The Dreamer's Fall

Chapter 33 - A Stranger's Gaze

Arthur's carriage gently bounced as it drove through the busy cobblestone streets of Munn. The city was exceptionally crowded and noisy due to the army stationed outside its walls coming and going.

Convoys of merchants and tradesmen from all over the northeast territories bogged down the road, chasing opportunities to make extra coin while the surplus of people remained in Revan.

As he exited the carriage, the densely packed street reminded him of the block parties in his old neighborhood on Earth. Street vendors shouted out to passersby all along the avenue behind small wooden stalls packed with everything from food to ornate trinkets.

The various food and spices created a rather unique hodgepodge of smells. Unfortunately, the day was particularly sweltering, and as such, the scent of the numerous city-goers overpowered any pleasantness Arthur's pampered nose could detect.

To escape the smells, he dashed into a small shady alley before coming upon a small wooden plaque in the shape of an anvil. Two guards and a ghost followed closely behind. Waves of heat washed over him as soon as he entered the smithy, making it uncomfortable to breathe and seemingly sapping his energy with each step.

The source of the heat originated from a short, burly old man stoking a forge's flames a dozen feet away. Thanks to his bald head and long grey braided beard, he could easily be mistaken for a dwarf.

Dwarves did exist on Nithe, and at one point, they even had a reasonably large kingdom in the Brond mountain range that bordered eastern Sparnia. That was until Sparnia turned its sights on the dwarven kingdom a few hundred years ago and nearly drove them to extinction.

While Ollerin treated demi-humans as only a step above beasts, Sparnia didn't care to what race their enemies belonged to. Instead, they offered the same deal to both humans and demi-humans: unconditional surrender or death.

The dwarves stubbornly refused to surrender, and as a result, their race was all but destroyed in the bloody genocide that followed.

Of course, Sparnia didn't always seek such brutal ends for their enemies. However, it was said that they felt particularly humiliated due to how difficult it was to siege dwarven strongholds, and as a result, they took their frustrations out on the dwarves to make an example out of them.

The dwarf-like old man's name was Thoran, and when he heard the smithy door slam shut, he looked up from the forge and noticed Arthur.

"Ah! Young lord Arthur, forgive me. Once I stare into the flames, I forget the world. Hahaha!" Thoran laughed in a boisterous manner that only Kyren could contend with.

Arthur took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I don't know how you're not dying from the heat in here, old man."

"Eh? It ain't too bad." Thoran placed the back of his soot-covered hand on his forehead to check for sweat but realized the mistake too late and smeared soot all over his face as a result. "Whoops. Hahaha! What can this old man do for ya today? Did those little blades I made for ya last time work well?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the silly soot-covered old man. On Earth, he was born too late to meet his grandparents, so Thoran's personality was refreshing to him despite only meeting him a few times.

"They did!" Arthur cheered as he unknowingly got caught up in Thoran's upbeat atmosphere. "It wouldn't be a lie to say they saved my life multiple times, and they're partly the reason I'm here."

Thoran smacked his chest with bravado. "Eh? Who dares threaten the life of the little lord? Point 'em out to me, and I'll give 'em a good whack with my hammers."