A dark cave with a peculiar smell. The sound of the cold wind outside. A warm fire burns near a bed with clean white linen. Fruni, a dwarf of the Blue Mountains, wakes up bruised and drawn of his strength. He looks around and is met by a voice that speaks to him from a dark corner of the room.
Voice: I was always impressed by the resilience of Dwarves. Your bodies can endure so much pain.
Fruni: Who is it that speaks to me from the darkness? Show yourself!
Voice: You need not fear Master Dwarf. The darkness in this room means you no harm.
Fruni: It is not the darkness I fear, but what dark things that dare linger in it. Now show yourself.
Fruni tries to find the cold glint of his axe in the dark.
Voice: Not all that is dark in shadows linger, not all that is darkness is evil by heart.
A tall, robed elf with pitch black hair steps into the light.
My name is Tinnurion, Steward of the House of Eöl.
Fruni remains silent for a brief moment as he looks the elf straight in his cold grey eyes.
Fruni: Well don't mind me saying this elf, but the "House of Eöl" appears rather damp and cold. I doubt it needs a steward to look quite as grim.
Something akin to a smile appears on the elf's face.
Fruni rubs his aching head. Then suddenly he recalls what had transpired before everything turned black.
How did I get here? Where is my father?! I cannot leave him out there!
Tinnurion gestures him to calm down.
Tinnurion: What is your name Master Dwarf?
Fruni is annoyed that his questions remain unanswered.
Fruni: I am Fruni, son of Fingar. But whether or not I am at yer service remains to be seen. Now tell me, how did I get here, and where is my father?
Tinnurion: Pleasure to meet you Fruni son of Fingar.
The elf turns around and grabs something from a wooden desk.
Here drink this, it will lessen the pain in your head.
Takes the cup reluctantly. He hovers his large nose above it to capture its scent.
Fruni: What is this?
Tinnurion: If I wanted you dead Master Dwarf I would not have wasted good poison on you, but had rather left you where I found you. Now drink it, and I will answer your questions.
Fruni brings the cup to his lips and takes a sip. He coughs.
Fruni: It certainly isn't honeymead. By Durin this is the worst drink I have had since I lost that bet with my cousin Drudi and had to drink goat piss.
Tinnurion frowns.
Fruni looks at the elf.
It was a one time thing!
Tinnurion: I'm sure it was master dwarf. Now drink the rest, you'll feel better.
Fruni gulps down the liquid as fast as he can, squinting his eyes in discomfort.
Tinnurion: I found you not far from the corpse of a cave troll.
Fruni puts down the cup and pulls his beard.
You saved me the effort of having to face the beast myself. I had spotted him wandering about of late, searching for a new lair. I must say your skills in battle impress me, for not all who face a cave troll live to tell the tale.
Tinnurion sits down across from Fruni and brings out a familiar weapon.
This axe is a decent weapon, forged from Blue Mountain metal I assume?
Fruni: How would you know?
Tinnurion: I know a great many things about your kind master Dwarf. Recognising your craftsmanship may just be the easiest. Ere one can acquire that skill, now that asks a great deal more.
Fruni's hands itch. He doesn't like it one bit that this stranger has his axe in hand.
Fruni: It was forged by my forebears and it is an heirloom of my house.
Tinnurion understands but holds on to the axe nonetheless. He stands up with the axe in hand and Fruni sits upright, still quite unsure what to make of the sinister looking elf. Tinnurion walks over to a stone table in the corner and puts down the axe. He then walks into another room, out of sight. Fruni's eyes are fixed upon the cold glint of his axe lying on the table. He stands up but in that moment Tinnurion returns with something in his hands and Fruni quickly pretends like he was warming his hands to the fire.
Fruni: This fire sure brings life back into my fingers.
Tinnurion grins. Fruni's eyes now fall upon an item in the elf's hands, wrapped in a thick black blanket. Tinnurion removes the fabric and takes out a long sheathed sword. The pommel reflects the surrounding light like a morning star and lights up the silver embroidery of the hilt's leather wrapping all the way to the cross-guard. As he unsheathes it, the blade itself appears to be black.
Tinnurion: This is Níniolêg, Weeping Thorn. Forged from hardened black metal my old master called Galvorn. It is as hard as Dwarf-steel, but more malleable and supple. I call it Rodeöl, for there is no denying that this was the greatest achievement of my old master.
Fruni looks in wonder at the blade. He had never seen such craftsmanship and while he had never pursued to acquire similar mastery in smithing, he is still of Dwarf kind and can easily recognise metallic quality when it presents itself. Tinnurion swings it around with grace.
He never did tell me the secret. But I knew that I would discover it when given the chance. After many years I had, and I treasure it beyond anything in my possession. It reminds me of other times, when the world was young.
Fruni: A fine blade it is. But you have yet to answer my question. Where is my father? Is he still out there?
Tinnurion sheathes the weapon and turns to the dwarf.
Tinnurion: Follow me.
(To be continued)
