Chapter 1

Grumnir

"Seek out new ideas, inventions, lands, and wilderness. Build machines, cities, and empires."

-3rd Commandment of Erathis, the Titan of Progress

Grumnir looked out into the vast sea of darkness that laid behind his closed eyes. There was no twinkle of light from above and no moons shown down on his path, all was void save for a solitary pale light flickering in the distance. When had it first emerged from the gloom? Had it always been there? Maybe… Even this far away the warmth it shed was familiar, like a far-off memory. Why then did it never grow closer? No matter what he did the light was always beyond his grasp. Was it waiting for him? Taunting him? It was too comforting to be a warning. No, something of his was lost and yet it was unknown to him exactly how to reclaim it.

"For Coren's sake," he sighed, "what is the point of this?"

He rubbed his temples in frustration, opening his eyes for the first time in hours. The forest that surrounded him was a stark contrast to the place he had just been. Was that dark place he saw when he closed his eyes within him, he wondered, or just beyond barring him from the distant light?

Laying back in the grass he looked up at the soft blue of the sky. It had been weeks since his arrival in the Kingdom of Foran, the first stop on the Path of Erathis. Why had he done this to himself he wondered, why had he run from his problems? He laughed, unlike the light in the darkness the answer here was obvious.

Because, he thought, that's what I do. I run.

He ran from his father when he failed at the family business. He ran from the church when he fell behind the other novices. And now he was running from her. When would he run from this? The Path of Erathis was a way to sainthood, what chance did he really have in completing it. He had only used it to save himself the embarrassment of running away. Instead of leaving his home silently in the middle of the night he left in the afternoon, his family hosting a small feast for lunch in his honor.

"It's difficult," his father began, standing to look at everyone who had gathered to wish his youngest son farewell, "when you can see that one of your children is struggling to find his place in this world. Even more so when you are not quite sure exactly how to help. Now, I know many of you would think I would know exactly what to do, having already raised two fine upstanding boys but..."

His father had continued, but the speech had not been for Grumnir. It was so his father could say it was not his fault that his son had failed to become a good little dwarf like the rest of the family. Most of the guests Grumnir had barely known, a few were even his father's political supporters that had never even said so much as hello to Grumnir. No, it was just another show that his family and the other nobles would put on from time to time to show that they were above it all. He did not feel guilty leaving any of that, but there was a few he had felt bad lying to about all this.

The first was the temple priest himself, who had even given Grumnir a writ of passage so he could pass the border checkpoints between kingdoms free of charge. "Are you sure about this?" the priest had asked even as he dipped his quill to sign the writ, "While not all who completed the path were members of the church, all of them did have some measure of ability in the divine skills."

"Yes," Grumnir had lied, "I just feel like I can hear Erathis calling me toward this. Maybe my inability to perform the minor divinities is a test."

"Perhaps…" the priest stared at the writ for a moment before passing it over, "Just remember there is no shame in returning. More have failed on the path than have succeeded. I don't say this to discourage you, but once you are out there, you may feel different about what Erathis is calling you for. It wouldn't be the first time someone misinterpreted the words of a god."

Grumnir had agreed and taken the writ, scurrying away as soon as he could. Father Asher was always direct and did not have a problem saying exactly what he was thinking, but he had never been rude or condescending. He had even taken special care to try and help Grumnir when he first started to fall behind the other novices. Regardless though Grumnir had continued to fall further and further behind. It was his own fault though; he had only joined in the first place because he had been following her.

He could not blame Amira, they had known each other since childhood, and he had never been honest about his feelings towards her. Both their fathers sat on the council, the ruling body of Furnacebottom, and as such both Amira and Grumnir had many opportunities to spend time together. They had become fast friends and were nearly inseparable until Grumnir's father had decided it was time for his son to finally start learning the family business.

Like his brothers, Grumnir had been started on crafting wooden and leather goods. Unlike his brothers though, who had both shown enough skill that their father had taken them on as apprentice traders after just a few short years, Grumnir still had difficulty with the basics even after ten years. Amira had already pledged her service to the temple of Erathis by that point, but her evenings were typically spent in the workshop with Grumnir as he attempted to complete workorders before their deadlines. She would usually take the leftover scraps and work on her own self-appointed projects as they spoke.

"So, what have you made this time?" Grumnir asked after finally giving up on the order he was working on.

Amira smiled as she turned revealing a small metal flower bud she had made, complete with leather stem and leaves. She held it up to her chest like it was pinned to her smock, "What do you think?"

"It's brilliant but why a bud? Why not an open flower?"

"Well," Amira said, "Lean in and give it a closer inspection."

Unsure Grumnir did so, up close he could tell the bud was not a solid piece, in fact it seemed to be made up of several individual petals. He watched as she raised her other hand and twisted the bud slightly at its base. Immediately the metal petals rotated and opened revealing each had been painted a different color. In his awe of the small contraption, he failed to notice the small opening at the center of the flower. A small jet of water shot out and splashed his face.

Amira stifled a laugh, "Well?"

"You're incredible. I wish I had half your talent."

"Don't be silly," Amira said handing him a dry rag, "That leather scroll case you're working on doesn't look half bad."

Grumnir frowned, "It's supposed to be a horse bridle."

"Oh, ouch. Um, I'm sorry?"

"For whom," Grumnir asked wiping his face dry, "Me? Or the horse?"

Amira shook her head, "I guess in this case whoever it was that submitted the order."

Grumnir sighed turning to look over the mess on his work bench, "Yeah, I guess my father is going to lose money on another one of my failures…"

He felt a tug on his arm as Amira pulled him around, "Here." She said.

She brought the flower up to his chest and reached a hand under his work apron. She had pushed a small bent nail through part of the stem and, using a small piece of cork to keep the nail from scratching Grumnir, had pinned the metal flower to his outfit.

"There, I want you to have it." She said, "No matter what happens, no matter how bad you think you are at something, remember there is always someone out there that believes in you."

Amira reached her arms around him and whispered, "Just believe in yourself like I believe in you." She gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

Grumnir froze, "Um, I thanks you. I mean, thank you."

They hugged for a moment before Amira let go, "I should be going, it's getting late."

"Ok, bye." he said.

Amira blinked, "Bye?... Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow then…" She turned and left.

Why didn't I say anything… Grumnir thought as he dwelled on the memory, If I had said something then, maybe that would have changed things… Maybe I would have never started running from my problems.

All that running had led him to his current situation, three weeks in Foran and he still had not received a vision of what to do next. But why was he still here? Wasn't the Path just an excuse for him? A way of leaving without people noticing his tail between his legs. Yet that light had appeared upon his arrival here. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it hovering in the darkness ahead of him. Yet for all he had tried he was still no closer to discerning its meaning.

It's funny, he mused to himself, that I run from everything yet the one thing I run towards is barred from me.

So, for now, he had stayed. Every few days he would make his way outside the city gates of Foran to one of the paths leading into the forest. After an hour or so of walking, he would find a soft patch of grass just off the trail, like the one he was currently laying on, and read from one of the logs of the previous saints that had completed the path. While in the forest they had all received a vision, a direction of where to go and what to do next.

The path was not set though, all of them had done different things through the course of their journey but they had all visited the same locations, though not necessarily in the same order. The Mystraeum on the outskirts of Treno, the Flooded Steppes, Mount Coren, and even the Kingdom of Furnacebottom were all locations that created the Path of Erathis. The one thing about all their journeys that was identical though, they had all started in Foran and had all received a vision.

Today, hoping to find some clue of what the saints had done to receive their visions, he had read from the log of Saint Meriele. Of all the saints she had spent the longest in Foran before Erathis had gifted her with a vision. Impulsive and forgetful, she had drifted from temple to temple leaving the priests unsure exactly where to do place her within the order. She had not been unruly though and had managed to show a degree of skill preforming divinities. During her service in Foran she had gotten lost in the forest during her second week. When they found her, she claimed to have seen a host of individuals, all lost and in need of help. At that time, the Path of Erathis had not been realized, the saints had kept journals, but no commonality had been noticed, so priests brushed her vision off as a fever dream brought on from the stress of being lost. The next morning, she left.

Meriele was not seen by a member of the church again until nearly 600 years later. As long lived as elves are, she was near the end of her life by then. She walked into the prime church of Erathis in the grand city of Damar, she politely nodded to the priests who greeted her but ignored their further inquiries as to how they could help her or if she were a follower. Her steps were slow and as she hobbled past the pews, she gained a small crowd of eyes watching her, both worshippers and priests alike. She passed the dais and knelt at the statue of Erathis which loomed high in the great hall.

"Helped as many as I could," her voice was tired, "I don't know if that was everyone… but I think I made a good go of it." She then closed her eyes and laid her head on Erathis's foot. She never woke up.

Her only belongings, beside the clothes she wore, were several journals. With no knowledge of who she was or where she had come from, the head priest read though the first journal. By now the Path of Erathis had been established, and with the first few logs mentioning Foran, as well as a possible vision, the priest immediately set a group of church scholars to sift through Meriele's writings. She had traveled all over Coriah speaking to hundreds of different individuals over the years. In her journals she recorded their names and what she spoke to them about. Most she talked to them about their problems, what plagued them, and how they had failed. Others she spoke of Erathis and the three commands she held her followers to. To a few, she simply showed kindness – buying them a hot meal or paying for them to stay a few nights at an inn.

It was unclear at first exactly what Erathis was having Meriele do, the priests noting she was simply doing what was expected of all who served the Titan of Progress. It was not until they began cross referencing the names of those she spoke with that the grand purpose of her vision was revealed. Mayors, judges, lawmakers, and even a few inventors were listed as those she spoke to. Everyone she met with eventually went on to became important parts of society. A few days after the discovery they named her a saint.

Do I really think I could be as important as Saint Meriele? Grumnir sighed, I should just count myself lucky Erathis didn't strike me down the moment I embarked on this folly. If I give up now, I still have enough money to start over somewhere else. I could become…

He could become what? He had no talent in craftsmanship, ten years in the workshop proved that. He could not perform divinities, so he would not be able to stay with the church long term. He was however not terrible at his studies growing up and he did enjoy reading and learning. Could that be of use to him?

I could become a tutor and move to one of the richer kingdoms like Damar or Treno. I'm sure I'd find work there.

Could he really do that though? Did he truly intend to never return home, never see his family again, never see Amira again? And what of the light, would it disappear? If it did would it come back? It was the only thing that made Grumnir feel like he was doing something right by embarking on the path. But then why had he received no vision? Was the light even from Erathis or just a product of the great big ball of stress he had turned his life into? His spiral downward was interrupted by six loud bell strikes ringing out in the distance.

Grumnir, still laying in the grass, craned his neck in the direction of the sound. Another day wasted and nothing but my own self loathing to show for it.

Dejectedly he lifted himself from the ground and began to gather up the few items he had brought with him into the forest. The log of Saint Meriele and the empty basket which had been his lunch sat right by him, but his hammer, shield, and his robes lay by a nearby tree. He had taken the robes off and neatly laid them atop his shield to keep them from getting dirty. They were simple blue robes, befitting his low station in the church, but they were trimmed with silver strips of cloth. The silver strips marked him as a disciple of the path, that way when visiting other temples devoted to Erathis they would treat him as a guest and not as a novice to be put to work. It was the first time the robe of a novice had ever been adorned with the markings of the path.

He felt like a fake whenever he wore them, so he looked for any opportunity not to. However, he would be returning to his room at the temple once he got back to the city and it would be very inappropriate for him to arrive with them slung over his shoulder. He pulled them on over his head, making sure to pull his beard out through as well running his hand down its length a few times to smooth it back out. His light hammer was simple but tied to it was the holy symbol of Erathis, the scales. Coincidentally his family crest, which was engraved across his shield, also featured scales.

It was a large shield by dwarf standards but even though it stood nearly as tall as Grumnir, it was lighter than it looked, and he found he could carry it without much issue. It had a mostly rectangular shape to it though near his chest it did widen out before abruptly turning back inward and meeting in a shallow point at the top. Inside was etched an old dwarven rune, a symbol which he had been told stood for luck. The front had a near mirror finish, which would have been quite striking if his family crests odd design did not detract from the design. Reaching up from the bottom of the shield was a long skeletal arm that, near the wider section, grasped and held a set of balanced scales in its hand. He had never understood the design, but he was at least accustomed to it.

Many others were not though, especially outside of Furnacebottom. It had garnered him quite a few odd looks from the people of Foran. It would not have been his first choice, but his older brother Bauldir had given him the shield as a gift when he left the city. Neither his eldest brother Vormir nor their father had bothered to get Grumnir anything to say goodbye. In fact, both seemed to have actively avoided him at the farewell feast. Sometimes it had felt like Bauldir was the only family Grumnir had.

Other than the shield, he had only received two other gifts that day. The writ of passage from Father Asher and… He sighed, he did not want to think about that right now, the guilt of it already welling in his throat. He emerged from the forest and, despite there still being plenty of light left in the day, could see they had already begun lighting the torches around the gate. The guards nodded to him as he passed, having begun to recognize him from his repeat trips in and out of the woodlands.

He took his time as he walked back to the temple, a few shops shuttering their doors for the night. The evening was still too early for the tavern crowds though, so he found the streets clear and few eyes upon him. It was calmer here than in Furnacebottom, where smithies and forges ran at all hours. The song of industry some called it. Here the air was silent, even when the taverns and bars saw the large crowds later in the night there was still many places in Foran where one could find themselves a quiet place to rest.

Grumnir knelt for a moment outside of the entrance to the temple district, an act meant to thank the gods for allowing one to enter upon their holy ground. He found himself doing it more because it was expected than as a form of thanks, instead he usually took the moment to question the gods as to why he so often found himself in turmoil. If there was a reason, they kept it from him.

The district was sizable, and he had to walk the length of the plaza to reach the modest temple dedicated to Erathis. Once inside he could see there were still a few worshipers scattered among the main hall, some in the pews muttering prayers while others read through the books of law. He bowed his head and kept to the side of the room, not wanting to be pulled in be any of the patrons. Ducking down a side passage he managed to slide out of view and make his way uninterrupted through the corridor.

After making it to his room he shut the door softly behind him and carefully placed his shield against the wall, his light hammer on a chair next to it. His robes were cast off and placed near the door to his room, at some point tomorrow an attendant would collect and wash them. The room they had allowed him was very bare, furnished only with a desk, a bed, and two chairs. There was also a small closet built into the wall that held clean blue robes and few pairs of simple clothes to wear under them.

Grumnir sat on the edge of the bed feeling the frustration of the day wash over him. Next to the bed was the desk, his traveling pack leaning against it. On top of the desk sat a package that appeared to have been opened and rewrapped several times. There was also a plain leatherbound book, Grumnirs own log that he may keep a record of his journey on the path like those who came before him.

I need to write something in there, even if only tell the truth of my blasphemy. Then, if the log ever makes its way back to Father Asher, at least he'll know why I lied, he laughed to himself, Do I even know why I lied?

Reluctantly Grumnir moved over to the desk and carefully pushed the package to the side. He opened the log and stared down at that first empty page. He took a deep breath as he dipped the quill, the weight of the ink heavy with his own guilt. A moment passed as he composed himself, finally beginning to scratch the first few words across the page.

'I'm sorry,' he began, 'but I lied.'