Alun looked out from his balcony at the bustling underground city of Doflhiem. The vast prison dominated his view, situated on the level below. The prison was essentially a hollow rock suspended by thick chains over the centre of the Doflhiem canyon; a single entrance and exit was extended and retracted when needed. Orei had described it as one of the most secure places ever built.
He thought back to his and Luther's arrival. Luther had not taken the existence of Dwarves well – he had blatantly denied it at first, saying that the Church said that they weren't real. Then, when the realization had sunk in, he stuck to his room writing furiously. Alun had gone to see Luther a few times, but they had been short and uneventful visits as Luther kept to his writing and said little. The Dwarves supplied him with a constant stream of paper and ink, deciding that they preferred a scribbling maniac over a screaming one.
Alun turned from the balcony and looked for his Dwarven-made jacket. His room was carved into one of the mountains Doflhiem occupied, made centuries ago during the Elf-Wars for the human troops who stayed here, thus giving the room a slightly larger feel than the majority of Doflhiem's sleeping quarters. The room had Dwarf styling, giving everything an angled and precise edge with carved scrolling included in the furniture, walls, and doors.
His jacket lay crumpled by the door. Picking it up and pulling it on, he felt the heavy weight of leather fall about him. The insides of the jacket had soft, woollen padding, keeping its wearer warm; the outside was quilted then boiled, to give the leather an almost rock hard exterior. As with everything the Dwarves made, it fit perfectly. The sleeves had been styled to look like bracers to protect his arms from stinging bow strings, or deflecting an axe or sword swing. The Dwarven fastening mechanism zipped up the front, then a flap folded and buttoned over to protect the opening. The chest and back were covered with subtle quilting, and the shoulders were doubled up with protection, and resembled pauldrons which had strange heads shaped on each one. Dwarven runes littered the garment, and Orei had told Alun these runes protected him from a misplaced arrow, and gave him strength when he needed it.
The rest of Alun's new wardrobe consisted of leather padded trousers, and Dwarf style boots – which meant heavy and metal clad. Luther had been given the same, but had refused and instead preferred to wear the ruined clothes he had worn in Stonehill. Alun left his jacket unzipped, showing the cotton spun shirt beneath. He opened his door and entered into the low halls of the military quarter. The city bustled around him as Alun walked out into one of the countless main streets of Doflhiem. The city was carved out from a vast underground canyon that wound beneath the eastern border mountains – or the Mjolik Fjords as the Dwarves named them. According to Orei, the eastern wastes had once been a great sea that surged and carved great ravines and crags in the Dwarves ancestral home of Mjolik, but due to the devastation of the outside world, the Dwarves retreated to their mines and created the underground city of Doflhiem. It was structured in tiered levels: at the bottom of the Doflhiem Canyon, rivers of magma were channelled, and they flowed past the various workshops that chimed and tinkered away, filling the city air with the sounds of hard work and industry. These workshops powered the city: they made weapons and armour for the rangers and warriors; they made drills and picks for the miners; and developed chemical compounds that blew holes in the rocks to open up more mines, and expand the ever growing city. Lifts and magnetic train mechanisms carried Dwarves vertically and horizontally through the maze of Doflhiem. The master artisans and inventors from these workshops could make anything, and were the most respected in Dwarf society.
Alun had been walking the streets daily, taking in the new civilization. Vakringuardian traders occasionally littered the crowd, selling furs and other northern goods. As a whole, the Dwarves were a jolly, hospitable people, so it was easy for a stranger like Alun to stroll through the streets. He found that whoever he asked, either for directions or help, both were given freely.
The military quarters where Alun and Luther were staying was situated in the mid-section of the Canyon, giving Alun easy access to transport. As he walked, Alun passed one of the many pubs that occupied the city, and heard the beats of a drum pulse out from the door, accompanied by the deep rolling tones of Dwarven singing. Alun managed to resist entering, and walked past the musical bar, deciding to set out for the workshops instead.
Alun descended in one of the many Dwarven lifts, sinking below the prison. He looked up at its immense size, shivering at the thought of it coming loose. The lift resembled the carriages of Alturine, however instead of wood, the cladding was replaced with metal; Orei had said that this was to enable the lift to withstand the pressures that were placed upon it by the general public.
Finally, after a nerve-wracking descent, Alun's lift touched the bottom of the canyon, and opened out onto the Smithing district. Alun opened the lift's doors and hopped out. The air here was thicker than higher up, and the noise from the surrounding forges was almost deafening. Alun winced at each hammer beat, and feeling stifled, desperately wished he had left his jacket in his room.
Doflhiem's Smithing district had a tier system of its own, just like the main city itself. The forges further down and closer to the lava streams were considered the better locations, and were worked by the master smiths, due to the close proximity to the lava. The Dwarven master smiths were able to heat their metal to a higher rate; this allowed their forges to burn out any impurities within their metal, thus producing a stronger, purer product. The higher forges either charged a lower price for cheaper work, or invented mechanisms and concoctions that in turn created masters in different fields.
Alun walked down the side streets taking in the peculiar sights and smells, when suddenly a familiar figure walked out from an inventor’s forge.
Orei looked up, and gave a cheery smile. Alun smiled back, and went over to meet her.
"Hello Orei, fancy seeing you down here. What are you up to?"
Orei chuckled, and pulled out a canister identical to the ones she had used in their flight from Stonehill. "The last trip I made, I used up a bit more of my stores than I had anticipated, if you remember. So, I came down here to stock up. I see you're still exploring my great city."
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Alun nodded. "Aye, I decided to explore the legendary forges you seemed so proud of last time we spoke. Any chance of giving me a guided tour?"
Orei gave a pained look, and shook her head. "I’m so sorry Alun, but alas, I cannot. I’m required at the western gate in an hour. I only came down to pick these up before my shift."
Alun smiled at Orei to show him no harm had been done. "That’s alright, I was going to check this place out on my own anyway. Luther still hasn't decided to leave his room, and I wanted to see as much as I can of Doflhiem. Good luck with your shift. Maybe we can meet up afterward for a drink?"
Orei's warm smile returned. "Aye, that'd be grand, lad. I'll meet you in your room when I’m done, I should only be a few hours."
Alun agreed, and watched Orei jog off towards the direction of the lifts.
...
A single black shadowy knight stood with its legs shoulder width apart, and both hands upon its shadowy blade. Marius waited. He watched for a twitch or a flicker, a single sign of movement– there were none.
Deciding enough was enough, Marius pounced. He flew through the air, allowing his long sword to trail behind him. Olaf stayed silent, puffing on his pipe, as the black knight brought its blade up in an attempt to hook Marius around the feet, and send him sprawling. Marius knew it would happen; he saw the tell-tale signs as the shoulders flinched. Instantly, Marius prepared himself for a roll, and brought his sword across to deflect his opponent. The tinging sound of metal against metal resonated, then a scraping slide as the shadowy sword was deflected. Marius hit the arena floor with his right shoulder, and rolled, bringing his sword up behind him as he did so. His sword caught his opponent off balance, and sliced it just above the left knee, then continued up its back, causing the shadow knight to scream and fall, then flicker into nothingness.
Olaf raised a single eyebrow. His tattoos still glowed, and Marius had learned not to celebrate a victory too early. He had been training for two weeks now, after he had had a few days’ rest to recover from the destruction of Stonehill, and that meant that two and a half weeks ago, he had been a crumpled mess on the brink of death. Now, he was a force to be reckoned with.
Sword in hand, Marius waited, listening for movement, feeling the ground with his feet for vibrations. A slight shiver to his left caused Marius to swing around and pull up his sword in defence. This time, a shadowy ranger stood before him. The knife it had thrown bounced off of Marius's blade, and embedded itself into the sand a few feet from where Marius stood. Marius circled the ranger until he was in the centre of the arena, then waited. The ranger seemed to be waiting too, but Marius could see the slight twitch in its right hand.
Suddenly, as Marius expected, the ranger unsheathed its bow, and knocked an arrow into place. Taking aim, it fired, letting loose the projectile. Marius rolled out of harm’s way and charged at the ranger. The ranger dropped its bow, and pulled out two large, double ended knives, which curved back. These were legendary Eldar weapons that Olaf had called glaives. This was unexpected, but Marius adjusted his grip, and slid on his knees to deliver a hacking slice towards the figure's abdomen.
The under-blade of the ranger's right glaive sliced down, causing Marius to ditch his approach. He brought his hilt up in defence, and caught the glaive, then pushed it back. Again, Marius had his opponent off balance, but this time he was unable to exploit the opening as he slid by.
Marius tucked himself into a roll, and as he pulled out from it, he found himself next to the shadowy dagger from the start of the round. Picking it up, he span around to see the ranger charge again. Hiding the dagger behind him, Marius stood– his sword in one hand, pointing at his target; the dagger in the other, waiting for the opportune moment.
The ranger continued to charge, and Marius continued to wait. The distance between them shrank, and Marius picked his moment to strike. When the ranger was a few feet away, Marius threw the dagger. It sailed through the air, and covered the distance between them until the ranger deflected it with its left glaive.
This was the moment Marius was waiting for. The slight off balance caused by the deflection was enough for Marius to exploit. He swung around to the right, and pointed the tip of his long sword at the ranger's shoulder. He lunged, using the slight angle from off balance, and hit the ranger just above its reaching defence. A scream sounded, and the ranger fell into shadows.
Olaf clapped loudly. His pipe was in his mouth puffing out smoke, and Olaf nodded his approval. "Well done, Marius, well done! Exactly so, right on the mark!"
Marius stood panting, waiting for his breath to come back to him. Finding his voice, he thanked Olaf. Confident today's session was now over, Marius sheathed his sword and waited for Olaf to tell him what to do next. Olaf stood up and un-clipped the silver pauldron from his shoulder. He pulled on his over coat, reattaching the pauldron as he did so.
Marius watched, excited to see a difference in routine. Olaf shrugged on his glistening sword and faced Marius. Marius stood expectantly, as Olaf emptied his pipe then stowed it away in his great overcoat.
He looked down at Marius and said, "You have done very well in such a short time Marius, I think you might be a natural. Either way, you can defend yourself well enough. You understand the founding principles of swordsmanship, and you are well on your way to mastering the ways of the sword. Every swordsman needs a sword worthy of their deeds, and I believe it is time we replaced that butter knife of yours with something a bit more appropriate."
Marius felt hurt for a moment as he looked down at his long sword. The shiny steel cross-guard seemed to shimmer faithfully in the flickering lamplight of the arena. The worn wooden handle fit his hand perfectly, and the pommel had saved him from one of Olaf's apparitions more times than he could count. Then the realization of a new sword sank in, and Marius smiled to himself. He would keep his old blade as a token of his learning, but a new sword would be nice.
Olaf saw Marius's smile, and positively beamed back. "Right" He said. "Let’s go pick you out a sword then."
Olaf paced out from the arena, clearly excited, leaving Marius to jog after him. Olaf strode out into the great hall with Marius in tow. He opened one of the many doors that littered the ground floor, and descended the stone steps that lay on the other side. Marius followed him down, and noticed a strange glow coming from the base of the stairs.
Marius reached the last step, and lost his breath as he took in the view. A massive, cavernous room lay beyond. Gold was piled in the corners, and he could make out so much more in overflowing chests and weapons racks. Crowns, jewels, and shimmering weapons all lined the walls and floor, and Marius felt his jaw drop, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
Olaf chuckled to himself as he saw Marius's expression. "Well, Marius, this is what happens when you lead a life of heroism. Now let’s find that sword of yours, shall we?"
Marius managed a nod as he felt his feet move to follow Olaf, who was now going over to each weapons rack, and pulling out multitudes of swords, placing them in the middle of the room. Marius went over and started feeling the grip of each sword, testing them for straightness and weight.