Elsgril Silverforge.
***
“Elsgril. Why?”
With a sigh as deep as the Fire Mountain's gut, as deep as the sadness in this dear woman's voice, I turned first to Forgruna, handsome and stubby and bursting with passion. Then Darekhil, burly and reserved when not drunk or in battle. My eyes. I was hoping my eyes would do all the talking. But the idiots saw nothing.
“For this!?” Forgruna spat as she waved her arms throughout this magnificent forge.
It was as fine as any drow architecture I ever heard of or seen down below. All that was missing were the art pieces lined in Faerie Flames. But the forge- nay, the entire tower, was not just constructed with magic. It was supported by it. The unnaturally smooth walls and intricate piping that snaked through solid rock. It was all the same as that his cousins used far below.
A strange thing, that was. Considering he’s never been to a drow city. In this life or the last.
“Because he’s lived twice?” She spat again.
“Ugh!” I groaned. “He’s honest.”
“Honest?” She waved her palm aside. “He’s a Devil! Said so himself!”
“My point exactly!” I looked up to the orb of glowing dirt that illuminated the space and watched over the forge. And us. Then laughed. “Did everything he said he would, he did. And I said before, better him than anyone else.”
“How so?” Darekhil stepped in, stroking his beard. His was a lot longer than Forgruna’s, braided and tied into two knots that he twisted and untwirled whenever in deep thought. Like now.
I took a long sigh and turned to them both. “He has this.” I tapped my finger against my head. “And this.” I tapped at my heart. “And this.” I slapped my gut. Then grabbed my sack and gave it a good tug. “And he’s got a big fuckin’ pair of these, he does!
“And.” I pointed at them both. “He’s honest. He’s gonna change the realms just by going to 'em. And I’ll be there. Making whatever the fuck I want in the name of the All-Smithy!”
“And for that, I’m eternally grateful.” The Devil himself drifted in saying. “You heard my confession of the technology I’m privy to. Naturally, you will be one of the many to help me bring such things into existence. As I said, it’s a long road. But we have magic and, most importantly, time on our side.”
Grinning wickedly, he pierced the tip of his index finger with a piece of wire and grabbed one of the spherical steel ingots from the shelf. Then welded a steel rod to it before thrusting it into the forge. From there, he only moved to grab a single hammer and held his open palm out to his side. From his fingertips came lines of pale light that stretched out and bent into angles and shapes that were at first odd, then grew into a complex schematic of a weapon soon to be created.
No. Not a schematic. A full rendering of the completed item, tangible and in the real. Just made of… Moonlight.
When the metal was heated, he astonished us all by reaching his bare hand into the forge to grasp the glowing chunk of metal and cradle it for a long moment. We watched a distant look fill his eyes as he tuned his senses to the metal. Then grasped the rod in his hand to station the material against his anvil while his hammer rose in the other. And it fell with a blow that could have reached the All-Smithy himself. Such power was delivered into his blows that it shook the senses away from noticing the obvious. That his strikes were made stronger by the force of gravity. Enabling him to flatten the ingot and split it two-thirds down the length in mere moments.
He worked the larger piece first. Folding and forming it into a medium-sized blade with a gentle curve and an absurdly long and thick tang. Only, he compressed and poked a hole in it as if it were an axe head. Then narrowed the far side down into a sharp point like the ass-end of a war hammer. After he bathed it, he tested its hardness and then set it aside to bake while he worked on the smaller piece, forming it into a palm-sized blade in only a few moments before it too was bathed and baked in one of those time-altering domains of his.
Then, I couldn’t help myself. I approached the pieces to get a feel for the metal myself. So neatly were the grains aligned. With no imperfections that even I could find. It was like the finest instances of Drowcraft I had ever seen. Minus the prettiness and enchantments of course. But it wasn’t yet complete.
He waited patiently for me to set the pieces back down. Then, his domain pushed over my body with a casual wave of his arm before he resumed his work. In the pursuit of giving him space, I took a few steps back and then slowed once Amun’s actions began to speed up. It was not unlike he was hit with a sudden flash of inspiration, at first. Then his actions grew to a controlled frenzy and then on to an incomprehensible blur until he suddenly halted with the collapse of his domain.
The stillness was like stone scarabs crawling along my skin. Mine and those beside me too. The three of us dwarves, stared, shaken for whatever reason as we admired the beautiful mix between a spear and a scythe. Its handle was of two materials. The central one was black and dark as Amun's magic was seen to be while the other was a coiled piece of material wrapped around it. Off-white and... pure. It was no longer than a sword, but with a curved blade reaching out from the end, inlaid with leafed branches of silver and gold.
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A curious weapon for a curious individual, I thought. Until his voice assumed the form of a hundred whispers and he called. “Zaraxus,” through the darkness.
As if he’d already been there, the draugr appeared from a deep shadow set in the far corner and waltzed over to Amun in only a few steps. He stood over twice my height. With grayed skin pulled taught against his yellowed bones, enunciating the sinew and stringy muscles in his figure as he clasped his fists below his belly and lowered his head. Though his eyes, his hateful hollowed eyes, still burned with a blue and green brilliance that was captivating to my eyes. Terrifyingly so.
For all he was, a crude and tattered set of leathers covered his body. Impaled by a bronze short sword that stuck through his ribs to the hilt.
Amun took it, then placed the war scythe into the Draugr’s hands. “Try to break it.”
“Are you crazy!?!” Forgruna spat before Darekhil could. Much like I did a few months ago.
“It’s quality control.” Amun calmly said in the same way he had back then. “If it breaks, I will assess it and figure out why.”
“And the next one will be that much better.” I grinned.
“Yes.” Amun nodded. “We test everything we create before its given to another. Thoroughly.” He bit at them. “And preferably by the one it's intended for.” He nodded towards the Draugr and nodded in return before backing away.
Despite my experience and agreement with the practice. The Dwarf in me couldn’t help but feel it a crime, watching the draugr ‘test’ the weapon. He put the blade in a bloody vice and torqued it with gradually increasing force until the handle started to bend. Then halted at Amun’s word and held it for upwards of a minute before it was released. But the blade held true. The pick was slammed against a solid block of stone nearly a dozen times and suffered minor denting, as one would expect. And then the blade jutting out from the pommel was hacked into bone without relent. Rolling only a small piece of the blade.
“Alright.” After sharpening out the roll, Amun grinned wide in satisfaction and gave his undead a final nod of approval, then he turned to first the Draugr, paused, then pivoted to face us. “Brace yourselves.”
I felt it many times before. But never this much or from this close. The pervasive cold from earlier that I recognized as darkness was like the desert sun against the tempest slapping and stinging against the core of my being. Flooding my mind with visages of a dark abyss and whispers of foul screams.
It passed after an indiscriminate length of time, leaving haunting afterimages of figures clad in shadows long after the wake of death faded. But not entirely. A strong portion of it remained in the weapon, now boasting cracks along the brighter parts of the handle. Cracks that glowed with the same brilliance as the Draugr's eyes.
“Zaraxus, this is your war scythe." Amun declared as he handed over the weapon. "Go kill something. Then name it.”
“So you can innately make magic weapons!” Forgruna stepped forward almost instinctively, stating it as more as a confirmation than an observation.
“I honestly have no idea what I just did.” Amun turned to her with a grin. “That said, I know I can make sentient weapons.”
“Wow, you don’t know shite about magic, do ya?” Forgruna laughed wryly. “Now that’s ironic.”
“Perhaps.” Amun shrugged as if he had no cares in the world. Then turned back to her with a raised brow and squinted eyes. “So, you’re saying I can make magical weapons?”
“Felt magical to me.” She shrugged back. And Amun could only laugh.
He then paused as his clone appeared in the same way as Zaraxus did to drop off a pair of amulets, and upon doing so, his clone gave us a wave, and then disappeared into the darkness without a word.
“So what is this moon business anyway?” Forgruna spat, bringing my eyes to the off-white, crescent-shaped amulet in Amun's right hand. And then to a circle made from the same off-white material as before, lined with gold and centered with a perfectly spherical onyx gem. “You naming shite after yourself or what?”
“No.” Amun snorted. “It's a colloquial name for the floating rock I put above the Bodhi Tree. The likeness to my name is only a coincidence, but its given name is Mani. Elsgril will have one he’ll name one day. A world, woven from the earth.”
He turned his grin to me for a split second, only for his eyes to drop to the items in his hand. “I will become a God regardless. However, much of my power will still come from faith. Moonlight and Twilight, and hopefully Engineering, are the domains I'm trying for. In addition to whatever Telin gives me.” He paused, and the gentle off-white light he called Moonlight cascaded down his arm and flowed into the crescent talisman. Then, the dual presence of shadow and light referred to as Twilight poured around the onyx-gemmed white ring in his other hand. Creating two magical pendants of a dissimilar radiance. “Zakira and Opal will be my first Clerics.” He declared, holding out the pendants- nay, the holy symbols.
“Can you make Warlocks too?” Darekhil waddled forth, for the three of us, it seemed.
“I’m unsure for certain.” Amun looked over and shrugged. “But it’s a strong possibility. If I can, that would mean everyone in the Legions is a warlock, which only makes it easier to share my power. Regardless, it’s also possible that following the Moon or Twilight will unlock new Master or even Prestige Classes altogether.” He then turned to him with a knowing smile. “Are you interested?”
“In raging. And nothing else.” Darekhil grunted out a laugh. A good sign.
“Oh?” Amun faced him, his eyes wide with interest. “You’ll be training with Lana, then.”
“Ah, the scarred woman.” He amiably nodded.
“She was the second person I killed in this life. The first was Zaraxus.” He jerked his thumb towards the shadow the Draugr disappeared from. “I took his soul and turned it into a way to rage, so he couldn't become a shadow. But I walk the path of the Monk now. Raging was never my style anyway.”
“Monk paths are called Ways if I’m not mistaken,” I said. “Which one?”
“Truthfully, I haven’t put much thought into it.” He shrugged. “I figure if I get a Master Class it’ll be because of my Sorcery and I won’t get a choice.”
“Well, you do fight like you're undead.” I snorted. “So I imagine something revolving that.”
“Yeah.” Amun nodded slowly, and then our eyes met. “You’re probably right.”
“Yeah.” I nodded slowly. But Amun was lost in thought for a few awkward moments. Eventually, though, he came back to us with one of those mischievous smirks spread across his face. “Anyway,” he said. “There’s a hidden level below the freezer. Inside is a shaft leading to the Darkworld.”
“Wha-”
“My Doppelganger is down there with most of my undead.” Amun continued without pause. “The undead are scouting for mithral and adamantine while my clone is steadily producing new technology and infrastructure. We're already to a point where we can mass-produce whatever basic things we want, and we even have an oil industry running. So, once we find some Darkworld metals-once we graduate- that's when the real fun begins.”
He held out his hand, palm down, to allow the gentle light to fall from his fingers once again. Illuminating the grin spread across his devilish face. “Let me show you what I mean.”