Stronric stomped into the smithy, letting out an annoyed breath as he closed the door behind him. Stupid mushrooms! I need to do something to clear my mind. Something to focus on.
Stronric walked over the forge that was burning with Morgal’s blues flame. He held a hand over the intense heat and closed his eyes.
“Morgal, bless my anvil and guide my hammer strikes today. Lead me down the path of iron.” Stronric finished the prayer and opened his eyes. He walked over to the new crates and barrels retrieved from the storage level. He searched for the supplies he needed then laid them out across the craftsman table and the smithy. Once everything was in place Stronric stripped down to only his pants and boots. He picked up one of the aprons they had ordered from town and grabbed a pair of smithing gloves.
Now I need to be careful. To make steel, iron is heated then layers of coke and limestone are dusted on. If I heat the process too quickly, I’ll just destroy the iron, if I get the timing wrong I’ll make pure iron. Everyone knows that pure iron is useless, it’s far too brittle and soft.
Stronric took a deep breath, placed his foot on the bellow’s petal, and placed an iron ingot into the smelting pot. He pumped the bellow bringing the blue flames to life. He watched as the iron bar slowly turned to liquid. He then began tossing handfuls of limestone and coke onto the liquid. He used the long handle tongs to swirl the mixture, combining the material until it returned to a shiny metallic pool, while he continued to fan the flames with the bellow. He increased his speed and rhythm on the bellow. The forge raged to life, the intense heat grew and poured from the forge. Stronric’s brow beaded with sweat, but he never took his eyes from the urn or slowed his pace.
Stronric began singing a smelting song passed down to him from his master. The song helped with petal timing to ensure the metal was kept at proper heat. The verses separated key moments in the mixing process and highlighted critical times to warn the dwarf handling such dangerous precious metal. Soon the coke ignited and began to suck the oxygen out of the molten iron. Liquid in the urb slowly began to shift colors from a deep orange to a molten red. As he began a new verse, Stronric knew it was time to raise the heat of the forge. The pace of his foot on the bellow flamed the fire to that of a dragon’s breath. This was the hardest part and most important moment in the process. If the temperature did not rise fast enough or remain as hot he’d just produce more pure iron. The “Tap tap tap” became a flurry of constant taping. Stronric raged a different type of war, one with himself and the elements around him. The smithy was poorly tooled and didn’t have a draining urn he’d need to separate the impurities from the iron and slag. He would need to manually drain the urn and remove the slag while maintaining the temperatures at the current incredible heat.
Stronric eyes narrowed as he saw the iron… no steal hit the proper color. He pulled the urn from the flames of the forge and tipped the urd to pour the impurities and slag onto the ground. With such a crude process he lost more of the precious steel than he intended. He grunted in frustration as the poured the metal into the ingot mold. Stronric wiped his brow as the last drop of liquid steel fell from the urn and into the mold.
One steel ingot will not be enough for what I wish to do. I need more!
Stronric rolled his stiff shoulders and set his mind to the task ahead. He began the process all over again. Iron, limestone and coke entered the urn and liquid steel was poured into the molds. He became more efficient with each batch, producing more steel and losing less when pouring out the impurities. Stronric finally took a seat, breathing heavily, some time later, and drank deeply from the tankard he poured. He looked over his product, lumpy and misshapen, but pure steel nonetheless.
It’s not my best work, but with the conditions here producing any steel however ugly is an achievement. He counted the bars in front of him. Aye this’ll be enough. A quick meal and ale, then the real fun begins!
Stronric made his way back to the hearth. Beatrice lifted her head, eyeing him as he entered the room. The siblings lay asleep by the hearth. Stronric didn’t know if this was the morning of the night he left or the next night. He didn’t particularly care either. He quietly poured a bowl of stew and grabbed some salted pork before heading back down to the smithy. He sat at the old work-mans table and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a stick of coal. He slowly ate his stew as he filled the page before him with lines, numbers and runes. He finished his meal and drink. He stood, stretching as turned to face the forge before him.
Stronric knew how ambitious his plans were, yet he set his mind to the task. He pushed the crates of iron over to the forge and rolled the barrels of coke and limestone to join it. Time wrapped around him as he stared into the endless metallic pools. One by one stacks of steel ingots filled the shelves that lined the walls. Next, he added countless iron bars to the shelves. Once the walls glittered with metal bars, Stronric began pulling ingots down to be crafted into his plans.
At some point during Stronric’s haze, Rugiel had come down to the smithy. Her face was lined with worry as she took in the maddened dwarf. His skin glistened with sweat, soot coated his beard and hair, and dirt was smudged about his body and brow. She called out to him as she made her way to the work bench, but Stronric’s focus remained on the task at hand. Rugiel thumbed through the piles of parchment littered across the bench top. Her brows, drawing in close.
“Stronric!” She nearly shouted, when he finally turned to face her. “Have you slept?”
“Huh? No, no. Too busy for that.” Stronric replied as he placed the first piece of steel back into the forge to be heated.
“This can’t be healthy for you. You need rest, meals.” Rugiel mumbled, her attention diverted to the schematic in her hand. She turned to face him, “Stronric! Is this what you are planning to make?”
Stronric walked over and grabbed the pile of papers and gave her a hard look. “Ye know it's rude to pry into a smith's work?”
Rugiel put her hands up and stepped back. “Well, if you need anything do not be afraid to ask. I can help you.”
Stronric just nodded as he stacked the parchment and placed a hammer to weigh it down. He made his way back to the forge, waving his hand in dismissal as he watched the steel form in the flames heat. He didn’t hear her leave, but he knew she left when no more questions came his way. The steel was glowing red and Stronric removed it from the fire, placing it on the anvil. The sounds of hammering filled the halls as Stronric worked endlessly on his creations. With each thundering blow Stronric felt the flames, the forge, the hold, whisper to him, guiding his arms and his mind. The mad smithing god was whispering into his ear. Stronric knew firsthand how mad the god was. Instead of fighting the insanity of Morgal, Stronric embraced the madness and headed the whispers.
Three days later Stronric stumbled into the hearth, faltering and falling to his knees. The siblings jumped up in surprise and ran to his aid. Each sibling took one of his arms and guided him to the table to sit. Stronric slouched in his chair, mumbling of different metals, weapons and ores. Bauru had retrieved a bowl of stew, some spider shoots and two tankards of ale and set them before Stronric. Stronric went through the motions of eating, but the siblings could tell he was fading. After his bowl was empty, they guided him to his bed. The two siblings looked at one another sharing a concerned look as Stronric fell into a deep slumber clutching his master key in an iron grip.
“Did you see what he was crafting when you last saw him?” Bauru asked.
“No. I only saw the crazed plans for a moment before he snatched them back.” She poured an ale and left it by Stronric’s bedside, “Should we go see what has consumed Stronric’s mind?”
“Aye. It must be good, if it kept Stronric from his work around the hold. The old man never leaves his chores undone.” Bauru said with a twinkle of curiosity in his eye.
The two young dwarves made their way down to the smithy. The large door loomed before them, solid and hopefully unlocked. Bauru pushed on the door and found it locked. Rugiel ran back to Stronric’s side and tried to pry the key from his hand.
Three days later
Stronric woke and rubbed his head. His head throbbed as if he was hit by a hammer. His muscles were sore and stiff. He winced as he pushed himself up to sit and released his hand. He looked at his hand through dry burning eyes and saw his palms were raw and ragged. The master key fell free, its pattern cut into his skin, likely permanently. The flesh around it was blistered and raw in various states of healing. Stronric looked around the room and saw the two siblings were eating breakfast. They sat frozen looking at him like he had just woken from death.
“Welcome back to the land of the living!” Bauru called out as he grabbed a second bowl and filled it with breakfast for Stronric.
Rugiel jumped up and went to Stronric’s side. Stronric could see he was definitely in for a scolding by the look on Rugiel’s face. She held out a hand and Stronric reluctantly accepted the help. He nodded his thanks as she led him to his seat and helped him down. Bauru set the bowl of stew down with a spoon. Stronric ignored the utensil and just lifted the bowl to his lips and began devouring the contents.
“Spider shoots please.” Stronric asked weakly between bites of soup and drinks of ale.
They watched Stronric eat in silence. He ate five bowls of soup and six spider shoots before he finally sat back and lets out a “ohh yeah” while rubbing his stomach. He finally turned his attention back to the dwarves before him.
“What?” Stronric said as he picked at meat stuck in between his teeth.
“Are you going to explain yourself?” Rugiel scolded him.
“Nope, not really. We needed new equipment and so I made it.” Stronric replied flatly.
“We know, we went to the smithy ‘fter ye passed out. Three days ago, ye’ve been gone from us for almost a week, Stronric.” Bauru said to him with a concerned look.
The news hit Stronric like a hammer. A whole week? “How long was I asleep for?” Stronric asked shyly.
“Three days you bearded bastard!” Rugiel shouted at him with worry in her eyes. “Stronric we were scared we were going to lose you!”
Why would Rugiel so worried about losing me? I am not going anywhere. “Oh sorry, I fell into a type of trance when I was smithing. Morgal whispered into my mind on how to improve what I was making. I wasn’t going to turn down the help of our ancestor.” Stronric said.
Rugiel eyes grew wide, and she looked flustered at the mention of the ancestor of smithing.
“Look I didn’t know that was going to happen. The next time I start to smith I’ll make sure ye help me Rugiel. Deal?” Stronric asked.
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“Before I lost my mind, we were preparing to leave for Millstone. We need to redouble our efforts there. If more Dwarves will be joining us then we will need more supplies. I also am overdue for a visit with the guards.” Stronric grumbled across the table. “I don’t know all what you saw, but I made gifts for the both of ye. I’ll run down and grab them now so we can get the proper fit.” Stronric said as he started to stand up.
Rugiel quickly rose and caught Stronric’s hand “Stronric wait! Will you slept, Bauru and I used that time to prepare some gifts for you.” She turned to Bauru and nodded, then made her way to the bar. From behind the bar Rugiel collected a pile of items. Stronric was unable to see what they were. Bauru went to his bedroll and also collected something. The two converged back at the table and laid out their offerings. Rugiel laid out a set of freshly woven garments.
“I used our new spider silk and loom to weave you these. Bauru and I both received new clothes in our last dealings with Mintra, so It seemed only right the Clan Leader receives the finest first.” Rugiel said fondly as she slide the pile across to Stronric.
Stronric lifted the first item from the pile. A dark green tunic unfolded before him. It was a pullover tunic with a V-neck open collar adorned with antler carved buttons to close. Decorative dwarven knots were stitched down the sleeves in golden spider silk. Stronric laid the tunic to the side, smiled at Rugiel and lifted the next item. A pair of simple brown trousers. They fastened with matching antler buttons and the golden dwarven knots ran along the hem of each leg.
“Much thanks Rugiel. I needed new clothes, something fierce, and these are fit for any noble. How did ye color the silk?” Stronric asked curiously.
“I found some ‘erbs out in the forest that could be used as dyes.” Bauru said with a toothy grin. Bauru slid his gifts across the table to Stronric.
Stronric lifted a leather vest. A large Cornucopia was sewn onto the right side. It was well crafted and stained darker to match the trousers. Small dwarven knots were also carved along the hems that matched the patterns of his new clothing. Two small hip bags that fit onto Stronric’s belt were the last to be presented to Stronric.
“Impressive leather work Bauru. Thank ye.” Stronric said with an affectionate thump on the small dwarves back. “Let’s see this assemble all together now.” Stronric quickly left to change and reemerged moments later. He stepped into the hearth with his arms open wide and showing off his new outfit, looking every bit a thane. The crisp white of tabard stood stark against his new ensemble, the large golden cornucopia showing between his leather vest.
The siblings clapped and cheered as Stronric completed a spin for them. Stronric smiled back and that’s when he noticed the siblings had changed as well. They were both matching him in brown trousers and green tunics. Their clothes were of equal quality but were lacking golden adornments and instead were stitched with matching silk.
“No dress Rugiel?” Stronric asked, taking in her new trousers.
“No. The time for ladyship has since past. I am no longer bound by those rules. I am a warrior, an apprentice and a chosen blacksmith. Besides, this hold is not well stocked with lace, dresses and the finer things.” Rugiel replied with a chin held high, but a tint of sadness remained in her eyes.
“Well, it’s time for ye to receive yer gifts. Come, follow me down to the smithy. I think ye’ll love what I’ve made.” Stronric said holstering his axe and heading for the door.
Stronric presented Bauru with a large wooden crossbow. The arms and firing string were made from steel. Stronric ensured the firing arms would be strong enough the withstand the force of firing a bolt and not warp over time with use. Bauru ran his fingers across the dwarven runes carved into the body of the crossbow. Hmm. I don’t remember carving those. Stronric thought watching Bauru inspect his new weapon.
“What do they mean?” Bauru asked?
“Predator.” Stronric replied with a silent question hanging in the air. “Ye have 40 bolts on the table there. They’ll be heavier than what ye are used to carrying.”
Bauru went to the table, laid his new weapon down and picked up a bolt. He turned it around, feeling the weight of it. “These also hold runes?” He said, stunned. “This gift is really for me?”
“Aye. I told ye, a proper dwarf shoots a crossbow. With time, ye will be able to wield it as easily and effortlessly as you bow. Strength will allow ye to load it silently and quickly all by hand. Until then I made ye a wench.” Stronric said. He proceeded to instruct Bauru on how to load, aim and fire, both with the wench and without. Rugiel cheered as Bauru successfully loaded his first bolt. Stronric smiled as well. A strange world this is, where Dwarves are not trained with the dwarves' ranged weapons: crossbows, guns and throwing axes. Bauru is the first to return to the dwarven tradition.
Stronric turned his back to the two siblings as Bauru showed his sister his new weapon. “Now I hope the time for dresses hasn’t passed too quickly.” Stronric said as he turned to face Rugiel.
Stronric held out a cloth covered item. Rugiel stepped forward hesitantly, taking the heavy gift and set it on the worktable. She unwrapped it and saw a metal chest piece. It was crafted to fit her form tightly. In the center was the carved anvil of Morgal’s sigil. As Rugiel lifted the chest piece off the table she felt something pull and fall down. A bell hoop skirt fell down and fanned out below the chest plate. Rugiel saw she was actually holding up a metal dress. The shirt was formed by thin wide metal planks that overlapped into a pleated metal skirt. Dwarven runes and knots were carved along the metal hem.
Rugiel looked up at Stronric. “No, Stronric this beautiful. I want to put it on now.” Stronric stepped forward and helped hold the armor up as Rugiel untied and stepped into it. He tied the piece back together and Rugiel took a step out. “It’s heavier than I thought.” She giggled as the metal skirt swayed. She then twirled, the metal planks unlinked and spread out to fan around here. As she continued spinning, she could see the sheen of blades. She stopped spinning abruptly and the skirt pleats interlocked and laid flat once more. “Stronric? Are these blades?” She asked with a hint of fear in her voice.
“Aye las. You’ll have to train to work around it and use it to keep enemies within the deadliest radius of your swing.” Stronric said matter-of-factly.
Both the siblings looked at Stronric with wonder and affection. “Thank you Stronric. We could never imagine owning such things before joining your clan.” Rugiel said, tears glistened along her eyelashes. Bauru turned and hugged Stronric firm and quick.
“Ye are family now. We will step out of this hold and let the people know the Dwarves are back in the mountains.” Stronric said giving each sibling a pat. “But now let’s get back to work, we have things to do.”
The three dwarves left the smithy and got back to work. The next three days passed in a blur. They finished the mushroom harvest, plowed new rows into the field and spored the new mushrooms. Rugiel worked to produce more weapons to sell for Mintra while Bauru prepared the goats for an extended stay alone. Every night and morning the dwarves trained with their new gear. Finally the day came and Indomitable was loaded up with gear and the make-shift cart crafted from a mining cart that would carry their supplies into town. The dwarves donned their new gear, locked the goat’s ramp and headed out of the mountain. Beatric walked the group out, locked eyes with each dwarf and huffed as if to say, “You better come back, and come back quickly.”
“We’ll be back soon ol’ nan. Ye watch over the herd and the hold.” Stronric said, rubbing the goat between the eyes. Bauru stepped up next and laid his forehead to Beatrice’s forehead and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe.” The party walked down the hill and turned once more and waved to the guardian of the hold.
The bright warm sun greeted the party, and the nice weather continued as the party traveled. Bauru pointed out the mountains, hills, streams and points of interest. Rugiel and Bauru filled Stronric in on the history they knew of the valley, the human villages, and the elves around. Stronric learned there were two other villages that shared the valley below the hold. Millstone was the acting Capital of the three villages and collected the major travel and trade. Stronric taught the siblings more songs passed down from the dwarves of his world. He passed on pieces of dwarven history and stories of growing up in a great dwarven hold. As they made their way down the mountain, Stronric shared the story of where the two human men attempted to rob him many months ago. He couldn’t even recall the brothers' names but he could describe them.
As they ate the last bit of the fresh meat over a campfire, Rugiel began to lead Stronric and Bauru through what she knew of the classing up and reminded Stronric of how the guild hoarded the secrets of the varying classes. Bauru wanted to pursue a hunter-based class and if he could then he wanted to add a secondary specialty into beast-handling. Stronric asked many questions on how a class is chosen and how one could gain a secondary class. Rugiel explained again that a person’s class is influenced by person’s deeds and the life they lived. She told them of the idea of a soul script. It was the ledger of a person’s accomplishments, their work and choices and how that could influence their stats and their classes. She explained that if a miner worked hard and long, they would passively gain skills to help with his endurance, but if the same miner wanted to dive deeper into the caves, he could acquire a secondary class in cave diving, he would then gain new abilities to push him further. She also reminded them that if a that miner stopped mining, he would gain experience at a slower rate, losing the benefits of his class.
As the dawn sun brightened the last morning before the party made it to Millstone, the party matched the atmosphere of the great weather and world around them. It was the first trip as free dwarves for the siblings and the first page in their next book. They planned to stop before the gate and not enter the village until their safety was guaranteed. Stronric would not risk his kin and clan going into the village before such promises were made. He was no criminal, and he was no slave, and that was the end of that conversation. If men wanted to debate the value of flesh to him, he would just cut that weight of flesh off them. The land needed to know that in these parts dwarves were to be respected, and the Grudge Bearers never forgot a grudge.
Stronric led the clan down the main road. As they broke free of the forest Stronric felt something was not right. A smog covered the village as the scent of burning flesh and fire greeted them. Flames danced above the mighty wooden parapets and the screams of fear and death sundered across the valley.
From the gate poured shadowy figures, metal gleamed and reflected the fiery hell within. Stronric pulled his axe free, bringing it down in a mighty swing solidifying his declaration. “Grudge Bearers be at the ready, we know not if these are friends or foes. I have a sense today a grudge will be settled and by Thoranthas Beard we are the deliverers of retribution.