Borin picked up an extra towel from the equipment chest and wiped the sweat from his bald head, glancing around the Guild forge. His time here had been hard, but getting a dwarf to complain about smithing was about as difficult as getting a goat off a mountain pass.
With his stout figure and the unmistakable mark of a seasoned blacksmith, Borin took pride in his work, even under these new, unexpected circumstances. The guild forge was a vast, bustling place in the massive city of Olerial, where they had lived for the past moon cycle. It was full of the clang of hammers and the roar of fires; a beautiful and comforting sound to any dwarf. Outside the large windows of the building, rain continued pounding against the glass as the wind howled. He shook his head at the sight. He hadn't gotten used to seeing the outside world from the confines of his forge.
They were essentially working off their debt to the mysterious elf in control of the guild, but that didn't stop Borin and his fellow dwarves from bringing a level of craftsmanship to the forge that was hard to match. Even in bulk, each sword they produced carried the mark of their expertise – perfectly balanced, with blades gleaming under the forge's light. Bulk order or not, the word of a subpar dwarven-made sword would never come to pass.
As Borin wiped his brow, he couldn't help but think of Erevan, the young, feisty elf he'd worked alongside in the prison forge. There were a few elves working in the guild smithy, but their skills were paltry compared to what he had seen the lad do. He had a natural eye for the craft and the soul of a dragon, both required to push metal past where it wanted to go and where it needed to go.
Their paths had diverged since their escape; Erevan was out in the desert, embarking on a quest Borin could scarcely imagine. However, he certainly didn't trust that shifty rogue character with no stats when inspected. He had never seen the elf's eyes as they were almost always shrouded behind his deep hood.
And Borin couldn't trust anyone whom he couldn't peer into their eyes.
Around him, the other dwarves that had escaped with him worked tirelessly. Each strike of the hammer brought them one step closer to their families. They might have been prisoners once, but here, in the heat of the forge, they were masters of their art. They were working toward their official freedom. Or at least, that was the bargain. Time would tell if the guild would honor those debts. But out of one prison forge and into another, Borin mused.
"Quit standing around, dwarf. Thought you lot were tougher than that!" a jab sounded from the far anvils. It was that blasted human blacksmith who never shut up, most likely threatened by the level of skill he and his fellows brought with them to this shanty blacksmith.
Borin turned his head towards the source of the jab, a wry smile tugging at his bearded face. The human blacksmith, a tall and sinewy man with a constant smirk, was known for his sharp tongue as much as for his smithing skills. In the bustling environment of the guild forge, his remarks were as common as the sparks flying from the anvils.
"Aye, we might take a moment to breathe, but our hammers never tire," Borin retorted, his booming voice carrying over the noise. He glanced at the iron in the forge, but it still wasn't at the right temperature yet. He wiped his hands on his apron, the fabric stained with the evidence of hard work.
The human blacksmith let out a chuckle, shaking his head. Despite his jabs, there was a grudging respect in his eyes. The dwarves had quickly proven themselves in the guild forge, joining the incumbent six workers to increase the output for the large weapon order that had come in.
Since the destruction of the prison, the cheap weapon market had gone completely haywire. Many had relied on the steady output of the work camp to fund their large-scale army operations for almost a century. But now, with the prison in disarray and the escapees scattered to the wind, the demand had skyrocketed. The vacuum left by the prison's downfall had created a frantic rush among various factions and organizations to secure arms. The guild forge, where Borin and his fellow dwarves now toiled, had become one of the key suppliers in this sudden market surge.
Plus, war was coming to the realm. Everyone knew it. Borin had no idea what that explosion was, but he reckoned it wasn't good for anyone. Every faction, from small mercenary bands to large armies, were scrambling to arm themselves.
The guild leaders recognized the value of the dwarves' skills and pushed them hard to increase production. Yet, despite the pressure and the grueling work, Borin and his fellow dwarves took pride in their craft. They refused to compromise on quality, each weapon a testament to their expertise and dedication.
The destruction of the prison had not just freed them; it had shifted the balance of power in the wider world. Borin understood that their role in the guild forge was more than just labor – they unwittingly shaped the landscape of power with every sword they crafted. He was once again a pawn in a larger game board. But that was okay. He needed to repay his debt to society after what he had done.
He was a horrible person back then, and hard work cleansed the soul. He was a better dwarf because of his time in Alty, but the fates would continue to pull him until he was fully absolved.
Borin took a deep breath, pulled his red-hot steel from the forge, and then got to hammering.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
***
In an underground chamber beneath the sprawling city of Olerial, where the roots of ancient trees intertwined with the stones of the earth, Lord Timekeeper stood before a gathering of some of the most influential elves in the realm. Hushed whispers echoed off the walls as the Twelve took their seats, speaking excitedly to each other. This was the first meeting of the Twelve in almost two seasons. After all, getting everyone here and without notice was a tough task.
The walls of the chamber, carved from the living rock, were adorned with ancient symbols and glowing runes, casting a soft, ethereal light over the assembly. Torches also added some flickering light, the wind blowing in from cracks in the rock. The figures seated around the table were not councilors, but their power and influence were undeniable, each a master in their own right – be it in commerce, battle, or strategy.
Lord Timekeeper glanced at a pocket watch that dangled from his breast pocket, then nodded. It was time.
He walked to the front of the table and cleared his throat, the room going dead silent. "Welcome, honored elves. It is good to see all of you, although I must confess that I wish it were under better circumstances."
A few chuckled, but grimaces and solemn nods met his gaze around the table at that.
"Despite the adversity we face," Lord Timekeeper continued, his voice steady and commanding, "we must remain united and focused on our purpose. The destruction of the Heart of the Forest has exposed us to more vulnerability than in recent memory. I'm sure many of you are feeling the effects as we speak, and it will only grow worse as time goes on. Near the prison, the foliage that sprouted after the Heart's destruction is already dead and decaying, and it won't be long until our lands show the same stresses. Our enemies see this as an opportunity, and we must not allow them to capitalize on our misfortune."
He let his gaze linger on each of the assembled elves, ensuring his words resonated with them. "The artificial Heart that we installed all those years ago shows signs of stress and will break down by the end of the season, completing our demise. However, amidst this crisis, we find ourselves with a unique opportunity—an opportunity not only to recover but to emerge stronger and more influential than before."
A murmur of curiosity stirred among the attendees. The king had recently addressed the elven realm in Y'Sathir, but his words were rambling and without direction, as he had no real knowledge of what had happened at the prison. No real understanding of what it meant for his people.
The Council was set to meet in three days' time to discuss the infrastructure of the prison and the next steps to recovering the island and returning the escapees.
Lord Timekeeper raised a hand, silencing the room. "The Guild is prepared to bring the elves out of this dark time. I have a new recruit traveling down the same path Lorian chose..."
"Lorian!" one of the seated elves said, shocked. "Your blacksmith that died? You're choosing to replace him after all these seasons? Do not let emotions get in the way, Thandor. We all know how close you two were. You cannot replace him."
Lord Timekeeper's face darkened. "Maeral, know your place in this room. What I choose to do in my Guild is my business."
The room fell into an awkward silence as Lord Timekeeper took a deep breath. "As I was saying, we have chosen a new blacksmith to replace the skills we once had available to the Guild." His green eye darted to Maeral's, and the elf looked away at its piercing glare. "He will learn the trades necessary to form a new Heart."
Ashryn snorted, her frail face showing the disbelief that many also displayed. "Thandor, you can't have us believe that a mere boy can learn how to recreate such an artifact in time for war?"
"I have already set things into motion for his training to be expedited. After his journey to the desert, he will head to the mountains."
Maeral interjected once more. "For what purpose?"
Lord Timekeeper smiled. "To see the dwarves, of course. He will need a few things from their keep."
The elves at the table looked at each other, confused. Vanya spoke up this time. "The dwarves, Thandor? Why would they help us?"
"I will not get into the plan further than this. But the selection of the boy was not just based on his blacksmithing skillset or class selection. It was in the way he worked with the dwarves in the forges. Just know that I plan to have the boy ready to attempt the Heart by the end of this season. In addition..." he trailed off, taking a deep breath.
"We have forged a strategic alliance with the Prince, and I expect each of you to choose this side as well. The war is coming, and the King must go. He is not the elf he once was, and under his rule, we will certainly see our great people enslaved by the human populace."
The mention of the Prince and the undercover treason elicited mixed reactions, but the room stayed attentive.
"The Prince is ambitious, yes, but he also possesses the vision and resources necessary to bring stability and prosperity back to our lands. And with the new Heart," Lord Timekeeper continued, "the Prince will have the means to consolidate power and rebuild. It was why the Guild wanted to keep the original artifact safe for all these years. We planned to turn it over to the Prince when the time came for his upheaval of the throne. Many of you are unaware, but the King had sent his youngest into Altheria to seek the Heart and take it for his use. But once its location became known, word leaked to the Council and...well, it is why I called this meeting."
He paused, allowing the room to digest the information. Finally, Ashryn spoke up again. "So what will we do while you put this massive plan together, Thandor? Even for you, this is a reach."
Lord Timekeeper nodded. "There are certainly many pieces in motion, and the clocks are stressed for time. For now, there is not much else to do. When the Council meets to discuss the plans moving forward, tell your members where their allegiances lie."
"What of the dragon warden? Did he survive this explosion?" she asked.
Thandor's lips turned into a slight frown. "The dragons have been silent on this matter. He was a creature of great power, so my guess is that he has. But he had bonded to the Heart for many seasons, and its destruction could have brought him down on its own. Our spies continue researching but have come up with nothing so far."
The room was silent, so Lord Timekeeper concluded the meeting. "These are dark times but also times of great possibility. Together, we will navigate these challenges and emerge victorious. Our people's future, culture, and lands depend on it. We will meet again shortly."
The elves at the table nodded and stood up; the sound of chairs scraping against the ancient stone floor echoed in the chamber. As they filed out of the chamber, there were quiet exchanges of words, nods of understanding, and shared glances that spoke of unvoiced concerns and hopes. A few other plans were discussed quickly before everyone returned to their homes.
The alliance with the Prince, the creation of the new Heart, and their people's fate rested heavily on their shoulders. They would each have their own parts to play.
Lord Timekeeper remained behind momentarily, watching as the last of the elves disappeared down the corridor. His expression was one of calm resolve, but behind his stoic facade lay the mind of a strategist, constantly analyzing, planning, and anticipating. Fates swirled around him in a chaotic dance, and he followed a few with his green eye, watching where they went.
Satisfied that he had pointed them in the best direction, he finally turned to leave, his footsteps steady and deliberate.
One last time, he took out his personal pocket watch and glanced at it uneasily.
The hour hand almost pointed to midnight.