“The Creature From the Tunnels”
Ered Luin. Stretching on and on in Eriador’s far west, rising indomitable from the land like a scar across the land, the Blue Mountains slumber in silence, lonesome and ancient. Wild and rugged they stand, the high peaks crowned with ice and snow, lofty amidst the clouds. And beneath the frigid crowns lies that defiant mass of dark blue stone, a wall of crags and peaks, of high passes and ancient stone paths, gray clouds and morning mists. For hundreds of leagues it goes on, enigmatic and distant, its many nooks and crannies hidden from sight of man and beast, never trod upon.
But even so, Ered Luin is a home. What lies below the surface is known to but a few, and visited by even less. Like some ancient spider’s web, the ancient tunnels spread beneath the peaks of the Blue Mountains, deep beneath the stone and hidden from the light of the day. They are old, these tunnels, older than memory and long alone. But they are not abandoned, never abandoned. Because even beneath the earth, the mysteries of life unravel in their age old rhythm. Even in the dark and damp tunnels under the stone, the light of the flame and the sound of a voice can be felt.
Whoever dares venture into the long dark of that world beneath the rock will surely bump into a goblin or two (or a hundred), and perhaps those elusive cave trolls - but hopefully only from a distance. Bats can be seen as well, cave-claws and salamanders and frogs, and all manner of creatures and critters. But there are others too, those who call these ancient mountains their home of old - dwarves. Masters of stone and iron, crafters and traders of ancient times. They have carved and hewn their mansions from the stones beneath the mountain, hidden deep and dark. And even though the unraveling history long ago left their rich mansions in ruins, from faraway Silverhollow, down to the ancient Belegost, still there are dwarves to be chanced upon in the dark and lonesome tunnels beneath the Blue Mountains.
“It has been half a year since he ventured from the secluded mansions in the southern peaks. Months of travelling through the mountain’s dark core, all twisting tunnels and timeless caverns. The flickering candlelight in his helmet gave him a faint and partial vision of the surroundings, but his eyes did the rest of the job. He knew now that he was halfway through, somewhere near the middle of the Northern chain of Ered Luin. Two weeks before that he emerged from the mountain’s belly, high up, stumbling into the light of the morning sun from an ancient dwarven doorway - a square carved passageway in the high mountain side. It was an old exit, one he knew from his past travels, and his usual waystation for procuring supplies.
No matter how welcoming the darkness and the drafts of the tunnels were, so were the fresh morning air and the sun. Far below and in the distance, his view was filled with thick pine woods, and on its edge the gleaming roofs of a small Elven village.
They were never hostile towards him, of course, its inhabitants, but there was never a warm welcome either. He could feel the piercing gazes of these khalam as he walked amongst them, but he only ascribed it to their faraway home, and their lack of contact with the faraway realms of Middle Earth, them being so remote in the woods that cling to Ered Luin in this northwest corner of Farlindon. On the other hand, it could have had something to do with his visage - mountain-travelling ain’t exactly clean.
But that was two weeks ago, and now he was back in the comfort of the tunnels. He knew that he was soon to pass that ancient tributary of the Lune River, that tiny snaking water that cuts its way straight across the Ered Luin. And that meant that he was ever closer to his destination. Just two more months at most. Two more months before he at last reaches that distant, northerly place that his heart calls home - Kibilzahar. The northernmost mansion of the Sons of Durin, this solitary fortress crowns the final point of the Blue Mountains, so far in the snowy north. Old it is, and marked with a sad fate, like so many of the dwarven homes. Kibilzahar, the Silverhollow. Long lost to goblins and foul creatures of the deeps, it was ever yearned for by the dwarves that descend from its lineages. Attempts were made to reclaim it, bitter wars for those gray and decayed tunnels, but never with lasting success. Because evil finds its strength in numbers and fell deeds - and dwarves are few and far between.
But he cared not. Even if he were only to glance at that proud fortress whose battlements are crowned with snow, to gaze out onto the endless horizon of the frigid ocean, and but to breathe in a fragment of that ageless atmosphere beneath the cold stone. Merely to thread on the stone floors and touch the ancient carvings covered in dust and cobwebs - even so his heart would be content. And now, he was nearing his destination. But he’d soon find out that his voyage won’t be so completely devoid of curious meetings. Because, as we said, the ancient tunnels of the Blue Mountains are filled with all sorts of dwellers - old and mysterious and on the edge of the known.
Tunnels beneath the mountain are never a linear path. Any seasoned traveler can tell you that. Every new twist and bend, every new passageway and tight squeeze can open up into something new and unexpected. And that is exactly what this dwarven voyager once more realized.
This is NOT a tunnel I’ve seen before, he thought to himself as he ventured further, oddly unfamiliar with these dark passages. The mountain was curiously more dense here, all paths tight and hard to traverse. Still, he kept going through. That is until he met...the creature. He chanced upon him quite unexpectedly, taken unawares by his odd form. As he stumbled into a tiny little cave-room, he realized that he was not alone in there. In the farthest corner sat a large and hunched figure, busily fidgeting over the glowing remnants of a fire. It was no troll, no goblin either, the dwarf knew at once, but something in between - odd and malformed, full of bumps and folds and bulbous growths. It was a deeply unsettling sight. Indeed, the dwarf saw hundreds of goblins, many of them as foul as foul can be. But never something...like this.
The creature that sat in that corner was without a doubt a result of some great mistake of nature. No part of it seemed natural or normal - in fact, all of it looked mish-mashed together, blown out of proportion and grotesque. Its face was hidden in thick folds, one eye nearly shut by the growth, while the other - surprisingly bright and lively - danced full of life over the embers and its surroundings. On its back and shoulders a great hunch rose, swollen and crossed with veins. It descended over one arm and made it thick and cumbersome and unnatural.
Now, even though dwarves can be superbly silent in tunnels, so can the creatures of the underground develop great senses. The seated creature suddenly stopped all its fidgeting and sat up straight - or something like it. The one eye frantically scanned the dark, while the wide nostrils of its nose flared and smelled the air.
“Gazat…” it said under breath, a coarse whisper “...an old scent I near forgot.”
The creature sighed heavily and relaxed. “Come out of the shadows, dwarf. I smelled you before I saw you.”
Its voice was coarse and rough and cracking. It was obvious that those were the first words the creature uttered in a very long while. They were soaked with odd desperation.
The dwarf did as bid, his short legs carrying him forward almost of their own accord. His first feeling upon seeing the creature was repulsion - he unconsciously clutched his short axe: to smite the thing was his first urge.
“Aye, dwarf, clutch your sharp iron. You see it and you don’t like it, and thus you want to kill it - cleave it in twain so it no longer repulses you.” the creature spoke almost to itself, gazing at the embers, relaxed all the while.
“Wh..what are you?” the dwarf uttered.
“What am I? Not what meets the eye, that much is certain.” he glanced up and looked at the dwarf for the first time. “I am I - can’t put it simpler. And that “I” is not defined by the visage you see before you.”
“Aye…” the dwarf sounded confused. “But what are you?”
“I heard your folk call us globsnaga. Was a goblin once - an eternity ago - but there are unknown things in the depths of the earth. I happened to chance upon those things. And those things made me thus. It was a long time ago..oh so long.”
The dwarf stood resolute before the globsnaga, seemingly coming to his senses.
“And why then should I not slay you at the spot? No goblin that I ever met lived to speak of it.”
“Do I block your path, dwarf? Do I hold a cold blade to your throat? Or is it simply that you cannot abide to see this form any longer?”
The dwarf studied the bulbous being, surprised at the intelligence in its speech.
“Aye, none of those was a reason, though. How come you’re not with the other goblin-throngs? I passed one of about thirty, heading west, not two days ago. In a lateral tunnel above me.”
The globsnaga let out something that might have been called a chuckle. It was a guttural, ugly sound.
“I think you can see that I am not like my subterranean kin of old. Even goblins shun me now. Globsnagas are ever on their own. The dark takes away, and the dark gives. I was given a chance to think - to walk alone. Something most goblins never attain. I sought freedom.”
“Freedom? A hard thing to find in the tunnels.” the dwarf answered. “Harder still if you look like that.”
“Oh, to be sure. But never underestimate what unfolds within us. Within you, me, the trees, the birds, and even the foul critters of the deep. All life is inner - never outer. My form is foul, but my form is free. Freedom is everyone’s - if they know where to look.”
“Freedom is a tangible thing” the dwarf murmured, “you can touch it, sculpt it, fight for it.”
“But only if you fit the mould, if you are created the right way.” the globsnaga answered at once. “It’s a game, this life, but not everyone’s eligible to play.”
The dwarf listened, suddenly distant, as the words reached him and twirled within him, so unexpected and unknown. The creature continued:
“So go ahead, gazat, rain down your curses and your slander, raise high your axe and smite the grotesque malformation before you. Think not for even a moment that I would hold it against you. Might be, I’d even be grateful for it.”
He looked at the dwarf with an unflinching, even defiant gaze, the look a telltale sign of indifference. Then, he closed his eyes, his folds and bulbs suddenly still. A sudden defiance came over his lines.
“Swing swiftly, dwarf.” he uttered excitedly. “You may deliver me from this form, take it from me - but you can never take my freedom.”
But the blow never came. When he opened his eyes, the dwarf was gone - his footsteps echoing in the distance."
