Why can’t I just breath in the energy?! If a beast of the land can absorb it, why can’t I? I am no beast, but I am dwarf! Dwarves were not known for meditating it was something the elves did. The elves would spend years in seclusion. I always thought the elves spent that time looking down on the other races. Maybe those tree lovers were actually trying to find a way to tap into the power of the world around them. My father always taught me that a smart dwarf took what a moron said and treated it like a piece of ore. Refine what they said, purify the good metals and remove the slag. If magic works like this world engery then I need to draw in the energy around me.
But if I want to absorb the energy from around me, how would I do that? I just need to find a starting point. Is there energy everywhere or is it only in certain places and how will I know this? Stronric thought about his first interaction with “soul energy”. He had eaten the spider leg and in addition to a distinct taste there was something else about the meat that stood out. When we ate the spider shoots, I could feel the power flow from the meat to me. Stronric focused on that memory and the feeling. Stronric closed his eyes and tried to feel the world around him, searching for a clue and looking for that feeling similar to a weak spirit on a hot day.
In his mind, he could see the web of energy liquid and sheer. When he reached a hand out tentatively, the webs would slide free retreat. It was like a fish, slipping though eager hands. Stronric speared his hand out trying to grab hold and pull with all his might, falling back on his brute strength and warrior mindset. The strands simply turned to liquid, flowing through his grip before solidifying as the interwoven webs. Stupid web, just let me grab ye and be done with it! As his frustration grew the webs seemed to sense this and danced more chaotically, as if taunting him. Stronric snapped his eyes open, stood and paced about clearing. Gromli lifted his head from his pot in question. Stronric waved away the question in his eyes not wanting to talk. As Stronric circled the tree line he stopped to watch Indomitable.
The Ram was grazing lazily along the forest’s edge searching for flowers to eat. Indomitable pawed the ground and left out a huff as a patch of tasty looking flowers remained safely tucked behind a tick bushel of trees. Indomitable surveyed his target and gently grabbed the end of a vine and pulled. The vine wrapped around the flowers and with each gentle tug the flowers moved closer and closer to the hungry beast. When the flowers were finally in reach the ram took one big chop and let out a bleat of victory. Stronric rubbed the ram’s neck, thinking about the delicate battle Indomitable just won.
“Thanks, ye are a mighty animal.” Stronric said as the ram leaned into the words of affirmation and pets.
Stronric sat back down and closed his eyes, letting his muscles relax into the familiar weight of the stone bench. Slowly, he inhaled and with each breath he again began to sort the different sense around him. The ancient and untamed web spread about his mind once more. This was something he never learned to harness and now understood brute dwarven strength alone would not be enough. Stronric imagined his lungs were like a forge, where raw materials would go in and out would come refined works. So instead of reaching for the strands he took a deep breath, breathing in and willing the substance to flow into him. The webs stilled slightly moving closer to him through the vast blackness of his mind. Another breath and the web was within reach, but instead of reaching out a hand he built a rendition of a forge in his mind, he guided the web into the forge. With each breath in more web coiled and rolled into his forge trapped and with each exhale he solidified the cracks in the forge.
The process tested him, requiring a focus so sharp it was like walking a blade’s edge. Stronric's patience, not his strength, would determine his success. If he pushed too hard or let his frustration rise, the energy would spill through his mind forge and recede back to outskirts of his mind like webs high out of reach. Stronric fought his urge to just smash the whole mind forge and dive into the webs forcing them to bend to his will by taking a lap around the grove. He’d mutter angrily while trying to remember his teachings as a child of patience. He knew each new attempt was a battle of will, a test of his ability to be both fierce and delicate.
He would sit for a moment in the space he built in his mind. A black canvas of swirling mist, he had placed a forge in the center where when cooperating the webs of energy would enter through the top. He would imagine shelves like those back at the hold held the other sensations he had categorized. A soft orange and yellow orb for the sensation of the sun. A clear wispy orb that emitted the sounds of a soft breeze through the canopy of a forest. He’d take refuge in this place letting it sooth his mind and soul before standing and approaching his soul forge, if you will. His goal was to pull in enough of the energy around him to form something solid, but with each misstep he’d watch the precious energy spill out of forge back into the webs. Stronric realized he didn’t seem to mind watching the webs reform outside of reach. Each failure was a lesson in patience, a step closer to mastery. This was the way of his kin: persistence, even in the face of the impossible.
Finally, Stronric felt his forge was full to the brim with energy, but how would or could he use it? He approached the forge, the image flickered, as if going in and out of focus as his mind tried to accept this new achievement. When he blinked and rubbed his eyes a crucible sat in the opening. Stronric leaned over and saw a single piece of ore. The ore glowed emitting a swirl of iridescent colors, like a rainbow formed from a gleaming stone, it was all things and nothing at once. I’ve done it! Now let’s put this nugget to use! Stronric lifted the ore, it was no larger than a pebble and it felt like an egg, a hard exterior easily broken to reveal a soft fragile interior. Aye, ill just crush this and take the power for myself then?
Stronric crushed the small ore, feeling the shell break as his body exploded with energy. This was wild, chaotic, and unrefined power. The soothing warmth spread over his body, just as it had when he ate the spider legs, except this power didn’t linger and grow, it left him just as quickly as it came. As the last bit of power fizzled out, he was left feeling just as before. Well, that was a very inefficient use of energy and my patience. There must be more to this than one little burst.
Stronric’s frustration won again, and he took another lap around the grove. Bauru still slept deeply, Gromli was hunched over his kettle mixing things and pouring ladles full of delicious smelling food into different bowls. As Stronric walked, he thought about what he learned. I can pull in the energy, and I can form it into what, a nugget? I don’t need nuggets of power; I’d need a barrel if I was to get an advantage in a fight. Maybe the wee ore wasn’t finished. Maybe that little piece was more like coal or coke, just a material in a bigger refining process!
Stronric quickly rushed back to his sitting stone, before he turned back into his own mind, he noticed the sun had moved across the sky. Hours I’ve been tinkering in my own mind for hours! I don’t know how much time I have left here, so I better try this now! Stronric started the process over again. He was faster at filling the crucible and forming the little fragile ore, but not by much. He was still glad for even the slightest improvement because he felt it meant he was learning. This time when the ore appeared, he simply set it to the side and started forming another ore. He repeated this process till he had a small pile of ores.
Now that I have the ores, I can refine them into an ingot and use that to… well one step at a time. Stronric took two of the delicate ores and placed them both in the crucible or his mind forge. The ore’s shell cracked, and the energy poured out but stayed contained in the crucible. Maybe that’s all I needed, more than one and just more time in the forge to burn off any impurities. He instinctively turned for the molds and was reminded he was in his own mind. The space around the forge remained a steady fogged black. He thought about what would be needed to form these ingots and the tools to craft something with it after. The blackness rose, gently spinning then receded back leaving behind an anvil atop a rock. More swirls of black and the molds he wanted were sitting along the rim of the forge.
A slight popping noise brought Stronric’s attention to the forge and the energy. As he approached the forge with the intent to remove the crucible, tongs appeared in his hand. Stronric was fascinated by this mind space and the endless possibilities it seemed to hold. He removed the crucible and the liquid within shone like a highly polished pearl, a rainbow of colors rippled through when the liquid was disturbed. Stronric held his breath when he poured the material into the mold. There was barely enough to cover the bottom of the mold, but the energy seemed to accept it new role. Satisfied he wouldn’t waste more of the precious energy ores, he returned the crucible to the flames with nearly half of this ore. Within moments the liquid was poured into the mold.
As his mold cooled, he walked about his mental space. The forge, stone and glowing with soft blue flames took up one side of the blackness. A small table faded in next to the forge and held most of his basic tools. More swirling of the blackness the room shifted placing the anvil next to the forge and a workbench appeared on the opposite side of the forge. The webs of energy remained outside of his small working bubble, twisting and turning above and around like he was cocooned. He wondered then if the amount of webs would change based on the available energy and this grove just held more.
Stronric turned out the ingot, it gave off an ethereal glow, hardening back into a pearlescent shade of white or gray. A rune was formed into the top, a rectangle with diagonal lines running from corner to corner. Stronric’s finger brushed the rune, unaware the mold was marked. It seemed his mind forge and even the evermoving webs of energy froze, as if all was aware of the undercurrent of power threatening there presence. “Mirrdor” Stronric breathed aloud.
Stronric barely had time to comprehend the word spoken before the air around him seemed to ripple. A thunderous crack exploded through his mental forge, as though the very fabric of his inner world had torn apart. The force was overwhelming. Before he could react, Stronric was hurled backwards, as if the energy he had been shaping had suddenly lashed out in rebellion.
His body collided with something solid, a tree maybe, though he had no idea how it had come to exist in this ethereal space. The impact drove the breath from his lungs, and he crumpled to the ground, struggling to regain his senses. His vision swam, the misty emptiness around him twisting and warping in his dazed state.
For a moment, Stronric lay there, gasping for air, his chest heaving. The sharp pain in his ribs reminded him of battles fought and lost in the depths of the Deep Roads. But this was different. This was his mind, his own inner space. The sudden violence of it had shaken him.
As he forced himself to sit up, he saw that the forge and anvil remained, but the ingot was gone, as if it had never existed. The rune, however, still burned in his mind. Mirrdor. The word felt heavy, dangerous now. He could feel its power coursing through him, uncontrollable and raw, like a river breaking through its dam.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Stronric cursed under his breath, leaning against the tree for support as his vision slowly cleared. He had tried to forge something beyond his understanding, something he wasn't prepared to handle. The power had responded, and not kindly.
For a long moment, he sat in the quiet, gathering his thoughts. The mental forge still flickered, waiting, but Stronric knew better than to rush back to it. Whatever Mirrdor was, it wasn't something he could tame through sheer will. It required understanding, patience, traits he had in spades, though the test had reminded him of his limits.
Grimacing, he pushed himself to his feet. His ribs ached, but the pain was grounding, reminding him that even in the deepest reaches of the mind, there were consequences for overreaching.
"Well, that was a lesson," Stronric muttered, dusting himself off as the mist around him slowly calmed. The forge still called to him, but for now, he would take his time, study the rune, and try to understand the true nature of the power he had been trying to shape. The forge in his mind flickered, and for a moment, Stronric felt something slip, something dangerous, something lurking just beneath the surface.
Patience, Stronric, he thought to himself. This is a forge like any other. Rushing only invites ruin.
Stronric was torn from his mental workshop by Gromli shaking him violently.
“Wake up you bastard!” Gromli said panicking.
Stronric’s head spun and the light was far too bright. He was still sitting against the stone table when suddenly he leaned and emptied his stomach onto the ground. Shaking and wrecked with pain Stronric tried to bring his body under control. It felt like hours he sat there hunched over, puking onto the ground. Wiping away the spit, he looked at his red hand. Blood dripped off of his fingers. He touched his face with the back of his hand and found he had blood on the corner of his mouth. It seemed as if he was crying, tears streaming down his face and his nose ran. When he whipped away the liquid, his hang again came back bloody. He was bleeding heavily, from his eye, nose, mouth, and ears. A roll of thunder ran through his mind, his head ached deeply. He tried to shake away the feeling and focus. That only caused the spinning to worsen, and he collapsed back onto the table. He saw Gromli reaching out to him, his mouth moving, but darkness overtook him.
Bauru was yelling for Gromli to run while firing a crossbow into the something out of his vision. He tried again to open his eyes, sounds of pounding hooves, the shouts of battle, the steady thrum of Bauru’s crossbow, but he darkness pulled him under.
He awoke back in the darkness of his mind, but the pieces were fragmented, destroyed. A voice, whisper called to him. Mirrdor. He didn’t want anything to do with the power right now, so he turned away. He stumbled through the blackness of his mind, the webs of powers thickening around him. Catching his clothing and stropping his retreat. Mirrdor. The webs screamed, their fibers searing his flesh and mind. Stronric freed himself one more and ran. The forge loomed ahead, the soft blue glow, a beacon in the darkness, the anvil gleaming in the firelight. He took shelter there, by the flames, when heat started to pour out the forge. The webs ran rampant covering the stones, crushing them with their weight, cracking the forge and spilling more of the energy out. The anvil started to glow and crack as the webs crept closer. Stronric lashed out cutting away the pieces reaching for him. MIRRDOR. The room shook as the webs rolled forward like the surge of waves to encase him.
Stronric woke with a start, sitting straight up. He regretted that instinct immediately when his head ached as if it had been smashed by a hammer. His head swam and lightheadedness overcame him. He barely managed to steady himself before he went crashing back into the ground. He fought to sallow his panic and slow his breathing. He forced himself to look around and take in his surroundings. He was crumpled in the dirt and Gromli and Indomitable were fighting off gnolls.
Gromli fought with his ladle smashing a gnoll across the face. Indomitable kicked a pair of gnolls trying to sneak around to his back, sending them flying back into the trees. Rage flooded Stronric body as he saw his friends under attack. He forced one of his legs underneath him and reached for his axe. He pulled the axe free and didn’t remember the weapon being so heavy in his hands. The weight of the weapon pulled him off balance and he fell over again. He closed his hand around the axe and used it to brace himself as he attempted to stand again. He managed to get a foot underneath him and using the axe like a cane to balance he made it to a knee. With a tremendous effort he forced himself up, wobbling as he stood, leaning heavily on the axe.
The world spun more violently than before; nausea threatening him. Stronric gritted his teeth and forced himself to center and focus. He suppressed the nausea and dizziness enough to settle into the back of his mind, but I didn’t leave him. A gnoll was moving up behind Gromli and Stronric moved to intercept it. Stronric stumbled, his feet felt dead and distant, as if they were not listening to his commands. he moved of stumbled into the gnoll. He swung his axe, stumbling around like a toddler wielding his father’s forging hammer. His limbs tangled with the gnolls, and they both fell. Stronric lost his axe, but he used the gnolls surprise wrap up the gnoll and pin it under him. The gnoll swiped out slashing Stronric’s face. Blood dripped onto the gnoll below him, but Stronric ignored the pain. He wrapped his hands around the gnolls throat and squeezed. Panic entered the gnoll’s eyes and the creature bucked wildly, snapping his mouth in attempt to bite Stronric. Stronric held on, but knew he was moments from collapsing. He leaned all his weight onto his hands, crushing the creature’s windpipe, seconds later the gnoll laid still.
Energy flooded Stronric as the creature died. Stronric realized then that experience was very similar to the energy he was toying with earlier. He could feel the energy enter his mental forge and settle, as if waiting for him to decide where that power would flow. He knew he could send it to his level, but he also felt an ache deep within that was eager to drink. He pushed the energy to the deep pit within him and each cell of his body seemed to drink deeply. His nausea subsided and his headache wasn’t threatening him with unconsciousness now. Even as the power dripped in, he could feel it quickly dissipate as if he was battling to fill an ocean with a bucket with a hole. I think I might have overwhelmed and blew something vital inside of me with that explosion. Stronric rose on shaky legs and stumbled to his axe. My mind wanders more and more these days, my focus on the battle is slipping. It seemed the creature’s death had steadied the dwarf enough he could function.
Indomitable was being overwhelmed. The weight of the ram’s load was limiting his agility. Stronric could see two deep gashes crossing his mighty beast’s flanks. Gnolls encircled Indomitable, they were outside of the ram’s hoof range, waiting to strike. Stronric roared in anger and charged forward on slightly more solid legs. Stronric swung his axe and separated a gnoll from his lower leg. The creature fell to the ground letting out a scream of pain. The second gnoll danced back seeing Stronric. Stronric kicked the wounded gnoll onto its back and swung his axe down. The familiar warmth of experience hit him and again he directed it to his broken body and soul. He instantly felt better, the nausea was gone, his legs felt solid, and his axe seemed lighter than before. Laughing at his discovery Stronric rolled his shoulder and attacked the second gnoll. The gnoll tried to parry his axe blow but with his strength renewing Stronric battered the weapon aside and sunk his axe deep into the gnoll.
Stronric could feel the energy flooding his limbs, restoring him, but with each surge came an ache deep in his bones, a warning he couldn’t ignore. His body drank the power like a parched man at an oasis, but the more he took in, the more his muscles screamed in protest. Was it healing him, or was it burning him from the inside out? The rush of power coursing through Stronric's veins had become intoxicating. His blood surged, craving more enemies to face, more foes to fell. With indomitable safe, Stronric turned his attention to Gromli.
Gromli was trapped against a large tree. He was desperately fending off three gnolls wielding only his ladle. Stronric's instincts kicked in. His axe in hand, he moved with purpose, kill and absorb. Each swing of his axe sent a flood of energy through his veins, as gnolls fell lifeless. The strength of the energy was intoxicating, it ignited something darker within him. A newfound hunger gnawed at the edge of his thoughts that cared only to feel the surge again to become more powerful than before. He fought to ignore or dampen the overwhelming lust for power burning withing him, but with each fallen enemy that control lessened. His vision tinged with red as his bloodlust took hold. He spun, burying his axe into another gnoll, sending the creature crashing to the ground with a final death cry. Without pausing, Stronric stepped on the chest of the fallen beast, wrenching his axe free, and lunged at the last. He was desperate for more, more energy to heal the broken thing with in, more power to make him greater than a god here in this place. The gnoll’s weapon shattered as Stronric's blow cleaved its skull in two, its lifeless body crumpling at his feet.
Panting, Stronric scanned the battlefield. His body urged him for more death, his vision pulsed, tinged with red. Every second he spent without more power cleaved into his mind and he felt like it would crash all over again without it. He was in a frenzy when his gaze locked onto a shadowy figure near the tree line. A shape with a massive two-handed weapon resting on its shoulder stood there, standing still and watching them. Stronric laughed a manic chirp and charged forward.
Stronric slammed the haft of his axe into the creature’s chest, sending it to its knees. Stronric let out another chaotic laugh. How easy it was to surprise this stupid beast. A creature so dumb is only good for the power it will give to me. He raised his axe, preparing for the intoxicating relief that he knew would come with the killing blow.
Suddenly, Stronric was struck, knocked off his feet. He hit the ground hard, his axe slipping from his grasp as he grappled with whatever had blindsided him. They tumbled through the dirt, crashing into a tree before Stronric managed to throw the assailant off. Pinning the enemy beneath him, Stronric rained down blows. One, two, three. Victory surged through him as he raised both fists to finish the job. Stronric's fist hovered in the air, poised to strike, but something was off. The creature beneath him wasn’t struggling like the others. Its breathing was ragged but deliberate, as if holding back a cough of words. Then, with a trembling hand, it reached out, not to strike but to touch, and the whisper cut through Stronric’s haze like a cold wind.
‘Thane?’"
Stronric froze. His mind reeled. The word hit him harder than any blow. Before he could process what was happening, a sharp pain exploded on the back of his head. He fell back, his vision blurring. Dazed, he turned his head. Stronric struggled to clear his mind and to make sense of what he was seeing.
It was Bauru.
Bauru lay slumped against the base of the tree. His face was bloodied, his one good swollen shut, his nose broken and bleeding profusely. Stronric’s face crumpled in horror. A tortured scream tore from his throat as he realized what he had done. His kinsman his brother lay beaten and broken before him. Bauru’s face was a mask of disbelief. His one good eye, swollen with pain, fixed Stronric with a look that cut deeper than any blade. ‘How could ye?’ it seemed to say, though his lips remained silent, trembling with unspoken words.
Gromli, always quick to action, stepped forward, his knuckles white around the handle of his oversized ladle. "Stand back, you monster!" he spat through bloodied teeth, his voice thick with a mixture of fear and fury.
Stronric stared in disbelief, his body trembling. “I… I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry… I 'ave no idea what came over me.” His voice cracked. “Bauru… I’m so sorry…”
Bauru’s one good eye fixed Stronric with suspicion, the trust between them shattered. Slowly, Bauru pushed himself up, leaning heavily on the tree for support. Stronric looked down at his bloodied knuckles, the reality sinking in like a knife to the gut. How could he have done this? If it hadn’t been for Bauru’s words, he would’ve become a kin-slayer, drowning in a shame from which there’d be no return.
Stronric stumbled back, ashamed, his mind racing. He retrieved his axe, but the moment he did, both Bauru and Gromli flinched, ready for another attack. Bauru reached for his daggers, and Gromli raised his ladle.
Lowering his eyes, Stronric tossed the axe away and held out his hands in surrender, his voice barely a whisper. “I am a traitor… Bind me.” He stood there, looking at the ground, stripped of his honor, broken. The battlefield fell silent, save for the dripping of blood onto stone. Stronric stood there, his hands outstretched, waiting for judgment. Gromli and Bauru exchanged a glance, one filled with anger, pain, and something deeper. The air between them was thick with the weight of unspoken words, of bonds broken and honor lost."