BLACK NIGHT RUN

CHAPTER 9

"So you're telling me that you're some kind of ancient out to save the world from certain doom, and in order to do this incredible deed, the Hammer of Saangomesh must become your possession so that you can crush this thing called a Nyx?"

Tyrune nodded. "There's no other way."

Bartholomite drilled his rigid black eyes into Tyrune's still gaze and believed this man - who claimed himself as no man - a fool of missing screws. All this talk about saving the world from a threat that he barely paid attention to in the historical texts even he kept dusty and untouched on his shelf. It drew his attention immediately. His throat a drone as he twisted his head to that very shelf. Pinpointing the counter that housed just that. A huge book he never cared to crack open.

He thinned his eyes in complete scrutiny. "Where'd you come from?"

"Irthart."

He spun his head to Tyrune. His face wrecked with shock. "Th... Daedalus?!"

"Yes."

"You're twistin' my beard!"

"Your beard is beyond twisted," said Tyrune with a cant of his head. "I wonder, though, how is it that you're capable of even washing that thing as well as those tendrils sitting on top of your big head?"

Bartholomite cracked a fat smirk. "Tremendous skill, lad." He gave Tyrune the twitching leery eye next. "I'm goin' to be solid with you., lad. I don't find your story too dope to feel. Everybody knows that Daedalus ain't no glass dungeon. You talk about escapin' that place like it's nothin'. I've met street urchins pumped on delyrium who weave better tales than you."

Tyrune crinkled his face. The fuck is delyrium? He pressed it no further. Gaining the confidence of this now skeptical dwarf challenged him further. "What would it take to sway your mind to the truth? Have you even heard of the Black Night before...or even seen a Quartari such as I?"

"I've heard of the bloody stories of the Black Night. You tell no lies on its horrific wonder, and I'm aware of the abomination and its wicked creatures that lurked with it. Still, gives me no solid belief in you needing to fetch that hammer. That's the work of a master idol..."

"The creation of Saangomesh; dwarven demigod."

"Oh... So you know of the deity among dwarves, I see," Bartholomite droned again. "Hm. How much are you versed in the lore of my people?"

"The hammer's task is to destroy as well as restore. Its other name is The Maker-Breaker, and was last used in the construction of the last ancient hold located on Skullhammer Isle. Home to the idol's mortal descendants. The Children of Saangomesh. It can destroy whatever one wills, and it thwarts the machinations of evil with just a bash of its bulk." He smacked his fist into his palm - mimicking his words.

The convincing continued. Bartholomite recovered the big book he eyed earlier - a tome of dwarven embellishing - and opened it over his desk, flipping pages while Tyrune bantered on.

"Like I've told you. The Nyx is an obelisk that kills the sun and brings the night. And it's been renewed. The very impetus needed to stir the World Eater awake is back in action, and I need that hammer to smash it." He crossed his arms. His cat-eyes unable to make sense of the foreign words in the dwarf's book, but the illustrations - inverted to him in position - provided slightly reeled him in. "Certainly, you don't want to experience something your mighty ancestors were slaughtered like cattle over now, do you?"

Bartholomite sailed upon the Quartari's words. To accept his task sounded completely nuts. Nuts enough for him to actually buy it. He finally took his dwarven tome into absolute consideration, because for some reason, his skepticism began to tremble against the weight of Tyrune's critical ambition. No surprise in Tyrune's knowledge on the dwarves of Skullhammer. No surprise on the knowledge of The Black Night, either. What nudged the dwarf to accept this epic quest, rested in the text of his brethren.