Hearth Fire

It was all over, and complete emptiness had settled into his bones. The cold mountains, covered in snow and blanketed in winds, were his only companion. With one foot over the edge of the cliff, the other foot in the past, he thought aloud “I let them down, they’re gone now. The clan, the hold, all of its gone.” I couldn’t help anyone. I watched them all go into the fires. As the smoke rose from the hold below, it twirled and spun into familiar shapes, mocking him. Their faces, treasures, and tankards all cracked and broken into vapors that spun and twirled around him continuously. Wiping his hand across his eyes, he let out a gentle sob. Mother, father, sister, I wish I was there. I could have helped. I could have fought.

The snow under his foot creaked and gave way a little, bringing him back to the present. He took a deep breath and leaned forward. Wait for me family, I am coming. With his weight pulling him forward to topple into the abyss, he saw a light, shining down upon him. Warmth returned to his body, that the cold winter night stole. Had he always been this cold? Falling back away from the light, he fell onto his butt. Snow sprayed up into his beard and the wind cut at his face. He brought up his hand to cover his face and wipe the snow away, behind it he saw a figure silhouetted. Dropping his hand, he stared into the eyes of a woman.

The woman’s figure was silhouetted by the light. She loomed over him, as tall as a human, garbed in light robes of white stitched in green. Blonde curls rested on her shoulders framing a gaunt face, her skin stretched tight. Although tall, she was thin, pale and seemed to be wasting away. She leaned down to him, offering him a hand.

He scooted away from her and rolled to his feet, he reached for his axe. The weapon sheath was empty, so he clenched his fist into balls and leaned forward to fight.

“What do you want, lassie? I have proper dying to do and you're in my way.”

She took him in, eying him up and down. She strode towards the dwarf, no fear in her eyes as she walked a lazy circle around him. He was a simple creature; short, only coming up to a human’s chest. His stout body was twice the width of most healthy humans, and he stomped around on tree trunk thick legs. His chestnut red beard was not braided but instead hung loose down his chest. His hair matched the color of his beard, it was cut short on the sides of this head and was kept long in the middle running from his forehead to his neck. His face was tan and earthy, rugged with a crooked nose, with cold black eyes contrasted against the color of his hair.

She said as she stopped walking and looked down at him. "I have a proposal for you, master dwarf. You plan to kill yourself for your perceived shame of not being able to save your hold.”

The dwarf, looking straight back at her, saw the straight lines and rectangle knots in blue of runic markings along her right eye.

“What dwarf would willingly give an elf the marking of the hearth and hold?” he demanded as anger clouded his face.

Looking down at the ground, her sunken eyes broke away from his. “I am a dwarf.” She whispered.

He took a step back in shock as he looked at the ancestor. How could this be? Ancestors were supposed to be the strongest of all dwarfs through time. How would such a weak and crippled creature be an ancestor?

“If that’ll be true, why do ye look like an elf? You look nothing like my ancestor or their kinfolk.” He said.

“I am not one of your kin” she said. “I come from a different land, not too unlike this land. My people have fallen. I have used the last of my energy to come here, to seek a true dwarf. A Thane, someone to lead my dwarves back to hold and hearth!” she cried at him. “My holds have fallen cold. No longer do my kin toil below the ground and till the mountains. They shave their beards and live above the ground, No better than humans and elves. Shrunken and weak, my kin slowly die.”

The woman slowly fell to her knees. Her energy sapping away as she grew more pale and weaker than ever.

“Any dwarfs who shaves their beards and lives above the mountains deserve what they have coming.” He said.

She looked at him, “Just like a dwarf who can't defend his hold?”

Anger welled up inside of him. He took a step forward, clenching his fist. “I wasn’t home!” he screamed. “If I wasn't tending the goats, I would have been here to die properly.”

She looked at him with pleading eyes. “I need your help. Come with me. Restore your honor and pride as a dwarf by teaching my kin the old ways. I will take you to my own hold. It has fallen and needs to be rekindled. Much work would lie ahead of you. As you grow and the hearths are lit, we can restore my kin to their former glory, and I will reward you. A thane is needed.”

He shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. Me, a thane? I am no Thane. I have no clan to lead. I wasn’t even the leader of MY hold. I was just an axe dwarf. I tended the goats and worked the smithies. He walked towards her, lowering himself onto his knee to look at her.

“I am sorry lassie, I am no thane. I am no king under the mountain. I do not interpret the runes, nor am I a great smith. I can not give what you need.” He said in a voice no louder than a whisper.

He stood, walking back to the cliff edge. Taking in a deep breath, he was ready to join his family in the afterlife.

“Is this truly the might of the Wraith-Thane clan? The killer of gods, slayer of the gobi, the breaker of the anvils, the death snow? I’ve traveled across the stars themselves to find one of the first dwarven family. Just to find what? A melancholy dwarf who would rather die than restore his honor?” she said as anger welled up inside of her.

He stopped, images flashing through his mind. He stood with an axe in his hand as a green tide of gobi came swarming down a mountain. Behind him, his kin fled. His helmet cut into his face from a Gobi’s stone mace. Blood ran thick and heavy into his chestnut red beard. He dropped the helmet onto the ground revealing chestnut red hair; he rolled his shoulders, taking in a deep breath.

“Go Gloria, take our beardling away from here.” He whispered to himself. “Come, you cowards! You’ll find no fear here!”

The dwarf in his mind jumped toward the tide of green. Allowing his clan to flee. Stronric was whisked away to a dark chamber. The stone room had little light. He could see a light coming from what looked to be an ember down a long hallway. Three dwarves stood together facing the oncoming light, one with a chestnut red beard. Their armor etched in runes soon began to glow red and blue as the demon approached. The ember slowly growing in size as it approached. An arm, head, and soon the torso of a massive creature became clear as it entered the room, looming over the dwarves. Twenty feet tall, the blacken humanoid leaned down, revealing curled horns, red eyes and white fanged teeth.

“A wraith demon!” the first dwarf shouted.

“We can not win this.” The second dwarf shouted.

The dwarf with chestnut red haired took a step forward with his moon colored ax. “Run, I will hold it off. Get our clansman to safety!” he shouted as he raised his ax to battle the beast.

Hours later, the dwarfs returned to find their Thane lying on the ground. A horn from the demon through his stomach. Covered in blood, the Thane let out a chuckle. Spitting blood, he tried to raise himself up.

“Thane, where has the beast gone?” one dwarf said as they looked at the thane.

The second dwarf, exploring the room, saw the demon’s massive frame. Deep gashes and rents splattered the demon's body. The creature was curled around the moon colored axe which was buried into the creature’s throat. A raspy laugh filled the room. Soon the Thane was bellowing a laugh, in defiance and in a challenge to all creatures wishing to threaten his hold.

Stronric vision faded and he saw his parents, holding him as a baby. His mother had just finished giving birth to him. Her blonde hair was covered in sweat. His father dressed in simple garbs with a large crooked nose and black hair. His parents looked down at the new bundle and a gasp escaped their lips as they locked eyes.

“He gots the hair of the Thane.” His father said.

“Our wee Thane,” his mother said as she pulled the baby into a hug, rubbing her nose against his forehead.

He stumbled forward onto his knee. The shock of seeing part of his family history had rocked him to his core. He was supposed to be a Thane, a leader of his people and a hero of the ages. But he had failed his family. They all lie dead below. Burning in the holds after the attack. I wasn't there; I am not Thane, and I am no leader. Death would have been better than this shame.

“I am no Thane,” he mumbled again. His eyes growing wet.

“You are a Thane, my people, no our people need you, Thane. I Thoranthana, Ancestor of the hearth, once again ask, please help our kin,” she said.

He stood and walked towards the weak and dying god. Stronric extended his hand, she took it and rose to her feet. He looked her in the eyes one more time, searching for treachery, and found nothing but hope.

“I will come with ye, lassie.” He said with a look in his eye. I am going to bring the pride of the dwarves back to these creatures. I will raise them up.

She smiled deeply and whispered her gratitude to him.

“Of course, ancestor,” he said.

Upon his mumbling of that simple but powerful phrase, a small amount of life returned to the god. Her skin shone a little brighter. Faith, such a small but powerful thing. She led him by the hand to the edge of the cliff. A dimensional tear in reality presented itself near the cliff where the dwarf was once going to cast himself off. He could see through the portal to another snow-covered mountain. A small cave entrance, unlit and cold, was shown. He looked up at the god and nodded before stepping through.

He fell a short distance before landing in the snow. Looking up, he could see the portal mending itself.

“You have much work ahead of you, Thane. Lead our kin to restore their honor. Rebuild the fallen kingdoms and let the mortal races know the Dwarves have returned.” The god’s voice came through the portal as it was closing.

“I’ll need a weapon, lassie,” he said.

A heavy steel pick axe fell onto the ground next to him. He leaned over and picked it up. Feeling the weight of it, he shifted it from hand to hand, then he took a swing. Satisfied that the pick was a decent one, he looked at the dark hold entrance before him.

“I, Stronric Wraith-Thane, give my oath to restore the dwarves.” He said. He drew the end of the pick across his palm, blood beaded up and dripped on the ground as he walked into the darkness of the mountain.