Stormhammer's Ballad

Act 1

Takes place in the TRC universe approximately four hundred years before Kal and Ikuno meet.

"You boys are lookin' pretty worn out," said Tarva Fittlegault, a blacksmith with a forge located near the edge of town. The ringing of metal on metal sounded behind him as his son shaped a piece of orange-hot iron.

"We have to return home and report that we lost the knight we were serving," said one of the men while throwing a beaten-up sword and a couple of equally damaged daggers on the counter in front of the forge. "How much to get these repaired enough to get us back to the capital?"

"What happened to him?" asked the blacksmith's son as he used some metal tongs to place the piece he had been hammering back into the coals. "Heyup!" he yelled toward the back of the shop. Out of sight, a donkey tethered to a sturdy pole began walking. The rod was attached to a set of wooden gears and shafts, which ended in a large steel disc. Cupped blades spaced around the outside pulled in air and directed it through the forge as it spun.

"Not our business Devlin," said the blacksmith as he inspected the damaged blades.

"I'm just curious, Dad. What happened to him?" he asked the squire again.

"He was killed."

"He was captured," the men said in unison.

"Well, which one is it?" asked Tarva, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Captured," said the man who claimed the knight had been killed, "but if he isn't dead already, he will be soon enough."

"That's a fair point," said the other squire.

"Didn't you try to rescue him?" asked the blacksmith's son.

"Two men against a warren of spear-wielding goblins is suicide," there was an odd moment of hesitation before he pointed at the dented and chipped weapons, "but yes, we did try."

"Goblins? The one's southwest of here?" Devlin asked. Everyone in town knew of the goblin warren, but it was small and far enough away they weren't any kind of threat.

"Aye, that's the one," the squire replied.

"Mind your iron son and quit harassing the customers," grumped his father before addressing the squires. "The sword I can have back to you by tomorrow, but this will be a patch job, so don't go crossing blades with anyone. A heavy blow from good steel might break it. If you aren't in a hurry, I can take a couple of extra days and get it done right. This dagger is scrap. I might be able to use the metal to repair the other one, but..." he applied pressure with a lone finger to one side of the blade and it folded over along a crack starting at the base and ending two-thirds of the way up, "this would be a waste of time and coin."

One of the men sighed, "I liked those daggers too. Is there a chance you have some for sale?"

Tarva smiled and reached under the counter to pull out a large wooden box. Spinning it around, he opened the lid and said, "They aren't the prettiest, but they'll be strong and sharp enough to get you home."

Devlin tuned out his father's conversation with the squires, if they could even be called that. How could two humans fail against a goblin warren? Everyone knew that the small, green women were some of the weakest monsters anywhere.

The air shimmered above the glowing metal bar as he pulled it from the forge and laid it on the anvil. A few strokes with a wire brush removed the scale forming on the surface before he set upon it with his hammer. The sparks flew while he daydreamed of charging into the goblin village and rescuing the knight. When he made his triumphant return, the town would treat him to a hero's welcome. As the iron on the anvil took shape, so did Devlin's plan.