The Battle of the Fallen Flags (outline)

Title: The Battle of Fallen Flags

Genre: Dwarven Tragedy with Romance and Dark Comedy
Themes: Pride vs. unity, the weight of legacy, love across divides, and the cost of stubbornness.

Key Protagonists

The Outsider and the Keeper

• Ambassador Veyla – Elven diplomat, wry and observant, who sees the folly of dwarven pride and tries to mediate. Her bond with Grimbeard provides wisdom and dark humor.
• Grimbeard the Old – A veteran warrior who remembers the unified dwarven kingdom before the coming of the Five Kings War. He's the keeper of Ulki’s Hatchet, an heirloom from the Quest for Sky, and the only one who remembers true unity. His gruff respect for Veyla highlights the dwarves’ isolation.

The Lovers

• Lady Ylva – Borin’s scholar daughter, torn between loyalty to Highhelm and love for Korvalk. She sees the folly of the feud and fights for unity.
• Prince Korvalk – Thorgar’s fiery son, loyal to Grakodan but deeply in love with Ylva. His conflict mirrors the dwarves’ broader struggle.

Supporting Characters

• King Thorgar Ironfist – Proud ruler of Grakodan.
• King Borin Stoneheart – Aged ruler of Highhelm.
• Bardok Ironvein – Grakodan’s standard bearer, Korvalk’s mentor.
• Thalgrim Stoneheart – Highhelm’s standard bearer, Ylva’s cousin.
• Urzog the Black – Brutish orc warlord.

The Standards

Grakodan’s Standard: The Anvil and the Hammer

A towering iron pole, its surface etched with runes of labor and victory, topped with a banner of black and gold. The banner depicts a hammer striking an anvil, surrounded by sparks that form the shape of a roaring lion. The lion’s eyes are set with fiery opals, symbolizing Grakodan’s unmatched craftsmanship, ambition, and unbroken strength. The pole is reinforced with steel bands, making it nearly unbreakable—a testament to Grakodan’s belief in its own invincibility. The standard is carried by the strongest warrior, a reminder that Grakodan’s power is forged, not given.

Highhelm’s Standard: The Crown and the Mountain

A tall, silver-bound oak pole, crowned with a banner of deep blue and white, depicting a snow-capped mountain beneath a silver crown. The mountain is stitched with threads of mithril, and the crown is adorned with sapphires mined from Highhelm’s deepest veins. The banner bears the sigil of Taargick, the ancient king who led the Quest for Sky, and its edges are lined with runes of honor and endurance. The standard is lightweight but unyielding, symbolizing Highhelm’s values: tradition, nobility, and unbroken lineage. It is said to have been carried by Taargick himself, and its pole is wrapped in leather grips worn smooth by centuries of use.

Act I: The Seeds of Division

Scene 1: Grakodan’s Great Hall

Thorgar presents the Anvil and the Hammer standard to Bardok, declaring Grakodan’s strength. Korvalk watches proudly, while Veyla observes the opals in the lion’s eyes and remarks on the danger of pride. Grimbeard’s quiet warning lingers: “Confidence is earned, but pride is dangerous.”

Scene 2: Highhelm’s Archives

Ylva shows Veyla the Crown and the Mountain standard, revering its ancient lineage. Korvalk arrives, and the two share a playful, affectionate exchange, hinting at their bond and the tension between their kingdoms.

Scene 3: Grimbeard and Veyla, The Weight of the Past

Highhelm’s Archives – A quiet corner, lit by the glow of ancient runes. Ylva and Korvalk have just left, their whispered arguments fading down the hall. Veyla lingers, studying a tapestry of the Quest for Sky. Grimbeard sits at a wooden table, methodically sharpening the blade of Ulki’s Hatchet. The air smells of old parchment and polished steel.

VEYLA
(tracing the tapestry’s threads)
Your people revere these standards as if they were sacred. Yet you carry that hatchet like it’s worth more than both banners combined.

GRIMBEARD
(doesn’t look up, testing the hatchet’s edge with his thumb)
Because it is.

VEYLA
(raising an eyebrow, stepping closer)
Enlighten me, then. Who was Ulki? And why does a simple hatchet mean more than a kingdom’s pride?

GRIMBEARD
(sets the hatchet down, exhales through his nose like a bull about to charge)
Ulki was a fool. Young, hot-blooded, swung a greataxe like it was made of feathers. Thought himself unstoppable. (chuckles darkly) Right up until an orc chieftain’s blade took his right arm at the elbow during the Quest for Sky.

VEYLA
(winces)
That would end most warriors.

GRIMBEARD
(picks up the hatchet, turns it in his grizzled hands)
Not Ulki. He bled out half the cave before they dragged him to safety. When he woke, he couldn’t even hold a spoon, let alone a greataxe. (points to the hatchet) So he took up this. A tool. A thing for chopping firewood.

VEYLA
(smirks)
I’ve seen firewood tools. That’s no common hatchet.

GRIMBEARD
(grins, revealing a gold-capped tooth)
No. Because Ulki wasn’t common. He spent a a hundred forge-days learning to fight with his left hand. Not for glory. Not for kings. For the dwarves beside him. (mimes a swing) By the time the next battle came, he could split an orc’s skull from shoulder to teeth with one strike. Didn’t need a greataxe. Didn’t need two arms. Just needed one swing.

VEYLA
(softly, impressed)
And the Quest for Sky?

GRIMBEARD
(leans in, voice dropping to a growl)
The orcs had us trapped in the Black Chasm. No light, no hope, just their teeth and our blood. The kings were arguing—sound familiar?—about who’d lead the charge. Ulki didn’t wait. He took this hatchet, carved a path through the dark, and held the line long enough for Taargick to rally the hosts. (taps the notched blade) Every nick here’s an orc that thought a one-armed dwarf was an easy kill.

VEYLA
(reaches out, stops just short of touching it)
And the kings?

GRIMBEARD
(snorts)
Followed after. But it was Ulki’s hatchet that saved ‘em. Not their crowns. Not their banners. (stands abruptly, the chair scraping) That’s the difference, elf. Standards are for remembering what you’ve done. This? (holds the hatchet aloft) This is for doing it again.

VEYLA
(quietly, after a beat)
And now it collects dust while your kings play at war.

GRIMBEARD
(sheathes the hatchet with a finality that echoes)
Aye. And that’s the tragedy.

(Off-stage, we hear the sound of a drumbeat and marching feet. Grimbeard’s expression darkens. Veyla looks toward the sound, then back at him, her elven eyes unreadable.)

VEYLA
They won’t listen to you.

GRIMBEARD
(grunts, hefting the hatchet onto his belt)
They never do.

Scene 4: The Council of Kings

Location: A neutral meeting hall in the foothills between Grakodan and Highhelm. The walls are lined with ancient tapestries depicting the Quest for Sky. Thorgar and Borin sit at a long stone table, their advisors standing behind them. Veyla stands between them, a rolled parchment in hand. Grimbeard leans against the wall, sharpening Ulki’s Hatchet with a whetstone.

VEYLA (unrolling the parchment)
My lords, our scouts have observed orc warbands massing in the Blackroot Pass. If we do not stand together—

THORGAR (slamming his fist on the table)
We will not discuss orcs while Highhelm’s insults go unanswered! Your kingdom has blocked our trade routes for the last six months, Borin. Our smiths go hungry while your merchants grow fat!

BORIN (coldly)
And your smiths have been undercutting our prices in the southern markets, Thorgar. You flood the trade with cheap steel and call it craftsmanship.

THORGAR
Cheap? Our steel is the finest in the mountains! You’re just afraid your smiths can’t compete!

BORIN
Our smiths don’t need to compete with liars and cheats! (points to a scroll) Your people stole the design for our legendary mithril-weave armor. We found a Grakodan smith selling it in Kerse under a false mark!

THORGAR (roaring)
A false mark? That smith was exiled for dishonoring his guild! Or did your spies not mention that?

FREYA (stepping forward)
Father, please—

KORVALK (simultaneously)
Uncle, this is madness—

(They glance at each other, then away. A beat of tense silence.)

VEYLA (raising her voice)
This is what the orcs want! While you bicker over trade and pride, they prepare to burn both your kingdoms to the ground!

(She slams the parchment onto the table. It’s a map, marked with orc sightings. The dwarves barely glance at it.)

GRIMBEARD (without looking up from his whetstone)
Aye. And they’ll start with the one that’s already cracked.

THORGAR (ignoring them, jabbing a finger at Borin)
You want war? Then let’s speak of the Northern Mine. The one your diggers crossed into our territory last month.

BORIN (smirking)
That mine was ours long before your grandfather’s time, boy. Your maps are as shoddy as your steel.

KORVALK (clenching his fists)
That mine is Grakodan’s by right of blood and labor! We’ve held it for three generations!

FREYA (pleading)
It’s a pile of rocks! It’s not worth the lives this will cost!

THORGAR (to Korvalk)
And what of the insult at the Last Gathering? When your cousin called our king a “upjumped smith with a crown too big for his skull”?

BORIN (smirking)
I seem to recall your father calling mine a “dusty relic clinging to old glories.”

KORVALKS (growing red)
Because it’s true!
(A murmur runs through the advisors. Veyla pinches the bridge of her nose.)

VEYLA (sharp, cutting through the noise)
Your ancestors would weep to see this. Taargick united the clans and drove the orcs before them. Nothing could divide you in the Quest for Sky. And now you’d hand the orcs the mountains because of a mine and a few sharp words?

GRIMBEARD (finally looking up, voice low and dangerous)
The last time dwarves fought like this, the orcs took Koldukar before we woke up. But sure. Argue about who’s got the shinier helmets.

(Thorgar and Borin glare at each other, chests heaving. The silence is thick with unspoken grudges.)

BORIN (standing abruptly)
Then it’s settled. Highhelm will not yield.

THORGAR (matching him)
Neither will Grakodan.

(They storm out, their advisors trailing behind. Freya and Korvalk linger, exchanging a helpless look. Veyla stares at the abandoned map of orc movements.)

Scene 5: The Last Words Before War

(The neutral meeting hall, now empty except for Ylva and Korvalk. The great doors groan shut behind the departing kings, leaving them in the dim light of dying braziers. The abandoned map of orc movements lies forgotten on the table, one corner curled by the heat. Ylva traces the black ink lines with her fingertip, her voice barely above a whisper.)

YLVA
Do you remember when we were children? When we used to sneak into the old armory and pretend we were heroes from the Quest for Sky?

KORVALK (leaning against the table, arms crossed)
You always insisted on being Taargick. Never let me have the role.

YLVA (a small, sad smile)
Because someone had to be the voice of reason. Even in games.

(He doesn't laugh. The silence stretches, filled with the weight of what's coming.)

KORVALK
We're not children anymore.

YLVA (turning to face him)
No. Now we're the ones who have to watch our fathers march to war over a mine and some hurt pride.

KORVALK (clenching his jaw)
It's not just the mine. You know that. Your king called mine a liar. In front of the whole council.

YLVA (stepping closer)
And your king called mine a relic. As if Highhelm's traditions mean nothing! But does that matter now? Does any of it matter when the orcs are—

KORVALK (cutting her off, voice rising)
It matters to them! It matters to the smiths who can't feed their families because Highhelm won't trade. It matters to the miners who bled for that land!

YLVA (grabbing his arm)
And it will matter a lot less when the orcs are at our gates! Korvalk, please. You have to talk to your father. Make him see reason.

KORVALK (pulling away)
You think I haven't tried? You think I want this?

(He turns away, running a hand through his hair. Ylva watches him, her expression softening.)

YLVA (gentler now)
Then what do we do?

(A long pause. The distant sound of marching boots echoes through the stone walls.)

KORVALK (quietly, defeated)
We do our duty.

YLVA (reaching for his hand)
What if our duty isn't to our kings? What if it's to each other? To the dwarves who will die because of this?

(He looks at her, really looks at her, and for a moment something flickers in his eyes—hope, fear, love. Then he hardens again.)

KORVALK
You know I can't betray my kingdom.

YLVA (whispering)
I'm not asking you to betray it. I'm asking you to save it.

(He looks down at their joined hands, then back at her face. The conflict in his eyes is raw.)

KORVALK
Ylva... if I stand against my father now, I lose everything. My name, my home, my—

YLVA (finishing for him)
Me.
(The word hangs between them. Korvalk's grip tightens on hers.)

KORVALK
You know I would choose you. In a world where that was possible, I would choose you every time.

YLVA (tears in her eyes)
Then make it possible.

(A horn blares outside—the signal that the armies are moving out. Korvalk flinches.)

KORVALK (pulling her into a quick, desperate embrace)
I swear to you, on Ulki's name, I will end this. Before it's too late.

YLVA (clinging to him)
Promise me.

KORVALK (kissing her forehead)
I promise.

(They break apart as the doors burst open. A Grakodan soldier stands there, panting.)

SOLDIER
Prince Korvalk! Your father commands your presence. We march within the hour.

(Korvalk nods, then turns back to Ylva one last time. There's something final in his gaze.)

KORVALK
If we survive this... if we both survive this...

YLVA (nodding, understanding)
We change it. All of it.

(He gives her hand one last squeeze, then follows the soldier out. Ylva stands alone in the empty hall, watching the door shut behind him. She picks up the abandoned map, staring at the orc markings. Then she crumples it in her fist and throws it into the brazier. The flames leap higher as the parchment blackens and curls.)

YLVA (to herself, fierce and determined)
We will survive this.
(Outside, war horns blow.)

Act II: The Battle’s Chaos

Scene 1: The Clash of Pride

Gorim the Unyielding (Grakodan) and Dain the Mountain (Highhelm) meet in a thunderous duel, trading taunts and blows.

Gorim: “Your mountain’s got more cracks than my ale mug!”
Dain: “And your anvil’s got more rust than my granddad’s sword!”

Ylva and Korvalk fight side by side at first, but are pulled apart by their loyalties. Korvalk roars for Grakodan; Ylva shouts for Highhelm.

Veyla and Grimbeard dodge through the fray, grimacing as dwarves nearly trample them.

Veyla: “I told you we should’ve stayed in the archives.”
Grimbeard: “And miss this? Dwarven diplomacy at its finest!” (pulls her behind a shield wall just as a spear thunks into the wood)

Scene 2: The Fall of Grakodan’s Standard

Bardok Ironvein (Grakodan’s bearer) fights valiantly, but Thalgrim Stoneheart (Highhelm) lands a crushing blow to his knee. Bardok stumbles—Dain the Mountain seizes the moment and cuts the pole of the Anvil and the Hammer standard. The black-and-gold banner collapses into the mud.

Silence. Then cheers from Highhelm’s ranks.

Korvalk: “NO!” (charges toward Thalgrim, but Ylva blocks his path)
Ylva: “Korvalk, stop! This isn’t the enemy!”
Korvalk: “They just cut down our heart!”

Veyla: (to Grimbeard, dryly) “Well. That escalated.”

Scene 3: The Orc Ambush

Urzog’s orcs strike from the flanks, howling. “Dwarves fight dwarves! We take the rest!”
Thalgrim, distracted by his victory, is blindsided by an orc chieftain. The Crown and the Mountain standard falls, trampled under orc boots.

Veyla (deftly sidestepping as orc’s axe buries itself where she just stood) “Told you the orcs were waiting.”
Grimbeard: “You did mention that, yes.”

Scene 4: The Rally

Grimbeard plants Ulki’s Hatchet in the earth. “Enough! You’ve handed them the battle!”
Ylva and Korvalk, standing over the two fallen standards, lock eyes.
Ylva: “We have to end this,”
Korvalk: (bitter, but nodding) “For Ulki.”
They lift the hatchet together, and the dwarves—shamed, angry, but united—charge the orcs.

Act III: The Aftermath

The dwarves bury Bardok and Thalgrim together, the torn standards draped over their bodies.
Thorgar (Grakodan) and Borin (Highhelm) stand side by side, staring at the wreckage.

Borin: (grim) “We won a battle. And lost the war.”
Thorgar: (clenching his fists) “Aye. And the orcs are still laughing.”

Ylva and Korvalk place the hatchet atop the cairn.

Ylva: “Next time, we stand together.”
Korvalk: “Or there won’t be a next time.”

Epilogue: The Lesson

The chorus sings:
“The anvil fell to Highhelm’s pride,
The crown fell next—the orcs applied.
Two flags in dirt, one hatchet true—
Will dwarves learn, or split in two?”

Final Image:

The Anvil and the Hammer standard, cut down by Highhelm’s hand.

The Crown and the Mountain standard, trampled by orcs.

Ulki’s Hatchet, standing alone between them.