Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

I shiver in the cold. To my left, I can hear the faint splashing of the amphidons. Vanerak is looking at me patiently, waiting for my reply. I can see in the reflection on his mirror-mask that my beard is white with frost and my skin still redly burned.

“Ask me whatever you wish,” I say. “I will do my best to answer.”

“Do your best?”

“I have only just started to use my powers in full, my Runethane. I do not know every detail of them.”

“Is that so?”

His voice remains cool, but there's some sharpness to it now. Does he not believe me? I can't tell any emotion through his mirror-mask. All I can see in it is my own fear.

“It's true, my Runethane. I swear it on my life. I have only just begun to realize its potential. There are many aspects of it I am unsure about. Probably there are many aspects that I am not aware of even slightly.”

“I see. Of course. After all, if you were able to use the power of runeforging as the Runeforger could, the black dragon would have been as an insect before you.”

“I believe so, my Runethane.”

“Nevertheless, I will hear what you do know. Everything that you know.”

“Yes, my Runethane. I will leave nothing unsaid.”

But I am lying. This power of mine is too great. Cruel Vanerak, this monster with the blood of so many innocents on his hands, and who tried to corrupt the justice of the Runeking himself, cannot gain it. He already has in part, of course, since he has captured me, but if he were to somehow become able to use it for himself...

The consequences do not bear thinking about. The merest of them would be the death of me and the other prisoners. We would no longer be needed.

“Then I will begin with a simple question,” says Vanerak. “What is the first rune you created?”

“It was similar to the rune for halat in the Jalrat Fourth script, except at the top corner the line extended both ways instead of out to the right only.”

“Ah, I remember. Your guildmaster featured it on his axe.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Now tell me how you made that rune.”

“At the time, I didn't even realize I had. It just came out that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just thought I was writing halat in Jalrat Fourth. I didn't know that what I made was new.”

He is silent for a few moments. I swallow. My guts feel like they've turned to stone.

“Is that truly so?” he says in a voice now like cold death.

“Yes!” I blurt. “I am not hiding anything from you, my Runethane. At first I didn't even know I was creating new runes.”

“When did you realize they were different?”

“Wharoth told me. But at first I didn't believe him.”

“When did you understand that he was telling the truth?”

“I came round to the idea after you started taking an interest in me.”

“And after you accepted that you had this power, how did you learn to control it?”

“I... Through trial and error. Bit by bit.”

“Explain.”

“I discovered that if I allowed my mind to fall into a kind of... I don't know, a trance? A trance—while I shaped the runes, then they would alter.”

“Alter how?”

“A changed line here or there, to make them fit better into the kind of poem I wanted. Sometimes the changes were drastic, sometimes not. I didn't have much control.”

“Interesting. Did it feel like something was working through you?”

“Something?”

“A spirit. A demon—they exist, you know. You may soon face some.”

“I don't think it was a demon, no. I wasn't in control, but I don't think I was being controlled either.”

Am I lying to him here? If so, am I lying on purpose or because I don't want to admit to myself that maybe I am being controlled? Is something in the sphere, perhaps, controlling me? That's a thought I've only rarely dared to think.

“I see,” says Vanerak. “Since then, have you gained control?”

“I have.”

“Explain further.”

“During the trial, when I was forging my shield—the one with runes of light—I had a vision of being deep in the magma ocean. I drew power from there.”

“Tell me in depth of this vision. From start to finish.”

I hesitate for the briefest moment. Shit! Did he notice that? I cannot tell through his mirror-mask.

“I suddenly felt myself sinking,” I say. “As if the floor turned to lava beneath me. The sinking increased until I was immersed in dull red. The red grew brighter, to orange, then to yellow. I felt hot, as if I was burning, yet I didn't feel any pain either.”

“You felt as if you were burning, yet also felt no pain?”

“Yes. It's a contradiction, I know, but I can't explain it any other way.”

“Did you then move back up through the magma? Or did you sink past it?”

The sphere is key. I cannot make any mention of it.

“The magma turned white around me and I felt the hottest yet. Then I was back in the arena, and the poems were there in front of me—my greatest work yet. My hands were bleeding—maybe you saw.”

Is that truly how it happened? It's been so long, and it is hard to think properly in front of a dwarf as powerful and cruel as Vanerak.

“I did see," says Vanerak. "You seemed fully concentrated while you worked, yet you imply you have no memory of creating what you did.”

“At that time I didn't.”

“It sounds as if you lost control, rather than gained it.”

“I had no control then. After the trial though, whenever it came time to twist my poems, I tried to get back into the magma sea. It was difficult at first, but the more I practiced, the more easily the vision came again.”

“Always the same vision?”

“Yes, exactly the same.”

“Go on.”

“After seeing the vision, I would be able to improve my poems with a bit more control. For example, on the haft of my weapon here.”

I hold up Gutspiercer. I feel only a faint tremor from it—the dragon's hot blood has warped its runes somewhat. To my estimation its power has been lessened by more than half. It's only a little hard to let go of when Vanerak takes it from me. He turns it around a few times.

“A fair attempt at a poem,” he says. “If a little sparse and short. I see that the runes are mostly Volot script, with alterations, yet the runes on your armor, where I can see them, are of no script I've ever learned. Did you make the weapon and armor differently?”

“I made my own script for the armor.”

“A full script?”

“Yes.”

“When we come to my realm, you will write it down for me.”

“Yes, my Runethane.”

“How did you make this script?”

“I wanted poems of ice, so I bought some ice and tried to... I can't explain well. Experience it. Understand it. I touched it, broke it, tasted it, watched it melt. I tried to understand what ice is and I reflected on how its properties could be used in armor.”

“Then you made runes to reflect those properties. How?”

“The shapes just... Appeared to me. Ones that seemed right. Then when it came to turn them into metal, I made myself fall into the magma sea again, and then when I was out, I made the runes, and they worked. They had power.”

“You did not calculate the shapes? What runic flow they would have?”

“No, nothing like that. They just seemed right to me.”

“But you had control over what you wrote this time?”

“Mostly.”

“So there was an aspect you had no control over?”

“When I made my helmet, I didn't draft the poems and runes first. I just went straight into twisting the metal. That time ended up similar to before—I didn't have total control over what I was writing.”

“And the result? Was your helmet better or worse than the rest of your armor? It is hard to tell now.”

“It was superior.”

“Would you say that you forge better when you have no control?”

“I... No, I wouldn't say that. My crafts become dangerous when I do that.”

“Dangerous?”

“When I created my amulet of unaging I was fully unconscious of what I was writing. I am now unable to remove it. Though, I am thankful that it saved my life.”

"It saved your life?"

"When we battled the humans, I was struck by a wizard's spell. It stopped my heart. Then my amulet restarted it."

“A truly potent craft. When did you make it?”

“At the tail-end of my time in the Fort Against the Deep Darkness.”

“So before you had the vision.”

“Yes. I don't know why it ended up so powerful.”

“It is one of many mysteries that must be unlocked. You will make a copy of your amulet's runes for me as well.”

“Yes, my Runethane.”

"I have one more question tonight for you: what did you discuss with Runeking Ulrike?”

How does he know I had a meeting with him? Was I being watched? Undoubtedly.

“He asked me about my runes, just like you are doing.”

“What about them in particular?”

“About how I made them. I told him about my vision.”

“What were his thoughts on it?”

“He seemed oddly disinterested. Then he told me that my runes were just alterations, and not true runeforging.”

“He was crafting while he talked to you, was he?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“If he had focused better, he would never have let you leave the foundry-palace. But he is ever distracted. I imagine his Eyes do not help much with that either.”

Vanerak sounds faintly amused.

“I suppose you have met him as well,” I say.

“I have. But what we have discussed does not concern you.”

“Of course, my Runethane.”

“You seem tired. We will finish now.”

“Thank you, my Runethane.”

“Over the coming journey, we will have many talks like this. And after the journey too, when my schedule permits it—and I will make room.”

“I've told you all I know.”

“You've told me all you think you know. But I believe we can come to understand more, if we work together.”

“I am humbled by your attention, my Runethane.”

“Goodnight now, Zathar Runeforger. Rest well. We have many more hard marches ahead of us.”