The training was difficult, for a time. Bernath was a strict disciplinarian, but he was also kind and fair in his criticisms of my abilities. At the beginning of my training, it was awkward and uncomfortable for me to be within the walls of the dwarven city for such extended periods of time. Bernath’s home and training center was acceptably private, but the journey there and back to the comfort of the woods – though in the dark of night each way – was uncomfortable. I felt as if hostile eyes were watching me constantly, which they probably were.

It became apparent that I was unskilled with most ordinary martial weapons – Bernath’s term was that I had “flappy wrists” – and that I lacked the dexterity to be good with ranged implements as well. For several weeks, this frustrated Bernath to no end: he seemed determined to help me defend myself. After days of attempting different maneuvers with daggers, swords, axes, maces, staffs, spears, longbows, crossbows, and all manner of thrown weapons, I was ready to give up. My arms ached, my wrists were sore, and while I felt more physically fit than I ever had, the complete lack of success had dampened both of our spirits.

The only factor to Bernath’s training that had been a success thus far had been my defenses: gone were my tattered robes, and in their place I had been training with increasingly heavy armor pads to get used to the weight of real armor. Bernath was strangely silent on this topic, and would not tell me at which point of my weight training I could stop and get a real set of armor. He was pleased, in our long discussions in the evenings (made easier by the fact that over the months spent there Bernath had begun teaching me the Dwarven language), with my account of the blending of arcane and divine magic, as this meant I would be able to wear heavier armor without it hindering my spellcasting abilities. I was eager to try it out in a real combat setting, where I could cast spells and not feel so vulnerable.

As time went on, and I had spent roughly six months in and out of Vulcan training with Bernath, things started to change. The dwarves of the town, who had been wary and aloof around me, started to be more friendly and some even smiled at me as I walked past. I still stuck to traveling at night out of personal preference, but I no longer felt like the outsider I knew I should be.

After yet another failure in the training ring, Bernath had an epiphany with my training, and without a word ran off out of his home, leaving me confused and speechless holding a greatsword in unsteady hands. After my initial surprise had worn off, I gratefully set the large blade on the ground and walked slowly out of the house trying to follow my mentor. I saw him already a few blocks away, talking hurriedly with a caravan merchant and rustling through his wares. I approached, and heard the tail end of the conversation, something about “relic” and “talon.”

As I arrived, Bernath tossed a hefty coinpurse at the merchant and placed a heavy bundle into my hands, and ran back towards the training room. Even more confused, I followed him back, trying to figure out the contents of the package based on general shape and weight. Definitely metal: maybe a glove? Bernath had tried to teach me how to use gauntlets and spiked gauntlets as a melee weapon, but I lacked the force to really inflict sufficient damage with my punches, regardless of the added weight of the gloves.

When I entered the home, Bernath was furiously tearing through a chest in the corner of the training room. “What’re ye waitin’ fer? Open the package, Kieran!” Obliging, I tugged on the string binding the parcel and as the flaps fell away, saw the beautifully crafted gauntlets and the long, sharp blades at the end of each finger. They were of fine silvered steel, with what appeared to be a small sapphire at each joint of the hand.

“They’re… beautifully crafted. Do you really think I can use these?” My Dwarven, a wonderful language reflective of the brusque and self-assured dwarves, was much more fluid than my Common, which I had largely abandoned during my time in the wilds and neglected in preference of the more respected Dwarven tongue in Vulcan.

“Aye, I know so! Ye’ve got a feral streak lad, and if ye embrace it, I think ye’ll find yer talent. Also, somewhere… in… here… Aha! Try this on with em!” As he finished rummaging in the chest, he pulled out a crude-looking wooden mask, wired along the bottom with what looked to be some sort of fang. The item itself was far from beautiful, but it had the sheen of magic around it, so I know it had some undeniable level of power.

I put on the gloves and mask, and felt their magic strengthen my hands and face. I instinctively knew how best to use them, and dropped to all fours as I approached the training dummy. With a leap, I charged at the dummy and slashed at it with my hands, my fingers gaining strength from the gloves as they tore easily through the oaken target and, after sinking both claws in, I fluidly reared my head and chomped down on the head. The magic of the mask flowed into my face, and my teeth tore the dummy’s head off in a shower of splinters. In a matter of seconds, I had demolished my “foe” with little more than my hands and teeth.

Dumbstruck, all Bernath could whisper was, “Aye, lad. That… that’ll do.”