"I'll take this one," Marius proclaimed after a short time of delving through Olaf’s hoard. He lifted up the sword and smiled. It was longer than his long sword but it was also thinner, about two finger widths across, and the ivory handle, wrapped in loose black leather, fit perfectly in his hands. Instead of the hand and a half sword he was used to, this handle fit both hands easily. The cross guard was thin, straight, and strong, and it was the colour of the metal that had attracted Marius to it. The black metal shone in the golden light, and the pommel was embedded with a large white gemstone in the shape of a star. As Marius drew the blade from its crimson scabbard, he was surprised to find the black metal continued down the blade.

Marius recognized Dwarven carvings from one of Olaf's books. They were situated in the centre of the blade, starting at the guard, and ending quarter of the way upon the blade. He found that everything was exactly right for him; the balance was perfect, as well as the weight at full reach. The blade flew through the air with ease, and Marius smiled as he sheathed the blade, and slung it over his back.

Olaf nodded. "A fine choice you have made, lad. That is one of the Dwarven blades of Mjolik, the Dwarves ancestral home. They were forced to retreat from Luka and his sons during the God Wars when Vingthor failed; it is the blade of Nurlin, the smith of Mjolnir, Vingthor's hammer."

Marius felt the sword upon his back, and could imagine the weight of history upon it. His blade was crafted by the same hands that crafted a god's weapon, the weapon that brought the mortal races out from an age of darkness. Marius pulled the sword from his back and reverently placed it on one of the weapon stands.

Olaf frowned at Marius. "What are you doing, lad?"

Marius shook his head. "I am not worthy of such a weapon, Olaf."

Olaf's frown deepened as he picked up the sword and handed it back to Marius. "Marius," he said soflty. "This blade has seen and done many great things. A sword's life is not meant for treasure rooms and trophies; it is meant for battle and glory. This blade has waited for you for almost three thousand years, and now you have finally arrived. Take this blade, and strike down the Eldar that took away your home and family. You are worthy, Marius. I know this to be true."

Marius took the sword with both awe and fear. "Thank you, Olaf."

Olaf nodded his head, then gave a smile. "Now let’s go and get something to eat."

Marius followed Olaf up the stairs into the great hall. A strange smell immediately caught his nostrils, and Marius looked across the hall to see the fire blazing in its hearth. Olaf's tattoos subtly glowed in the gloomy light, and he gave Marius a roguish wink.

"I thought that since you have finished your first phase of training, we could celebrate."

They made their way into the eating hall, and Marius smiled to himself when he saw a fat piglet twirling on a spit in the middle of the room.

"It won't be ready for another hour yet, so let’s have a drink."

Marius looked over to where Olaf was standing, and saw three large kegs pushed up against the stone wall. He felt his smile widen.

...

Alun wound his way down to the base of the Smithing district, curious to see the master smiths at work. Although the air was thicker down here, the countless hammering noises were lessened considerably due to the master smith's honed method. Alun walked past the various master forges, and ogled at the beauty that resided within. Axes, swords, and other strange and exotic weapons littered the outsides and insides of each forge. Some built armour that glistened and flickered in the magma's light; others crafted precise instruments for inventors, or for measurement. Alun walked past it all, stopping frequently. Sometimes asking a red faced Dwarf what they were making, other times trying to translate the explanatory runes himself.

Finally, Alun found himself at the very base of the Smithing district, and in turn, the base of Doflhiem. The streets down here were almost empty. Apart from the various elite of the city, the forges around here had such high prices that one purchase could keep the forge open for a decade. Masterpieces littered the streets, and Alun looked up at the city, almost fainting at the size of it.

The prison high above was a speck now, no bigger than his thumb, and the tiered levels opened out, and lit up the vast walls of Doflhiem Canyon. Alun looked down and felt dizzy as he stumbled through the narrowing streets of the master's tier.

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Finally, he stumbled out onto the last street before everything turned into lava. The street was empty; only rock and ash littered the sidewalks, and the buildings were left behind on the last block. A single street led straight to the lip of the lava river, and ended into what seemed to be a stone pier. Alun walked to this pier and winced from the heat. He looked up and down the river, and was surprised to see an island sat in the middle of the flaming river, with what looked like a forge puffing away.

Alun walked up the bank, curious to see who owned this forge. He noticed a small pinnacle further up, and feeling adventurous, Alun headed to the pinnacle's point, and tried to gauge the distance. The lava below sizzled and puffed, but the river seemed narrower here. Alun plucked up his courage; he remembered as a boy exploring the Black Forest with his brother. He remembered jumping over streams, and crossing the river that ran past Stonehill.

This is what he focused on as he looked down. Alun was fixed on seeing as much as Doflhiem as he could, and this workshop was something he could see. He took a few steps back, then gave a running jump. Alun immediately realized what an idiot he had become; just because he had survived getting eaten by wargs, did not mean he could jump a lava filled river, especially when he was wearing heavy, metal-clad boots.

Alun crashed onto the rocky shore of the island, and winced as he felt his shoulder collide with the rocks. Thankful for his leather jacket, Alun felt his shoulder for any damage. Slight bruising made him retract his hand, but he found no serious damage.

He looked around, and found the forge puffing away nearby. Alun stood up and made his way over to the front door. The heavy beating of a hammer could be heard from within, slow and methodical. No weapons lined the outside of the forge as they did in the master's tier– no works of any kind could be seen. Alun knocked; there was a pause within the rhythm, then a large bang sounded as vibrations shook the floor. The thunderous sound of footfalls came closer.

The door swung open to reveal a massive mountain of a man. Black hair burst from his chest, and a wild black beard hung about his face. His hair ran wildly down his back in a thick knotted mane. A vast golden belt hung around his waist and covered half of his muscular stomach. Red tattoos ran across his skin, and seemed to pulse and glow with each rise and fall from the giant's massive chest.

Alun stood in front of the towering giant, feeling small and insignificant. He looked up into its face and stared. The giant's face was covered with scars; left eye had been sewn together, and a jagged scar ran through it. The glowing red tattoos circled the giant's features, and seemed to be runes of some description.

Then the giant spoke, a thick rumbling voice echoing out into the black, burning surroundings. "What are you doing here, boy?"

Alun blinked rapidly, taken aback by the direct question. "Um...look, I’m-I’m sorry, I just–”

The giant frowned. "Just what?"

Alun's blinking continued, much to his frustration. "Sorry, I... I wanted to see what was here, I was curious."

The giant gave a smile that chilled Alun to his bones. "Have you ever heard the saying ‘curiosity killed the cat’?"

Alun's faced dropped, and the giant burst into laughter, then offered a massive, calloused hand. "Calm, lad, don't fret. I’m only joking. My name is Huldain. Come in."

Alun stepped over Huldain's threshold, and looked into the dark forge. Only a few weapons littered the interior, and something was unusual about these weapons too. The metal was white, not silver or painted white, but from what Alun could see the actual metal was white. And not only white – gold veins trickled through the metal, lacing over sword and axe blades.

In the corner, a great axe differed from anything else in the workshop. The size was immense, and it matched Huldain in every aspect. Red runes identical to the ones on Huldain's skin ran along its shaft, and curved along the axe's head. Gold covered the shaft and ran right to the axe blade's edge; it seemed to glitter on its own accord.

Huldain fell into a massive chair next to this axe, and indicated to a stool close by. Alun pulled it closer, and continued to look around the forge.

An anvil sat close by, made from the same metal as his creations. This anvil was massive, and the golden veins that coursed over its surface sparkled in the flame of the forge. His hammer was of equal proportions, and was also white and golden. Gold chains wrapped around the handle, and cracks splintered the floor around it, explaining what the thunderous bang had been before Huldain had walked to his door.

The forge itself seemed to be super-heated. Wavy lines flickered above the orange and bluing flames, and strange lumps of ore littered the benches around it. Alun looked back at Huldain who sat in his seat watching Alun with an amused look.

"So, lad, what is your name?" Huldain enquired.

Alun's eyes still wandered around the forge as he answered. "My name is Alun. Alun Black, of Stonehill."

Huldain's eye widened at the mention of Stonehill. "So you are the one Orei rescued. Seems you have a habit of getting into strife, don't you?"

Alun gave a sheepish smile, then frowned. "You know Orei?"

Huldain smiled at the name. "Aye, I know Orei. Taught her a thing or two about ranging as well, although I haven't been out in while. She’s a good lass."

Alun nodded in agreement to Orei's good name. "So, Huldain?" He asked. "Tell me about this strange metal."

Huldain cocked his head at the question, and gave a ragged smile. "It’s a special type of ore I use, found by Nurlin when he forged Mjolnir. It needs to be super-heated, that's why I forge here. Nowhere else will ever be this hot, apart from an ancient dragon's maw– which is what Nurlin used back in the day."

Alun's head began to swim. He knew a little about the heretic gods, but Huldain was talking about dragons and Dwarves building god weapons. Huldain's smile widened at Alun's confusion, and he gestured to a makeshift kitchen.

"Why don't I make some tea? After what I’m about tell you, you'll need it."

Alun's confusion grew while Huldain made tea. Then he sat down, and began to recount the history of the heretic gods and the Eldar War.