Hearth Fire

Stronric lead Mintra down stairs to the sleeping quarters a floor below. Bauru and Rugiel stayed up top to finish unloading the supplies from the wagon.Stronric grunted every now and then while Mintra rambled on about his inventory back in Millstone as they made their way down the hallway looking for a more suitable room. Most of the rooms lacked doors and furnishings, and were nothing more than squares containing rubbish. Halfway down the hallway Stronric pushed on a door expecting it to fall off its hinges. The door stayed sturdy so he used the handle and the party entered. It was a decent sized room, but lacked most furniture expected of a guest room and the floor was covered in the remaining splinters of the previous furniture. Stronric shoved the debris to the side and held out his arms as an offering. “It might not be fit for a king but it has a door and those are hard to come by here.”

“Don’t get very many visitors do you?” Mintra said as he stepped over a large spider web.

Stronric looked at the gnome with a smile shaking his head. “Not yet, just ye wait, if ye build it they will come.”

Stronric heard Mintra stomp on a spider, the goo from the spider sticking to the bottom of his shoe. “Hopefully you’ll get better guest instead of nasty spiders fellows. Be careful they are known to be poisonous. You know I had a fellow come into my shop looking for an antidote for a spider bite. His hand was swollen so bad it was splitting at the seams. He wasn’t a good a fellow you know, one of those quick to leave with something stuck to his hand.

Rugiel appeared in the doorway just as Stronric turned to leave. “Rugiel, could ye clean up Mintra’s room. Sweep it out and place out lights for him.” Stronric asked. “I’ll be heading to the smithy to start on the weapon as promised.”

“Well actually Stronric, I wanted to help you with the smithing.” Rugiel said with a disappointed look.

“Nay, I don’t have time to teach while I am working. I am not a good enough smith to both teach and work. You can come down and watch if you finish up this first. Tell ye brother to ensure his kills are prepped for dinner and to salt the rest.” Stronric said as he picked up a bag of tools the blacksmith had sent with Mintra.

Stronric made his way into the smithy. He first went over and ensured the forge was still lit and added more fuel. Then he went to the work bench and emptied out the bag. He set the items out in a line. Two ball peen hammers, two mini sledges, more tongs, leather gloves, leather apron, and some tack like nails and such. He walked to the shelves holding the newly formed ingots and search through the stack until he found two bars of better quality. Before he started working he went back to the bench and picked up a new smithy hammer and gave it a few test swings. “Not to bad for human made. Much better than the garbage the orcs left behind.” Stronric said.

Stronric picked up the old blacksmithing hammer and laid it next to the two new ones. He picked up a few tools and move them over to the smithing area. Moving back to the work bench he reached for a hammer and found himself holding the old worn hammer. He stared at the hammer, why is this old thing in my hand? Stronric ran his thumb over the center of the hammer and felt something. The ever so slight slight raise of the steel. It felt like a flaw in the metal, Stronric made a clicking noise with his tongue and shook his head in disappointment in the old dwarves for making such a vital tool flawed. He stopped and rubbed his thumb harder against the steel. This is a rune! What does it say Morg…

Stronric vision blurred again as we whisked away to the dark chamber before. Two hands this time molded steel in the shape of something he quite couldn’t make out. It was wide about the width of a dwarf. Stronric saw the hands hammer the steel into small reptile like scales. Stronric took a step forward. Blue flames shot up around the forge, blocking his path. Stronric was forced back as the intense heat burst from the flames. Stronric tried to step forward, a dwarf was used to heat and flames, but the flames flared once more. He was forced to a knee as the air grew thick and hot, almost as if it was taking physical form. As he fought to regain his feet, footsteps thundered through the room. He turned, searching for their source. A dark outline of a Dwarf was walking into the blue flames. Stronric’s eyes flared as she saw the shape burning, the ash drifting up into the room. Stronric blinked his eyes and found himself back in the smithy holding the old worn hammer.

Stronric leapt to his feet. He knew he had to chase this moment or he would lose it. He worked the billows as the bars went into the forge. When they were glowing red he pulled them out with his tongs and stacked them on the anvil. He lifted the old worn hammer above his head and brought it down on the red hot metal. Sparks flew in every direction. He paused after the first swing. The sound of the hammer fall was different. He cocked his head and made another mighty swing. This time he was sure there was a whisper of an ancestor’s name shyly being sung. As he continued to mold the metal ingots, he swore the name was being spoken louder each hammer drop, as if this ancestor was waking and demanding his acknowledgment. The bars were hammered into one piece. Stronric continued this cycle losing himself in the rhythm made by the beat of his hammer. The weapon began to take shape and form, lengthening and flattening. After the glow of the heated metal died he would return it back to the forge and reheat the metal with practiced blows of the billows. Glowing like the sun the weapon returned to the battlefield to be reformed into something greater.

They say a blacksmith can impart his song into a weapon. Its song would be sung with each swing of the blade in battle. This sword’s song was one of hope. It was formed with a melody that told of much lost, yet crawling forward bloody and wounded in heart and soul and still willing to give more than what was taken from him. With this sword Stronric knew he was protecting his small new clan, he was forming a relationship that could supply a growing hold, and he was making a name for the dwarven made weapons once again.

Thoric was the smithy for the grudge bearers. He was the dwarf who had taught Stronric how to smith. Thoric was a portly dwarf, with a large round stomach but arms like that of an oxe. He had made countless weapons and armor, everything from their clan leaders to simple gear for the miners, he made it all. He only took Stronric on as a helper because of Stronric friendship with his son. Stronric knew how much a privilege it was to work with Thoric. Each swing of his hammer, every carving of runes was ingrained into Stronric’s mind. Stronric knew he would never create masterwork weapons and armor like Thoric. He lacked the connection with the Ancestors to do so. They said the Ancestors could be heard in the swings of the hammer.

Stronric froze as the weapon hissed at the water that tempered it. He looked up to see Rugiel leaning over to get a better look.

She looked up when he didn’t move. “Is something the matter Stronric? Am I disturbing you?” Rugiel asked, trying to hide the hopefulness in her voice.

“No, come take over. I want ye to heat and cool the metal. Ye were watching me and yer smart enough to figure it out. I’ll be back in a moment.” Rugiel took the tools and returned the metal to the forge, but as she turned to ask Stronric what to do next her mouth dropped open as he slipped through the door and out of the smithy mumbling something to himself.

Once Stronric was clear of the door he sprinted up to the hearth room. He ignored the calls from Mintra and Bauru as he rummaged through the hold’s treasure until he found his pauldrons. He had cleaned them since he brought them back from the troll’s cave. You could see clearly the bright golden metal contrasted against the dark onyx colored scales. He froze again as he raised them up.

I hear you now, but can it be?

Stronric turned quickly and started back down to the smithy. Bauru came closer, questioning Stronric’s odd behavior before falling in step behind him when Stronric simply ignored him and walked on. Stronric looked crazed as he burst through the smithy door. Mumbling as he brushed past Rugiel and worked to strip the pauldrons of anything not metal.

Rugiel placed the hot metal she was working into the water and turned to her brother. “What in the devil is going on with Stronric?”

Stronric continued to ignore their questions as he removed the last bit of tack and threw the pauldrons into the fire.

Rugiel let out a cry and reached for the pauldrons, but Stronric reached out an arm and blocked her. “What are you doing, are you infected with some kind of madness?” Rugiel yelled at Stronric. He simply held his breath and watched the item in the red hot coals.

Everyone was shouting at Stronric now, but their shouts turned to gasps and silence as a glow formed on the pauldron. Soon red glowing runes started to etched a pattern across the pauldrons neck line. Each rune was no bigger than a palm. Stronric dropped his arm once he felt Rugiel stop fighting to remove them, a smile was forming on his face. Rugiel pointed at the runes with an enchanted look in her eyes. Stronric nodded, his smile growing even wider.

Bauru looked to Stronric, “Is that what I think it is? He asked with awe and shock in his voice.

Stronric tore his gaze from the glowing runes and turned to Bauru, nodding. “Aye, I heard them you see. The work of the Ancestors started a song as I worked down here. Guiding me between the swings on my hammer. Then Rugiel came in and the song grew louder. Must ‘ave been the open door…”

Rugiel let out a scream. She had walked to the forge and grasped the pauldrons straight from the fire when Stronric had turned to Bauru. The smell of burning skin filled the air. The heated steel burned her flesh, blackened blisters formed on her hands. Rugiel lifted the pauldrons into the air. She was cackling, not screaming. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, yet far away as if she was in a trace. Stronric whipped around and grabbed the tongs laying where Rugiel had dropped them. He tore the hot pauldron from her grip and threw it behind him.

Bauru leapt forward and grabbed his sister’s wrist. “Are you mad?! Why would you do that?” Bauru said with a shaky voice while Rugiel turned her palms up and extended her arms.

Her palms were a blackened red burn that oozed and wept. It extended out forming large red blisters. Branded into the center of each palm was an anvil with a hammer atop it and dwarven runes circled around the image. Rugiel’s laughing had quieted, and her shoulders shook, as if she was crying. She looked down staring at the runes branded into her skin. She was mouthing the same name over and over.

Something passed over Stronric’s features as he read her lips. Then with a voice like thunder he called out, “Morgal!”

The forge suddenly went out, casting the smithy into darkness. Rugiel scrambled backwards pulling her hands back from her brother. She tripped and stumbled onto her back and her hands flew into the air. The runes burned into her flesh were outlined by a glowing blue light.

Rugiel looked up at Stronric with fear in her eyes. “Easy Rugiel.” Stronric said as he slowly approached.

He looked at her hands, the runes were slowly spinning clockwise. They moved and changed like a flickering fire. A soft flutter came from the forge as a blue light, same color as the flowing rune on Rugiel’s hands, erupted in the forge. It was small as a first spark but quickly grew. The darkness of the smithy seemed to thicken, as if the blue glow was drawing in the black from the room around them. With a puff, the forge erupted back to life, burning now with blue flames. Heat poured from the forge, like the magma hot enough to smelt the bones of demons. The heat grew unbearable like hellfire as it intensified. Then just as the party called out in pain, it died down. The flames retreated to a soft glow their blue lights dancing lazily lighting the room in a blue haze. Bauru reached down and helped Rugiel to her feet. Stronric stepped in front of the two, his hands out protectively as he edged closer to the old forge.

Blue flames danced on the coals, all seemed to be well. Stronric stepped on the bellows and the flames grew and blazed with heat before dying back down.

“What the hell was that Stronric!” Bauru yelled at Stronric as he held his sister in his arms like she was made of glass.

“I don’t know lad. I heard the callings and just followed them. How was I to know your sister would go mad.” Stronric said defensively his voice betraying how worried he actually was.

Bauru began a loud retort when Rugiel stepped out of his arms. The two men paused. “I am not mad. I heard him call to me, Morgal, the Ancestor of smithing. We have found another, the Ancestors are not so far away as we believed! He was here the whole time. In the ruins of this hold.” She looked down at her palm. “He spoke to me. He said he has chosen me to be the carrier of his hammer and the curator of his anvil.” Rugiel smiled down at her palms despite the destruction they bore.

Stronric’s face shown with shock. “This world truly is mad! An ancestor speaking directly to a Dwarf, its unheard of in my world.” He turned back to the forge thinking. “The power of these dying ancestors is immense if they can reach us here. They must be reaching out to find us just as we search for them! We need to find the others, but how many are there, where do they reside, and what do they govern?”

The blue flame grew as Stronric spoke, as if agreeing with his words. Bauru watched the flames dance and said to his sister, “Do you know what he has done to the forge?”

“Morgal has blessed this forge just as Thoranthana has blessed the hearth. This forge can heat well beyond any mortal forge. Morgal commands me to smith.” She looked down at her hands and continued, “I am to be his arms, his hands to create weapons and armor and deliver it to our dwarven kin. I am gifted to create weapons of power. I just need to learn the path. The path he said is up to me.” Rugiel approached the anvil running a swollen red finger down its length, wincing as her flesh moved.

Stronric stood taller as he replied, “I will teach ye. I wouldn’t be surprised if ye surpassed my abilities, but I will pass down what I know. The rest will be up to ye and yer ancestor.” Stronric turned back to the forge, he removed the weapon Rugiel had dropped in the water and placed it on the anvil. “I will continue on this and you can watch once we tend to those hands and our guest. Bauru looks like you are in charge of dinner tonight.”

Bauru signed and turned to usher his sister back upstairs to treat her hands. Rugiel paused as she passed the anvil. She reached for the old hammer with her burnt hand. Stronric tried to stop her, but her movements were quick and precise.

She took the hammer in a firm grip. The same blue outlines that coated her runes traced up the handle of the hammer. It swirled around the head of the hammer almost forming runes before twirling back into swaying lines. Rugiel lifted the glowing hammer above her head. She looked at the hammer like it was her first time seeing it. Something flickered in her eyes while her eyelashes fluttered. She smiled widely as her eyes flashed open and it seemed she drank from the pool of knowledge at her fingertips. And she drank deeply.