A Clanless Dwarf Finds His Place

[deathmetus 152]

*Hafnir sharpens his axe as he stands by the anvil. He looks at the dragon's fangs he had hard won. He still could not believe it. He remembers the battle of the few days past.*

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*Dwarves are shouting and running everywhere, the dragon is harpooned, but struggles firing fireballs and trying to kill the dwarves who hold him. His struggling knocks many dwarves back, yet Hafnir dodges the tail and wings flailing. He sees the Grand Marshall rallying the troops, ordering to attack and kill the beast. The neck becomes exposed, showing for a moment. Hafnir chrages, jumps and slices hard with his axe, cleaving the neck in half. As the head falls to the floor of the ship Hafnir drops to his knees as the blood of the dragon's neck sprays over him. The Grand Marshal, Kjell Ire'eart comes forward and takes the head, raising it above his head to show to all the dwarves. They all begin to cheer. The Grand Marshall turns to Hafnir and hands him several of the fangs of the beast.

"You did well lad. 'ere take these, you did well."

*The dwarves all celebrate the great death of the dragon. They turn to the hold for drinks and food. But Hafnir knows he had done it, he, a clanless dwarf, slayed the dragon.*

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*Hafnir comes back from his memories and takes the largest fang and sets it into a metal handle. He begins to hammer it in, and sharpen one edge of the fang. He continues to hammer it in, and seals it in by heating the iron and using leather to cover the handle. He sharpens it even more, careful to not touch the now hot blade. Testing the blade on the end of the anvil, it slices it almost off. . .*

"'ll name it. . . Bloodfang. . ." *he speaks the words as he cuts himself, just by running his finger along the blade. He carves into the side the rune name for the sword and begins to fashion a sheath of a small amount of the dragon skin he had. He creates a second sword of similar look. He cools it more swiftly than its partner and the blade appears to have an almost icy, stony, look. It is cold, and seems to contain no heat, as he carves the name he speaks it aloud to himself, "and. . . Icefang. . ." he sheathes both on his back in their respective sheaths, stands, and goes upstairs to join his fellow dwarves.

[Boomack21 124]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.