Görnach [GOER-nakh] - Dwarven adjective for a person who plays dead to avoid the responsibility of war or combat. Derived from the dwarven words ‘Gör’, which is rock, and ‘Nach’, which is to limp or flaccid. Literally, it means ‘a limp pile of useless rocks.’
Several uses of this versatile word have been discovered over the past two centuries. For example, to be called a görnaching idiot is to be called a cowardly pile of flaccid stones.
- Sir Sire’s Exploration of the Dwarven Language (First edition)
“Please, Thea, find a seat,” Alaric offered kindly. Inwardly, my hackles rose at his familiar tone. Outwardly, I bowed my head slightly in thanks and silently wandered to the only available seat in the back. When I noticed who I would be sharing a desk with, I nearly walked out of the classroom outright.
“Vena,” Azuris mutters when he sees me sit down next to him, and I bristle even though I have no idea what that word means. It must’ve been one of the tiefling tongues, as its roots were foreign even to a polyglot fanatic like me.
“Vena right back at you, you blue skinned jerk,” I whisper back right as Alaric takes to the podium atop his dais. Unlike the other professor’s his stand was made of a white marble covered in intricate designs. I couldn’t make any of them out from my position, but I knew a treasure when I saw one. Whatever that thing could do, it was probably worth more than its weight in gold.
“Ladies,” Alaric began, his crystal blue eyes scanning the packed tiered rows of desks. Several of the women blushed and giggled at his lingering gaze. His attention found me, and I tried to play off his eagerness with unyielding passivity.
I failed.
“Gentleman,” the professor continued in a more formal tone. His hands moved across the podium, and gold and green light pulsed from several runic striations along its outer length. He smiled gently—almost fatherly—at all of us, like we were his favorite children. I found myself leaning in, the large vaulted room silent as a street just before the first raindrop fell.
The green and gold light pulsed one last time and the room shuttered slightly. All of the everglow lamps in their sconces dimmed as one. A presence descended over the class, and I felt the skin along my arms tingle as goosebumps fled across its surface. A few gasps echoed through the space, and I couldn’t blame their interruption.
Alaric stood tall, his arms splayed out, and rings I hadn’t noticed earlier sparkled along his fingers in the light of the dais. He pointed dramatically at the walls on either side of him, and flames purple and white blazed forth from two rings on either hand. The unnatural inferno collided with the walls, and golden green energy sparkled into existence. The heat was felt even from my far vantage, and the closest students to where Professor Hawthorne stood all leaned back in various states of horror and shock.
The instructor laughed in delight at all of our reactions, but he eventually dropped his arms and the insidious flames disappeared instantly.
“That, my dear students, was but a taste of what we shall discover in this class. A few observations, if you will. Yes, Mr. Lancaster!” Alaric pointed to where the troupe of nobility all sat together. I noted faintly that Charles was nowhere to be seen amongst their ranks this morning. In fact, I glanced around and realized I didn’t see him at all.
I hope he’s okay, I thought before I could stop myself.
“That was the fire of an epic-class wyvern, if I’m not mistaken,” Prince James declared haughtily.
“Correct, cadet. What else?” Alaric pressed. The prince hesitated, unsure of what to say next, and peeved that his observation of the professor’s epic-class enchantment didn’t elicit more of a reaction.
“Uhh,” Prince James started, and he looked around at his compatriots for assistance. When they all shrugged, he hissed something under his breath, and several of them paled. One of them eventually whispered back. Prince cleared his throat, like this was all a part of some plan. “The fire was expertly controlled. You were demonstrating the talent and skill we shall one day possess when we get enchantments of our own!”
Again, Alaric chuckled.
“You are once more not incorrect, cadet Lancaster, but I am looking for something else. Something more.” The professor spun slowly on his heels, the eagerness glowing from his expression barely wavering as he stared out at our unmoving forms. “Come on, surely one of you must’ve noticed the truth. It’s even more obvious with the young prince’s observations.”
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A young elf raised her hand and Alaric nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, cadet…”
“Lysandra…Starleaf,” the girl offered, and my focus narrowed onto her slight form. This was the second time she’d spoken up in a class. I waited to see if my suspicions would be proven correct.
“Ahh, yes, Starleaf. All right, cadet Starleaf, tell us what you saw. Make it good.”
She swallowed audibly, but didn’t back down.
“The wards, sir. The gold and green energy you activated created a self-replenishing ward, probably a class three given that it didn’t even crackle under that onslaught you put it under.”
I watched as Alaric looked ready to jump up and down with glee.
“PRECISELY,” he practically squeaked. “You saw the truth, fair Lysandra. The wards, the wards, the wards!” He accentuated each repetition with a wave of his arms. “Many of us in the Orion division gravitate to the dramatic—to the flashy wyvern fire that can incinerate flesh and plate armor like butter over an open flame. But while it is not nearly as spectacular, it all too often eclipses the raw output of a single charm or item. Wards…” Alaric paused for dramatic effect. “They are why we hunt.”
I felt whatever reverie I was in shatter as confusion muddied the waters of my mind. Determined not to miss what he said, however, I began to take frantic notes. I occasionally added a few details about Alaric himself, but used a simple cypher Kaelin and I used growing up to hide it.
Never know who might be watching, I justified as the quill in my hand danced over the fresh parchment of my notebook.
“By the seven gates of hell, human, you write like your master waits with a whip behind your head,” Azuris observed from where he lounged. I didn’t even bother to pay him the courtesy of looking at him.
“And you look like someone shattered you and then put you back together with golden glitter,” I retorted while my nose was buried in my papers.
“Vena,” he hissed back, but it sounded almost…playful?
“Stop calling me that,” I whispered back.
“Now, some of you might be thinking, ‘dear professor, that isn’t why we hunt, we hunt to gain power and defend our homelands!’” Alaric took a step down from his podium, one hand still resting on the marble surface. “You would be right, but only partially. We hunt to acquire power and resources vital to our stability, but there are a few key oversights you are all missing.”
He grinned knowingly.
You’re enjoying this, you görnaching bastard.
“First, is the resonance and dissonance between powerful enchantments—anything above rare-class in origin and past journeyman in quality. When you start to reach those higher echelons, you will discover that many enchantments…ahhh…don’t get along.” He chuckled goodnaturedly. With slow, deliberate, steps, he moved to stand before the front row of desks.
“The more powerful the enchantment, the more it dominates the ambient magic around it. That is because, as best we can determine, the density of magic affixed to such a comparatively small object makes it hoard the environment for control. That is why those at the peak of power usually only have one or two epic or mythic tiered enchantments, and always at the grandmaster quality. What can circumvent this major downside to wielding the greatest power this planet has to offer us?”
I flicked the feathered end of my quill across my face as I considered his question.
Is there something that can get around enchantment dissonance? I knew from hard experience the dangers of too many enchanted items in close proximity to each other. That day…
“Wards, sir?” A student near the back of the seats offered cautiously.
“Wards! Precisely, my dear!” Alaric beamed. “Wards are the one form of magic that can have as many high-tiered materials as you wish, with no negative repercussions or unanticipated side effects.”
The way he said that last part sent alarm bells racing through my mind. I jotted it down, hoping it might lead me toward the truth behind this immaculate posier.
“Think of it like this, my young cadets. In any given area, the ambient magic is like a blanket pulled taut from all ends. Every enchantment in that area is like a hot stone placed on that blanket. The greater the enchantment, the bigger and more hot that stone is, weighing down the blanket and sometimes causing the fabric to burn or smoke. Put too many of them close together for prolonged periods, and you might burn a large hole straight through the fabric!” His explanation made a certain kind of sense, but it left me with more questions than I had answers to now.
Alaric took his position behind the lectern.
“This brings us back to my earlier claim: why we hunt. Yes, it’s to gain power. There is no doubt about that. It’s why we train you the way we do. But once you’ve acquired your preferred enchantments and laid the groundwork for your fighting style, you won’t need every new attuned monster part you come across. That’s why, for a very hefty price, we at the Hunter’s Guild will buy those parts off you and use them for the most important work we can do: wards for our cities, homes, and towns. Wards are the reason we have staved off the worst the Wilds have to offer us. Wards are why surges haven’t destroyed us utterly. Without wards, we would be a scattered people at the whims of the monsters out there that seek to kill us all.”
I felt a chill snake its way through the crowded room. My quill shivered as sweat formed along my palm. It wasn’t the image that flashed in my mind of Halistair flooded with monsters because the wards failed. No.
It was because he was right.