"It's almost ready, father," Keydahn called out. His father, the famed Villom Silverfist, was in the front of the shop, dealing with customers; he had no time to ready the forge.
"Thank you, Keydahn. I shall be back in a minute," he called back.
Keydahn knew this to be a lie. Whenever any of the Irongullet family came by to look at his father's wares, there was always some long and verbose dialogue. He knew he'd have to maintain the forge for at least an hour. Then, an idea hit him. What better way to maintain a forge than to use it for its intended purpose?
With that, Keydahn set to work. He fetched himself the finest block of iron he could find, and began his task. But then he came to a realization. "What am I going to make?"
He deliberated over this for decent amount of time. "Axes," he thought. "No, there were plenty of axes lying around. Armor…no, he had no use for armor."
Then it hit him. While researching the history of his craft, he had heard of an ancient war, where dwarf, elf, and man fought as comrades. Not like today, where there are no allegiances amongst any of the dominant races. In this war, the dwarven smiths crafted many an elven weapon known as a Longsword, and it was used by elf, man, and dwarf alike. It was quite different than the waraxe he was accustomed to see carried by the militia. No, this was a weapon which required more than brute force to use properly. While a certain amount of strength is required, it is not the driving force behind the weapon, so to speak.
It was settled. Keydahn was going to build himself a longsword.
Some Time Later…
"It's almost ready, father," Keydahn called out. Once again, his father was out in the shop front, entertaining the head of the Irongullet family. However, this time, he didn't call back. Keydahn could hear low talking, though he could not make out what was being said. This upset Keydahn, since he knew his father to be a very loud and outspoken individual. Slowly, he crept out to the store front and peered through the opening between the showroom and the forge, just as Cortello Irongullet, the eldest son of the Irongullet family, released a crossbow bolt into his father's face.
Frantically, Keydahn searched for his handmade longsword, and strapped it to his side. Unsure of what to expect, he darted out of the back entrance, only to find that all of the torches have been extinguished. "A Drow raid," he thought aloud. "By the grace of Ghob, may I get out alive."
For what seemed like days, Keydahn skulked around the once-glorious kingdom of the dwarves, sneaking past the bloodthirsty blades of the Drow, occasionally catching one off their guard, and quickly sending them to their deceitful mistress. Whenever he could, he sprung the locks of his captured brethren, but, in their excitement, they darted off noisily, only to get themselves stuck with a Drow bolt.
He was almost free to the surface when he happened to notice another Drow guard, waiting any escaping dwarves who may have survived the various hit squads. But, to Keydahn's surprise, he was off his guard. "This will be an easy kill," he thought to himself. Slowly, swiftly, he crept upon his prey, like a stalking mountain cat. He raised his blade over his head, and then brought it down with quick precision. But, to his surprise, he did not feel the blade bite down into Drow flesh, now did he hear the scream of a dying man. Instead, he heard the ring of blades, as his sword met with another longsword.
"I see you're skilled with Elven weaponry," the dark elf said, in a paltry tone. "But let us see how you fare against one whose ancestry is one with that sword." Sliding his sword from beneath Keydahn's own, the dark elf spun around in a move that was between the lines of dancing and combat, swinging his blade at Keydahn's side.
Without much time to react, Keydahn did his best to deflect his opponent's attack. But it was only enough to keep the blade from striking a vital area. Nevertheless, he knew that this obviously skilled Drow warrior was the only thing keeping him from freedom. Using the advantage of having his blade inside of his opponent's, Keydahn slid his sword down along the dark elf's, pressing it into his shoulder.
The two traded blow for blow for an agonizingly long time; the ringing of their blades echoing in the monstrous Dwarven halls. It came down to the point where they were both nearly unable to stand. Though, something struck a chord in Keydahn's mind; every time his opponent had an open opportunity to finish the fight, he merely struck a blow to throw him off balance.
The sound of more raiders could be heard throughout the entrance halls. Looking to the battered Keydahn, the dark elf lifted his sword over his head with what little strength remaining, ready to finish the fight.
"You're different than the rest," Keydahn blurted out. "We don't have to end like this. Help me escape, and I'll make it worth your wile."
"How do you open this door?" the drow responded.
"Kuth meratch denrian," Keydahn answered, invoking the secret names of his ancestors. Fortunately, for the both of them, that worked. "Help me up so that we can get out of here."
"Thank you, Keydahn. I shall be back in a minute," he called back.
Keydahn knew this to be a lie. Whenever any of the Irongullet family came by to look at his father's wares, there was always some long and verbose dialogue. He knew he'd have to maintain the forge for at least an hour. Then, an idea hit him. What better way to maintain a forge than to use it for its intended purpose?
With that, Keydahn set to work. He fetched himself the finest block of iron he could find, and began his task. But then he came to a realization. "What am I going to make?"
He deliberated over this for decent amount of time. "Axes," he thought. "No, there were plenty of axes lying around. Armor…no, he had no use for armor."
Then it hit him. While researching the history of his craft, he had heard of an ancient war, where dwarf, elf, and man fought as comrades. Not like today, where there are no allegiances amongst any of the dominant races. In this war, the dwarven smiths crafted many an elven weapon known as a Longsword, and it was used by elf, man, and dwarf alike. It was quite different than the waraxe he was accustomed to see carried by the militia. No, this was a weapon which required more than brute force to use properly. While a certain amount of strength is required, it is not the driving force behind the weapon, so to speak.
It was settled. Keydahn was going to build himself a longsword.
Some Time Later…
"It's almost ready, father," Keydahn called out. Once again, his father was out in the shop front, entertaining the head of the Irongullet family. However, this time, he didn't call back. Keydahn could hear low talking, though he could not make out what was being said. This upset Keydahn, since he knew his father to be a very loud and outspoken individual. Slowly, he crept out to the store front and peered through the opening between the showroom and the forge, just as Cortello Irongullet, the eldest son of the Irongullet family, released a crossbow bolt into his father's face.
Frantically, Keydahn searched for his handmade longsword, and strapped it to his side. Unsure of what to expect, he darted out of the back entrance, only to find that all of the torches have been extinguished. "A Drow raid," he thought aloud. "By the grace of Ghob, may I get out alive."
For what seemed like days, Keydahn skulked around the once-glorious kingdom of the dwarves, sneaking past the bloodthirsty blades of the Drow, occasionally catching one off their guard, and quickly sending them to their deceitful mistress. Whenever he could, he sprung the locks of his captured brethren, but, in their excitement, they darted off noisily, only to get themselves stuck with a Drow bolt.
He was almost free to the surface when he happened to notice another Drow guard, waiting any escaping dwarves who may have survived the various hit squads. But, to Keydahn's surprise, he was off his guard. "This will be an easy kill," he thought to himself. Slowly, swiftly, he crept upon his prey, like a stalking mountain cat. He raised his blade over his head, and then brought it down with quick precision. But, to his surprise, he did not feel the blade bite down into Drow flesh, now did he hear the scream of a dying man. Instead, he heard the ring of blades, as his sword met with another longsword.
"I see you're skilled with Elven weaponry," the dark elf said, in a paltry tone. "But let us see how you fare against one whose ancestry is one with that sword." Sliding his sword from beneath Keydahn's own, the dark elf spun around in a move that was between the lines of dancing and combat, swinging his blade at Keydahn's side.
Without much time to react, Keydahn did his best to deflect his opponent's attack. But it was only enough to keep the blade from striking a vital area. Nevertheless, he knew that this obviously skilled Drow warrior was the only thing keeping him from freedom. Using the advantage of having his blade inside of his opponent's, Keydahn slid his sword down along the dark elf's, pressing it into his shoulder.
The two traded blow for blow for an agonizingly long time; the ringing of their blades echoing in the monstrous Dwarven halls. It came down to the point where they were both nearly unable to stand. Though, something struck a chord in Keydahn's mind; every time his opponent had an open opportunity to finish the fight, he merely struck a blow to throw him off balance.
The sound of more raiders could be heard throughout the entrance halls. Looking to the battered Keydahn, the dark elf lifted his sword over his head with what little strength remaining, ready to finish the fight.
"You're different than the rest," Keydahn blurted out. "We don't have to end like this. Help me escape, and I'll make it worth your wile."
"How do you open this door?" the drow responded.
"Kuth meratch denrian," Keydahn answered, invoking the secret names of his ancestors. Fortunately, for the both of them, that worked. "Help me up so that we can get out of here."