Hearth Fire

Stronric’s head swam with the smells of the forge. Oh, this takes me back to my younger years. My father taught me everything that all children of the forge ought to know. Forging nails, ram shoes, barrel rings and so much more. Learning to forge weapons and armor was a rite of passage for all males dwarves.

Stronric slowly removed the impurities from the orc’s melted down scrap weapons. He fed the smelting urn another weapon whenever he saw it getting low. After his previous search of the room for a mold turned up none. He found bricks made schist. Carved bricks of schist, the ancestors must favor me so, if I was to find these here. I wonder where they were mined from? He crafted a simple square form using the bricks. The molten metal was poured into this and the iron was allowed to cool He wanted the material to hold its new shape. Once the brick had cooled enough to hold its form, Stronric used his tongs to lift the brick back into the forge. Stronric waited until the metal glowed red before pulling it out and placing it on the anvil. He struck the chunk of iron, sending sparks into the air, each strike forging the chunk into a new shape. As the metal cooled he placed it back into the hot coals before hammering again. Stronric meticulously repeated this process until the head of an axe took shape.

Stronric had always favored a single edged axe with a large beard. He knew he’d be fighting in the tunnels of the hold. His pick axe worked well, but he just a single dwarf. He needed a weapon that was deadly no matter which side he struck with. His previous weapon had gotten stuck in enemies before, if he was fighting will be his weapon of choice. A war hammer would be nice, but I don't have the time. I would need twice the melted weapons to make it even a halfway decent. No the axe will do fine.

Sweat dripped down his brow and his muscles ached as he lifted his double headed axe. Large Beards and sweeping tops sloped in lazy circles before coming to a point. Between the two axe edges the metal extended into a pike end that was in line with the haft, making a trident like silhouette. His father would have made him reforge the weapon on account of being so flashy. Traditionally, dwarves used simple weapons. That wasn’t to say dwarves never carved designs or inlaid gems and precious metal. Overall, being flashy and stylish was for the elves.

Stronric left the axe to cool and checked his smelting urn. Enough metal was left to make something small. He poured it into his temporary mold and went back to work on the axe. Feeding the forge with air from the bellows, he brought the heat up to quickly reheat the axe. Dipping the axe into the heat, then dunking it in cold water, to clench the axe, to harden it. He repeated the hardening process several more times before the axe needed to cool again. While the axe cooled he started to hammer out the left over metal thinking of what could be made. A grin spread across his face as he started to hammer faster.

Stronric set the axe on the workbench and began to polished it. He found a chisel and carved a cornucopia on one side of the axe, and the rune for the hearth on the other.

“I dedicate this axe to protecting this hearth and may its fire burn forever.” He said as he sanded the runes.

Weighing the axe head in one hand, he got up from his spot. He headed out of the smithy and made his way towards the exit of the hold. Outside, on the path leading up to the hold, he could see trees not too far away. He walked to the tree line and took out his hand axe and used it to scrape away the bark on th tree until he found one to his liking. With the tree felled, he made several lines across the trunk measuring out different lengths of cuts. He then chopped the trees into smaller logs along the lines. He lifted one log up and carried it back to the hold. As he made his way back to the hold, the goats came running out from the open door. They followed behind him bleating, as if to ask him what he was up to. He smiled, dropped the log, then ran into the hold.

Returning with a length of leather, he strapped the logs to the goats and led them back inside of the hold. Once inside by the hearth, he removed the logs and patted the goats in thanks. Stronric grabbed one log and took it down to the smithy. He stripped and split the log, making a pile of scrap wood and bark. He inspected each piece of the log carefully.

Hmm, this piece has a crack, this piece has too many knots. The third piece was just right. He set the it on the workbench and used his dagger to carve the wood. He fit the wood into the axe head and soaked it in water it caused the wood to swell creating a tight fit. He would then pin the axe head into the haft to finish securing it in place. Once the wood was soaking, he turned to the second project: the tempering of the short sword.

No self respecting dwarf would use a sword, but if the nearby town has humans in it, they might buy it for a pretty copper. Then I could buy some supplies I need for the hold. It could hold me over for a while.

Stronric used all of his skills to the limit on the short sword. He carved intricate square runes around the hilt and guard. Though finely carved, these were not actual runes. Dwarves rarely grace the other races, even humans with such a gift unless the humans did something the dwarves were eternally grateful for. But square running lines were a trademark of the dwarves and Stronric needed the gold. He wiped the sword before placing it on the bench and went back for his axe. He pulled it from the clench trough and began carving the haft into a hexagon.

Normally, I would dry the wood over weeks to make sure it wouldn’t twist or crack as it dries out. I can always replace the haft at a later date.

With its haft on the ground, the double headed axe came up to Stronric’s chin. The carved runes and shaped patterns made the weapon look dark and menacing. Its triple bladed top made it a great poking weapon. All Stronric had left to do was sharpen it. He rolled the whetstone wheel towards his spot and began to work.

With the foot petal broken, Stronric had to use the wheel like a whetstone, sliding the weapon’s edge along one area. It is bad to sharpen on a wheel like this, it will make a flat spot. I have no choice until I buy some decent wood and some mechanism to fix the foot petals.

Stronric took his time sharpening the weapon until it was razor sharp. Starting at the pike in the center and working his way down the edges he continued until he got to the bottom of the beard of the axe. Ive always loved a large beard on my axe. Stronric ran his finger down the axe’s sharpened edge, a small line of blood bubbled up on his finger. The extra weight at the bottom of the axe’s blade gave the axe more penetrating power. Flipping the axe over a couple of times and taking a few practice swings, he jerked the axe back as if he caught an enemy’s foot. An idea came to him and he sharpened the backside of the beard. He had just finished when he heard a noise, sounding like boots on stone. With a grin, he walked to the door of the smithy and unlatched it. He moved back to the center of the room and held his new axe at the ready.

“Come in boys, I am open for business.” He shouted as he saw the first set of red eyes appear in the doorway.

Stronric had made a mistake. He threw himself against the back of a pillar just as the arrows began clanking as they hit the floor.

“Arrows! Ye cowards, face me, ye cowards.” He shouted as an arrow shot by him.

Stronric heard a shuffle near the entrance to the door. He needed to close with them. He had removed his throwing axes while he worked, so he looked around to see if there was anything of use nearby. With nothing in reach, he sighed. Guess it was a waiting game. He peered around the corner and three arrows ricocheted off the pillar. Yanking his head back, he let out a yelp.

They could wait me out and then fill me full of arrows, cowards.

Then he heard it “clunk, clunk”

“Baa!”

Stronric leapt out from behind the pillar and smiled as he charged the enemy. The line of orcs and gobi started to flail and fall as they were hit with flying bodies of gobis. A nanny stood proudly on top of the fallen gobis. Closing the gap with the orcs, Stronric brought his axe down on the head of one of the toppled orcs. The axe cut so cleanly and quickly that Stronric thought he had thrown the axe head off the haft. The head split in two with no resilience. In two broad swings with his axe, two more creatures fell.

“Run nanny! I got it from here!” he shouted to the goat.

The goat fled back upstairs, bleating in victory. Stronric slashed his axe left and right like a lumber jack cutting down his enemy like timber. The creatures surged forward and Stronric danced back into the smithy. A swarm of larger orcs pushed forward. Simple plate covered their torso and head. Wielding large scrap machetes, they attacked. Stronric, who knew these weapons were of inferior quality, targeted their blades. Sundering the weapon’s blade and shattering another one, he spun his axe in his hand, spearing the tip upward, he Jammed the tip under the orc’s jaw and deep into the skull.

The orcs attacked him with relentless ferocity, but none were able to escape the Axe of the Hearth's deadly strike. Weapons, bodies, and armor laid shattered and destroyed. As the onslaught continued, it all began to pile up around him. The onslaught continued and, like the mountain itself, Stronric refused to be moved. Cuts and gashes peppered his body, but he gritted his teeth and continued to fight. When the flow of bodies slowed, Stronric set his axe down head first and leaned on it. Catching his breath as a massive orc twice as tall as he entered the smithy.

Crudely made blackened iron plate armor adorned every part of the massive orc’s body. The iron behemoth stomped towards him, raising a large dwarven steel war hammer. The hammer was made with a large flat side for smashing down foes and the other ended with a wicked-looking point. Dwarven runes etched the haft of the weapon and adorned the weapon’s edges, similar to Stronric’s axe. Stronric sucked in one last deep breath and stepped down from his pile of corpses.

“What are ye holdin there ye beast?” Stronric said.

The beast cocked his helm and looked at him. The eyes hidden behind the vision of the helm it wore.

“That belongs to the dwarves, ye savage. Now hand it over and I’ll let ye walk out of here.” Stronric said as he took a step forward.

“Little pest, I didn believe my boys when tey sid a stunty mo’ved bak in da old. I aint had stunty flesh in a log time,” the creature said in a guttural voice back as they circled each other.

“You want a bite? Well, come and get it,” Stronric said as he lunged forward.

A force billowed away from the clash of the weapons. Stronric spun and slipped behind the orc as he tried for an over the head swing. Stronric’s swung his axe at the orc’s back, cutting a large gash in the armor but not drawing blood. He could see the armor held. The orc spun, laughing at him.

“I ha teh last stunty make me armor before I at’en em,” Laughed the orc.

Stronrics face reddened in rage as he closed in again. They clashed weapons, both fighting to gain control. The orc slid the haft of his war hammer up and shoved hard, smashing Stronric in the face. This sent him tumbling onto his back. The orc rushed forward with an over the head blow. Stronric rolled just in time as sparks flew from the ground where his head just was. Stronric stabbed out creating just enough room for him to regain his feet. The axe’s pike sliding harmless off of the orc’s armor. The orc swung out in a large arc, trying to take off Stronric’s head. Stronric ducked and lashed out again with the tip of the axe. He aimed for the weak spot, the chinking just at the armpit. The sharpened point sliced easily through the chainmail and blood followed the strike. The orc let out a scream. Taking a step back, Stronric let out a war cry and struck again. Badgering the wounded shoulder again and again. The shocked orc was too slow to retreat and the war hammer’s weight didn’t allow a parry with the wounded arm. When the orc turned and met Stronric’s axe, he forced the dwarf back. The orc’s right arm hung low and limp by his side. Stronric knew this was the moment to strike.

Stronric feigned a lunge right then shot left. He dropped onto one knee and pushed forward, sliding to the weak side of the orc. Reaching out a hand, Stronric grabbed the orc’s ankle. All dwarves wrestled, it was a dwarven sport. Instead of taking the orc’s leg out from under, he spun himself using the momentum of the take down and unbalanced the orc. Plate armor had few weaknesses, but the back side of the knee was another one. With the back of the orc’s knees exposed, Stronric delivered a powerful axe swing across the back of both knees. Dark black blood showered Stronric, as the orc’s tendons were severed. The orc warlord screamed in agony as he toppled over. Stronric stood and placed his foot on the orc’s back and leaned his weight down preventing the orc from moving. He used his axe to push up the helm, revealing the back of his neck. The orc attempted to move but his wounded arm and knees lent him no strength. Like an executioner, Stronric’s axe rose and fell. The head of the orc chieftain rolled across the smithy. Stronric sat down heavily on the corpse pile to catch his breath. He spit a tooth out onto the ground and looked at the doorway.

Stronric met the gaze of the remaining orcs and gobi and he shouted, “This be dwarven land now!” He began to laugh as they turned their backs and ran.