by C. M. Carney
“It is time,” the xydai said.
10
To Gryph the short walk to the Nexus felt like the walk of a condemned man. He knew his reluctance to take command was selfish, stupid and short sighted. Ovrym had been right in his assessment that Gryph needed the city and its people just as much as they needed him. Yet he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit the responsibility of ruling terrified him.
That’s because you’re a damn idjit, Wick’s voice said from nowhere. Gryph scowled to himself but knew in the deep parts of his soul that phantom Wick was right, that Ovrym was right, that Grimliir was right. He needed to claim the city.
As they walked, Grimliir stepped in alongside them, clad in shining armor and carrying a two bladed axe propped on one shoulder. “Greetings, Yer Lordship,” the dwarf said and chuckled at Gryph’s scowl. Grimliir had not only sponsored Gryph to take command of the city, he had convinced him that his claim was rock solid by all the ancient laws of the Thalmiir and the Alliance.
Gryph didn’t claim to understand the ways of the dwarves, but he had gleaned some of their history from a stack of ancient books lent to him by an equally ancient dwarf scholar. The man had been reluctant to lend Gryph the volumes, despite supporting his claim. But Grimliir’s status as a living legend soothed the curmudgeonly dwarf’s reluctance to a mere grunt of irritation.
What Gryph had read was incredibly dull for flowery prose was not the dwarves’ strong suit, but he had learned that the dwarves were ancestor venerators who worshipped no gods. Gryph could not fault the philosophy of the stubbornly stoic yet honorable people. Nearly every being who’d claimed the mantle of godhood throughout the history of the Realms had become despots whose love was for power and not for the people.
I will not become like them, Gryph said to himself as his fingers moved up to his forehead, the spot where his Godhead had bonded with him. It had the power to make him a god, but Brynn had given it to him because she believed in him. Believed he could be trusted with the responsibility, with the power. That trust was being tested today as he accepted the mantle of leadership.
When he had agreed to become responsible for Dar Thoriim, Gryph had insisted that he not be crowned king. The last Stone King, one of Gryph’s past lives if his Soul Reverie was accurate, had fallen victim to pride and arrogance and fallen to the Prime. Gryph knew power could corrupt, so he would limit his power and he would share it with those around him. Those he could trust.
They reached the end of the tunnel and entered the Nexus. The massive columned chamber was lit up with fiery braziers. A large stone table stood in front of the control dais. A group of dwarf stone masons had built it on Gryph’s orders. Their bushy brows had turned up in amused confusion when Gryph had explained that he would be no king, but the leader of a council that would rule the city together. To codify that arrangement, he wanted a circular table where all could see and be seen and where all voices would be heard. He didn’t bother explaining he’d stolen the idea from the legend of Camelot.
As they entered the men and women seated around the round table stood. Most of them he recognized. Barrendiel, the onetime Captain of the Rangers of Sylvan Aenor and its current Regent, greeted him first.
“Well met Gryph,” the Regent said grasping Gryph by the forearm.
“Thank you for coming. What news of the chaos incursion?”
“There have been no new sightings of chaos corrupted creatures over the last few days.”
“Well that is good news. Let us hope that trend continues.”
“Ever vigilant. Ever ready,” the Regent said, citing the mantra that ruled the rangers.
Gryph moved on to the half-elf Steward Gartheniel. He had been an early advocate of Gryph’s nomination and Gryph counted him as a true friend.
“Thank you for coming Steward.”
“Of course, my Lord,” the Steward said, a slight grin turning up his mouth when Gryph cringed at the title. “My council is always available to you.”
“I suspect I will often seek that council in the coming days,” Gryph said.
“It is yours.” Gartheniel traced fingers across the engraved surface of the table, clearly impressed. “Though you may not need it as much as you suppose. This shows more wisdom than most rulers display in an entire reign.”
“Or cowardice,” Gryph said with a grin. “Perhaps I’m just passing the buck to people like you.”
“I do not know what a male deer has to do with anything, but I know this my Lord, you are no coward.”
Damn colloquialisms, Gryph thought, but lowered his head to the Steward in appreciation. Then he whispered to the half-elf. “Cool it with the My Lords or I’ll grant you a title so long it will take people ten minutes to greet you.”
“Point taken … my Lord. You remember Yrriel?”
The vibrant elf woman took Gryph in a fierce embrace, her hands gripping him lower on the waist than seemed strictly proper. “Glad to see you still walking and breathing young Gryph.”
“Umm, thank you Yrriel,” Gryph said. “Your Icon played a large part in keeping me that way.” The Icon in question was an imbued gem that enhanced the power of Gryph’s already potent spear. Imbuing was a skill he very much wanted to learn, but he suspected that Yrriel would extract a price for the knowledge.
“Of course it did,” she said and patted the side of his face affectionately.
To Gryph’s great relief. Grimliir turned Gryph’s attention to a trio of dwarves. Belgaarm was a grey bearded dwarf covered in scars, but with a youthful set of lightning blue eyes. He was a Master Smith and had worked with Gartheniel for many centuries to ease any tensions between dwarves and elves. Thaldrain was a younger dwarf who smelled of malt and hops and brewed the best ale on Korynn according to the Steward. Finally, he was taken into a bear hug by Reynglain, a stocky dwarf woman whose fiery red hair matched her personality. She was an Earth Master, and Gryph suspected, the true force of the three.
Next came a warborn who despite looking exactly like Errat, was obviously not. Where Errat bore a childlike curiosity and kindness, this man bore a fierce and rigid demeanor. He gripped Gryph’s arm in a vice-like grip and bowed. “My brothers have named me Berrath.”
“That means leader in Ancient Thalmiir,” Grimliir said from Gryph’s side.
“It does Father,” the warborn said, bowing his head to the man who had made him. “I have the honor of being chosen by my brothers to speak for them at this council, and in those to come.”
Gryph returned the man’s grip. “It is an honor to know you Berrath.”
“The honor is mine Sahmaan Gryph.”
“It means savior,” Grimliir said to Gryph upon seeing his confusion. “A well-deserved title.”
Gryph scowled at the Master Artificer, but before any words of protest could come forth, a bear hug from Errat knocked the wind out of him. “Friend Gryph it is wonderful to see you on this day.”
Gryph grunted under the warm assault and looked at Errat. “It is good to see you Errat,” he said in a strained voice. The hawk automaton sitting on Errat’s shoulder squawked in greeting. “And you as well Flappy.”
Errat grinned and turned to another warborn. “Friend Gryph, this is brother Urgyyn. He is very strong.” Urgyyn said nothing, just lowered his head to Gryph. “He does not speak, unlike Errat, who very much likes to talk, especially to his friend Gryph.”
Gryph couldn’t help but smile at the odd warborn and moved on. Grimliir introduced him to a trio of humans, a stout woman named Bruunhilde who was an alchemist, a matronly scholar named Eadweanna and a jovial man named Thornley who represented the valley’s farmers. All three shook hands and nodded in greeting.
With all the introductions finished, Gryph took his place behind his chair. To his left stood Tifala who gave him a pain laden smile. He reached out and took her hand in his own. “When this is finished, I have something to talk to you about.”
“As do I,” the Life Mistress said with a note of tension
. Then she smiled and looked him in the eyes. “It is good to see you.” Gryph smiled back and squeezed her hand.
Gryph turned to Grimliir and nodded. The burly dwarf raised a thick metal rod above his head and brought it down onto the stone floor. It thudded once, twice, three times.
“Pay attention and take heed,” Grimliir said in a powerful voice. “Today we name a new ruler of Dar Thoriim.” He looked around the assembled representatives and dozens of approving eyes stared back. “This man is Gryph, player from Earth, hero of Sylvan Aenor and savior of Dar Thoriim. Inside him rests the reborn soul of the last Stone King. I, Grimliir, one-time Steward of Dar Thoriim nominate this man tae take command of this city. Who else supports this nomination?”
“We do,” said Reynglain, the female dwarf, in a surprisingly melodic voice. “We the dwarves of Sylvan Aenor support this nomination. We pledge to work alongside Gryph to return Dar Thoriim to greatness.” The dwarves pounded upon the stone table with rock hard fists.
“Who else supports this nomination?” Grimliir asked, smashing his rod again on the stone floor.
“The elves of Sylvan Aenor support this nomination,” Barrendiel said in a loud, clear vice. “We have long sheltered your people and we look forward to aiding you in rebuilding Dar Thoriim.”
“Who else supports this nomination?” Another deep thunk from Grimliir’s rod.
“The humans of Sylvan Aenor support this nomination, Eadweanna said in a voice that sounded as smooth as fresh parchment. “We look forward to the exchange of lore and information. May both cities thrive under our friendship.”
“Who else supports this nomination?” Grimliir asked again and again his rod thunked heavily against the floor.
To Gryph’s right Errat stood. “Hi, I’m Errat. I am friends with Gryph.” Urgyyn grunted in a tone that suggested disapproval and Errat grinned. “Um … The warborn of Dar Thoriim support this nomination. Gryph is a good friend.” Errat sat down to numerous chuckles from around the table.
Grimliir raised his rod, ready to smash it down a final time when the cacophonous sound of metal smashing violently against metal surged from the entrance of the Nexus.
“Hu–Huh-Huh!” came a deep throated chant, followed again by the metal on metal clashing. All eyes turned towards the entrance as a group of armor-clad dwarves entered the chamber. There were five to a side and in the middle was a battle-scarred dwarf a foot taller than any of the others Gryph had encountered.
“Hu–Huh-Huh! Hu–Huh-Huh!” the chanting continued as the two groups of five formed a semi-circle facing the Round Table. Each dwarf smashed their weapons against their shields in a rhythmic battle anthem. The large dwarf stopped and smashed his own hammer once, twice, three times upon the stone floor.
“I am Krovoor, descendent of the last Stone King and rightful heir to the throne of Dar Thoriim, and I will die before I see a damned bark sniffer corrupt the city of my forefathers.”
Grimliir scowled. “Yer claim was investigated and deemed false Krovoor. Ye have no right and no support. Leave these proceedings now.”
“Pah,” Krovoor spat. “An investigation undertaken by an ape-spawned human.” He stared directly at Eadweanna, whose gaze never faltered under the fierce dwarf’s angry stare. “I reject her findings as false.” He turned his anger upon the dwarves. “I expected as much from these others, but you three would hand over our city to a man who isn’t even of these Realms, much less a dwarf. You are racial traitors and I will see that you pay when I rule here.”
“Sit yer pimple covered ass down ye ungrateful wretch,” Reynglain, the elder dwarf woman said without a hint of fear in her voice. “Or dae ye want me tae tell yer mammy about that case of dingle rot ye got the last time ye delved into the old mine? Rape a few goblins did ye? Make ye feel like a big man?”
Shock propelled spittle exploded from Krovoor’s mouth. “Why ye scabrous old hag, I’ll show ye big.” He took several steps towards the dwarf woman. Within seconds the other warborn, dwarves, elves and humans stood between Krovoor and Reynglain.
“Ye are neither worthy nor wanted Krovoor,” Grimliir said. “I knew yer kind back when the Alliance was formed. Spiteful wee dwarves who imagined themselves superior and wanted tae lock the doors tae the world and hide in the ground. Yer kind were cowards then an’ ye be a coward now. Yer hatred has no place in this city.”
It took a few moments for Krovoor to contain his anger. His eyes turned from Grimliir to Gryph. “Ye be no dwarf, no reborn king, and I will be damned to the Abyss before I see you sitting on the throne of the city of my forefathers. I challenge ye to the Judgement of the Long Beards.”
Gasps filled the Nexus, but Gryph held the fearsome dwarf’s gaze. He had run afoul of men like Krovoor on Earth, pathetic remnants of a time where racism and hatred held sway and resulted in violence and oppression. He would not allow such bigotry to take root in his city.
Gryph stared back and then the dwarf grinned. “Ye don’t even know what I be talkin’ about do ye?” He turned to Grimliir with a sneer. “And this is who ye want? Ye want this smooth skin to lord over our people?”
Krovoor was right about one thing. Gryph had no idea what the Judgement of the Long Beards was, but he could sense the gravity of the situation and knew that Krovoor’s claim could not go any further. “I accept your challenge, Krovoor,” Gryph said in a loud, calm voice.
Krovoor grinned and turned his glare on Grimliir. “Well don’t just stand there ye bastard, bring forth the Seal of the Dwarven King and we will see who my ancestors choose to rule this city.”
Grimliir glanced at Gryph who nodded. Grimliir walked forward and beckoned Gryph to stand opposite the larger dwarf. He looked at Krovoor. “This will nae go the way ye hope laddie. Last chance to back out and preserve what lil’ dignity ye have left.”
Krovoor spat at Grimliir’s feet, pulled a dagger from his belt and sliced his palm open. He made a fist and squeezed several drops of blood onto the seal. Then he glared at Gryph.
Without hesitation Gryph drew his own dagger and sliced open his palm. He watched his blood drip onto the seal. The intricately carved plate of metal drank in both offerings and then leapt from Grimliir’s grasp. The old Thalmiir backed away as it hovered in the air between Gryph and his challenger.
The seal spun and the distant sound of clanging metal and raging fire could be heard. Heat poured off the seal and Gryph felt as if he were in a blast furnace. He cursed himself as he took an involuntary step backwards and the smarmy grin on Krovoor’s face made Gryph despise him even more.
“I’m going to enjoy smashing yur pretty face in pretender. Then maybe I’ll have my way with yur corpse.”
“Can you at least brush your teeth before you do? Your breath makes me miss the smell of Baalgrath shit.” Gryph winked at the furious dwarf. Krovoor howled in rage and launched himself at Gryph just as the seal expanded outward into a spherical ten-foot diameter cage of metal. Gryph feared he would be crushed by the fast expanding metal, but he, and Krovoor, phased through it and then they were both inside and floating as if in a zero gravity environment.
Then reality pulsed and Gryph was elsewhere.
11
Gryph’s eyes snapped open, and he gasped for air. The heat punched into his lungs and parched his eyes just as the hiss of molten metal and the rhythmic clangs of metal on metal punched into his ears. He blinked through his tears and saw he was in a huge chamber that could easily hold a hundred of the Nexus chambers he’d just been standing in. It made him feel small, very, very small. He turned looking for Krovoor, but the dwarf was gone.
It took a few moments for the physical discomfort to abate, but Gryph soon acclimated to the heat. Around him were hundreds if not thousands of raging forges. Each one bore a spectral dwarf hammering ingots of metal into axes and swords, shields and breastplates and innumerable other crafted items.
Gryph moved towards the closest forge and reached out to touch the ghostly smith. His hand phased through the man�
��s shoulder leaving a trail of red-hot sparks as it passed. The smith didn’t even slow his rhythmic clang-clang, clunk-clunk. His massive arm came up again and again, tirelessly working the spectral metal into the shape of a dwarf warrior’s head.
“Nice workmanship,” Gryph said attempting to gain the smith’s attention. But the man either did not hear him or did not care to acknowledge the compliment. Gryph used Analyze.
Dwarf Ascendant Soul.
Level
Health
Stamina
Mana
Spirit
N/A
N/A
N/A
N/A
N/A
This is the soul of a dwarf awaiting rebirth to the mortal realms. While they await rebirth dwarf souls work at one of the many crafting skills beloved by their species.
Strengths
Immunities
Weaknesses
Unknown
Unknown
Unknown
“Well that wasn’t helpful,” Gryph mumbled to himself. The dwarf picked up the item he’d been crafting and Gryph realized it was a belt buckle. The dwarf turned it from side to side examining every detail. Gryph could not claim to know much about Smithing, but he knew exquisite work when he saw it. The dwarf grunted whether in approval of his work or disappointment Gryph did not know and tossed the finished piece back into the raging flames of the forge.
“What the hell are you doing?” Gryph wailed as the masterpiece melted before his eyes. He watched transfixed as the whole process began again, but this time as the dwarf tossed the buckle into the flames, Gryph grabbed for it.