These caverns are dancing with flame, the light from the touches brightening the underground city of Darinstamar. I hammer upon the forge and cast a strange arcane light upon the sword. I am no mage nor is anyone that you’ll come across her in the smallest dwarven city in The Maderms, which I am the blacksmith to our king, noble king Arakkain Brosca. I stroke my beard, long like most male dwarves, braided in places with trinkets of battle. My hair is tied up in a ponytail so that it doesn’t catch on fire. The sword is a full dwarven design, but entwined into the dwarven metal blade is arcane roots, the eltheri plant the essence of magic and if mages consume it they shall turn completely mad, but those without do not live to see the effect they have brought upon those they love. I hammer it in, bending it to my will. Being the king’s personal blacksmith does have its benefits, being his brother in law has none; I married into this family for the love I bore his sister, then through the years my love left me fled from my heart like a crow flying in the winter.
“Ygdar… his majesty would like to see you… bring the sword.” I hammer the hammer down once again finishing the blade, it shines an arcane blue and I swing it into a sheath with my own designs upon. Like the tattoos all over my body, the essence of magic carved into my flesh, I hate the mages that did this to me and I will find them. Dwarven tattoos with a few designs from the knife ears, we do not share any love with the elves, slaves to the humans for decades until the passing of the anti-slavery act.
“Let me sheathe her and I’ll be on my way.” Prince Josef looks at me smiling, bows to me and takes his leave. I take the blade and slide her within her sheathe; this sword is made more for a human’s hands rather than a dwarf’s but alas I’ll keep it as a sign of my craftsmanship.
I wander down the stone halls decorated by paintings of previous kings, their families beside them; their queens at their side and children at the feet, symbolic? One would have to think like a scholar to know. I notice a door ajar within the corridor normally all doors are shut, I turn when I reach said door. It creaks open and there stands a small girl shaking, it is the bastard daughter of the king, and his human mistress… halfling, shunned and heckled by the nobles of the stone, the gods have abandoned them, but at least she’s human.
“Hello there, dear… what’s the matter?” I say in my nicest voice, having one so deep like a traditional dwarf. “Don’t worry… I’m not going to hurt you.” I step forward towards her. Still shaking she drops something from her hand, it shines in the firelight and blood is spotted on it, a coin…
“They came… they took.” I notice her dress is ripped, her hand bleeding and her wrists bruised as well as her throat,
“Who came darling… who took?” I take the coin from the ground and look upon it, she flinches “You know me child, I am not going to harm you… neither should your father allow these men come back here.” Dagna is nary an adolescent, fourteen years she’s been in this world and a father who hates her. A reminder of his own mortally and failure. She falls to her knees and vomits. I pick her back up when she stops to place her upon the bed,
“He allowed them to do this… he was there when he invited them into my chambers.”
“Then he and the others shall all die… who were they?” She looks to me and tears have stopped, only anger shines through… she knows what I can do,
“Let their blood wash from your hands as you plunge the knife deep.” I stand up from her bed,
“Let me find a maid to clean you and your room up, we shall have to leave this place once I am finished, into exile onto the surface.”
