Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

The city in which I have spent every day of my life, so far as us dwarves measure life in days, sits at the center of the yawning cavern of Hzhakmar, surrounded on all sides by stalagmite forests inside which dwell creatures from nightmare. At the east and west of the city stand two mountains fully as tall as any you might find on the surface—not that any miner ever gets to see the surface.

Carved into the east mountain is the palace of Runethane Broderick. Atop the west stands the castle-tower of his rival, Runethane Thanerzak. A ravine down the middle of the cavern divides their territories.

The merchant district of Broderick's domain runs along a full quarter of the central ravine's length, and is a jumble of thoroughfares and alleyways over which tower stores selling everything a dwarf might want, though maybe not afford. I have only been on breakdays before, and so the quiet and the shuttered shop windows and doors unnerves me a little.

But I know there is one section open today. It’s open every day. Forge supplies.

It's its own little district within the district, cut off from the rest by great black fireproof walls, right adjacent to the chasm. Runeknights of all stations have their business here but very rarely anyone else. Both the stifling heat and creeping sense I am unwelcome oppress me.

I wipe sweat from my brow and tentatively step through the obsidian entrance arch. A few runeknights are lounging outside a reagent shop a little way down the street. I daren't go there—best stick to the shops near the entrance. Those are the only places that will sell to someone lower even than an initiate.

I enter a shop with the runes for tool, zhakthaz, over the entrance. Even in here is more luxury than I've ever encountered. The floor is polished obsidian tiles, the chairs have cushions, and the display-cases for the wares are unclouded glass. In them are chisels, hammers, tongs, vices, mallets—there’s even an anvil set with a copper rune of fire. On the wall hang salamander skin gloves, boots, and aprons.

For the moment I am awestruck, and gaze open-mouthed at one tool then another.

“Can I help you, young man?”

I jump a little then turn to the shop assistant. She smiles at me sweetly.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh, ah, yes, actually.”

“I’m sure we have what you’re looking for. What are you looking to forge? An axe is a popular first project.”

She’s pegged that I’m not even an initiate yet. Well, that’s pretty obvious.

“I just need a hammer and tongs. I’m sure I can find them myself...”

She’s already picked a hammer out and is handing it to me. Its handle is patterned and the iron of its head glimmers in wavy patterns.

“This model is very popular,” she says.

I take it and weigh it in my hand. The weight feels good, and it’s incredible to hold something in my hand that isn’t a pick, but I can’t help but feel it’s a little fancy looking.

“I’m looking for something a bit more... Worksdwarf like. And I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Certainly.” She smiles sweetly again, is already handing me another one. “This is a more beginner model.”

I heft it. The handle is a bit long for me, but it hasn’t got any fancy carvings, and I still keep flicking my eyes to the door, terrified that an angry runeknight guard is going to burst in and drag me away to the dungeons.

“I’ll take it.”

“Excellent! A decisive young dwarf, aren’t you?” She smiles again. She’s very pretty, and blonde. I bet she handles all the young male dwarves who come in to buy their first tools. “That’ll be three silver pieces, and one for these tongs. They’re a set.”

I lay four silvers out on the counter, which she’s led me to without me realizing it.

“But everything is half off if you get the salamander skin gloves and apron to go with them. Would you like the blue, the green, or the red?”

“I, uh, I just want the hammer and tongs.”

“Oh, I didn't realize you already had salamander skin gloves and an apron.”

“Not as such, but I’ll just take the hammer and tongs, thanks.”

She gives me a small, cute, apologetic smile. “You can’t forge without protection, young dwarf. Not if you want to keep the skin on your fingers intact.”

“Look, I just want the hammer and tongs. I’m in a bit of a hurry too.”

“You can’t hurry if you want to be a runeknight. Runethane Broderick has spent the last ten years on one axe, they say.”

“Look, that may be so, but... Fine, I’ll take everything. How much is the total?”

“That comes to six silver pieces.”

“How about five? Six would be everything I have...”

“Were you going to use the last one for runes? Copper works just as well, you know. I have some discs under the counter, just half a silver for five of them.”

“Never mind. I’ll find something else for the rune.” I lay out my last two silver pieces.

“Very good.” She smiles and sweeps them away. “Let me wrap everything up for you.”

With deft hands she bundles up the apron, hammer and tongs and places them into a convenient linen bag. I thank her, take it, and hurry out the shop.

Now, where in hell am I going to go next? I’d had it in mind to leave the city through a tunnel and find my way to a cave with a convenient pool of magma, but the more I consider this plan, the more poorly thought out I find it to be. Even if I do manage to find a cave that isn’t home to some kind of horrible beast, what am I going to forge my runes with now I've thrown away my last silver? I can’t expect there to be a convenient gold nugget lying next a stalagmite, can I?

Freedom has turned out to be harder than expected. I dreamed a great deal about escaping my miserable life, but planned too little about how to start my new one.

At any rate, I best hurry out of here. If Hardrick told the runeknights in charge of supervising us—not that they ever bother to do much supervising—about the incandesite, they’ll know exactly where I’ve headed.

Shit, I really ought to have hidden out somewhere for a few days first to shake the trail... Then again, if I’d done that, an alert might have been put out about my escape, and I’d never have been able to purchase anything.

Stop thinking, stop thinking. Stop wasting time. I need to get away from here.

I hurry down an ordinary shopping street, bag swinging as I walk. I take some deep breaths and slow my pace so I don’t appear suspicious. A dirty miner hurrying in a panic is likely to bring the runes for ‘thief’ into anyone’s mind.

Where to go, where to go? I can find no clear answer to this question. If the alert is raised about a miner thief on the loose, no one will let me rent a forge either—and of course, I remember, I don’t even have the silver to rent one with.

Caves it must be. A gamble, but everything has been a gamble. How to get to one? Descend into the chasm and hope dearly no beasts catch my scent. Where’s the nearest stairs into the chasm? A couple of miles from here, probably.

I continue to walk. The handle of my little linen bag is already damp from nervous sweat. Every footstep I hear makes me jump a little, glance back. No one looks to be after me though: all I can see is just ordinary dwarves going about their business.

Apart from two runeknights walking a few hundred feet behind me, one in gold and one in armor of some darker metal. Both have their helmets on so I can’t see their faces, yet the shape of their equipment does seem slightly familiar.

I quicken my pace, then slow it. There’s plenty of reasons runeknights might be walking along this road, I reassure myself. To enjoy the view, maybe, for by now I’ve made my way onto the street running along the side of the chasm. Only a short fence of iron divides civilization from drop. Or maybe they’re just walking to their next job, on their way down to the chasm themselves perhaps, with far more important things on their mind than miners and petty thievery.

Every time I look back, they’re a little closer. My heart thuds loudly in my ears. My breath catches in my chest. I recognize that armor—these two have supervised my group of miners before. The golden plate has runes of speed, and the dark metal of the other’s is lead. They must have arrived after I left the shop and spotted me just as I was starting to hurry away.

I pick up the pace. No use feigning innocence if they’ve already found me. My bag swings violently, its heavy contents pulling me off balance, so I clutch it tight to my chest. I begin to sprint.

Footsteps, blisteringly rapid, echo up the street toward me. I’m already tiring but I try to increase my pace anyway; it’s hopeless. A quick glance back shows that the runeknight in gold is already gaining on me, and the one in lead is somehow not far behind. Apart from them, the street is deserted.

The runeknight in gold grabs me by the shoulder. The sudden deceleration sends me tumbling over, rolling; I stumble awkwardly up—and he’s right in front of me. His eyes, the color of ice, look into mine.

“Slow it down, miner. Why are you running from us?”

“I’m... I mean... I’m just in a hurry, that’s all.”

“A hurry to get away from us?”

“No!”

He crosses his arms. The filigree of platinum runes of speed on his armor is very fine, exquisite even, and the axe hanging from a loop on his belt looks sharp enough to cut through steel, skin, flesh and bone in one single easy blow. It goes without saying that I do not stand a chance against him.

“Why then?” asks his lead-clad friend, catching up. His armor doesn’t seem to weigh him down nearly as much as it should.

I’m in too much of a panic to think up a plausible excuse.

“I’m looking for a forge. There’s no problem with that, is there? Anyone’s allowed to forge and apply at a guild. Even miners.”

This is true.

“Even miners?” says Lead. “You sure about that?”

“No, no,” says Gold, but there’s cruelty in his voice. “He’s right. Even miners are allowed, provided they have the tools.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Tools that aren’t stolen.”

“These aren’t stolen!” I stop clutching the linen bag so tightly to my chest. “I bought them with my wages. You can ask at the shop.”

“Which shop?”

“I... I don’t know it’s name. The smaller one, right at the entrance to the forging district.”

“Oh, yes. I know the one you mean. Still, if you’re going to forge you need the materials also. Metal. And reagent.”

“The latter’s a bit out of reach for miners, wouldn’t you say?” says Lead. “Maybe if you saved up ten year’s wages, but you don’t look like you’ve been working for that long.”

“I had enough for some,” I say.

I feel like vomiting. I’ve only once been this scared—the morning my brother died.

“Why’s there blood on your shirt?” Gold asks, suddenly changing the topic.

I look down and see a few spots on my sleeve. “I cut myself,” I lie. “A sharp bit of rock flew at me.”

“So it’s your blood then?”

“Yes.”

Gold turns to his friend. “What do you say? Think he’s above suspicion?”

Lead laughs loudly. “No. Guilty as charged. Fits the description perfectly too.”

There’s nothing else for it: I spin around and run. Less than a second later I’m once again spinning, rolling, and this time feeling a terrible pain in my kidneys. Coughing and retching, I try to stagger to my feet, but the runeknight in gold kicks me in the chest and sends me flying back a good fifteen feet. I land hard.

“Leave me alone,” I groan. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Thieving is a crime,” says the runeknight in lead. “Crime is wrong.”

“I haven’t stolen anything!”

"You stole reagent from the Runethane. You are meant to declare such finds."

"I never stole anything! It's mine! I found it, then Hardrick tried to steal it! It's him you should be after, not me!"

I grab the hammer out my linen bag, stand up and face off against them. Neither bother to attack me; they just laugh.

"So Hardrick is his name, is it? Seems to me that he was just trying to make sure the Runethane got his due."

“Get away from me!” I scream.

"Give up your find," orders the runeknight in gold.

I back away further, and feel the back of my thigh touch something cold and hard: the iron fence dividing street from chasm. The runeknight in gold advances. His movements are nonchalant and unhurried, yet even so his limbs blur as his runes of speed shimmer. He takes up his axe and spins it. The head becomes like a solid circle, the outer edge of a wheel, so fast does it move.

“Last chance,” he warns. “Give it up, or we’ll chop you to bits and take it from your corpse.”

“I’m not giving anything up! I earned this. Thieves! You’re both as bad as Hardrick, both of you!”

“Comparing us to a miner now?” sneers Lead. “No one ever taught you not to insult your betters, did they?”

“Very rude,” Gold agrees. “New deal: if you don’t give it to us, we’ll break your bones, take it from you anyway, then dump you in a vat of molten iron. How does that sound?”

“Scary!” Lead laughs.

I hesitate. Maybe I should just give it to him and cut my losses. Then I can explain to my other supervisors, the more responsible ones, what exactly happened with Hardrick. I’ll be punished for thievery, but not attempted murder. Maybe one day I can find another piece of incandesite, and this time report it, and use the gold and tiny sliver of material I get for it to begin my journey.

“Come on, hand it over,” says Gold, softening his tone. “I don’t really want to chop you, you know. I might get fined. I am meant to be in charge of you lot, after all.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes! Murder is a crime. Even if it’s just a miner. Come on now, young dwarf. Where are you hiding it, ay?”

“If I hand it over, you’ll let me live?”

“Yes. That’s what I just said, isn’t it? Come on now. Which pocket is it hiding in? Take it out.”

He reaches out his left hand, palm up, and raises his axe high in his right.

I don’t believe him. The moment I hand over the incandesite, my head comes off. So now I have a choice to make. Death by axe, or death by chasm.

Easy choice to make. I’m not going to hand anything over to scum like this.

I throw myself backward—his axe cleaves the air where I just stood, clangs into the iron fence, but though his weapon is fast his reaction was too slow—didn't think a miner could have this kind of courage—and I’m already out of reach, falling fast into the blackness of the chasm.