2 Ch. 1 A Brand New Life

I was reborn into the body of a baby dwarf. Not exactly the best afterlife experience out there, but it was still better than anything written about by Dante, or talked about in Sunday school. Needless to say, it was an extremely jarring experience, going from a fully ambulatory and rather strong adult's body, to an infant who couldn't even hold up his own head. However, it was better than having my soul disposed of by an afterlife judge to avoid filling out the paperwork for a soul who died too soon

The name I got saddled with upon my rebirth was Kvalinn Ekgorsson. It didn't exactly roll off the tongue, but it could've been worse. Occasionally I'd overhear my father mention people with ten syllable names in passing conversation with his friends. Those were names I most certainly did not want to have attached to me, spelling them would doubtlessly be a nightmare!

As for the language, I learned the same way any infant learns. Papa, mama, baba, ect. Although unfortunately I didn't get to use the word 'mama'. Apparently my mother in this world had died in childbirth, leaving the raising of me entirely to my father, Ekgor Blazingbrand. He did his level best to take care of me as a single dad, but sometimes I feared for my brand new life due to his preoccupation with work.

My father in this world was a bit on the older side, having recently celebrated his two hundredth winter, with a graying beard that stretched down to his waist and a grizzled face that only seemed to come alive when he was working. He was completely dedicated to his craft as a master weaponsmith, with the majority of his time being spent in front of his forge. While I spent the majority of my time in a steel crib nearby trying to relearn how to move outside a crawl.

When I was around two years old, and had finally mastered walking again. I received a tiny hammer from my father that he had made just for me. "Listen well, Kvalinn." He said in a serious tone. "A dwarfs hammer is his life. It is both a weapon and a tool. It is a symbol of the purpose given to our race by the gods. Our clan has followed their teachings and crafted weapons for the world since its beginning. Starting today, I will teach you everything I know about forging weapons worthy of the weapon clan." He then walked off while motioning me to follow him.

"Yes, father!" I said enthusiastically. I wanted to grumble a little about how weaponry and tools were not the best gift for a toddler, but living in the body of a toddler is extremely boring since any toys meant for that age are extremely…infantile, so I followed with the hope that I would get to see some form of technology. In my previous life I had been an IT specialist and an avid gamer, and the lack of screens in this world was killing me!

I followed my father to his work area, where he set me down in front of a box with a scrap metal ingot on it. "The very first step to making a weapon is learning how to use your hammer. Give your new hammer a swing." I did my best to follow father's instructions, and hit the ingot with my hammer, but since I was still stuck in the body of a two year old my attempt was less than impressive.

"No! Not like that!" Father yelled out. "Watch me closely and imitate what I do." He then took a piece of iron from the fire and began shaping it with his hammer.

"But why do we need to use a hammer?" I asked innocently while he worked. "Can't we use a machine to make the work easier?" My millennial instincts to find an easier way to work were still strong, even in a new body and a new world.

Father glared at me with fierce anger flaring from his eyes. "Only lazy humans, and those rock brained mechanics in the engineers guild use machines for their work! A true dwarf only uses their hammer and the sweat of their brow to make the finest weapons in the world. Now copy my movements exactly!" He returned his attention to the iron on the anvil and began taking out his anger on it.

I watched him work for a few minutes, still mentally sure that a machine would be way more efficient and easier to use. Eventually though, I stopped grumbling and making mental arguments, and began paying attention to the lesson. Soon I felt that I had the movements memorized enough that I could at least give it a try.

Stepping up to the little station that had been set up for me. I planted my feet in imitation of my father, and with all my strength, I hit the metal with my hammer.

The instant the metal connected with my hammer, I felt an insane rush of satisfaction! It was the same joy you get from successfully fitting the last piece of a huge puzzle in its rightful place. For some reason, hitting the metal directly with my hammer just felt extremely right, it was much more fulfilling than rebooting a computer. I could see now why my father was so passionate about his work. With a smile on my face, I hit the metal again, and again, and again, until I had completely run out of energy.

As I leaned against the wall, panting for breath, I could see my father grinning at me. "Well done, Kvalinn. Get yourself a drink and keep practicing. I began toddling off to the kitchen when he shouted to stop me. "Where do you think you're going?"

"The kitchen? Isn't that where the water tap would be?" I asked.

"A water tap in the kitchen? Also, water? Are you a weakling human? The beer keg is over there, pick a mug and set it aside for yourself." Father gestured towards a keg in the corner that had a couple dirty mugs next to it.

After cleaning the rim of one of the mugs with my shirt, which admittedly wasn't the cleanest, I reached as high as I could to pour myself something to drink. It was not the first time I missed my former height from my previous life, nor would it be the last, but since I was only a foot tall at most I did my best to reach what I could.

The beer tasted surprisingly good, like a stout that was sweetened with honey, although it was watered down and extremely warm from the forge fire. "Father, is there any way to make the drink cooler?" I was hoping that since this was a fantasy world with dwarves, there might be some magic or tech that simulated a refrigerator. Sadly, that was not the case.

"I once heard that the king has a box powered by runes to keep his food and drink cold. And when I was younger, I visited some cities nearer the surface that use winter ice to preserve food."

"Do we have any ice here?" I asked. "Or can we get those rune things? What are runes anyway? Aren't they just letters?" I stopped when I realized that I was beginning to exhibit traits that parents traditionally associated with the terrible twos. Fortunately father didn't seem to mind too much.

"To answer your questions one at a time. No, we can't get ice. Our city, Nurnwuhr, is too deep and far away from the surface to get ice here. Rune powered devices are exceptionally expensive, only kings can afford them. As for runes, you're mostly correct. Runes are indeed letters that we use for writing, but a few dwarves have the knowledge to infuse those runes with magic. It's a very dangerous job, but the runes that they make can be extremely powerful. If you want to see an example of runes, then look at the back of your hands."

I turned over my hands to look. There were a bunch of lines and squiggles that I had always assumed to be weird birthmarks. Evidently they were runes.

"When you were born, those runes, and the one on your back, glowed with a magical light. The one on your right hand is the rune of forging, and the one on your back is the rune of protection. As for the one on your left hand, I've never been able to identify it."

I stared at the runes in awe for a few minutes. Up until now I'd been too busy trying to survive infancy to think about it, but I really was in a magical world with dwarves, and possibly other magical races too! When I grew up I'd have to look around to see if I could find an elf girlfriend! Before I let my imagination go though, another question popped into my head.

"Do all dwarves have these runes?" I asked. "What are your rune's, father?" Father just shook his head solemnly.

"No other dwarf that I have heard of has magical runes like yours. Sure, some dwarves tattoo runes on their skin to show their devotion to the gods, or to invite their protection, but none of them have any magic flowing through them like yours do."

Before I could ask any more questions, Father held up his hand. "That's all the information I will tell you on runes. If you want to learn more, then you'll have to wait until you go to school in a few years. Elder Thrikrondromm has been teaching about runes there for centuries and should be able to answer all your questions. Now enough talking, I need to get these swords ready for sale by next week!"

Father then put the iron that had cooled back in the fire, and took out another rod to work on. He then began singing a work song, using the pounding of his hammer to keep the beat. Since I wasn't likely to get any further answers from him, I decided to follow his example.

After putting my mug back on the shelf, I stepped up to my own tiny workstation and began hammering at the metal again. At first, I attempted to follow my fathers pace set by his song, but I soon found out that an experienced smith with over two hundred years under his belt has way more stamina than a two year old toddler. So I was forced to set my own pace.

Once I had recovered my breath, I started hammering the metal again. This time though, I sang a song from my previous life that was a bit slower and more relaxed. As I worked, I thought to myself how I'd like to make a blade just like the ones piled in the corner. As soon as I thought that though, the rune of forging on my right hand seemed to respond.

The next time my hammer connected with the metal, I let out an involuntary yelp as I felt a painful sensation, like a very cold ice pack being pressed directly against the skin along the rune lines. The rune also started glowing with a bright blue light, and the unshaped metal on the box in front of me transformed into a blade similar to the one I had been looking at!

"Kvalinn!" Father dropped his hammer and rushed over to me. "Kvalinn! Are you ok? What happened?"

"I'm ok, father." I looked at my hand in awe. The rune wasn't glowing blue anymore, but there was still a slight stinging from when the rune had activated.

"Hm, what's this?" Father picked up the blade that was resting in front of me. It had been made out of a single small piece of metal, so the blade was only six inches long and was basically a pocket knife in my father's big hands. "So this is the power of the rune of forging. Not bad." He noticed my crestfallen face and rushed to clarify. "It's not too bad for your first blade. But it's only superficially similar to the one over there. This blade will chip and break easily due to its poor materials, the core isn't there, and overall it's pretty weak."

Father's critique was harsh, but probably fair. I was willing to bet that like a lot of magic I had read about in fantasy, using my rune of forging would require me to thoroughly understand the principles behind whatever I was crafting in order to make it perfectly, and not just have an image in my head. However, if that theory was right, then my road to making 21st century tech had become a lot shorter.

My imagination began to take flight. I'd be able to make cars, trains, airplanes, lightbulbs, batteries, radios, and all other sorts of gadgets and tech! I could be the Edison of this world! My years as a book nerd in my past life would finally pay off!

As I let my imagination roam though, I happened to glance at my father. His eyes were as eager as mine were. "Hjerouhrdinn's hammer, Kvalinn. I think I'll need to speed up your lessons and get a proper workstation set up for you if you can do this much already." It seemed that due to my accidental prowess with weapon crafting, my dreams of satisfying my tech cravings were going to be put on pause for the foreseeable future.

"Kvalinn, pump the bellows! You're working with steel now, remember? The fire has to be a lot hotter if you want to melt it." Following father's instructions, I climbed my makeshift stairs to reach the bellows. I'm now a little taller than I used to be, but I'm still less than 2 feet tall.

Three years have passed since I first received my hammer. I've been so busy that they seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Father has been teaching me weapon crafting work from dawn till dusk. Not that there is a dawn or dusk since we live deep underground, but from breakfast to dinner, Father would train me as he did his own work.

Unfortunately, the grand dreams I once entertained of using my rune of forging to bring 21st tech to this world all failed spectacularly. Like any American millennial, I could tell you roughly how the various gadgets used in my daily life worked and could operate them with finesse and competence, but that didn't translate well into knowing exactly how the devices worked and operated. So most of my attempts to craft gadgets ended up either useless or trash.

The piston engine I had made was eventually melted for scrap due to lack of fuel. My attempt at an early lightbulb had been tossed due to lack of electricity. No lightning to harness and no chemicals to make batteries. Not even my attempt at a tiny model airplane had worked, iron and steel were the only materials available to me and they were way too heavy to fly. The only thing that had turned out as intended was my attempt at making Ben Franklin's stepstool folding chair.

So with nothing else to do, I did my best to learn the weapon crafting trade. It's not the most thrilling life for a fantasy world, but it is never dull. (Weapon pun intended.)

"Yes! That's it, Kvalinn! You've got to keep the fire hotter than hell hounds to work with steel. Otherwise you'll be uselessly pounding away." Father shouted a few encouraging words my way as I put my whole body weight into pumping the bellows.

"Honestly, Ekgor. I know that you are the only one raising Kvalinn, but should you really be teaching him so early?" This was said by Aundarord Silverbasher. A merchant who sold fathers weapons, and had been his friend for the past century or two.

"What's wrong with teaching him his clan's trade? Besides, Kvalinn has taken to it like a duck to water. Take a look at this dagger he forged the other day. It's not half bad, you could get a couple silver for this in the human markets."

Aundarord picked up the dagger and examined it closely with a practiced eye. "Yes, it's definitely sellable in human markets. I'd probably price this at… 4 silver, but I'd accept 2."

"2 silver!?" Father roared out, then he paused in thought as he ran the calculations through his head. "Yes, that sounds about right for an iron dagger. Possibly even a little generous. Are you trying to sign Kvalinn up to sell weapons to you as well?"

"No, I already have too many contracts to keep up with selling your weapons," Aundarord said. "I was thinking of having my youngest son, Zikruk, sign on with Kvalinn to sell his weapons. They're the same age, and should come of age in the same year. Assuming they both survive the trials of the mines and their apprenticeships, of course."

"Of course. But I'm sure Kvalinn will pass through the trials with ease. It's what comes after that worries me. I may have sheltered him a bit too much so that I could teach him, and I'm not sure how well he will interact with others." Father shifted uncomfortably, from experience I could tell that he was indirectly asking for help. As an experienced merchant, and long time friend, Aundarord immediately picked up on it and gave a solution.

"School won't start for a week or two, but in the meantime. Thane Throdhengrun recently set up something called a 'youth center' for children and young adults to interact and learn from each other. I could have Zikruk take Kvalinn there so they can get to know each other, business isn't solely run with money after all."

"Excellent!" Father's face brightened as he realized that he didn't have to leave his forge. "Kvalinn, you're taking the day off tomorrow and going to this- what was it called again? Right, youth center!"

"But, Father! I'm almost done with the dagger I've been working on!" Both in my previous life, and my current one, I had the instincts of a shut-in nerd who actively avoided loud and noisy places like youth centers with a passion. Unfortunately, Aundarord had a solution to the problem I did not want fixed.

"Take the dagger with you and finish it there." Aundarord said with a smile. "The youth center was set up as a place of collaboration and teaching between clans so it has a forge and several anvils. Besides, it's never too early to show off for potential customers."

Both adults in the room grinned and stroked their beards. Aundarord at the thought of potential profits, and father at the prospect of getting more work to keep him occupied. I, having no beard to tug in frustration, settled for sighing in annoyance and mentally reviewing my father's lessons on dwarven manners.

Later that night, after our usual simple dinner of stew, hard bread, and beer. Father gestured for me to sit down for a talk. Once he had found the right words in his beer mug, he began to speak, slowly but surely. "Kvalinn, when talking to both adults and children tomorrow. Say absolutely nothing about your runes. Keep your gloves on at all times, and do not let anyone get even the slightest idea that you have magical runes on your body."

"But why, father?" I asked, more than a little confused at how serious he looked. "Isn't my rune of forging why you've been teaching me so much? So that I could use it effectively?"

"Yes, and no." Father paused for a few minutes as he searched for simple words that he could use with a five year old. Just because I had adult memories from a previous life didn't mean I had a perfect grasp of the language here. "I've been teaching you extensively, so that you would be able to survive if you were ever cast out of the mountain."

I stared slack jawed at my father. Who would cast a five year old infant out of the mountain?! And why!? Father soon provided the answer.

"Magic is the power of the gods. When our race was created to make their weapons, the gods intentionally did not give us the power to wield magic to prevent our rebellion against them. But the first dwarf, Hjerouhrdinn Godforged, discovered how to harness the power of the gods into runes and cast off his celestial shackles. Ever since then, the relationship between the gods and dwarves has been tense, sometimes hostile. If a dwarf manages to make a celestial class weapon, a nearly impossible achievement, the gods will appear and claim it. Most of the time the gods will pay, but occasionally they will simply take the weapon and kill anyone who objects."

Father looked at my hands, specifically at my runes. "Because of this tense relationship, if people discovered that you were able to wield magic. To use the celestial power that has been denied to all others of our race. People could turn violent, against both you and the clan, and to pacify the crowds, the King will either cast you out or have you killed."

I sat in stunned silence for several minutes. I never expected that the ability to make weapons with magic would be that explosive to the dwarven community. After a few more minutes I solemnly nodded.

"I-I understand, father. I'll be sure to never tell anyone about my runes."

"Good." Father took a quaff of his beer and finished it off. "Now then, let's go over greetings and introductions one more time."

The rest of the evening was spent with my father reteaching me how to greet people and introduce myself politely. Apparently Dwarven interactions are much more formalized than the more relaxed American culture I was used to. A quick handshake and a simple hello would be a one way ticket to getting your skull bashed by a hammer and an entry in the book of grudges.

So I did my best to memorize the complicated and drawn out methods of introductions to various classes and ranks and social levels. And went to bed that night with greetings, farewells, and polite bows swirling through my head.