Hearth Fire

Stronric spent the next three days recovering. When he wasn’t bedridden with his injuries, he spent his time tidying up and getting to know the hold. He kept himself busy by tending to the mushroom fields, cleaning his equipment and playing with the goats. On the fourth day after his battle with the troll, Stronric stood and cautiously stretched his body looking for pain to signal more rest was needed. As he effortlessly finished his check he heard:

BING.

You have received the temporary buff of Hearth and Home.

Your health regeneration has slightly improved.

Your stamina regeneration has slightly improved.

Your experience gained has slightly improved.

This increased healing ability really is something amazing. I would have been bedridden for months if I was in the old world. Time to explore again. Maybe I can find a smithy, I haven’t gone deeper into the hold yet. The new hand axe needs sharpening and the haft will need to be replaced.

Stronric put on his new pauldrons and tied the dagger with a sheath, a few throwing axes, and the hand axe to his hip. With his pick axe in his hand, he patted the nanny a goodbye and headed for the stairs. He quickly made his way to the stairwell and headed down. He let out a sigh of relief. It was good to be whole and on his feet again.

The stair well led him to a door that with a placard holding a rune carved with two vertical lines encasing a X with a second set of diagonal lines crossing slightly below it. Mafol, the rune for chambers or barracks. He pass through the door into a long hallway with doors and empty scones lining either side. He inspected each room as he made his way down the hallway. The rooms were in a similar state to the rest of the hold, destroyed and in disrepair. These rooms served a multitude of purposes. There were single rooms, rooms for couples, Family rooms, and the very end of the hallway, what looked to be a lord’s chambers.

The chamber was bare, stripped of anything of value. A large wooden bed frame leaned inward, broken and crumbling, against the wall. The floor was covered in once fine colored carpets which now were covered in large brown spots. What lord had fallen here? Stronric walked along the walls being drawn in by intricately carved scenes depicting the history of the dwarves that once lived here. The carving showed the first dwarf being carved from stone, the first gem being mined, the constructions on the first hold. As he studied the historical carvings he said,“So this world the same as us. We are a race hewed from the rock.” He continued around the room finding more carvings that led him to believe these dwarves once believed in the five ancestors, just as his people had. The god of smithing, hearth and home. War, mining and runes.

Stronric stroked his beard in thought. I have met one of these ancestors, which means the other four must also exist. I wonder what gifts and blessings they could give. Thoranthana’s blessings have been invaluable to me over these past days. If I could find and bring back the other gods, the possibilities would be endless. The ancestor of smithing might allow the forges to burn hotter and stay alight forever. Oh, I need to find these lost ancestors.

Stronric went through each room for hidden cashes or the signs and traces of monsters taking up residency again. After searching high and low, he was convinced there was nothing. He made his way back to the stairwell. Another level down, rubble and rock dust covered platform that led to a smashed doorway blocked by large boulders that cut off his path into the rest of the floor. A cave-in, Stronric climbed over some of the rubble to see if he could find a place to squeeze through, when he kicked a placard. A single vertical line with two diagonal lines starting midway point and running upward forty five degrees away.Rigòth, crafts hall.

Stronric let out a frustrated noise, the crafting room was sealed behind a cave-in. Why did it have to be the crafting room? I needed this room most of all. The things I could make and sell, and all the leftover material would have been really nice!

Stronric just stared at the unfortunate mess before him and slowly sank to a sitting position. Annoyance painted his face as he slowly scanned the cave-in thinking of how he could manage to gain entry passed the boulders. Jumping to his feet, he ran over to a boulder and ran his hand along the sides. These cracks are to clean, this is no natural cave-in. Ye selfish old bastards did it on purpose. What treasures are ye trying to protect behind these stone giants. His stomach sank. What about the forge room?

Stronric turned away from the cave-in determined to find the fate of the forge room. He picked up his pace as he descended the stairs another floor. A door with another placard: eshtân, the rune was an anvil. Stronric nearly jumped with joy but stopped himself. No self respecting dwarf would celebrate like a fool, when there could be enemies about. A sturdy oak door made from vertical boards stood in front of him. Large gashes and cuts defaced the surface of the wood but unlike most other doors in this place it stood strong. The doors fastenings. Trim and large handle with thumb latch were all cast in blackened wrought iron. Stronric grasped the handle which to his surprise, was vibrating.

The vibrating handle made him pause, why would the door be vibrating if this place is abandoned, he put his ear to the door. He heard, “bang, bang, bang!” Someone was inside of his smithy. Stronric pulled a throwing axes free from his hip and slowly opened the door. He peaked inside the room. He could see a large high ceilinged room with a bellowing forge taking up the center. The brick forge made from some unknown black stone. The forge was wide enough that a dwarf could lay across it and barely touch the other side. It came up to the shoulders of the gobi working the coals. The forge had a steel pipe on the ground that connected the bellowing bellows to the forge. With each compression of the pumps the bellows howled and the fire in the forge roared. Large metal studs used as anvil anchor points encircled the forge, only one anvil remained.

A pile of coals laid scattered the room in disorganized heaps, crude shovels stuck up from the piles. The Reinforced shelves for ingots lined the far wall. Broken rolling carts were piled up in the corner of the room. The other walls held workbenches in different stages of disrepair. Even from here he could see most of the tools were missing.

A green skinned orc stood over a piece of metal on an anvil with his back to Stronric. Six gobi worked the bellows and tongs at the demands of the orc. The orc was larger than a human and wore an old pair of human trousers cut around the thigh, into shorts, to accommodate the creature’s muscular legs. It wore only a leather apron which was much too small on it’s torso. The orc had tusks similar to its smaller cousins, the gobis, but his were larger and jutted up almost to his nose. Stronric froze in anger. An orc, working a dwarven forge. Nothing could be worse, expect for maybe an elf working a dwarven forge. I can only deal with one nightmare at a time. He thought as he shook his head. They are doing it all wrong as well. That iron won’t hold under pressure. That gobi is holding the iron at the wrong angle for the…

“Ye bastard thinks ye can use my tools and forge without my permission?!” Stronric yelled as he threw open the door. Taking a step forward, he threw the throwing ax into the chest of the gobi holding the tongs with the red iron. The axe was not sharp enough to pierce the flesh, but the anger that fueled Stronric’s throw was enough to crush the head of the small gobi. The gobi collapsed like a puppet with it’s strings cut. Stronric two handed his pick axe and charged the orc. The orc, surprised by the dwarf’s yelling, dropped his hammer and stumbled backwards. Stronric was upon him with the anger only a true dwarf could muster. A quick swipe with his pick and the orc’s throat tore open. The remaining gobi frantically scattered and ran. Stronric readied his stance for an attack, but the gobis simply sprinted around him. He swung at a passing gobi, shattering it’s spine with a crack. It was dead before it collapsed on the ground. The other four gobis escaped through the still opened door. Stronric chased after them, they disappeared down the steps leading deeper into the hold.

“Shite, shite, shite, I let them get away,” Stronric said as he returned to pulled his tool free from the gobi’s dead body. He quickly searched the room to make sure no enemies were around. Carrying the dead bodies, he piled them up next to the door. I will need to get rid of these, their foul odor insult my very presence. Stronric moved to inspect the smithy. It was in good condition, considering all things. There were plenty of coals. Most of the tools were missing, the ones he could find were in terrible shape. The work bench had no chair and most of the drawers were looted. An enormous pile of shoddy low quality weapons was piled in the corner. Stronric picked up a two-handed weapon. It was like a large machete but the weight and balance were off making it awkward to swing. He set the weapon down and made his way to the forge.

A small melting urn sat in the coals slowly bubbling with dirty metallic liquid. I can smelt some of these back down, burn off the impurities and forge myself a proper weapon. I wouldn’t have to use this old pick-axe anymore. I could show these creatures true dwarven iron.

He continued about the room finding a whetstone wheel with a broken foot pump. I really need to make a trip into a town and buy some needed supplies. First, I need to deal with the gobis that ran off. They will be back, There is no way they will let me get away with taking back the forge. I need to know their number and how they are getting in. They could have dug through to the lower caverns or with the state of the hold they could simply be living in the deeper parts of the hold.

Stronric decided his first priority was making a legitimate weapon. He needed to spend more time collecting and sorting the room to ensure he had what he needed. To avoid being surprised as he had done to the orc, he went to the door to look for a lock. A large lock latch hung across the door, he slide it into place. He turned back to the room and began collecting materials and tools. He collected everything he needed except for one thing. The orcs were using piss to quench the weapons. There was no way he as gonna do that so he found a mostly intact bucket and headed back up to get water.

Stronric made his way back to the hearth to check on the goats before heading up to the pond. Patting the old nanny goat, he said, “Now you gotta stay safe for a while. There are orcs on the lower levels. I am going to be busy for a bit, So you need to be alert, okay ol lassie?” he said. He rubbed the space between the goat’s eyes.

The goat leaned against him as if understanding. Letting out a few bleats, the other goats followed their mother out of the hold. Stronric made his way to the lake, filled his bucket and headed back to the smithy. As he got closer he slowed his walk being cautious for the return of more gobis and orcs. They hadn’t returned, but he knew he had little time. He quickly made his way inside, latched the lock and began to work. He needed a weapon, and he needed one quick. With his foot on the bellow pump, he smiled as the first orc weapon went into the melting urn.