0 comments/ 4279 views/ 1 favorites Snow of Steel, Rain of Blood Ch. 01 By: philosopherwarrior Chapter 1 "The Children of War" He stood in the doorway; the unruly, raven mane barely cleared the frame and flowed down between his shoulders. A half done attempt to hold it back with a leather strap threatened to tear loose and give in to the midnight wave of his curly locks. A giant's hand, rough and gnarled from year's of hard labor swatted back the long bangs, revealing emerald eyes bordered by thick heavy brows. A nose protruded from his face, crooked and broken, its slight downward hook added a grimmer edge to the hard lined mouth. An old scar pulled up the left corner of his lips, giving the eerie visage of a perpetual snarl. Broad, axe handle shoulders showed from under the dirt darkened traveling cloak, that no amount of washing could ever reveal its original red merlot coloring. The shoulders lead to gorilla arms, ending in gargantuan ham sized fists with knuckles sunken from countless half remembered fights. This massive frame was in turn supported by tree trunk legs established on enormous feet, wrapped in broken, travel stained boots. "My name is of no consequence, good master," The stranger responded to the innkeeper's timid questioning. The behemoth's voice rumbled like a landslide in the northern mountains, cutting through the crowded inn. "I merely want a room." Like his voice drew everyone's ears, the glint of gold from his purse drew everyone's eyes, following the coin's glinting arc through the air, until the innkeeper's pale pudgy hand stopped it's descent like a sparrow hawk and hid the coin inside one of his many pockets. "Of course good sir, of course. Only the finest sir, right this way." The innkeeper quickly turned away from the newcomer, shaking his head slightly to rid himself of the chills those hard cold eyes caused. The innkeeper quickly waddled out from behind his bar, eager to get this unsettling man out of the common room and up to his room for the night. As he swept by one of his regular patrons, the town drunk, the man stuck out his arm, beseeching his host for yet another ale. The traveler cleared his throat loudly, reminding the innkeeper of his duties and the two make their way past the now rudely ignored patron. The man drunkenly yelled, "Now who do you t'ink you are, eh? Gettin' old Marun 'ere to brush me off? You bette' buy me a drink before I decide to cutchu open." Even the mice stopped moving as the air thickened with murderous intent. The stranger slowly turned on the drunkard, and steely gaze met with watery eyes – daring him to follow through. Quicker than thought was the glint of steel flashing through the air, and the stranger casually leaned away from each wild slash, not even trying to defend himself. Finally, as if bored, his right hand darted up, catching the flailing blade in his fist. The entire room froze as they watched the knife fighter tug futilely, trying to draw his dagger out of the mountain man's grasp. A sharp crack sent the bar crowd running for the door and as the stranger opened his burly grip to walk away, the man's broken blade dropped into the dirt. "My room innkeeper. And a platter of whatever your freshest meat is." The traveler sedately took the stairs to his room, listening to the innkeeper rush into the kitchen, and the drunk mumble over his tankard and knife hilt. "The finest steel in Carned, snapped like a shren bone..." ******************** Drerin Rockarmour asil Huron Steelfist asil Jorgun the Wise forced himself to his feet, cursing Marendaw and Blaywer and every other god he could think of for the steadily falling snow. Shaking himself free of the snow drift, the gargantuan dwarf flexed and twisted, making sure his minsel ring coat wasn't frozen together, and that the massive plate armor over it still moved with him. With a groan of frustration, Drerin grabbed the steelwood haft of his battle spear, checked the harnesses of his other weapons, and began forging his way through the mounting snow, concentrating his desires on the faint lights of what he hoped was humanity. ******************** Furen locked the frail little door behind him listening closely to the muffled sounds from the tavern. he nodded to himself and muttered a few words while he began stripping off his cloak and boots. With a few more mumbled curses, the hulking man quickly took off the remainder of his outer clothing, revealing his burnished, rune covered armor to the solitary candle on the mantle. "For a drunk, that man had better reflexes than most. And good steel too... At this rate I'm going to have to visit the smithies in Hagabor earlier than I thought." The warrior continued mumbling to himself as he piece by piece removed the mystical armor, lightly buffing the minsel plates and rings with a soft rag and rubbing some strange tincture into the leather bits of his armor. After he was finished preening his armor, he slid his blade out of it's sheath, the whisper of sound reminding him of the inane ramblings of Darfug, the old god of Death. He quickly checked it's sharpness and made sure there were no rust stains on it. Furen knelt before the fire which suddenly leapt in the hearth, and placed his ancient blade across his knees. Placing both his hands on the flat of the blade, he began rocking back and forth, whispering a dirge as old as time, his face lit in the steady pulsing of power from the steel itself. Margun, Jakred, Yutdaw Ancestors, Warriors, DeiShun Listen to a follower A man of your sacred path Suglop, Ferdil, Wergbin Instill this blade With your awesome strength Give us your power Margun, Jakred, Yutdaw Suglop, Ferdil, Werbin I am of you We are your children Through us let the Drahen flourish Furen's final words caused the blade to flare brighter than the fire, absorbing the flames themselves. In the following darkness, Furen sheathed the mysterious blade slowly, almost as if he feared hiding its inner strength. As the blade slipped gently into its sheath the man breathed a sigh of relief, and reverently laid to tool of destruction on his armor, then covered the lot with his old cloak. He strode out of his room, and nearly ran over the fat innkeeper on his way to the dining room in the tavern. "I want my food served down here, and whatever furl piss you call wine in this godsforsaken pit." The innkeeper merely bobbed his head, almost running down the stairs to keep up. The uproarious laughter floating out of the common room pulled at half forgotten memories in Furen's mind, directing him to a crowded corner of the room. The crowd parted without even knowing, allowing Furen's massive bulk through easily, and revealing a newly relinquished seat at the rough planed table. Furen's chair groaned in angry protest as he settled into it, it's shaking legs firming up finally after Furen adjusted himself with some curses. "So wha' half we 'ere then? A muntai'n man by te look of ye. And do ye half a name then ye boulder wit' feet?" Drerin's rough speech in the merchant tongue earned him as many guffaws as his playful gibes earned Furen, but all laughter ceased when the mountain man grunted a swift stream of some guttural language across at the dwarf. Drerin's eyes lit up at hearing his native language, and he swiftly stood upon his chair and issued a rather curious bow and salute replying "Dre nuc refintha bau ithyer jalok." I am sorry DeiShun, I was jesting. Furen nodded amiably to his companion, waving his hand in a sign of dismissal, and the Dwarf returned to his seat, soberly regarding the man across from him. "Ah am Drerin Rockarmour asil Huron Steelfist asil Jorgun the Wise, Goreya DeiFil to the fallen Goreya DeiShun Fogrin Thunderfoot asil -" "Drerin, Fogrin is dead. He doesn't care if you don't give him his titles." "Ah, then ye nevah knewe ma DeiShun. 'E was a shtickle' fur te roules 'e was." "And he was more drunk than sober. I knew Fogrin, even fought beside him when I was a DeiFil to my master, Loth Rinsar. We slew many a Ocgren and fery that day, and the old dwarven bastard helped my master drink the camp dry afterwards too." "If you are Loth Rinsar's pupil as you say, then you must be Furen Sindaro Teleri, Drahen DeiShun and the Bane of Soocraj." Drerin spoke, reverting to Dwarven, "I am truly honored to meet such a mighty warrior." "Thank you Drerin Rockarmour, I am honored. Now, if your master is about, I would like to dice against him, and make some inquiries as to the state of the paths to Hagabor." The sudden changes in Drerin's face were almost imperceptible; the Dwarf's granite features giving away few hints. Furen caught the last look though, and he had his small boot knife in his hand before he thought of it. Furen relaxed his grip on the blade, setting it on the table in plain view, as he watched Drerin flex and stretch himself, working out the sudden emotions that had flooded his system. "Be not so quick to attack me DeiShun," Drerin whispered in Dwarven, "I may still be DeiFil, but I am Goreya DeiFil and of a noble line. Your blade would have a tough time piercing my flesh, let alone my armor. Let us take this somewhere else, for I fear the story I tell will make me water my beard, and I wouldn't want innocents to die for seeing such a forbidden sight." Snow of Steel, Rain of Blood Ch. 02 Chapter 2, "Hunter and Prey" Once the two men had been resettled in the private dining room by the kitchen, and Furen had succeeded in convincing the innkeeper to deliver their meals there, the mountain man waved his hand at Drerin - telling the Dwarf to get on with his story. "Ah t'ink I'll call ye bouldah. How's t'at sound to ye, eh? Ah'll call ye Rulm, ye got the same emotions as one." "Get on with it Dwarf, before I decide you'll be worth more for target practice than companionship." "Ach, fine fine. In mah tongue if'n ye don' miend. Well, it was spring it was, an early spring at that. Fogrin had been telling me that I was ready, he was bringing me to Hagabor for my final testing to reach DeiShun. I had claimed my ten weapons and more besides that, and Fogrin complained everyday because I was correcting him more and more on tactics and history. We set out, crossing the open plains at night, Fogrin had developed this idea someone was out to kill him - and we were within sight of the smoke plumes of Hagabor's largest furnaces when we heard the gorbu sound. I managed to talk some sparrows into scouting for us as we ran for the Gleaming Walls, but it was to no avail. My little friends told me there were three packs of Ocgren tracking us, and that we had no hope of reaching our shining nest. I told Fogrin as we were sprinting, gasping it out between breaths. I remember thinking that for a dwarf pushing 200 winters he was faster than a young flen. Fogrin stopped running and began laying out his weapons, speaking to them like old lovers, telling them of the pleasure they would be taking shortly. I stopped and prepared as well, silently praying to Blaywer and my ancestors, telling them to hold old death from visiting me just yet. We had enough time to secure ourselves, before they were on us. three waes tall, and two wide, they swung the axes of their lokj clan, the sworn enemies of my family. I felt my ancestors power within me, and my tools danced like never before. Those Ocgren though, their eyes sparkled with a magik fire, and one by one my tools failed me, snapping and breaking in my defence, sacrificing themselves to save me. One shren Ocgren, scared to attempt me from the front like a true warrior, came at my behind, hoping to pentrate my arcing blades. I saw a sight that shall forever remain in my mind. Fogrin exploded out of the center of an Ocgren chieftan, seeming every inch the ancient War god Keldaq, and suddenly I saw his weapons, sacred Mulga's Hammers. Gunsre in his left hand flew outward, smashing the head of that cowardly shren into so much pulp, even as Liptfiw bit deeply into another's side. This mortal wound unfortunately didn't pause the demon's poisoned sickle from crashing through Fogrin's worn neck shield, and even with the minsel coat couldn't prevent the slight gash my lord suffered. " Drerin was forced to stop, the silent tears paying homage to his teacher and second father were carving trenches in his stone cheeks. Furen took this moment to give the warrior time to collect himself, and strode to the kitchen to find out what was taking his food so long. "I expected my meal at least a vut ago, it's been almost a vutcer, how long does it take to burn some meat and sdet in this gods forsaken hole?" "I'm sorry lord, but there was a disruption in the common room, some men came in demanding me to turn out my guests for inspection... Your food is ready now DeiShun, if you please, I will follow you to the dining room for you and your guest to dine..." "Very well. Deliver the food and leave. Let me know if those men return though, I would like warning if I'm to be thrown out." Furen quietly reentered the dining room, quickly glancing into the corners, making sure he and Drerin were the only ones in the room. "Continue your story Drerin, quickly though. I feel the innkeeper is not honest and is trying to cause one of us a world of pain." "That is understandable, since I left Hagabor I have had nothing but dangers and hardships face me. To continue my tale though, Fogrin and I made quick work of the remaining Ocgren after that and quickly gathered the remains of our weaponry, attaching those that were still devoid of cracks and pits once more into their harnesses, and leaving the others to rest in the field with their laurels - the scattered dead bodies of our enemies. Fogrin was quick to hide Mulga's Hammers, and forced me to swear by my grandfather Jorgun the Wise never to speak of seeing them in his possession. We applied a quick poultice to the wound in my DeiShun's shoulder, and resumed our run to Hagabor's shining walls, hoping to find rest before the sky forge. That night, before we slept, I changed the bandage on my lord's shoulder, only to find the wound was red and oozing puss already. I told Fogrin but he insisted we wait until the morning. Alas, morning came and Fogrin was too sick to rise, ay, almost too sick to even speak. His last wish was I take as many of his armament as I could, and flee Hagabor, to run as far as my feet would take me, in no particular direction. That is how I have Fogrin's weapons, and the Mulga Hammers, and why I am not yet DeiShun. It is not meant to be, for without my master to vouch for my training, I have nothing but the word of an outcast DeiFil, who allowed his master to die." Furen opened his mouth to speak to the now silent dwarf, but his words died in his mouth at a sudden pounding on the door. The back of Furen's brain noticed that Drerin had his weapons in his hands almost as fast as he himself had, but the DeiShun was too caught up in focusing his being on the door to let the wayward thoughts surface. Some barely observed hand signals passed between the two, quickly laying out a plan of attack and surprise for who ever was trying to enter. With Drerin positioned in a blind spot created by the opening door, Furen swung the latch and stout oak wide, dragging the limp and frightened innkeeper into the room, sending him and the covered platters to the floor in his need to check the hallway. "What are you doing!" "I... ah, you said - .. You said you wanted your food as soon as possible so I thought.." "Silence. You've brought the food. You can go now. Announce yourself next time." Furen was unsure if his last order had penetrated the addled brain of the innkeeper as he fled the room, but those thoughts fluttered away as inconsequental when Drerin removed the covers of the platters. The scents alone sparked older, happier memories in the hardened man but when the steam cleared and revealed stacks of shren legs, filets of lightly breaded qaw fish, even spicy strips of mehfit with sdet and vegetable wraps he hurried to the table side to join the voracious dwarf. Halfway through the second platter of the seasoned qaw, both heard the door start swinging open, but the only reaction that came from them was Drerin growling around a mouth stuffed with the fish, "'bout time ye brawt us som' wine". The first sound from the door caused both fighters to spin towards it, drawing their weapons in the same motion. It wasn't until afterwards that they comprehended the noise was that of the spitted innkeeper slumping against the doorframe as the Teghei blade glided out of his throat. "Assassins." Furen growled half a vu after Drerin leapt forward with a cry, his claws materializing in his hands in time for the double slash that took the killer's head from his shoulders. "Next time, leave enough of him to speak DeiFil. We don't know who they're after." Furen's warblade whispered out of his sheath, still containing that strange inner fire from it's blessing, as he cautiously walked toward the door and his companion. Drerin eyed the long sword whispering sarcastically "That thing is as long as I am tall. Good luck fighting with it. My battle claws or even my deijufkre will claim more than that thing." Noting Furen's look at the strange word, Drerin shook his gauntlets "My war gloves. Indestructible and I can knock a centoak down with three blows. I don't recommend trying me in hand to hand," the Dwarf whispered with a dark grin. "Fine then. We'll see how many we each get, and the loser pays for the next inn." With this final agreement, the two men snuck into the hall and parted ways. Furen made his way quickly down through the hallway, glancing ocassionaly into the rooms on each side, relying more on his well honed instincts to alert him to danger as he stalked the silent assassins. A slight twinge made him quickly turn into a room on his left, kicking the door asunder in a powerful motion as he surveyed the sparse quarters. His blade came to his defense almost of it's own volition, blocking the hand spurs flashing silently towards his right eye. The sparks illuminated the darkened room, shocking Furen by revealing the four assassins besides the one entangled in his sword. With a quick wrist movement he sent the GeiShun spinning away without his hand, and backed away into the hall, desperately trying to use the door as a natural chokepoint for the men charging him. Thoughts skittered outside the fighting void in Furen's mind, shock at the emotionless reaction of the man who lost his hand, as well as the dead silence the fighters maintained in their swift movements to attack. Shock managed to crack that well formed void in Furen's mind when suddenly two of the Teghei effortlessly sliced their ways through the walls on each side of the door, destroying his try at a tactical advantage. A sigh of resignation passed Furen's lips, and with a quick hand gesture it suddenly ignited. The very air he blew from his lungs turned into jets of flame, turning the entire room infront of him into a grotesque type of pyre. The sole remaining Teghei stood still, horrified by the power Furen possessed. "You think five of you is enough to stop the Flame Drahen? The Bane of Soocraj? I left no two stones on each other. And you think five mere Teghei DeiFil assassins can stop me?" "There are more than five of us," the Teghei Deifil whispered to Furen, "There are ten DeiFil to each DeiShun. I am surprised Master Lujgeh didn't kill you first." With a groan of exasperation Furen nonchalantly backhanded the DeiFil with his sword, leaving the split body to collapse on the floor as he stalked towards the stairs, hearing the signs of battle from the common room and fearing he might have to pay for the rooms. The Drahen reached the bottom step of the stairs in time to survey the utter carnage represented in the common room. Swathes of death had been carved from every conceivable opening to the outside, easily marking the paths of the Teghei as they cut their way through the patrons some of whom hadn't even had time to look up from their meals. One dead body was still clutching a dice cup, even with the dagger obviously protruding out of his left eye. A sudden commotion from the kitchen had Furen spinning on the balls of his feet, prepared for anything. The last thing he expected was the ragdoll looking body of - presumably - the last Teghei DeiFil come exploding out of a wall, leaving Drerin visible on the other side with his hands cocked like some common pugilist - though any combat veteran would know that the dwarf's entire body was a weapon by the way he stood, not just his gauntleted hands. "I smell fire. What happened?" "Ah Drerin, beautiful jab. Oh, I knocked over a candle and some of the assassins burnt to death upstairs. I think it's still burning." "A candle eh? I have my doubts about that Drahen. I've heard rumors of Soocraj. But either way, if no steel touched them they count not for your tally. How many others were yours? That piece of furl droppings was my sixth, including that one in the dining room. The fourth one claimed my claws, mores the pity." "Six? Then that is the full tally. I fear I must buy our rooms at the next inn on our way to Hagabor. Let us leave this abattoir and let the fire lord take his fill. My horse is in the stable, let's go." The stable unfortunately was just as lifeless as the common room in the inn. It seemed the assassins either reveled in bloodshed or were adamant about allowing no witnesses. With another groan of exasperation, Furen grabbed what he could for bed coverings from the tack boxes, and watched as the oversized dwarf darted through the kitchen's backdoor, sumarily bursting out again with every open weapon strap on his harness stuffed with every portable food he could grab - as well as four empty water bladders. "Alright then, let's get ourselves moving Drahen, we've got three days' hard marching ahead of us, if you can keep pace with a dwarf ." Chapter 3, "To walk and talk" Snow of Steel, Rain of Blood Ch. 03 Chapter 3, "To walk and talk" The second day of the march dawned steamy and wet, the fiery orb glaring on the Marwerl steppes, illuminating the two warriors as they were settling for their second resting of the day. As Drerin went through his customary stretches preparing for their three vutcer training session which was the sole reason for the stop in the march, Furen idly dropped his pack, examining his road worn map, marking off the sedil they had already traveled. "We should work from far to near on this break Drerin, the next break will be a test for you. If we skip the final break tonight, we'll reach the glowing city of Hagabor." "Alright then DeiShun, let's get started then; You and your fire and sword versus myself and my deikin. We'll decide the rest when we get there." As soon as the last words had left Drerin's lips, he was rolling across the dry grass, clutching his battle spear and grimly dodging the viper quick blade in Furen's hand. Regardless of the four other training sessions the two had already had, the dwarf was still caught in awe of the grace and speed the man was able to exhibit with the warblade, wielding the mammoth weapon like it was the thinnest elven rapier. Over and over the young DeiFil was forced to give ground to the imposing Drahen master, futily attacking any point that seemed even remotely weaker than the rest of Furen's solid defense. A slight frown creased Furen's usually vapid expression, swiftly changing into a grim hard line as he found himself halted in his offensive attacks time and again by Drerin's almost intuitive counter strikes. Something in the back of Furen's mind tickled, trying to push through his focus, but he ruthlessly stamped it down, and renewed his offensive push, culminating in a feinted stroke and reverse which removed the questing leaf blade head from the top of Drerin's spear, forcing the dwarf to change his attack strategy on the instant, going from a basic spear style to the more intricate and intensive tactics of the quarterstaff. The ironwood seemed alive in the Goreya's hands, both steel capped ends flashing successively at Furen, causing the overwhelming mountain man to use both hands on the massive blade to consistently rebut the flickering ends from rapping his knees, hands, chest or head. The wordless howl which ripped from the dwarf's chest startled Furen, giving Drerin in his battle rage a merest opening with which to press home his aggressive attack, scoring hits quickly and painfully, until Furen broke from his shocked trance and retaliated with a short burst of flame from his mouth. Drerin instantly fell to the ground and rolled, throwing his staff into the downward arcing blade in just enough time that the ironwood was cleft in two, instead of Drerin's forehead. The two men were on their feet and facing each other before the weapons hit the ground, their hands and feet mere blurs as they danced in a tight circle, flowing through a dance older than time itself, two men intent only on each other, striving for the single purpose of defeating his enemy to prove through victory his superiority. The blur of motion ceased as suddenly as the fight had began, both fighters freezing to look at the other – Drerin glancing carefully at the flame bladed dagger Furen had poised just at the chink in his armour under his left shoulder, and Furen eyeing the deijufkre stationed right beside his head, representing the devastating left hook Drerin had aimed at his unprotected neck. "Shall we call this a draw then? My blade would have turned your lungs into so much ash, but I fear you fists of steel would have removed my head from my shoulders, yes? "We can say that," Drerin murmured, dropping his fist as Furen let the blade disapate and the two walked back to their packs. "How about you stop destroying my weapons, eh? The only ones you haven't gotten so far are my deijufkre, the Hammers, my dagger and my sword breaker. That's not because of lack of trying either." "Sacrifices must be made if you wish to improve. We need to be gone. Gather the steel from your old spear, we'll take it with us to Hagabor." Grumbling to himself, Drerin carefully packed the steel footing and blade from his now worthless spear into his pack, adding it to the myriad of other steel pieces that covered the top of his bag. As they continued to trek across the windswept plains the two talked of their lives, of their training, and especially of their fighting. Drerin found it strange how the normally taciturn mountain man took pains to explain the signs and occurrences in his life that eventually showed him his affinity for fire, and in the end led him to his first quest – finding a Drahenyu DeiShun, the ice master Loth Rinsar. Furen detailed the beginnings of his training, the constant physical demands, the mental strains, and finally his testing. "I remember the night well Drerin. Loth had finally decided we could rest for the night. We had trekked halfway up Munjho mountain, and he picked a cave right at the edge of the snow caps. I remember he took first watch, and bid me to sleep until midnight when I would relieve him. I awoke at midnight and found the merest embers left of our fire, all our supplies missing, and Loth standing outside the cave. I walked towards him, and ran into a veritable wall of ice. I pounded on it, bit it, kicked it, I even yelled at it, but it wouldn't dissipate. I finally noticed the scrap of parchment that was off to the side, and I'll never forget what it said: "You have the spark in you, but to escape you must fan it into a flame bright enough to banish the cold and darkness forever." It took me three days before I was able to melt a hole in that wall large enough to walk through, I was determined I would meet Loth on my feet, not crawling on my knees. It was then that my training truly began." Drerin walked on in silence another sedil after Furen's speech before he finally spoke in response. "You won't be letting me take the Goreya DeiShun test will you?" "No Drerin I will not. If you are determined to take it, you must kill me to get to Hagabor alive." "So I'm to be a Drahen DeiShun then, if I survive your training and tests for me?" "That is my plan, yes." The two continued on in silence after that, each walking in their own thoughts, until finally without any verbal conformation they both stopped and began unpacking for their nightly camp within sight of Hagabor's shining walls. After the meager dinner and Furen lighting the small smokeless fire for the night, the two men once again squared off for Drerin's training. Now with the dwarf's battle spear reduced to so much kindling scrap metal, the dwarf was forced to lay out his tools beforehand, to decide how he would practice. Settling finally on a sword breaker and his long dagger, Drerin squared his stance and beckoned Furen to attack. Furen's fierce charge and leg sweep took the dwarf by surprise, and set the chagrined man to a flailing defensive counter as he fell. Drerin's wildly swinging swordbreaker glanced off Furen's scalp, drawing the only blood ever shed in any of their training regimens. Drerin scrambled to his feet, swiftly checking himself and his weapons before he turned to Furen to watch the man daub at his scalp while his sharp eyes bored into the dwarf. A swift lick of flame accompanied by the acrid scent of burnt hair staunched the flow of blood, and as suddenly as the two had stopped they picked up their deadly duet, seemingly dancing through the flickering shadows cast by the fire light and moon glow – the silence broken only by half whispered commands from Furen, correcting some miniscule detail of Drerin's attacks or defenses. The practice again ended in a draw – this time with Furen's warblade resting on Drerin's crown as the curled spike of Liptfiw dug between Furen's ribs. As the two warriors resettled themselves around the sparse fire, their faces alternately clothed in shadow and light, Drerin reopened the subject of his new training. "Furen, as I have heard, Drahen are warrior mages. What makes you think I have the abilities to call the magiks? You said yourself you knew the flames were in your soul well before you began your training. All I have ever had was my weapons, and before that, my uncle's forge. I have no elemental residing in this rulm." "Drerin, I declare you my DeiFil. From this point on you are my apprentice, until such time as I acknowledge your right to be my equal – by word or blood. As to your magik, that which declares you worthy of the title Drahenyu DeiShun, we shall reach that in time. Tell me Drerin, what do you know of the elementals. You tell me that, and I will tell you the difference detween a Drahenyu and a Drahensa." Drerin pulled his cloak around himself tighter, and began in almost a trancelike voice, "The easiest way for a dwarf to speak of such things as you want is for us to tell of our beginning. It is a thing rarely spoken of, so please listen well Furen, for I wish not to repeat it... ahem, while the earth was young, the land was ruled not by the dwarves or elves or Ocgren, but by the elements, fire, earth, sky, and water. From these were born the gods, and from the gods were created the beings who walked the earth. The gods ventured forth and summoning the elementals formed their creatures, Fer brought earth forward and molded it into the dwarves, earth and sky came together and created the elves, and in the darkness of the night fire stole the second dwarf created by Fer and reshaped it, forming it into the Ocgren. In revenge Fer stole the second eye of the Ocgren and hid it deep in the earth sealing fire's power away in the earth. It is said that the sky forge burst forth from this buried eye, and the power it left behind heated the earth and gave us our first forges. Blaywer was born from this melding of earth and fire, and he taught his brother Hingug the art of forming it. Thus, from the acts of Blaywer, Fer, and Hingug, as the final elemental formed – that of the metal. It combined the powers of all the other elements and became lodged in the souls of true dwarven mushve, giving our stone bodies metal cores, and thus making us unbreakable. This is the story of the dwarves arrival, and the root of our undying war against the Ocgren, our twisted brothers." Furen sat pondering the tale Drerin had related to him until he gave himself a slight shake and quickly described the differences between Drahenyu and Drahensa. He told how they were both Drahen, but the "yu" and "sa" spoke of their abilities. How the "yu" were those Drahen tied to the elementals and their combinations, and how those combined to the so called "pure" elements tended to actually be weaker than those of mixed elements, and how they had to train harder and longer to harness the more potent and untamed powers of the pure elements. The Drahensa were the warrior mages who's powers were those of the mind, telepathy, telekinesis and so forth, and how the most noted Drahen were the Drahensa, not the Drahenyu. The Drahenyu were destined to be great warriors, men of strength and stalwart determination, and therefore would die in the chaos of battle, to be devoured finally by their elemental powers along with the bodies of their enemies around them. The Drahensa were always the diplomats, their powers farther reaching and more commanding than anyone knew. They were shrouded in more secrecy than the entire Teghei nation, no one ever knew how many or where the Drahensa were, but it was well known that the Drahensa were guiding the world, forming it and shaping it as they saw fit. When Furen finished his explinations, he hefted his warblade, spinning it lightly in one hand where he sat, letting the fire dance along it's edge and pulse with it's phantom brother locked away in the recesses of the metal. "Drerin," he spoke, "look at the blade. This was Loth's sword. He was called the Hoarfrost. He commanded every form of ice you can think of. He and I had been warring for two straight days before he decided to yield this blade to me as a sign of my equality to him. I hope to be able to do the same with you. I said war because that is the only thing I can think of that comes close to describing it. The blade is called Thqilsfre, and I shall give him to you for now. Chew this herb and stare into the fire while you rest him across your knees and hold him. He will help you find your own center, as he helped Loth find his chilling ice and me find my blistering flames." Chapter 4 – "An Awakening of the Soul"