It is said by both the hill and even the resigned mountain dwarves that Sands Ka Mone was the greatest of all dwarves. Many old timers tend to argue this, even the historians can argue. Some grant that Kivel III was much greater. His exploits for the mountain kingdom brought them into the fray as a major trade city in the western maps. Some consider, Dane Ironhaft the greatest because he singlehandedly defeated three giants. They had wiped out the central city of Sunwatch when most of the men were at war. He was a retired ore miner of old. But nothing can exceed the exploits of Sands Ka Mone. The following are recorded stories of this dwarf's adventures according to Rentin the Storyteller.

Ka Mone. The name of a great emperor that gathered together the lost souls of dwarven society. The intangible had become tangible.

A weapon of glory carried the will of faith within. That which has faith can bring men back to life. Lives of wandering souls became whole once again. Upon a battlefield of glory did they rise. Wholeness creates completeness. So was the faith and truth of a grand weapon. The legendary sword of spirit. The greatest weapon known to dwarven kind was carried by the grandfather of Sands. Through generation it was passed, until it stood here in the hands of Sands Ka Mone.

The battlefield cleared of the living enemy Sands stood alone, but for a lone friend near his side. Sands sighed with great command of his lungs. His friend was immense in faith, and true in his support of Ka Mone. He'd live and die at his side. Sands truly believed this. Looking at this friend...he realized that he was getting old. Langdon McCrabb, was showing signs of a speckled beard. Streaks of grey dotted it here more now than it did a year ago. Life had it's rough times and one of them followed the Old Crab. A lost wife, and two sons dead before him can take a toll on a man. Yet, still he stood by his side. Patting him on the shoulder, Sands moved towards the plain of the battlefield. Time to collect the souls of his befriended.

Raising the weapon in triumph, Sands begins to do a dance. Reversing all of his swings as if he were erasing what had happened before. Minutes pass and soon voices can be heard from the field. A marching tune resounds around him and McCrabb. Soon the soldiers that were his rise once again. Faith filling their hearts and joy at the battle they won. Not all stood though. The few that died early, their souls must have passed on, and the enemy remained dead. Except for two, the rest remained down. Two orcs arose and Sands immediately new why. Their hearts were truly not in this war. Though they deserved to die, they also will tell his tale for generations. He waved them off and turned to his army in tears.

"It is time my friends to get our wives and our children and find us a home. Our last battle is over now and now we may build. We liberated ourselves from our mountain betrayers. Now let's go home!"

Weapon raised with his other fist Sands grins for the first time in fifteen years.

Now years later, Sands stands atop the first wall of the west gate. His judgement was correct. Overlooking the small village to the east, he can see potential for the future.

The village faces a grande forest to the west and north. To the south is rocky soil, perfect flatbed for future growth. To the east stands an opening and the beginnings of a small roadway. A roadway that leads to the great city Evereth. Although human in nature it held a defined mix of other races. An ambassador from Sands should be there even now setting up a potential trade caravan.

Sands gaze moves from the distance to the new smokestack and the crowd below. The crowd seems to be awaiting something in anticipation. He grins, the caravans will come soon enough. Once again, the great weapon of his grandfather is raised. Sweat glistens off his forearm.

"From this gate, a wall will arise north and south of us. Soon it will become wall of greatness and symbolism. From this wall two others will join it, and gates to join them as well. Soon, even those will be connect with the largest gate of all. The east gate and the path to our wealth and freedom! Friends, I hereby name this village, the City of Ka Mone!"

The crowd below pauses for they knew the name even before it was announced. Their hero stood above them. Thus he deserved to name the future of this new conglomeration of clans. A roar stirs from within and then bursts outward in the wallowing light of dusk.

To Sands it appeared like a heatwave arising from the sands of a desert. The burst washes over his skin and gives him chills. Even now, he remains modest, but his smile remains. Loyalty was incredible.

Years have passed and the small village has grown to a great town. The City of Ka Mone as deigned, accepted it's newfound wealth with greed. Now the signs of commerce show the growth as it bursts within the city walls. The walls that some sixty years before were no more than a single gate.

Sands finds himself walking to the newly built temple to the favored God RantoR. It's shear walls of bleached marble show the craftsmanship of his townsman. He glances at the two great cave bear statues that guard the temple near it's stairway. Smiling, he remembers the two dwarves that carved them. Gil Tammerdon and Juergan Gustou were well paid for this portrayal of their god. An accident took Gil's leg from him studing the very bear that had his likeness stolen. Shaking his head he moves to the great bronze doors up ahead. They open to allow the King and Hero in freely.

"I am sorry this has happened Lord Sands. I know he was dear to ye. He will be received by RantoR with greatness."

Sands frowns deeply, but holds in his emotions. Never before could the weapon not raise a beloved friend.

"It must've been his time Turganti. I can come up with no other reasoning."

His mind races by each moment until he watched his friend pass from this land. Searching, searching for his possible miscalculation, yet nothing could show him fault.

The bolt was meant for me. I know it. Yet it missed and struck Ol' McCrabb right in the gullet. A painful wound to dye from. I am glad he didn't try and live. Those wounds take days to dye from. He shakes his head and walks into the atrium follow by Turganti.

"I must avenge him his death!"

Turganti pats him on the shoulder only to be swatted away. The power of heroism remains in this great one, but he is getting old. Only a few hairs of color remain in his beard that were once a stoic black. Turganti thinks his King needs to ease into his old age. There is nothing like a hero being told to remain in one place and relax. Never will he sit until his companion is justified of his death.

They enter a collosal chamber of rich brown colors. Carved beams of rose marble thrust upward to hold the roof in. Sheets of pale beige tiles cover the walls. A series of benches extend the hundred and fifty paces to the blessed oaken table of RantoR. There was enough room for a thousand dwarves to sit here and listen to the teachings of their god.

There, among the bences were the thousand loyal follows of this hero, Sands Ka Mone. Upon the great oaken table sat a five foot long box. It's ornate hinges suggested royalty among the dwarves. There the family name of McCrabb was so honored. Some four generations of his family's names stood etched into the coffin.

Sands walked down the silent rows of the temple's greatest room. He had a job to complete. Standing in front of the great oaken table, he began his long speech of his great sidekick.

"In the memory of 'Ol' McCrabb'..."

The elder dwarf sits in his favored chair. A sturdy, bear-skinned covered chair of stained oak. It has been his only friend in recent years. Leaning back, a crack is felt somewhere in his old back. The aches in his legs disappear suddenly and he smiles. The back stretch did the trick always.

Looking about the room with glazed eyes, he yawns and notices his long beard. It was unkept of late and needed a trim. Smiling widely, he laughs at how older folks hairs always go white. It's as if we die of fright.

"He he he. Hey Jessie. Ye gotta moment to trim me beard?"

An older dwarven lady walks in the room. Wiping an antique of old, she stares at Sands long and hard. A sly look crosses her face. Even she has hair of pure white. A few whiskers dote the sides of her face, but they are well kept. She wears a pair of brown breeches and a top she deems as a long-neck shirt in bright blue. A silver vest covers the shirt as she stands much sturdier than Sands.

"Sure, love, should we take it all off this time?"

She gives a hefty laugh as Sands follows with a tout of grumbling and a burst of laughter. This old gal has been with him for years upon years. About two hundred and eighty three years of age, the old dwarf remembers when he first met his wife.

His drifts off into the distance into deep reflexion of years past.

The setting was the great mountain kingdom, years before he rebelled against his bretheren. Deep within it's bowels, a city of rock surrounds the race. Leaving his parents hovel to go work in the mines, he picks up a merry tune. Whistling away, the young dwarf moves about the roadways with ease. Turning a corner, he practically falls on his face as he bumps into a lass of perfect red hair. Knocking her over, she raises a fist in complaint. He remembers her eyes showing a glint of koy even as they do now.

"Ye overgrown buffoon! Watch where ye are goin'! Last thing I need is to be late because a boy can't whistle and watch where's he goin'. Now help me up and get out of my way!"

A firey lass she was then. Always berating and finger pointing. But that bump really did more to me than it did her. I got all twinkle-eyed or something like that. I helped her up lsowly begging for time.

"Sorry there a miss a...can I help you with them mushrooms?"

About this time he noticed the basket of mushrooms she had been carrying. A good ploy, but he couldn't fool her.

"Don't ye have somewhere else to go and keep yerself busy?"

I just shook my head and turned back to whistling my tune. Walking away, even then she was pushing complaints at me.

"The very idea! Ye can't even help the girl ye knocked over."

I just kept walking. I think that and my family name caught her eye. But she didn't find that out until weeks later when she saw me in the tourney.

Twas a week later when I took to the tourney and fought like the best of them. The Tournament of Pitfighters. They threw just about everything at us; Bulldogs, a Lizardman, a few Umberhulks and a swath of traps and pits, overhead blades and the such. We passed them all. We being myself and Warren Blackbeard. Warren wasn't my enemy by far, but we competed at such a high level that the race to the top ended in a stupid tie. Damned judges always gotta be women.

The point is, that Warren and myself also competed fer women too. When the tourney was over, Tinsley Gordun, a beautifully shaped dwarven lass stood and looked at us both and couldn't decide. That is when I noticed Jessie runnin' in the platform area. She immediately knocked over the lass and wiped her out. Bats flying over her head, Tinsley was pretty dazed. Jessie, then took the judges on and said that I won it, fair and square. Warren began to argue when Tinsley called his name first. Thus I got the tough little Jessie and Warren got Tinsley. Then I truly realized that RantoR was at work here. It really was a tie.

Sands flashes back into reality just as Jessie snips a piece off of his beard.

"Hey, ye stinkin' snipper, what're ye doin' to me."

Sands grasps his beard offended.

Jessie grasps her rotund hips and grins.

"Ye are gettin awefully fergetful in yer age Sandy. I'ma bout to thinks ya are gonna ferget me soon as well."

Sands shakes his head, but suddenly grins.

"No me wife...I was just thinkin' on that first day we met and how I bandoozled ye into taking me hand."

Jessie tosses the rag she was holding at him and stumps away. Smiling with her back turned.

"Then cut it yerself."

Time passes for this dwarf in waves. Yet, it is slow enough for him recall his heroic past and pray for his future. Now some twenty years later, he considers his three hundred fifth birthday. Years seem to pass much faster when you are his age. He looks to the next decade as if it were the next year. Sands now is the oldest dwarf in his grand city of Ka Mone. He shakes his head as his weary wife still shoots through the kitchen with ease. Yet even she is nearing the age of the greatest respect. Sighing, he looks again back upon his life and his greatest achievement comes forth. The separation of dwarven society would have not come forth had it not been for his outlandish ideas.

"...but pap, I understand our resources are plentiful. Just imagine if we were to farm other needs upon the surface valleys of our kingdom. We'd be able to trade with other great societies and make our kingdom wealthy enough to fortify the gates..."

The king before Sands, his father, waves a hand to ward him off.

"Dwarven kind has no need for the weathered surface above. We've plenty of water and heat down here and I refuse to consort to yer ill filled ideas. Begone!"

Time passes...

Sands presents a group of a thousand strong to his father.

"Pap, these dwarves behind me, willing offer their knowledge and military power in support of the idea of a surface dwelling to deal trade."

The king again is annoyed with his son's unwillingness to yield his trade ideas.

"Stop this annoying prattle Sands or I shall send ye to jail!"

Sands crosses his arms in anger.

"Ye stubborn FOOL! Wake up and smell the fungus on yer feet! I am leaving without yer permission."

With that he turned his back upon the kind and his father.

"Ye will never make it out Sands! I will have my personal guard detain yer welps. Barabus! Send fer the arms and double down to the thirteen gates. Guard and kill any of these invelets, even my whelp son, if they so try to exit!"

The king stands with a bright red face and beard of iron grey. Turning, he exits the room through a hidden door to the right of the throne.

Sands takes his opportunity having already prepped for this exact reaction.

"Friends, I will find the sword, while ye gather yer kinfolk and children that want to come with us. Take no more than ten minutes and let word pass by mouth. We will hold the northeast gate until the last leaves. Go!"

A roar from the crowd is heard as they turn and rush off to gather the needed. Sands then turns as McCrabb, a grand warrior, steps forth from the personal guard of the king.

"Take me, friend. I will make it your while's worth if ye take me away from this destitute place."

Sands nods and has him follow him to the weapon's room. Entering, he stands shocked as his father holds the legendary sword of his people.

"Ye will die fer this outrage whelp! Ye are no longer me son!"

Although shocked and dismayed by this Sands stands his ground, while his father rushes in with a forward thrust at his belly. Sands new this to be an outer ploy that turns into a slice at one's knees. Jumping just in time he avoids his father's attempt at deception, while an axe swipe from McCrabb stuns the king. The sword falls from his hands as Sands quickly jumps over his father to the sword upon the stone cast ground. Picking it up, Sands turns and stabs the old king's rear deeply to keep him from walking.

"Stubborn old Fool! You just lost it all."

Turning Sands walks away and guarded for the coming battle to the gates.

'The clang of battle is immediately heard as Sands exits the Grand Hall of Kives. Looking forward, he focuses, as he sprints forth, on the goal. Having his home nearby, Sands enters the door breathing hard. His new wife, Jessie, is already packed and has torches in hands.

"Burn the place before they come!"

Of course Jessie has already set the torches to the furniture as he speaks. Grasping her small pack, she tosses the large one at Sands and gestures for him to grab the other handle of the chest. Placing his hand upon the handle, Sands lifts and then they head out the door. House ablaze, they stop to look at their first home in sadness, but at with a slight feeling of renewed freedom. Change was on the horizon, or so their hearts felt.

Moments later they round several corners filled with compact homes and see the fighting up the long slope to the top of the gate's entrance. Several dwarves lay dead neaby. Most faces are recognizeable and sadness again moves about Sands' face.

"We will have to remember their sacrafice. I fear the worst for our newfound life, if they die so fast."

Jessie shrugs.

"They knew the sacrafice. Buck up husband."

Sands chuckles. His wife always kept him straight. Turning, his goal set, he moves forth with his wife falling in tow. Reaching the fighting, Sands drops the chest and pack and draws the family sword.

"Do not kill them! We are the same people! Not the enemy!"

Many dwarves sneer at this remark, yet they obey somehow. Bodies are now hit with weapon blunts and not the heads. The battle rages and more bodies fall. Most are of the now local group. Yet, many of the revolutionaries are lying injured or dead as well. The scene is saddening for Sands, his little sceme has killed so many. Yet, his beliefs have driven him on. So he rallies the many and they ascend the gate. Reinforcements suddenly arrive from below. McCrabb in the lead they rush forth. The King's personal guard?! Impressive. The two dwarves take arms and pat backs.

"I thought you could use the help my new king."

The thought shook him, but he shrugged it off, pleased he had some other believers.

"How many friend?"

McCrabb grins.

"Lord, some three hundred strong and another fifty or so due in the next few moments."

Sands grins and renewed power overwhelms him.

"Onward! Let us begone with this place!"

Turning and rushing forth he gestures with his new sword for the first time when it speaks to him.

"Use me to raise them. Bring your dead back."

Sands stopped. He had forgotten the legends of this sword.

"How?"

The sword thrums.

"Point me to your dead."

Sands does so without pause and the march tune of yore thrums from the sword. Suddenly a body, the body of Yuln Kilnson stands and shakes off the dust from his shoulders. Then three others stand and do the same and joining the tune of yore.

"Da, de Da. The drums pound forth. Da, de Da."

Others begin to stand.

"De, da De. Ale drips from the mouth. De, da De."

Soon, most of the throng of the dead followers are standing and spreading into a marching formation. The defenders drops their weapons in awe and in shock. Many kneel to the revolutionaries. Others step back and walk away shaking their heads.

Sands slowly pulls the sword back and stares at it in wonder. Then, he looks to those staring at him and those marching further down. He knows what to do.

"Da, de Da. They exit. They exit. They exit from the gate. Da, de Da."

Others pick up the drone and soon asist others with their belongings. The march through the gate begins.

"De, da De. We march. We march. We march by the threes. De, da De."

The tune continues through the gates as the kneeling dwarves watch in wonder. A few stand and follow them out the gates...apparently under a spell.

The gate opens and sunlight peers through the crack of the darkened home of the dwarves. The light touches Sands and he knows this feels right. Although he squints, it feels right. They exit and head for the lowlands nearby. It was going to be a long journey, he knew this as the mountain range floats beyond his vision.

The old dwarf then coughs and appears in tears as he awakens from his reverie.'

Seeing Jessie, Sands smiles at last. Although his face is still wet with tears, the old man has an old toothy grin splayed upon his wrinkled features.

"That wasn't the easiest of summers, wife. Ye know above all."

Jessie shakes her head.

"What summer was that ye old crab?"

His frown wanes.

"That derned summer after we left the gates at our backs. The year we created this lot of fine dwarves."

Jessie smiles. She knew what he was referring to, she just had to get her chance to call him a crab. Dumb old dwarf.

"Ye derned tootin' it wasn't easy. It was like trying to grow hair on rock. Not to mention sleepin' out in all that lighted darkness. Them was interesting months fer sure."

Sands nods.

"Ye remember that first couple of weeks out there. We fergot to bring enough rations fer all of them. Well, we did have extras ye know."

"Stop making excuses Sands. We just didn't have enough!" Jessie grumbles.

"Yes dearie. Yet, we learned how to hunt soon enough. It's just that we didn't know how to make that damned soil to grow things like under the ground. We couldn't make good ale. Damned mushrooms wouldn't grow under this great sunlight and moonlight. Thank RantoR there were a few of them damned humans around to show us how to grow grains. Despite the troubles they gave us in the later years, we got to remember them fer the prosperity they gave us."

Jessie frowns.

"They gave us too much troubles, ye know that. Tis why we had to go to battle with the stinkin' bastards. I still don't know why ye gave them permission to move into the south side of the city even now. They grow like rats and make things dirty."

"I tolds ye forty thousand times Jessie! We have to keep our trade routes to the east open. We cannot be a great city unless we have trade. Grand Forks is too far away to get caravans to and fro safely. We needs to survive as a race. Plus them humans know sailing better than us. We have to learn the trade somehows."

"I still thinks yer out of yer mind Sands. They're a dirty lot. That's all I gotta say, I needs to get the shoppin' done so ye can eat yer meal tonight."

Sands laughs so hard he hacks up a cough and silences himself. A little bit of redened spittle sits upon his chin.

Jessie looks worriedly at the old dwarf. She hated this part of life. She wished he had died in battle, not in that old rocking chair of his. She gingerly walks over and wipes his chin. Then she walks out the door with her bags.