Hearth Fire

Stronric woke with a jolt. He reached out for his axe and found the area around him empty. The weapon he’s come to rely on for protection and comfort was missing. He spun around and came to his feet taking in the unfamiliar space. He found himself on a raised stone dais in the center of a black room. The darkness around him was like a sphere, lighting the area around his body but concealing anything outside in complete blackness that even his dwarven dark-vision couldn’t penetrate. He reached a hand out and the darkness retreated away, expanding the lighted area. Dropping his hand back to his side the sphere re-solidified around him. What is this place where even dwarven eyes cannot see in the darkness?

He turned his attention to the stone dais he was standing on. Dwarven symbols were carved and etched into every inch the stone top. Stronric could see they continued down the sides of the dais. Thick dwarven lined knots and lines twisted around the symbols and runes. Stronric lowered himself to a knee and ran a finger along the grooves. The lines tugged at his memory but when he tried to pull the thought forward it slipped away. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he looked out into the darkness. Who or what is out there in this ungodly black. I can feel them, watching, observing.

As the seconds passed the memory of his last moments flashed. His hand ran along his arm, searching for the wound that has killed him. Through his linen shirt he could feel a new thick scar where the spider impaled his arm. Stronric raised a brow as he took into his new attire. He was wearing a white linen top adorned with green buttons. I don’t even own such cloth. When could this have been put this on? All I remember was that I was fighting in the caves… my arm, the burn. Stronric sighed and lowered his head. Oh I have failed in my mission. I am on the other side now. Bauru and Rugiel are out there on their own. He lifted a leg, taking in the green trousers held up by a plain heavy belt and his un-shoed feet. Gold embroidery ran down the length of the pants and there was a pattern of cornucopias along the legs.

In the distance a light slowly penetrated the darkness, like a hole found in a deep cave. The light beamed down, cutting through the blackness, like the sun burning away the thick morning fog. As the light dropped, a corridor was exposed. Stronric squinted to the circular room in the distance. From where he stood, all he could see was a large door extending up and encased in walls made of this unworldly darkness. Is this a test? I must wander through this darkness until I find that door? As Stronric pondered his next move, more lights started to drop down. Stone pavers were intermittently lit starting at the edge of the corridor, making its way towards the dais.

Stronric dropped down onto the first paver. His bare feet upon the stone floor was the only sound to be heard. As he stepped from one lighted step to the next, he felt he was moving considerably more forward than his short legs should allow. When he looked from the dais the lit room was barely visible in the distance, but somehow, he made it there with only a few stone pavers. He stepped into the corridor and stood before the large door.

Carved from more than one type of stone, the door stood unblemished and defiant. The door was framed by panels depicting dwarven history. Each panel was carved from a different stone that all fused to form the door. The metallic ore colored panel portrayed the discovery of mining ore, smelting and smithing. Its lines were carved deep and dark. Yet as Stronric took in the other varying panels and stones he saw soldiering, gem cutting, animal tending and hunting. He understood that there were the traditions of the dwarves and how they came to be. Although some panels stood out with deep true carved lines, like the dwarf hammering over an anvil, others were in various stages of disrepair. Stronric ran a hand over a shimmering jade colored panel. He could barely make out the images of dwarves mining gems and precisely cutting them. An ugly feeling flared up in Stronric as he took in the fading representation of the lost dwarfs today.

The center of the stone door held a carved cornucopia. Stronric looked but he could find no handle nor locks. It was like the door was an impassible work of art and an open gateway at the same time. When he first arrived at to his new world, he found the hold is disrepair. In the courtyard that met the carved ramparts he had found scattered bits of carved stone that once could have formed a door. He never took the time to collect and piece the remains together so he didn’t know what the original image was but now he felt that it would be identical to the door before him. When he placed his hand on the door, the familiar warm kissed wind flowed over him. It feels of home and the hold blessing too. Could this truly be the Hold of the Ancestors? Not wanting to be rude he knocked on the door and a gruff sound came from inside. He knocked again harder to ensure the occupants heard him and leaned an ear to the door.

“Enter.” A gruff voice called out.

Stronric paused at the command, he took in a breath and walking into the stone. Instead of meeting the cold hard surface, he passed through the door entering a familiar room. The room he emerged into was almost identical to the Hearth back in the hold. Gone was the disrepair and broken furniture, and in its place he saw a room filled with warm lights and furnishings fit for the gods. The furniture was master class wood work, beyond Stronric’s comprehension. The tapestries lining the walls seemed to be woven by those who understood celestial weaving and the mysteries they held. As Stronric tried to take in more of this godly room, he found looking at the objects to be almost painful, like a reminder that these items were not meant for the eyes of mortals. The hearth was lit, welcoming and inviting. It called to him as if he was a lost child out in the cold and his mother had left the fire burning for his return late in the night. Two heavily embellished mountain-sized chairs sat in the middle of the table facing Stronric. He could see the legs of those who occupying the chair from under the table, but their identities were hidden behind the table. Is this who I felt watching in the blackness before? The third chair was placed on his side of the table. It was plain and tiny compared to the other furnishings, no higher than a doll’s chair compared to the giant size items in the room. The chair seemed to be the perfect size for Stronric, as if it was set out specifically for him.

One of the giants stood and a familiar face greeted Stronric as she leaned over the table. Thoranthana beamed down at Stronric beckoning him forward with a hand. Her twinkling-like voice called out, “Come dear Stronric, take a seat.” Stronric could hear a male like grunt in annoyance after her words. Stronric quickly made his way to the chair and sat. The moment his rear hit the seat, the chair shook and shot up. It abruptly stopped at table height, and he could feel the long spindly chair legs walk him forward until he sat across from Thoranthana and another giant male dwarf.

Stronric paused and took in the weakened god he had met what felt like years ago. She was still gaunt and slight in frame. Her thin hair was pulled behind her ears and tied into a multi part braid that flowed loosely down the sides of her face. The skin of her face was taunt over sharp cheek bones and pulled at the edges of her thin lips, reminding Stronric of a starved animal. Her eyes were warm and welcoming, a drastic change from the deep sadness and despair he saw the last time they met. She wore white robes embellished similarly to Stronric’s. Stronric could see her sunken chest slowly rising and falling with labored breaths. As she adjusted her robe, Stronric’s eye caught the glimpse of a blackened wrist. It reminded him of injuries from being out in the bitter cold too long. Thoranthana’s smile faltered as she caught where Stronric’s gaze lingered. She readjusted her arm tucking it deeper into the sleeve before clearing her throat, nudging the Dwarf next to her.

Stronric’s attention turned to the male Dwarf beside Thoranthana. He was bald and a large wide nose sat upon a beard. His beard was made of flowing steel and magma. The colors shifted between the light metallic silver of melted metal to the deep gray of solid ore. The red flowing magma mixed through the metal swirling from the bright red of coals to black encrusted lava rocks. The large Dwarf took in Stronric with heavily browed eyes that seemed to be judging his very soul. The exposed skin of the dwarf’s face and arms were ritteled with heavy scars caused by the rebel sparks and burns that dare to touch a god. He was dressed plainly but instead of white he wore a gray tunic atop red leather pants all stitched in what looked like spun steal threads. The dwarf grunted as a greeting and kicked off his massive black leather steel toed boots. He kicked up his feet and rested them on the table, exposing the god’s big toe which stuck from his worn sock. His tools and leather apron were hastily left in a pile on the seat of the chair next to him.

“Good evening ancestors. Thoranthana. Morgal.” said as he bowed with each name. Stronric took special care to speak each name with reverence and clarity.

Thoranthana smiled at him again, “It’s good to see you again Stronric. I am sorry but our pleasantries must be spared, we haven’t much time here, before you must return to the world of the living.”

Stronric’s face scrunched with the pain of failure. “Return to it? Haven't I just died and failed the task asked of me?" He said with a voice heavy with shame.

Thoranthana let out a quiet chuckle, raising her right hand to cover her smile. “Oh no, of course you haven’t failed, and luckily you are not dead. You have been poisoned by a spider. You have come close to death, which has allowed this meeting. A boon we shall take advantage of. Many servants of the dark realms drive themselves to near death to free their soul to more easily travel between realms. You have done the same, expect by accident.

Thoranthana slid a tankard, larger than Stronric standing, across the table to Stronric. As the tankard raced across the table it shrank, becoming the perfect size for his hand by the time it stopped moving. Stronric lifted the foaming brew to his lips with a nod of thanks. Stronric’s eyes fluttered shut as the amber liquid excited his mortal taste buds. It was the most beautiful beer he’s ever had. That taste alone was a godly experience. After a second and third swig, he set the tankard down and looked at both ancestors expectantly.

“I don’t know why I have to be here? Can’t you deal with this while I continue my work? He’s a realm walker and not even one of our kin. I don’t have time for this Thoranthana.” Morgal grumbled crossing his arms and shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Had I done something to upset the ancestor of smithing? Stronric looked down at his drink. His mind frayed and fear set in. A god knew his name and condemned him.

Thoranthana stood and slammed her blackened hand on the table. Her eyes flared with power and rage locking eyes with the other god. “That is no way to speak to our seeker!” she shrieked, her voice sounded jagged and frantic. She took a breath and calmed herself, before regaining her seat. She quickly tucked her blackened hand back inside of her robe. In a much gentler voice she continued, “Dearest of kin, do not forget who is to thank for leading you back to the Hearth Fire. Let us show dear Stronric some gratitude.” Morgal grumbled as his sister scolded him, but fire remained in his eyes.

Stronric froze, Was the goddess really scolding another god for my sake? Stronric turned his attention to his tankard and the fire. Allowing Morgal and Thoranthana a moment. Something sat uneasy in the pit of Stronric’s stomach. Was Thoranthana desperate? The Ancestor was known for her kindness and warmth. Why is she so quick to anger? Things must be worse than I thought.

It was Morgal’s turn to lash out now, “Ay that be true, but I was fine where I was. They deserted us, not the other way around, or have you forgotten that?” Morgal retorted with pain in his eyes as he lifted his own tankard to his lips and drank deeply.

Stronric stared at the Smithing god. “They abandoned ye? How is that possible? No dwarf I know would ever dim their forges and forsake their Ancestors.”

Before Morgal could respond Thoranthana’s voice called out as she laid her good hand on her brother’s arm, "Come now brother, you are getting us off track.” Thoranthana said as she stared at Stronric. “Best keep that to yourself. My brother speaks true of the dwarves but it’s not as simple as it seems.”

“Oh, is it not?” Thoranthana's words fueling Morgal's rage, "It was them who let the forges run cold, and the mines to go quiet. It was them who turned their backs as they chased other gods and lived in defiance of their purpose. Damned be on ye, look at your own hand and tell me we haven’t sacrificed enough for them!” Morgal face began to redden with anger.

Thoranthana pushed her blackened hand deeper into her robe. Stronric could see the muscles of her jaw clench as she stared at Morgal. Morgal sat unmoving his eye’s boring into hers, locked in a battle for dominance.

Stronric thought back to his first encounter with Thoranthana, the ancestral god of Heart and Home. She looked like a ghost then, almost see through, like a fading memory. Even thin and sickly she looks better now, but her hand hadn’t been black and shriveled then. What has changed in the time since my coming here? What is the dying god trying to keep hidden that’s upset Morgal?

Stronric felt compelled to defend his patron ancestor. He flexed his hand and began to reach for his axe, forgetting it wasn’t there. It was his duty to protect the hearth and the god that had chosen him, but he had no weapons to do so here Morgal turned and stared down at the mortal. Their eyes met and Stronric’s world faltered. He was overcome by an unseen pressure descending upon him. It slammed him back against his chair, driving his body past what he could comprehend. The overwhelming force caused his vision to blur, and he could barely raise his chest for a breath. Morgal narrowed his eyes at the mortal before him, as if Stronric’s ability to remain alert was maddening. The pressure turned hot as a wind ripped past his body that felt nothing less than steam flowing from a forge fire. It was as if the earth’s core blood poured into his veins. Stronric fought against the urge to succumb to this godly show of power. He refused to look weak even if he must burn alive to do so. He would never dishonor his hold and ancestor with anything less.

“Ye dare to even think of raising a hand against me? The petulance of mortals. Burn dear Stronric burn.” Said Morgal mockingly using Thoranthana’s greeting. Blue flames of forge light burned in the god’s eyes. Stronric was unable to stop the scream that escaped from his lips. He felt as if his body was burning from the inside out. He became so wrecked with pain that he lost his ability to even speak. His mouth locked in a silent scream.

“Morgal! Release Stronric this moment!” Thoranthana cried out, as she looked upon the mortal locked in the thralls of pain.

“No sweet sister, I think it’s time we taught the mortals of this world a lesson. Starting with this realm walker, a failure ye have brought into our hold, a dwarf who watches his kin die and didn't raise an axe in defense. He’s a kin killer.” Morgal sneered never lowering his gaze from Stronric.

Stronric mind frayed as pain and weight of a gods will pounded his mind and body. Even through all the pain and anguish, one word cut through his physical anguish. Kin Killer. Stronric felt the pain his body was enduring dampen slightly as the emotional pain he felt for failing his family, his original hold, his old home, fuel his rage. He closed his mouth and set his jaw, no longer wanting to scream out. He fought against the god’s will harder, baring his teeth snarling at the rage and hate he felt for this god.

“KIN…KILLER!” Stronric struggle with each word he yelled. Morgal eyes opened in surprise as black lines formed around Stronric’s eyes. Stronric found he could now move, not much but enough to sit forward. Sucking in a deep breath, he focused all his his strength to leaning forward towards the table. “KIN KILLER!” Stronric screamed, the words flowing from his mouth easier now. Stronric’s gaze was locked to Morgal’s. He could vaguely make out Thoranthana gasping, covering her open mouth with awe and fear “KIN KILLER!” Stronric screamed, winning the last bit of freedom needed to reach out and grab the tankard of ale tankard the gods had served him. It was the only weapon he could reach.

Boom! The tankard flew and hit Morgal on the chin. It bounced harmlessly off the god’s face, skipping across the table before rolling to a stop. Stronric was instantly released from his painful prison as Morgal and Thoranthana stared at the tankard in surprise. Stronric jumped from his chair and onto the table and shot forward intending to climb his beard and punch Morgal's eyes out. Before he could reach the god, he was lifted off his feet. Thoranthana had grabbed his tunic and was now suspending him in the air. “That’s enough. Brother, I hope this should suffice as Stronric passing your test?” Thoranthana said as she set Stronric back down on his chair. “I’m sorry Stronric, but some gods feel compelled to test mortals instead of trust them.” She said with a sidelong look and a kick under the table. “As usual, it seems you exceed our expectations.”

Morgal said nothing as he looked between the tankard and Stronric. The black lines around Stronric’s eyes slowly disappearing and his face returned to normal.

“Ye Struck me…” Morgal trailed off before exploding into a thunderous laugh. His hand came down and smacking the table. “Thoranthana! The bastard actually struck me!” Morgal let out another bellow of laughter. Thoranthana looked annoyed as she simply stared at her brother. “Ye did pick a good one. I see now what ye traded that hand for.” Morgal’s laughter died abruptly and his eyes narrowed in thought. “Aye, sis we’ll have a lot of work to do. Yer were right…” Morgal trailed off again in thought.

The ancestors have gone mad! Thoranthana is making some deals that leave her withered and black. And this mad forge god… how does one go from attempting to take my life to laughing as if the whole test was a joke? Have I unleashed a mad god up my kin? Why am I even here?

Morgal began to mumble under his breath and periodically he would cast out a hand as if writing in the air. Stronric mouth dropped open, Morgal truly was mad. Stronric turned to Thoranthana, the unsaid question was plastered on his face. The god simply shrugged and shook her head.

“Yes, we will need to rekindle more forges. The mines will sing again…” Morgal mumbled as he drank from his tankard.

“Sorry, Ancestor I know not of what ye speak, work will need to be done?” Stronric asked the mad god as Stronric sat back in his seat. Thoranthana stood and walked over to a wall of the room. With a wave of her hand the darkness retreated and a bar was revealed. She poured another drink and rejoined the two at the table. She took a deep drink before placing the drink back down on the table. She then turned and knocked loudly on the table to regain Morgal’s attention. Morgal attention swung between his sister and the mortal dwarf in front of him. He cleared his thought then waved his hand at Stronric to continue.

“Ancestor Morgal, what are we preparing for?” Stronric asked, annunciating the words slowly as if asking a small confused child a question.

Morgal cleared his voice and with a seriousness Stronric had never seen, the god said, “Aye ye’d not know, you’re not from here. The realm you come from and this one here are only two of the fourteen realms. As we all know, Dwarves were carved from stone deep from within the mightiest of mountains. The Father is who carved us all, us dwarves and other creatures who were carved from weaker materials. He chose the Dwarves to be carved from the unchanging stone to ensure we were able to withstand the burden shouldered upon us. Just as The Father created us, The Others pushed out their own creations and spoils. The Father cared for all creations, enjoying the beauty and art of life and the gift The Others produced. Then came The Unknowns, who wanted chaos, corruption and fed off the destruction and death. That’s when The Father dug deep to find the unchanging rock and carved our sturdy race. He needed a way to protect the creations from the darkness spreading. To the Dwarves he poured his strength, determination and stubbornness. He made us unmoving as the stone so that we could stand up and protect the realms. Our traditions once served to remind us of this burden and this oath, yet time passed, and we grew ignorant to our task and our purpose.

When Stronric looked to Thoranthana for confirmation that Morgal wasn’t going crazy, she said, “My brother speaks true, I brought you here, to this world, to not only save our dying race but to restore the former glory Dwarves once had. To lead our people back to the honor we were gifted. I see you are doing quite well. You are leveling nicely and you have already brought two other into the fold. You have found my lost brother and lead him back into the hearts of those in the hold. Overall, I am am very pleased with your progress. I wish I could reward you better, but I do not command much power these days. The true treasures will have to wait. Now that we have more time to speak I wish to bend your ear.”

Stronric nodded eagerly as he asked, “Anything Ancestor just ask it.”

“Good, although You have accomplished much, we need you to recruit more dwarves to the hold. Our power depends on the faith of mortals. The hearth will always grow to warm those who are lost. You need to lead more to the flame. Find the other gods and lead them back to the hearth. Once they are home, Morgal and I will be reunited with them here. The darkness that corrupts the lands is already reacting to your actions. Dark agents are moving beyond the veil. As the realm veil weakens, creatures not from this world will soon slip through the cracks. At first, they may be small and weak but with time they will twist those who are corrupted to their purpose. With that, they will gain in numbers and strength. The dwarves are not ready now to meet the dangers coming, but soon this invasion will come.

Stronric stared in horror at her. “Who will they come to and when?"

“Not for many years now, time moves differently for us. It will seem like a few days to us but for you it will be years. Do not shrink this duty. You’ll need to gather allies, train, and prepare the dwarves for war. Deep within the hold is the old temples, seek them out. When the true of faith enter the temples, we can communicate. Do not risk your life to speak to me Stronric. Our time to speak will come when it is meant to happen. Nothing good will come from almost killing yourself.” Thoranthana finished looking him up and down.

“Also, you are our seeker. My ancestor kin are not all lost as Morgal was. They roam the lands of the realm, but lost to who they are. Our power comes from the faith the mortals entrust in us, but actions can also power us in different ways. The god of smithing was never lost to the realms. Man, elf, dwarves and more believe in dwarven smithing. Morgal was lost to the dwarves, but not his art. Careful some of our kin have truly gone mad. Only becoming their art with none of their restraint. They wander the land lost.”

Madden gods walk these lands as well?

“Might I asked for a favor?” asked Stronric.

Morgal looked at him annoyed, "A mortal always wants. Do you want a weapon? Wealth? Seek those yourself.”

“Of course, not Ancestors. I seek knowledge. I know little of this land and what I have learned is not enough. Rugiel spoke of ancient tomes and libraries, lost to the dwarves. I would like to seek a Rune Lord, but I know not where to find them, if they still exist, and if they don’t, where their old craft knowledge would be hidden.” Stronric said as respectfully as he could.

Morgal stared at Stronric and leaned forward. Bringing his massive form down to Stronric’s level. “Look for those lost, the rune still speak to the dwarves just not in the way ye think. The true steel calls to be used again beardling” Morgal said to him searching Stronric’s eyes for something. Morgal looked as if he was going to say something else.

Thoranthana reached a hand out and placed it on her brother’s arm to stop him speaking. “We can not tell you everything you wish to know. Every time we interact with the mortal realms the others can as well.”

Stronric stood from his chair and bowed once again. “Thank you ancestors.” Stronric hesitated before pushing forward staring at Morgal. “Please do be kind in your teaching to Rugiel.”

Morgal met Stronric’s eyes and cracked a smile filled with broken teeth.

A door opened and a dwarf as pale as snow walked into the room. All these of the dwarves turned and looked at the newcomer. Her face was hidden behind a veil. On top of her head rested a crown of ox horns. She stopped when she saw Stronric. They locked eyes and Stronric rubbed his eyes. He felt as if he recognized this ancestor, but Thoranthana mentioned no others. His vision was blurring and despite how vigorously he tried to clear it, it faded to black.

“Careful! You’re going to drown him if you feeding him like that you dolt!” Stronric heard Rugiel’s familiar scolding of Bauru.

“It seems our time is up Thane, heeds our words and do be careful Stronric Wraith-Thane.” Thoranthana said to Stronric as he disappeared from room.

“He looked like he recognized me.” The snow white dwarf said as she stared at the now empty chair.

“Of course he recognized you, he has been with you longer than he has been with anyone else.” Thoranthana said with a smile