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Author Topic: The Forging of the Axe  (Read 3366 times)

Iamblichos

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The Forging of the Axe
« on: March 26, 2015, 07:46:34 pm »

As he had for weeks, the old dwarf sat hunched at the table by the window.  The place was close to empty, afternoon shift at work in the deeps and everyone else either busy or asleep.  Brilliant late-afternoon sun slanted through the gloom, pouring like golden honey into the dim, dusty interior of the tavern.  It turned him into a cipher, just a silhouette against the shining light. 

I don't remember when he arrived, exactly.  Was it with the caravan?  Or did he come straggling in across the desert, like so many had in the past few years?  Word of the fort had spread, as it does; gossip runs faster than water, even out here in the Shining Wastes.  I felt like he had been here forever; I remembered clearly that he wasn't there in the Spring, but he just seemed to... fit, somehow, you know?  He didn't seem to know anyone here; I'd never seen a friend stop by his table, though he was there every night.  No woman came by, nor man... nobody ever spoke to him, or mentioned him at all.  Even in the late evenings, when the place was packed, people might sit at the table with him but he might as well have been by himself.  Haunted, I thought.  That's the word for it.  Like there was some burden on him that nobody else could take away.

He seemed to feel the weight of my eyes across the room.  Glancing over at me, he tapped his mug on the table.  I wandered over to him, and he muttered "Another." He didn't speak much, this old fellow.  His beard was long and tangled; his clothes were torn and dirty, but clearly were high quality when they were made.  Filthy gems winked dimly on his battered helm and his scuffed leather gloves.  His tunic was tattered and stained, but the tight weave showed that it was the finest of silk, and the inside showed flashes of a truly gorgeous redroot dye.  Embroidered cuffs went inches up each sleeve, though they were ragged with wear.  When it was new, it was undoubtedly worth a fortune.

I pulled another mug of beer for him and set it down; he nodded and looked away as he started to drink.  Clearly I was not needed any more.  I don't know what went through me, but today that wasn't good enough.  The barkeeper's nosiness got the better of me, as it often did.  Glancing around the empty tavern, I could tell nobody would need anything for a while.  I took a seat at his table.

"I'm Bim; I do the brewing here at Bloodshield.  Seen you in here a fair amount the past few weeks.  Where you from?"  For the first time I could remember, his eyes looked up and met mine.  All my thoughts ran out of my head like water from a broken cup.  His eyes were ringed with red, but they were piercing and black as old night.  I realized right then that I had made a mistake; something fearsome had snuck into my tavern, hidden in this old dwarf.  Those were eyes that had seen into hell itself.  I can't say I was scared, exactly, but I was... unnerved.  That's a good way to put it - unnerved.  This close, I could smell the thin, sour smell off him, the smell of despair and regret and closed-up places that light can't ever reach.  Memories of childhood stories flooded my mind, of night walkers and blood drinkers, ogres and ghouls and all the terrible beasty things that live in the stories that young dwarves scare each other with in the middle of the night.

When it came, his voice was rough.  "Don't fancy company."  I got up in a hurry.

"Sorry to bother you, then.  We've got more to drink than wine, if you want a change.  Just let me know."  I walked off, shaking my head.  I could feel his eyes on my back. 

Soon others came in, and for a while I forgot him as I fetched food and drink for the evening regulars.  Miners came in, bragging and laughing; things were going well in the deeps, I gathered.  Everyone was talking about the gold seam that had just been found, and the deep foundries were finally hitting their stride.  The King was said to be talking about us, and in a good way; the initial expedition members were being honored with their own statues.  In the midst of all the chaos of service, I looked over; the old dwarf was staring directly at me.  A chill touched me, I can't say why.  When I looked up, though, he just motioned with his mug and I brought him another plump helmet wine.

As I walked past the table, I set down the new mug.  When it hit the table, he said "If you've millet beer, I'll have some."

"We do indeed, and it's a rich batch.  I'll bring it along."

He grunted and went back to staring at the table.  When I came back with a big mug full of beer, for the first time he said "Thanks."  A small thing, but powerful; I'd been serving this grizzled old fellow for weeks and never gotten more than a grunt, if that.  I smiled out of habit, though I still found him disturbing.

"My pleasure, sir.  Anything else, just let me know."

*  *  *

After that, things were a little different.  Not a lot; he wasn't my best friend all of a sudden by any stretch, but there was a thaw, if you can call it that.  He got around to saying "please" and "thank you", at least occasionally.  Once he asked about the foods we had, and if we had anything with lamprey in it.  Normal conversation, pretty sparse for normal, really, but for a dwarf of so few words, each sentence from him was like an epic from anyone else.  I still wondered from time to time where he was from, what had brought him here - he didn't seem to do anything other than sit and drink and stare out the window or at the grey stone of the table.  Turns out he loved millet beer; really loved it.  Never seen a dwarf that could put so much of it away.  Stuff gave me the trots after a mugful or two, but this old boy could pack it away for hours.  Millet beer might even be to blame for the evening it all came to a head.

Some metalsmith named Ast Shapeiron from the deep forges had called for a party.  He was something political, or wanted to be... not sure what.  Fellow wanted to run for mayor or hammerer or chief dog catcher or something, but at any rate he and a dozen of his friends showed up and took over the big orthoclase table.  Within an hour, they were drunk, hooting and yelling at each other and everyone else; I had tried a few times to get them to eat something and quiet down, but they were having none of it.  The smell of hot metal and smoke hung around those dwarves, and their hands were scarred with the little nicks and burns that went with working at a forge.  Their beards were all trimmed close, the better to keep your face from catching fire from the heat.  They were unbelievably loud.  Nobody could shout like a smith - they were used to making themselves heard over the roar of the flames and the banging of iron on iron.  One of Ast's friends, a short, fat dwarf wearing only leather, was egging him on, and as best I could tell just trying to start a fight.

"Ast... you're full of shit.  You can't work gold like that."  Shorty banged on the table for emphasis.  "You get it too hot, it vaporizes.  Get it too cold, it sets uneven.  You don't know what the hell you're talking about."  I sent one of the kids to find the guards; I could see already where this was going.

"I'm full of shit, am I?  And I know damn well how to work gold, I can make anything I want out of any metal I want!  I could work master-level smithcraft when I was barely able to see over the forge!"  Ast was roaring now, and his legendarily bad temper was already showing.  I sighed and started putting away the breakables.  Everyone else was either moving forward or away, depending on whether they were in the mood to brawl or not.  "I can cast metal, I can forge metal, I can hammer metal, and I can..."

A raspy voice cut across the room like a sword's edge.  "You don't know metal."  Of course it was the old dwarf.  Who else would it be, I wondered sourly.  I tallied the number of drinks the old fellow had put away in my mind and cringed; he didn't look even close to drunk, but I knew it had to be a miracle he was even sitting upright, let alone able to speak.  Silence fell.  Everyone looked at him.  Ast was beside himself with fury.

"Who are you supposed to be, you old bastard?"  The burly smith had flushed crimson and a vein bulged on his forehead.  His huge scarred hands flexed.  I cast a futile wish at the gods for the guards to show up soon; I knew a brawl was inevitable now.  "And who the bloody nine hells are you to speak of what I do and don't know?  I will beat some respect into... "  The old dwarf looked up and Ast froze at that glance, as I had frozen.  Those eyes were cold as ice, cold as a cave in a glacier.

"You don't know metal.  All you know is how to make noise."  The old dwarf stood up, and everyone drew back.  From a hunched, tattered old figure, he had transformed into something impressive and frightening.  There was a presence about him that you just don't see, even in rich, famous dwarves.  Despite being ragged and dirty, he could have been a dwarf-king of old.  Suddenly, a fight looked less likely; there wasn't enough gold in the earth to convince me to attack that old man, and clearly everyone else in the tavern felt the same.

Ast looked around uncertainly, but every eye was on him.  He had to save face somehow.  "That's enough out of you, grandpa.  Leave the smith talk to the real smiths." Ast's short friend was whispering, but I couldn't hear him.  Ast's other friends looked uncomfortable.  The energy of the room was going against him, against them, and the wise ones among them knew it.

"I have forgotten more metal-lore than you've ever known."  Fingers fished in the ragged tunic; a piece of pure blue adamantine rang on the table, shaped with unbelievable skill.  Tiny leaves wrapped around a ring shaped like the bole of a tree; little birds and animals peeked out of holes in the tree, each carved from a different crystalline gemstone.  Even the artifacts in our deepest halls weren't as beautiful.  A sigh went through the crowd as they shuffled closer, craning to see.  "Can you make something like that?  No."  Another pocket produced an amulet, this one made of gold and silver shapes wrought like two serpents winding around each other, each of them set with tiny chips of yellow diamond and obsidian to mimic scales.  Both serpents, the yellow and the black, wrapped around a chunk of star ruby carved to mimic the shape of a dwarven heart that seemed to beat in the uncertain torchlight.  A tiny figurine of a dwarf woman in billon and electrum, each hair distinct, each fingernail and fold of flesh and scrap of clothing lovingly detailed.  Each piece was beyond a masterwork; the beauty in the shaped metal was enough to grip me by the gut and steal my breath.  "How about this?  Or this?  No.  You are just a barking dog.  Go bark somewhere else."

Ast grinned, but there was no humor in it.  "Those are wonderful work, grandpa.  Amazing.  Beautiful.  I'm sure whoever made them was proud of them.  What tomb did you steal them out of?"  There was muttering from the crowd; of course, this was a mortal insult.  Nobody could forget or forgive being accused of tomb-robbing.  For the first time the old dwarf looked surprised.  I don't think it even occurred to him that anyone would doubt that he made those treasures.  I didn't doubt, exactly, but... everyone's face reflected that half-doubt.  What we were all thinking was, how did someone who could make things like that end up as a shabby old drunk, whiling away his days in a strange bar far from home?  Mastersmiths are rare; most forts are lucky to have even one.  Truly legendary smiths, metalworkers that could produce the sort of work in front of us... whole fortresses would be centered on them.  Kings would come and beg for their work.  Smiths like that didn't travel, and if they did it was with students and a whole retinue.  They didn't just wander in from the heat and sit, sucking down millet beer by the gallon and staring out the window.

The old dwarf looked around in the sudden silence.  The ice in those eyes had melted; they looked like magma now, seething with fury.  "I see." the old dwarf said bitterly.  "To the forges, then.  We'll see who knows what.  And when I have shown you for the ignorant braggart you are... then we'll settle this tomb-robbing business."  He picked up the treasures in front of him and put them back in his pockets.  A roar went up from the crowd, and everyone swept out the door.  I dithered for a moment, looking at the mess they had made in my tavern, but I knew that nobody was coming near the place until this was settled.  Besides, my own curiosity was eating me up.  I shut the door and hurried to the forges on the first level.  They were rarely used, since the deep forges opened, but there was still enough coke in the bins to fire them at need.

Before I even got to the forging hall, I heard the crowd.  Word had gone out as it does, and every dwarf who wasn't actively working had found a reason to show up at the forges.  Even the haulers "just happened" to be passing by, walking as slow as they could.  Coke was brought, and the forges fired; I saw Ast standing at one forge, and his short friend working the bellows for him.  The old man stood at another forge, but nobody stepped up to tread the bellows.  I thought for a moment about doing it, but I didn't know how; I was just an innkeeper.  He looked around and said "How can this be settled with no bellows?  Will no-one help an old dwarf?"  Everyone looked around, but nobody volunteered.

A minute passed.  Then two.  Ast's forge was glowing red as Goden Whipmesh finally stepped forward.  "I bear no ill-will to Ast", he said, "but I will work the forge for you, father."  The old dwarf nodded and gestured; Goden stepped up and took the handles.  The crowd muttered, but seemed to approve.  Goden was a decent smith, but most of all, he was a decent dwarf.  Good-hearted and kind.  I promised myself he would eat and drink for free for this night's work; that, at least, I could do.

"My thanks." said the old man to Goden.  Looking over at the other forge, he asked "What metal are we working?"

"Iron" came the joyful reply.  "Iron, and iron, and cold, black iron.  The bones of the earth, old man, and we'll see if you can make your fancy jewelry out of that!"  Ast's face was a study in amusement; the young weaponsmith's trap was well and truly sprung.

"So be it." came the terse reply.  "We make axes, then, not rings."  The watching crowd of dwarves muttered and sighed.  I sighed with them, for what the old dwarf didn't know was that Ast's masterwork test-piece was a battle-axe; it was so perfect the captain of the guard carried it himself.  I gave the ragged old smith full honors for trying, but I knew Ast would win this contest.  "Bellows, full on, mind my marks."  Goden nodded, and the contest was joined.

More and more dwarves came to see what was happening.  Ast's hammer was flying; sparks shot off the hot iron with each blow, and we could barely keep up as he whirled and now heated the metal, now hammered.  His helper worked the bellows until the sweat flew off him like rain.  A beautiful axe took shape under his hammer, the equal if not the superior of the one he took his Mastery with.  The old man stood looking at the iron, now and again tapping it, folding it, heating it, tapping it again.  He looked like a child beside Ast, or like an elder in his dotage, and it broke my heart to see it.  Finally, after an hour, just as Ast was putting the finishing touches to his axe and ordering the drench to be prepared, the old dwarf sprang into motion.  With a few taps of his hammer, the shape was formed.  All that time, he had been proofing and getting the iron where he wanted it; now he began to work it, and we all stood there in the heat and the noise and were silent.  Where Ast was furious, spinning and whirling, the old dwarf was almost quiet, tapping here, striking there, making very little noise at all, but the axe... oh the axe he made.  By the time he quenched it we were all ready to cry for the beauty of it, and that is no lie.  There were hawthorn flowers picked out along the sides of the blade; the haft was worked with a spiral grip, all out of iron.  The lines of it were impossibly pure and true; it looked like it had been cast, not forged, except the forging lines on the blade itself gave away the process that made it.  The blade even looked like it had already been sharpened.  Ast's axe was perfectly well made, mind you... no dwarf could have expected better.  But the old man's axe looked the way you always wanted an axe to look but never found one that quite did.  When he quenched it, and the steam rushed up, we all shook ourselves, like we had been asleep or bespelled.

"Now," the old dwarf said with no change of expression, "the true proof.  Take your blow, axe to axe, and I shall take mine."  Ast swung his axe as hard as he could, and the old dwarf's axe rang like a bell, but when they sprang apart, Ast's axe was notched like he had tried to cleave stone; the old dwarf swung, and the blade of Ast's axe shattered like glass.  Ast backed up, and his face was full of fury, but also full of fear - the dwarf he had mortally insulted was standing in front of him carrying a weapon, and he had none.  The old dwarf looked at him with his ancient, cold eyes, and spoke again.

"Your axe is broken.  Your work is poor, because your mind is poor." A deathly silence filled the hall; nobody ever expected this outcome.  "You will not improve, unless you temper yourself like you temper your metal.  Right now, you are weak, and flawed, and there is a crack that runs the length of your mind.  Be careful you don't shatter like your axe did tonight."  The old dwarf shook his head.  "When I was younger, I would have killed you for even implying I was a tomb defiler.  But I am old, and there is too much killing in the world already."  He turned and handed that amazing, perfect axe to Goden.  "You.  This is your reward, for helping an old man.  You did the right thing, at a risk to yourself, and I give you and you alone this axe.  Pass it to your children when you die.  It should last.  If any hand not of your blood touches it, may it turn on that hand and the one who wields it."  The old dwarf turned and walked out of the forge; everyone stood dumbfounded, staring at Ast and Goden and the fragments on the ground.

I never saw that old dwarf again.  Some say he was a god, passing among us in disguise.  Some say he was the only survivor of a horrible tragedy, or a vampire, or ghost, or devil.  I don't know who or what he was.  But I will never forget that night at the forges.  And I always keep millet beer in the bar.  Just in case.
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I'm new to succession forts in general, yes, but do all forts designed by multiple overseers inevitably degenerate into a body-filled labyrinth of chaos and despair like this? Or is this just a Battlefailed thing?

There isn't much middle ground between killed-by-dragon and never-seen-by-dragon.

Rhaken

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #1 on: March 26, 2015, 08:14:22 pm »

Goddammit Iamblichos, you did it again. Absolutely amazing writing, my friend. Looking forward to the next one.

...Haaaaaaave you met Crownhammers? The more the merrier! [/shamelessplug]
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Of course, he may have simply crushed the forgotten beasts with his massive testicles.

Forget a spouse, he needs a full time gonad wrangler.

TheCheeseMaker

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #2 on: March 26, 2015, 08:28:55 pm »

Wow, Iamblichos, that was amazing.  Great story, great writing,  I hope you do more stories  like this.
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As it turns out, pulling every lever in the fortress wasn't as good of an idea as it sounded like at the time.

YAHG

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #3 on: March 26, 2015, 09:15:45 pm »

Thank you for the story.  :)

Pencil_Art

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #4 on: March 27, 2015, 01:26:43 am »

Nice. Great descriptive writing, and I really enjoyed it.
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evictedSaint

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #5 on: March 27, 2015, 02:14:11 am »

For a minute, I was there in the dark, humid forges, where the only light was the soft glow of embers glowing along the silhouettes of those grizzled dwarves, with the hushed drum beat of two hammers marked the passing seconds.

A+ story. 10/10.

Pencil_Art

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #6 on: March 27, 2015, 02:42:26 am »

For a minute, I was there in the dark, humid forges, where the only light was the soft glow of embers glowing along the silhouettes of those grizzled dwarves, with the hushed drum beat of two hammers marked the passing seconds.

A+ story. 10/10.

11/10. :D
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endlessblaze

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #7 on: March 27, 2015, 10:57:24 am »

20/10

I get the feeling that little line about turning on its wielder was meant literally.

do a sequel please.
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Kids make great meat shields.
I nominate endlessblaze as our chief military executive!

Iamblichos

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #8 on: March 27, 2015, 12:53:12 pm »

Thanks guys  :)  Glad you enjoyed it! 

It was fun to find out what the characters wanted to do, since that wasnt even close to the story I actually sat down to write  ;D

I have been batting around the idea of writing a set of stories set in Bloodshield; ideally there will be some crossovers between stories, since the cast of characters would be familiar after a few.
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I'm new to succession forts in general, yes, but do all forts designed by multiple overseers inevitably degenerate into a body-filled labyrinth of chaos and despair like this? Or is this just a Battlefailed thing?

There isn't much middle ground between killed-by-dragon and never-seen-by-dragon.

Rhaken

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #9 on: March 27, 2015, 12:55:17 pm »

Thanks guys  :)  Glad you enjoyed it! 

It was fun to find out what the characters wanted to do, since that wasnt even close to the story I actually sat down to write  ;D

I have been batting around the idea of writing a set of stories set in Bloodshield; ideally there will be some crossovers between stories, since the cast of characters would be familiar after a few.

Yes please.
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Of course, he may have simply crushed the forgotten beasts with his massive testicles.

Forget a spouse, he needs a full time gonad wrangler.

Authority2

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #10 on: March 27, 2015, 01:23:35 pm »

Brilliant.
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"But I tell you what the Queen wants is impossible. The story of her mandate to create floodgates in our desert fortress cannot be told in less than 314160 stanzas! Art bows not to any dwarf!"

TheFlame52

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #11 on: March 27, 2015, 04:02:43 pm »

so much win

Immortal-D

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #12 on: March 27, 2015, 08:28:19 pm »

I would kill for the chance to employ a Dorf of that caliber.  He is, so far as I can tell; Legendary Weaponsmith, Metalsmith, and Jeweler (both cutting & setting).

TheFlame52

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #13 on: March 28, 2015, 07:41:05 pm »

I would kill for the chance to employ a Dorf of that caliber.  He is, so far as I can tell; Legendary Weaponsmith, Metalsmith, and Jeweler (both cutting & setting).



Iton Letmosbubnus, only metalworker to migrate to Bastiongate (and live, other two were killed by a titan). Trained her up with silver bolts, copper leggings, and lead bins. She makes so many masterworks I memorized her name. He husband used to be a legendary clothier and the most stressed dwarf in the fort before he killed a cat with a flung roast, attacked a giant leopard gecko, and was killed.

But Bastiongate is 20 years old so I kind of have an advantage.

Iamblichos

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Re: The Forging of the Axe
« Reply #14 on: April 01, 2015, 04:57:15 am »

Goddammit Iamblichos, you did it again. Absolutely amazing writing, my friend. Looking forward to the next one.

...Haaaaaaave you met Crownhammers? The more the merrier! [/shamelessplug]

I will check out Crownhammers... Have you met Doomforests?  *grin*  [/anothershamelessplug]
Logged
I'm new to succession forts in general, yes, but do all forts designed by multiple overseers inevitably degenerate into a body-filled labyrinth of chaos and despair like this? Or is this just a Battlefailed thing?

There isn't much middle ground between killed-by-dragon and never-seen-by-dragon.
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