I dreamt of freezing morning winds, and warm bear blood from the hunt. Of bringing the tribe glory and honor. Of forging a mighty axe for our greatest warrior at the fiery mountain heart, beneath its highest peak.

I remember when these were more than dreams. They were a path, layed down before me by my ancestors and my tribe. I was Akan “BrittleSmith” Gartakanath, a mockery title for a small boy learning the craft from the great Korgath “GiantSmith” Gartakanath. He was our clan’s smith for the past 40 years, forging great axes and mighty spears for our heroes and chieftains. And I was chosen to be his successor… until tragedy unfolded.

That day I was working the forge. Making sure it burned hot for the metalwork we had to do that day. Korgath was particularly excited about the legacy he was going to leave the tribe, and so, he put me to work extra hard. Sweat dropped from my face like snow melting in the summer when the world stopped. My mother’s voice echoed through the village, a cry for mercy. As I turned to see what was happening, my father was being dragged to the altar of judgment, a stone table bloodstained by the years of sentences passed down by our tribe’s chieftains – as it was the law. I couldn’t move.

I heard something about smuggling weapons, my father’s treason, and debt to a filthy orc who had cheated on a duel. My father had dishonored the tribe and my mother, out of love and despair, tried to stand by him. Them both were fools, I see that now. But fools are still loved by their children, who happened to be very impulsive when their parents are executed in front of their eyes – even if it is by the law. Impulsiveness doesn’t go well with forge fire, that I can tell you, friend. That can be very dangerous.

The forge fire turned cold and my heart burned in rage. I did not understand what happened and I wanted revenge. A fool’s child must work very hard not to follow his parent’s footsteps. I was not aware of that at the time. I was a fool too. Burning inside in rage, I walked towards our great hall. Those few who were not at the trial and tried to stop me were met with a burning sword and backed off. I burned it to the ground with the coals from the forge. As I watched the late attempts of putting the fire down, my rage burned out and I kneeled behind it and wept.

I was next on trial. I only remember Korgath’s voice standing up for me. I was a young boy left alone to deal with my parent’s foolishness. That’s not our way of doing things, he said in my defense. I was to follow my parent’s to oblivion if not for him. I was banished until I could return with prove of my worth and restore honor to the tribe. So I left the mountains, and the freezing morning winds, and the feeling of warm blood from the hunt. The only thing I was left with were my clothes, a war hammer that Korgath had made for me, and a crude dagger I had made myself.

I was not an experienced hunter, so I thought I needed to go where game would be fairer than in the mountains. I climbed down, to the forests at the slopes, where I found a cave and learned how to survive. I learned to track animals, find food, and to stay out of sight. I spent a year or three like this. I was now 13, I think. It’s hard to remember. But it was by then that I heard the hammer beating metal on an anvil once again. That music echoed through the forest and into my cave. I followed it carelessly… foolishly…

I found a small tribe of humans. I had never seen them before! I saw orcs and dwarves and even some drows come to my clan sometimes. But humans rarely climbed so high and those who did never seemed to come close to our village. I got interested, and I got closer, and I got caught. It took a few of them to hold me down, maybe 5 or 6. They are so small! Ha! I laughed hard that day, as I had forgotten how to do in my years of solitude. I think that laugh might have saved me…

They kept me in chains for a while, but gave me food and taught me the common language. I asked to be chained near the forge I had listened from the woods and told them of my stuff in the cave. Slowly but surely we became friends, even family after some years. They were reclusive and preferred to stay out of sight, like me. We got along fine because of that. I found some happiness again. I worked their forge and drank their ale and laughed at their stories. They said my hammer sounded like a storm when it hit the anvil. One day though, as I tested one of the weapons I had made, Osmond, their leader, said that I was going to be “initiated” in their “Brotherhood”, whatever that means…

That never happened, though. The gods have a strange plan for me. I like to think that the best weapons are beaten hard and hard again before taking shape. So it seems that they decided to beat me like the storms I would make on my anvil, only harder.

I can’t recall much of that night. Slaughter. Screams. My mother’s desperate cry for help echoed in my mind again. Blood. Anger. Fire. More blood. Everything blurred. I remember there was a strange creature. I tried to kill it and I failed. I felt worthless again. So much anger. All in vain.

And so I dreamt, friend. Of freezing morning winds, and warm bear blood from the hunt. Of bringing the tribe glory and honor. Of forging a mighty axe for our greatest warrior at the fiery mountain heart, beneath its highest peak. Surrounded by my Clan and my Brotherhood. All I can do is dream. For when I woke up, it was far from it. I lost half of my left arm, I had lost my clan and now my new brothers and sisters. I seem to have lost my memory of places and locations. The mountains are where they always have been, but there are cities now, where yesterday there were trees. I don’t understand what happened. But it seems that I had misjudged the gods’ decision on how easy my destiny would be forged. If I was to prove my worth, I needed to get beaten hard, and hard again.

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ART CREDIT: https://www.artstation.com/contests/ancient-civilizations/challenges/14/submissions/14179