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The Saga of the Blade
Chapter 1
by Selgon Methasious Brassgirdle

Grunthis brought his hammer down hard on the cherry-red lump of iron before him. Sparks flew as the weight of his strike brought a loud CLANK! followed by a rapid succession of smaller hits. Time and time again he brought his hammer up for breath, then again it would come down to beat the misshapen iron. He set his mallet aside and grasped with both hands the tongs which held the metal in place. Carefully he led the still-hot iron to the kiln, setting it inside to absorb the heat of the forge and to have its malleability restored. Such work for him was not tiresome. Such work did not bore him. Such work to him was not work at all, but rather pleasure. He paused to wipe the few beads of sweat from his forehead with a swipe of his blacksmith's apron. A lesser man, even a lesser dwarf, would have been more tormented by the closeness of the forge's heat, but Grunthis was far more used to it.

He turned his attention again to the kiln, where his iron was glowing red - any longer and it would certainly begin to melt into a malformed chunk once more, something the dwarf did not desire. He pulled the iron from the artificial inferno and returned it to the anvil, blindly grasping his hammer and resuming his pounding. Now, however, the hits did not bring a dull clang, but rather a beautiful ringing, something that grew more lovely with every strike. The iron changed form beneath his hammer, from that of a long, uneven strand to the flat, double-sided blade of a sword. The thick bulb at one end became a hilt and a smaller piece of unworked mithril would become the crossguard. Soon, he knew, his work would be finished.

The dwarf took a good measure of pride in his skill. Though he, like most dwarves, did not flaunt it to all who saw it, each piece of ore that became something greater beneath his hands held a special place in his heart. Finally, the enclosing water diminished the dull glow of the finished blade as the dwarf thrust it into a trough to cool. Grunthis took his sword and set it aside for a while, now focusing on the small block of mithril before him. Such fine metal was much better suited to the blades of weapons, he knew, not the hilts. But so little was the supply he had that if it was to be used at all, this was the extent of its purpose. Slowly, the mithril, too, changed form. Hours passed and still the dwarf worked, tiring only in his limbs but not his mind or soul. At last, the crossguard was finished, and could be properly wrought to the sword. With a shower of sparks that nearly screamed for life, he brought the two foreign ores together into a single, flush work of art. All that remained was the finer work; something that could wait for another day.

He shut off the flow of oil to the forge, and slowly watched as its flames died. The smaller coals began to take on the darkness of the room around them, while the heavier ones refused to so easily relinquish their lights. His sword he took and wrapped in heavy cloth, and his apron, tongs, and hammer he hung above the anvil. He closed the door of the forge behind him as he slipped into the Underhalls of the Clan's stronghold. He moved quickly to his room and laid his newest unfinished work on the table near his cot.

Sleep found the dwarven smith only once he had assured himself that none were about to steal his latest prize.

To Bring Home a Trophy
by Sergor Salamandus

The cold mist wets my face as I stare out into the gloom of the early morning. The world awaits the activity of the new day to begin. No sounds escape the almost oppressive silence of the town. No merchant is scurrying through the empty streets in the hope of getting a good spot in the town square. Not even the ragged form of a young street urchin is to be found about, their night’s work of thieving at an end an hour or so ago. All await the rising of the sun before beginning the new day's drudgery.

I sigh as the sun's flame brightens the sky and some pale light enters the town from over the wall, like a fugitive from the insanity of the wilderness. Though my days as an aspiring healer were fulfilling, I sought the adrenaline surge of combat and the glory to be had in returning to town laden with hides of many different beasts. So I carefully went through my inventory to see that I was fully prepared for the day’s events. I made sure that my armor was fitted well to me, that my shield was in good repair, and that my sword was sharp and clean. Then I opened my herb pouch, making sure I had all that I would need to take care of that which my magic could not handle. In my backpack I check on foodstuffs and water as well as some bandages, just in case. Finding myself ready, I girded my self for war or, at least, mayhem.

I walked through the streets in a northerly direction, leaving the Inn behind me. The sounds of a town coming to life begin to flow around me. A father's cursing, a dog's barking, and a child's crying, all reach my ears. I think ahead to the silence of the woods with a longing I did not expect. I suppose I had become so familiar with the cacophony of noise that assails my ears every day that I had forgotten the silence that I had taken for granted in my youth. As I approach the gates, I see others like me. All of us were preparing to enter into the wilds for fun and profit. Some were like me, solitary and removed from the activity around them. Others laughed and joked with friends and companions. None of us knew whether we would be successful in our travails or wind up being dragged back to the town and the ministrations of one like myself. I shook off the cold feeling that accompanied that thought, drew my sword and readied my shield.

As I went through the gates, I realized that the relative safety of the town was denied me and that my survival was in my own hands. With a cautious step and a wary eye, I started down a trail running to the southwest. As I move along the path, I could see the wall of the town on my left. Feeling relatively safe, being this close to town, I picked up the pace. As the town began to fall away to the south, I came to a crossroads. Taking the southwest fork, I warily enter some open grasslands. Before going too far, I spotted a rolton. Though the carnivorous sheep is not a difficult target, I held a personal grudge against them. While still new to the town and very inexperienced, I left the safety of the walls to go foraging for herbs. While kneeling, a rolton sneaked up behind me and began to devour me. Being weak and lightly armored it killed me with one powerful bite to the back of my neck. It ingrained a deep hatred for the beasts in me. With a shout of mingled rage and glee, I charged the foul creature and slew it with but seven mighty swings of my trusty sword. I hoped it was the brother to the cowardly beast that had killed me. Elated with the victory, I did not consider that it had taken me seven swings to kill something more closely related to a sheep than a dragon. So on a high of enthusiasm I set forth to clean the land of all the monsters and unnatural beasts that plagued our fair world.

Still heading in a southerly direction, I entered a part of our small world that I had never seen before. As the road began to bend to the southeast, a large turkey flew right at my face. I was so startled that I fell to the ground instead of taking its head off in one vicious swoop of my sword. After jumping back to my feet, I took a closer look at the bird. It was an eerie hybrid of lizard, rooster, and bat. Though the size of a large turkey, it had the head and body of a rooster, with two bat-like wings and the tail of a lizard tipped with a few feathers. The feathers were a golden brown, its beak yellow, its tail green, and its wings gray. The wattles, combs, and eyes were all bright red. I was facing no mere insane turkey, but instead a cockatrice filled with malice. I decided that the best course of action was a tactical retreat. So I spun about and ran up the trail as fast as my legs would carry me. As the trail turned back to the northeast, I told myself that I couldn't let that one incident spoil my hunting trip. There was plenty of small, ferocious game to be had in the area and all of it couldn't be as bad as something that could turn you into a statue fit to decorate the Temple in a half of a second. Feeling a little better about the incident, I resolved to do better in my next encounter.

After a short hike down the trail, I came upon a bridge. Seeing nothing of note on this side of the expanse, other than that one malicious turkey, I crossed the bridge to find better game. After a sharp bend in the road where it headed back to the west, I began to see bits of cast off armor and clothing. Wondering who would get rid of their armor, all of it better than what I was wearing, I resolved to hide in the brush and see who would come down the path. As soon as I had become settled in the scrubs and undergrowth of the area, I heard a great commotion heading my way. As my curiosity grew to a fevered pitch, a large humanoid creature burst into view. It had gray-green skin and was covered head to toe in coarse hair. It had a slightly stooping posture, a low jutting forehead, and a snout instead of a nose. It had well-developed canine teeth and the small, pointed ears of a wolf. The eyes, though human, had a reddish tint and a maniacal edge of intelligence that glared through. It was wearing some moldy double leather armor and a creased shield. In its right hand it held a flail at the ready.

Seeing a foe that was worthy of my attention, I sprang forth with a war cry erupting from my throat. Surprised by my presence and sudden appearance, the creature dropped its guard. Not wasting an opportunity, I lunged forward, slicing at his abdomen. My headlong charge was my undoing on that assault, as I miss-timed the lunge and it went wide. Now prepared for the presence of an impulsive human, the orc came about to face me. As I prepared for another charge, the orc planted himself to await me. Headless of my own well-being I lumbered toward the large figure, intending to do it bodily harm. With surprising agility, the orc took one well-placed blow with his flail. As my now lifeless body crumpled at its feet, it bounded after my head that it had removed from my shoulders with little effort. As I lay there, my soul still attached to my corpse, I wonder what place Lorminstra would have for such a witless fool as I. I hovered over my body, watching as the orc sat down to roll my head around on the ground. I thought that was an ironic end to my short life. I, who keep such a level head while healing in the central square, would surrender my head to an orc to use as a ball. I did take some measure of comfort in the fact that it would not roll smoothly along the ground, which did annoy the orc somewhat.

As the little time that remained to me in this world seeped slowly by, I heard a startled gasp as two beautiful women enter the scene. They charged the orc as he sat playing with my head, and in one mighty blow did leave a second corpse on the ground. One of the women, whose hair was the color of a sunset, rushed to my side as the other searched the body for anything of worth. With a few powerful incantations and impressive gestures, she reconnected my head with my body. Realizing that she was an empath of remarkable talents, I felt joyous that she had come along when she did. Now I just needed the services of a cleric of equally vaunted skills. As the other woman gained her feet, she also came to examine my body. Never before had I experienced such elation, as when I saw her remove a holy symbol from her person and begin to chant. A blinding bolt of light streaked from the heavens to bathed my body in its glow. I felt my spirit pulled back inside my body and bound firmly in place. Then my lungs filled with the sweet taste of air, a taste that I thought would never again pass my lips. Never before had a blood drenched glade smell so sweet as did that one, at that moment.

I sat up, somewhat dazed and confused. I looked to my saviors and expressed my most heartfelt thanks. Appraising me with a practiced eye, the cleric asked me what someone of my obvious inexperience was doing in the Upper Trollfang and hunting greater orcs. Upon hearing the lame reasons for my hunting trip, she gently but firmly began to scold me in the proper areas it would be safe for me to hunt in. After she finished chiding me, I expressed my desire to remunerate them with coins but that I had none with me. They told me that it was unnecessary to do so, that the only payment she needed was to see me alive and the knowledge that I would follow her advice. I vowed to her that I would live by her gentle guidance and would not become another corpse she would need to pry from the cold grip of death. After expressing my thanks again, I hugged each, bowed deeply to both and gathered up my sword and shield.

Leaving them to their interrupted hunting trip, I fled toward the town. I let nothing slow my pace and kept my guard at the ready. I didn't see the wild turkey that had given me such a fright previously or another sheep with a bad attitude. I did not relax, nor did I slacken my pace until the gates of town appeared before me. I made haste to enter into the safety and the familiarities of town. I stopped only long enough to sheathe my sword and sling my shield before I once again set off. I made my way to the comforts of Helga's Tavern, via the bank, and the brew that would wash the events of the day away. I drank as fast as Helga could pour the ale and as the night progressed, I began to find some solace at the bottom of my cup. Then as a different, but just as insistent, darkness began to swallow me, I found myself grateful for the one trophy that I managed to bring back to town with me...... My head!

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