Chapter 6

Dawn has fallen on a half burnt village. The skelks, with many other creatures roamed the village in search of food. However, they were either expelled out or been cut down by the norns. The Jaded Arrow stood all night cleaning up the debris, but Conan insisted that he retire the entire night. The carnage left the village in ruins. It could easily be rebuilt, but Conan felt that Wayfarer has become a hostile zone. To say the very least, two wives has been widowed when both their husbands were slain in combat.

A pyre would be held for those two lost souls and for those whom lost their lives in the Great Hunt this afternoon. Conan, unfortunately would not stay for he was obligated to track the jotun who'd reeked havoc and destruction here. He did not have time to assess the villagers who have been taken by the jotun in the raid. His belly churned from the thought of that. It could have been his mother; he thought. He would make them pay. And secondly, the trails were still fresh. He wanted it to be that way, making tracking less difficult to pursue the invaders.

The jotuns were after something. It was unknown that they would travel far south for plunder or to raid a helpless village. The trail was still warm. He had a long chant with Rena, and she was not please to leave here. Ever since Tokkot had lost his life years ago in the Jormag invasion on Hoelbrak, she had no desire to return, which brought back painful memories. She was stubborn like a mule, nevertheless; she gave in to her son's demands.

He helped her onto one of the dolyaks and she was mounted perfectly on the saddle. He regarded the horse the young ranger was nicely mounted on the saddle. He purchased the horse a stable located at Borealis Forest next to the Hero's Moot. The horses were too diminutive for grown norns. The stable was for raise horses for business. They sell horses to different races that were proficient to ride them like humans.

The Jaded Arrow trotted front of him.

"It's time that I should be on my way. I do not wish to keep my queen waiting any longer."

"All should be set." He turned to Rena. "I'm going to miss you, Mam." He kissed her on both cheeks. "Flokki. Sigurd. Escort my mother and the human ranger to Hoelbrak. Lundvarr, I need you for this mission. I hope you've stocked provisions."

Lundvarr the Intrepid was a bastard, born from a widowed Hoelbrak. His mother and Conan's both made the trip to Wayfarer after the invasion and settled here. Lundvarr is eight years older than Conan, but they were friends for a very long time and hunted together occasionally.

"Aye. Tis you know me for."

The two watch as the dolyaks galloped. Then they traveled behind the pack with some distance put between them. The Jaded Arrow was in the middle between the two pacts, following the first. The villagers waved them on and Conan grinned, but he'd wondered if he would ever see this village. A shadow was loomed from above, chirping, flying in circles. He looked up. It was a messenger bird.

"Are yah going tah receive?" He asked Conan.

Conan hissed. He reached out, granting his forearm horizontally like a tree branch. The messenger bird was an eagle. Conan swaddled a piece of leather carvings onto his forearm, protection from the massive talons. He received the eagle, removing the tine scroll, latched to its left talon. He then tossed the eagle up, watching it flapped its wings, until it heaved. The eagle soared and withdrawn beyond the horizon.

He carefully unraveled the parchment open. His eye narrowed after reading the contents. He carefully involute the scroll close and tucked it neatly into his sheepskin vest.

"It's a message for me. It seems that I'm needed at Hoelbrak. Beigarth the Smith conjures my presence at such atrocious timing."

"Then you must make haste my friend."

"Mark your trail for eye shall return." He flared his nostril. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm away."

"Aye Conan—Aye!"


mFour hours have passed since he'd entered the gates of Hoelbrak with his mother. They parted ways, as she headed toward the Wolf's Lodge where her husband's small estate had been since eighteen years ago. The Jade Arrow Followed him to the Great Lodge, engaging in friendly conversation, waiving at the town folks. Women whistled and gossiped about them, one particularly the Slayer of Issomir.

The Jaded Arrow spotted his queen's escort that waited outside the entrance. This probably would be the last he'd ever see of the ranger, Conan thought. Conan tied the strings of the bridle along the palisade and walked among the rampart. He entered the hall. The Great Lodge was at it was five years ago when he'd last visit. It was lively, full with entertainment. The lodge itself was very spacious at least three stories tall.

He made his way up to the stairs to his left, transient the briefing room with all council members of the norn race. The second floor was a place with merchants and smiths of the finest quality of item, jewelry, clothing, armor, and weapons in all of Southern Shiverpeaks. The norn cultural armor and weapon, the most expensive, could be found here on display. This was where Tokkot brought his heavyweight Stag Armor before Conan was born. There were smiting stations.

Conan continued to stride unto his eyes landed on massive giant about a foot taller than him, tanned skin with a brown, orange Mohawk fro with little strands of white hair, discerning his years of youthfulness that been discharged. He like another norn had tribal tattooes on his arms and torso. He then worn a war hammer, fasted to his back just the way Conan's sword. He was standing next to a massive tooth that was said to be severed from Jormag by a legendary norn warrior over a hundred years ago, his great grandfather.

Next to him was a massive frosty blue shark alike tooth, from the Elder Dragon Jormag, mounted like a statue for display. The tooth had to be nearly thirty-feet high, chains dangling from the ceiling to hold it upright. This was where hunters from all round Hoelbrak gather to determine their strength among their people. It was said that one could so much as put a scratch on the tooth, their strength would be perceived, and they would be worthy of a norn champion. No one more than a score has ever dent or even scratched the tooth with a melee weapon.

Conan knew that Tokkot was the last person to damage the tooth and probably the only documented norn in history to do so. He was proud of his father back then that he could do more than cracked the tooth. It would have taken him a day to slice through the tooth if he decided, but he had proven his point that he was indeed more than a champion adversary. He was nominated one of the legendary five great swordsmen in norn history that has ever wielded a greatsword.

Not that he had an ordinary greatsword to begin with. It was rumored that he possessed the what was known from the human gods as a Legendary Exotic Precursor. The humans' gods was said to craft godlike—known as precursors—weapons of all class and had bestowed them sometime 200 hundred years ago. A precursor is an imperfect or an incomplete legendary weapon of the gods.

The recipe for such precursors disseminated around all of Tyria in the most inhospitable environments known to the world. However, a very few, discovered and kept it to themselves in secrecy. Another way to obtain a precursor was to have it forged at Lion's Arch. The human god who could craft such exquisite and overpowering precursors.

The human God of Smith was known as Zommoros. During the purging of the gods, it was said that Zommoros had granted his essence to the humans in Lion's Arch before he could be purged completely. There, the Asura race constructed a well for a forge in the heart of Lion's Arch.

Zommoros, or what ever was left of him had been had been embedded into the forge. It was called the Mystic Forge. Only Zommoros could forge precursors spontaneously. His father was lucky. During his second birthday, Tokkot took him and Rena to Lion's Arch. He gambled with his hoard of off collectible exotic greatswords, and he received the precursor Dawn, which Zommoros blurted out to him after the sword had been crafted.

Dawn was said to be the imperfection legendary greatsword that he once held at the palm of his hands in the Great Hunt at Frostgorge Sound... Sunrise. He reminisced Sunrise's irresistable power that had him slain Icebrood champions like cutting knife into butter. His body was surging with adrenaline. The blood coursing through his veins felt like it was on fire, rapidly spreading like an afflicted decease throughout his body.

He mentally berated himself that it was not to get sidetracked. He approached the blacksmith. Beigarth was substantially built. He may even be larger than his own father, he thought. He was enthralled by that thought. Nevertheless, he exonerated his throat before deciding his selective words to greet the blacksmith. Beigarth's darkened eyes debarked upon him with a sadistic smirked to follow.

"Beigarth the Smith!" He said it warmly. "What would you have of this year's finest slayer?"

Beigarth chuckled, "You're mighty confident for one so young. It reminds me when I won the Great Hunt... but that was a long time ago." He sighed

"I choose smithing over hunting, and I never regretted it." He continued. "Now it's time to forge my masterpiece... a mighty weapon to break Jormag's tooth!"

Conan's expression remained indifferent, but furrowed a brow, stiffening.

"Nothing has much scratched the tooth in over a hundred years except my father. What makes you think you could craft such a weapon?"

"Your father was legendary. Those days with him as cubs were majestic. We always wrestled at the moot."

He detected signs of sorrow, coming from Conan. He decided to get back on the topic was the best course of action. He patted Conan.

"Deldrimor steel," Beigarth said.

"If I can get my hands on enough of it, I could make a weapon to shatter mountains! The secret of the alloy was lost with the dwarves, but I can smell existing relics into the steel I need. Such artifacts have surfaced in a jotun cave near Grawlenfjord. That is why I sent for you, if you can beat back the jotun and cave near Grawlenfjord."

Conan tensed. The trails left by the jotun that ransacked his village were heading into Grawlenjord. The jotun never bothered overlaying tracks of their existence. A mischievous grin was plasteredd on his lips. He wouldn't be disclosing to Beigarth about his other business to enter Grawlenfjord. The Smith had other things to worry about, and he was grateful that his destination was not else where.

"Interested," still grinning, "I'm determined! Ready your forge for dwarven metal, smithy!"

TBC