told the new enemy will not be upon us for some days.” “No they will not; they’ll attack our homes whilst we are away – Maedus will fall, swiftly followed by Zem. What treachery is this - that those who have most to lose are used as clag to support those more finely crafted? ” She is angry now and struggles to contain her frustration.

“No!” The shout bursts from Gallos as the dwarf, bloodied and battered, hurries across broken, uneven ground and heather, reaching out an arm to his Queen. It was too late. Lanzi, attached to a heavy necklace which the Queen had taken to wearing on her long journeys, saw it all. Together with her family, Queen Mala had left the Bridge a week before in an attempt to reach her home before the enemy engulfed it. Lanzi understood them to be in the foothills to the north east of Malek. The dwarven armies had been smashed at the bridge – outnumbered and out manoeuvred. Hillick had died on the bridge, brought down by a gigantic demon. What was left of the House of Zem had withdrawn and regrouped south east of the bridge as the enemy gathered strength. It was in the foothills of Malek that Mala faced her nemesis – an oversized hill giant. She battled against the ambush long and hard; alongside the Queen was her husband, Turin, and her daughter Marag. They had been separated from their guards as the ambush was sprung. Tired from battle and constant travelling, the House of Zem nearly fell in those foothills. Mala died first, struck down by a mighty mallet blow. Lanzi was aware of many others falling although he could see little from under the Queen’s corpse. He heard Gallos scream and became aware of the death of the giant as it crashed to ground. After what seemed like an age Lanzi was picked up and placed around Marag’s neck as she ran weeping uncontrollably.

“My Lady you have heard?” A young dwarf warrior stands on a blue-marble floor, next to a stone, round table in the middle of a small but well crafted hall. He is leaner than most, but has the obligatory long, thick beard and unruly red-brown hair. His armour appears well used and his axe bears the notches of recent combat. “Yes nephew; please accept my sincere condolences, your father was a great man, taken long before his natural time.” Lanzi sees her mother in the Queen’s face – the deep lines on her forehead and the dark, kind eyes. “Helmfor, you are the Lord of Minas Emras now and we must put the needs of our House before our need to grieve. Do you have a plan?” “My Queen, I believe that revenge would be cathartic,” a rief smile, “do not worry, I am not rash – I will not throw the lives of my kinsmen from the Bifrost Bridge into Hel out of desire to vent my anger. No…I would strike back when the time is right but for now we hold the Minas.” “You are wise beyond your years. I have sought help from King Brolgan of Hamar; I understand the Mage, Renash, is with him. They will arrive from the pass at Cair Cul and spread into Mira’s valley beneath. We need to time our strike well as we could swing the battle in Brolgan’s favour.” “Where would you suggest we attack?” The younger dwarf asks turning to the table, reaching into a deep pocket behind his breast plate and withdrawing a map. Unfurling it on the table his eyes quickly roam across the marks, runes and images, searching. “North of Mount Korag, at Bor y Rûn perhaps...?” Joining him at the table, the Queen points at the map. “Aah, yes; we could use the broad passage through Lasgar’s old halls.”

“My Queen, you are sorely wounded.” Lanzi had thought that the battle was won. No-one noticed the wounds that Marag carried were poisoned by the hideous weapons the cave trolls had used so effectively. “Lie here…Physician! Help!” Helmfor assists his Queen as her legs give way; Lanzi smells the poison which seeps from a chest wound close to where he hangs, still on the heavy gold chain. “I am to die, Helmfor; brother Grimbotuluk will take up the fight at Maedus.” “Yes my Queen, Brolgan will press the advantage and free the Minas; we have got message to Hasfast that he must time his strike well as we did here. Rest my Lady, the pain will pass.” “You are a good and kindly nephew, Helmfor, and you’ll make a great leader. However, my throne must pass to your brother Nashg.” “I know my Lady, he is a great warrior and we will follow him like we have you; in father’s absence you raised him well and I know he loves you deeply.” “Let him know that my last thoughts were with him…and you, of course my young council. Our House has suffered much in my reign and I wish a more prosperous future for him…urgh” her voice cracks, blood appears at her mouth, she swallows hard, “…Have you water?” She drinks from a flask Helmfor produces. “The light fades, though I know it to be noon. Bury me where I am,” her words have a remarkable strength, “I need no tomb…” another deep swallow and her arms go limp in Helmfor’s hands, “. ..the rocks are my home.” She dies. Helmfor whispers, “And so passes Marag daughter of Mala, Queen of Kaled Zem,” before kissing her forehead and closing her eyes.

“My King, they have withdrawn.” Helmfor announces upon his entry to the same hall with the marble floor and the stone table that Lanzi recognised as the Monarch’s private office. “Do not despair Helmfor, we still have strength. Have you had time to prepare our contingency?” Nashg, the King, had the same eyes of his lineage but was less well preserved. His face was marked with the scars of battle; his hair was so unruly that he had given up even plaiting it. Nashg’s beard was long enough to tuck into his belt, which he wore over his stout and well used armour. He had marks on his forehead from having recently worn a tight-fitting helmet. “Yes my Lord, although we may be going from the frying pan into the fire.” Helmfor appeared unusually nervous. Normally rock-steady, the Lord of Minas Emras had begun to appreciate his mortality. “Agreed, but I see no other option…Do you?” Nashg walks to the table and examines the ancient map that had been part of the Monarch’s inventory for many hundreds of years. “No brother, Guerin is too strong and we cannot hope to hold onto Zem. My King, you have reigned over us for 100 years of peace and now 5 years of siege. You have the strength of our father and the mind of our Queens who reigned before you. Whatever happens now, I hope you know I support you in all things…” “Come now brother you sound as if this is the end; we will return.” “My Lords,” a warrior dwarf bursts into the room bowing so low that he nearly trips over, “Aran is dead!” “What?” Nashg asks, despite understanding perfectly well. “Aran has been killed by Guerin! His son, Dulan has taken the Army to Sutur.” “When? Where?” Helmfor points at the map. “On the Pass of Filor, heading towards Sutur - but three nights ago.” The guard hurries to the table and indicates the Pass on the map. “We must go now, Nashg, my King!” “Yes.” His reply was slow and considered. He took a moment to look around before picking up his axe and ordering, “Rulneck son of Gallos, assemble the guard, order the contingency – we leave for Hama’las.”

Before Lanzi stands Grasgal, King of the Gith; the all too familiar diabolical monster fills Lanzi with trepidation as he remembers Morwath’s decapitation. The dwarfs fair no better. “I have finally found you, Nashg King of Zem, running like a frightened rabbit.” Grasgal’s sword drips blood as he holds it before him. At his feet are many of Nashg’s personal body guard. “Fuck off, you sick foul beast; I’ll cut you down to size.” Nashg’s eyes sweep around looking for someone or something. “Aah, your brother is not among the dead. Do not worry, he will soon join you in supper with Hel.” Grasgal’s toothy grin reveals his sharp, blackened teeth. As he speaks, Nashg strikes at Gragal’s legs, hoping to catch him off guard. Grasgal moves to the right, taking much of the force out of the blow which, nevertheless, draws blood and threatens to topple the Gith Lord. His return is swift and unexpected; using the sword as a staff, Grasgal draws a black metallic ball from a pouch and throws it at the dwarf. The ball expands and breaks into metal bands which threaten to entrap Nashg. Fortunately for the dwarf, he manages to pull himself free but his is unable to defend himself from the impact of the sword. The vorpal blade strikes the dwarf just above the elbow of his left arm as he struggles to remove the entangled shield from the magical the iron rings. His arm is neatly severed in two. The speed of Grasgal’s sword arm rivals Milai. The dwarf’s scream is cut short as the sword describes a wide arc, neatly severing his neck close to his clavicle. As Nashg’s body flops amongst the fallen dwarves that litter the floor at Grasgal’s feet, a female Lanzi recognises – the woman who escaped Minas Aarda after Grasgal was destroyed – enters the room. Tall, slender, elegant - she could be described as willowy if it were not for her large chest. She strides across the floor, her heavy indigo cloak flowing, flashing the purple robe beneath. Her long booted legs make a rhythmic appearance from beneath a short black silk skirt. Under her arm is a heavy book, tucked in her belt are ivory scroll cases and around her long lithe neck is a platinum necklace studded with black sapphires. She flicks her pitch-black hair to one side as she steps over Nashg’s body. Her eyes flash the deepest blue - she is looking directly at Lanzi. She stares…waiting…watching. ‘What is it?’ she asks no-one, whispering. “It was Nashg, deceased King of Zem…ha ahaha” Grasgal replies. “You cannot avoid the inevitable, we will have it all”, again she whispers, ignoring the Gith. Her face is intense, earnest and unnaturally beautiful – pale tender skin offset by ruby red lips and rose-coloured cheeks.