Jenmamuh opened his eyes. A man of ageless grace, his features were sharp and refined. Straight brown hair framed his solemn expression. His pale, blue eyes held an ancient wisdom, the only real signs of his immense age. A surge of energy pulsed through his mind, an untamed power that seemed to hum inside his core. The air in his meditation chamber almost crackled, the blue glow of the room intensifying, bathing him in a brief flash of ethereal light. The raw force was unlike any he had encountered in centuries, affecting the physical world around him. It stirred a flicker of ancient memories, of a time when such a powerful awakening might have signified a great shift in the world's balance.
Sensing the direction of the power, Jenmamuh willed his flying keep westward. The keep, which he affectionately called Windsong, was a marvel of silent power. Small, but a fortress of weathered, grey stone and ancient, gleaming steel. It glided through the early morning sky like a silent mountain. Intricate runes, carved into its outer walls, glowed faintly with a soft blue light, and the very air around it seemed to vibrate with displaced energy. The keep floated in silence, held aloft by psionic and magical enchantments. The two forces, like oil and water, never mixed. Pscionics also don't typically trust magic users, with the same being true of magic users towards pscionicsts.
Inside the keep, the others felt the subtle shift in Windsong's direction. A collective murmur arose in anticipation. To most, the thought of a new student or destination filled them with excitement. But a select few, those who had witnessed the more violent birth of psionics, felt a prickle of foreboding. They knew that not all awakenings were peaceful for anyone involved.
Jenmamuh opened his eyes again, his gaze lingering on nothing in the now dark room. The powerful presence he had felt was gone, leaving no trace. Unfortunately, this was not uncommon. Many psionics awakened only to be eliminated by a rival almost immediately. He assumed this awakening was also doomed. He felt an echo of fear associated with the awakening before it disappeared, a fleeting moment of primal terror.
With a heavy sigh, Jenmamuh rose from his meditation. His thoughts turned back to the power he had felt as he headed for the door. The sudden disappearance felt unnatural, as if the power simply vanished rather than being extinguished. The more he contemplated the power, the more he began to suspect that the source was not extinguished. Masked, hidden or captured, but not gone. He noticed his pace had slowed in thoughts, and had only taken the steps. He returned to his mat and sat down. Closing his eyes, he focused his mind again, searching for the source of the power as he sent his consciousness outward. He knew the search was a long shot now, a desperate attempt to find a faint trail in a storm. Countless years had developed his patience, and he would dedicate time every sunrise to search for the power.
Ontrose crept through the brush, his broad, powerful shoulders hunched low. He was a dwarf of sturdy build, with a thick, russet beard braided with polished steel rings that hung to his chest. His movements were as silent as a dwarf could be, but his heavy boots crushed the overgrowth with every step. The forest, a labyrinth of twisted, gnarled branches and dense, suffocating foliage, surrounded him, muting all sounds except for his own heavy breaths. The crunch of twigs beneath his feet was lost to the sound of his axe tearing through the undergrowth. The air hung heavy with the acrid smell of smoke mixed with the damp, loamy scent of decaying leaves and earth.
As he approached a clearing, the smell grew stronger. He noticed signs of recent foot traffic, but no other signs of a recent battle. The soil was churned, like something heavy had been through recently. He gripped his axe tightly before barreling into the clearing, his feet landing perfectly, ready to shift his balance if needed.
No movement, but a scene of devastation met his gaze. A wooden wagon, its frame charred and twisted, lay on its side in the center of the small clearing. Troll bodies, contorted in death, were scattered around the wreckage as they smoldered. He noticed that all of the trolls were on their backs, save one. The air smelled heavy with smoke and death, but Ontrose noticed nothing was actually burning. The amount of smoke was far too small for the visible charring. He tried to process this information as he continued, but it felt too unnatural. Nothing made sense as he continued inspecting the destruction. The inferno that had created it must have been a powerful, but a quickly dissipating force.
He moved further into the clearing cautiously, looking for any signs survivors or a struggle, his battle axe still gripped tightly as he attempted to walk silently. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped over the charred remains of the trolls. Their flesh still smoldered, and the smell assaulted his senses. In the center of the wreckage, a small figure sat draped in a white cloth. As Ontrose drew closer, he realized it was a human child, her eyes fixed on him with an intense stare. She was a tiny thing, no more than an infant, with a shock of hair the color of copper and a pair of emerald-green eyes that seemed to hold power of their own. A faint glow pulsed within the green depths, a soft ethereal light that seemed to flicker with the smoldering remains around her.
Ontrose's heart went out to the child. Without hesitation, he dropped his axe and quickly scooped her up, cradling her in his arms. She didn't struggle in his arms as he looked around carefully, searching for any sign of her parents or other survivors. Instead, she continued to stare, trying to meet his eyes. Ontrose continued to scan the surroundings, but only saw the too-silent forest and all he could smell was the smoke and lingering death.
Holding the child close, Ontrose picked up his axe and began to retrace his steps. He felt a pressure in his head, like a headache about to start. He blinked quickly, willing the pain in his head to fade. He looked down at the child in his arms to find she was staring at him still, her green eyes glowing with a fiery intensity. He couldn't help but stare for a moment. Never had he seen a human baby, and never had he seen a child with glowing eyes. The child stared a moment longer before blinking and turning her head. As quickly as it started, the pressure in his head vanished. Now thinking clearly, he felt he had to get her to safety as quickly as he could. As he carried her back to where he entered, the single troll on its stomach started to twitch and move. With a deft twist of his wrist, Ontrose removed the troll's head with his axe. Just as quickly, and with one hand, Ontrose secured his axe to his back and pulled a small vial from his pocket, pouring the orange liquid onto the headless troll's body. Almost instantly, the troll erupted into flame. Satisfied that this troll wouldn't be coming back, he began making his way through the forest again, the child stirring slightly in his arms before falling asleep. The faint glow in her eyes dimmed as her eyelids closed, her tiny snores a fragile sound against the grim backdrop of the woods. Her snores were soon masked by his heavy footsteps as he navigated the woods, the sound filling him with an odd sense of peace as he walked.
The journey to the Dwarven stronghold was long and, thankfully, uneventful. Ontrose pressed on, his pace quickened by a growing sense of urgency as the sun began its descent. The child slept peacefully in his arms the entire time, seemingly unaware of the peril she had been saved from.
After what felt like hours, Ontrose reached the base of Quickspire Mountain. The Dwarven stronghold was a massive fortress carved deep within, slowly expanding deeper into the mountain as the dwarven generations grew. The main entrance was a great, iron-bound gate etched with the stern faces of dwarven kings, and the stone walls surrounding it seemed to breathe with the mountain's grandeur. This was where visitors and traders entered, but not his destination. He approached a scout's entrance to the south, hidden by a mound of dirt and grass and well out of sight of the main gate. He knew the guards would have already spotted him and that news of his return with a child would soon spread. He turned back towards the forest, his eyes scanning the horizon beyond him. A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the trolls and the torched wagon. As he looked on, he felt like he was being watched. His keen eyes saw nothing, the only movement was birds circling above the forest and the wind in the leaves.
Convinced that he was alone, Ontrose gave a series of three short whistles. A moment later, a section of the grass mound slid upward, revealing a perfectly crafted hidden entrance. Ontrose ducked inside, the door closing behind him with a silent but heavy thud, the sound already muted in the tunnel.
"What have ye there?" a guard asked, his voice echoing through the tunnel, laced with suspicion.
"Got hisself another pet, he did," another replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Both guards laughed, the sound echoing through the descending tunnel. "Did another trade with a gnome, by me guess." The words followed Ontrose down the tunnel.
"King'll be expectin' ye," the first voice followed, barely audible.
Ontrose merely nodded as he walked, his expression unchanged. He didn't act like a typical dwarf for the most part, enjoying his time under the sky and out of the dwarven stronghold. A fact that often prevented him from attending the majority of the dwarven customs. At one point, he had domesticated a fox pup, which he had traded to a gnome named Barthlow. He appreciated the gnomish inventions, and has used his most recent trade to burn the surviving troll. He also knew that dwarves had little love anything that didn't come from the stone, including animals and other races, particularly humans. And now he was carrying one into the heart of the dwarven city. He knew that he would be ridiculed at first, and probably shunned later, but his gut told him to protect this child. What better place then his own home? He reasoned with himself on his return. He already felt a strange connection to her, a sense of fate he couldn't explain.
Ontrose's mind continued to race as he walked through the tunnels, the air growing thicker with the smell of damp stone and ale. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to what he witnessed, like there was something that he missed in his hurry to rescue the child. Why was a wagon so far from any road, in the middle of a dense forest? How did it get there without any trails? And why had the trolls attacked it? What killed all the trolls? Where did they all come from? And most importantly, who was this child? Where were her parents? He thought back to the wagon wreckage, realizing once again that he did not see any human bodies among the carnage, or even blood on the ground. Or wagon tracks or horses. A cold knot of fear tightened in his stomach. He figured now that any humans would have been incinerated, if it were a fireball or some kind of magical blast. Or they vanished, like the smoke from the fire. What kind of magic could do that? He forced the thought away. He had to focus on getting the child to safety. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of relief as the walls of the stronghold closed in around him, a feeling that went against his nature but was a welcome comfort nonetheless.
Ontrose stopped, his thoughts interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. He looked up and realized that he had reached the doors to the king's audience hall, another dwarf now headed away from him after exiting the hall. The walls were lined with statues of great dwarven heroes of old, their faces etched with a stern determination and weapons held at the ready. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the stone, making the statues seem almost alive, or like they could come alive at any moment.
Past the doors, a throne sat upon a raised platform. The king, a gruff dwarf with a snow-white beard woven with gold, sat upon a throne carved from a single block of white granite. His face, etched with scars and the lines of age and authority, held the weight of a hundred years of rule. His fingers tapped idly on a heavy silver goblet that seemed to never lose any ale, no matter how much was drunk from the cup. His eyes narrowed when he saw the child on Ontrose's arm, his gaze hardening.
"So it is true. Ye had better have a durned good reason to be bringin' a human baby into me kingdom," the king said, his voice booming through the hall, echoing off the stone walls. A sneer flickered across his face.
Ontrose bowed his head. "Yer majesty," he began, "we've trolls on our lands. Don't know what to make of it, but the more I think, the more I'd be willin' to wager someone used this babe here as bait."
Ontrose proceeded to describe the scene, painting a vivid picture of the devastation, the trolls, and lack of other humans. The king listened intently, his expression growing more somber with each word. The child in Ontrose's arms stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up at Ontrose and then the king, her gaze steady and unwavering, her eyes again glowing slightly.
"And ye thought it smart to bring the troll bait home with ye?" the king asked coldly, the volume of his voice lowering. "Ain't been trolls on our lands since before me pappy was king. And here ye are, holdin' onto what they was chasin'. Ye should have left it there." The king's menacing voice cut him to the bone. "Or stayed there with it," the king added coldly.
Ontrose lowered his head. He knew he was taking a risk, but he could not have left the child behind. "I couldn't leave her out there, yer majesty," he replied, his voice firm as his eyes met the king's. "It wouldn't of been right."
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The king, his gaze now locked with the child's, seemed to soften slightly. He paused, considering Ontrose's words. Finally, he nodded. "Fine then," the king said. "It's yers now. You'll house it. Feed it. Teach it our ways. When it grows, ye'll find it a job to do. That human..." Disgust in his voice at the word was evident. "That human will not bother any dwarf. Ever. Do ye understand what I'm tellin' ye, Ontrose?"
Ontrose nodded silently. He knew that the king's words were harsh, but he was also grateful that she wouldn't be thrown out. He glanced at the child in his arms. She was fully awake now, her green eyes focused, staring up at the king with an unnerving intensity. The glow in her eyes seemed dimmer to Ontrose, but still noticeable at a glance.
As he left the king's chamber, Ontrose once again found himself in the audience hall. He paused for a moment, his gaze drawn to the single statue of a human. It was a rare sight, a testament to the few humans who had managed to earn the respect of the dwarves, let alone have their likeness in a place of honor from so long ago. The statue of the human was almost completely obscured by shadows, except for a sliver of light that landed on the left cheek of the carved face, making a long, thin scar shimmer like silver. His keen dwarven eyes noticed that the scar was a trick of the light, but could tell that the granite underneath the light also contained blemishes, which he assumed would have been intentional. A slight to humans, the statue was also only visible while standing at two points in the audience hall. He glanced down at the child in his arms, noticing she was staring intently at the statue as well. He silently hoped she wouldn't be as shunned as every other race was.
A female dwarf approached Ontrose as he was lost in thought, her eyes filled with curiosity. "So it's true," she said in a heavy dwarven accent. "Ye did bring a babe back with ye."
Ontrose looked to her and nodded. "Aye," he replied quietly.
"Does it have a name?" the dwarf asked, holding out her hands to hold the child.
Ontrose hesitated for a moment before allowing the dwarf to hold her. The child looked back at Ontrose, her green eyes wide, curious, and glowing slightly. She stared at him for a moment before a frustrated look appeared on her face. She turned her attention to the female dwarf, their eyes locking. The dwarf's eyes glossed over slightly as she stared into the child's eyes. Ontrose noticed the subtle change, but did not expect a momentary lapse in her gruff demeanor.
"Katava," the dwarf said, smiling. No trace of her Dwarven accent, her voice was soft and almost melodic. "That's a fine name."
She handed the baby back to Ontrose, who cradled her in his arms. As the dwarf turned to leave, she paused and looked around, as if confused. She glanced back at Ontrose and Katava, an odd look of recognition on her face, and a hint of something more than simple curiosity.
"What in the blazes?" she exclaimed, her voice returning to its usual gruffness. "Ye get out of 'ere, I got bread to bake!" She waved her hands in the air before heading toward the kitchens.
Ontrose was taken aback by her sudden outburst, but didn't know what to make of it. He quickly retreated from the audience hall, heading back to his chambers, a nagging feeling that he had missed something important again. He looked down at the child in his arms as he walked, noticing her eyes watched the path intently as they continued to his home.
When he arrived, he found that someone had already prepared a place for Katava. A crib stood in the corner of the room, filled with soft blankets and pillows. A small table held a bottle of milk and a bowl of porridge. He smiled to himself. It may be a human baby, but some just wanted a baby to help with. He already appreciated their help.
"Alright, lass," Ontrose said to Katava, his voice softening as he looked at the child in his arms. "Looks like you're stayin' here. Let's get ye a bite to eat, then off to bed." Ontrose noticed her eyes no longer held their fiery glow, but instead were the hue of polished emerald. "Ye got some pretty eyes lass," he said as he sat down. "But don't think ye'll be gettin' yer way all the time with 'em," he said softly. "I am a dwarf, after all," he added to himself.
A dark figure watched through the limbs of a tree as Ontrose disappeared into the ground. It saw the dwarf and it saw the child. The glowing eyes that watched the pair blinked slowly. It saw the humans being carried off by the nasty trolls shortly before the sun hit its peak. Then felt the explosion a short time after, a force so powerful that it stirred the ancient being into a slow movement. It felt the source of the power, deep in the woods where nothing lived, stationary as the blaze quickly subsided. Then the overwhelming silence of the forest, a silence the being knew was caused by fear. Then the power vanished, as quickly as it appeared. It sensed another power in the woods a short time after, but nothing compared to what it felt earlier. It would wait patiently for the power to return, now slowly moving toward the other power it felt.
Years spun by, Katava's early years filled with stories about what dwarves do and what Ontrose did for the kingdom, as well as instilling in her an understanding of the king's orders. The fortress was a labyrinth of echoing halls and towering, sculpted pillars, smelling of damp earth and woodsmoke from the forges. She blossomed into a bright and curious child, her laughter echoing softly in the cavernous halls, a fragile, melodic sound against the constant clang of hammers on anvils. She quickly learned their ways, adapting to their gruff demeanor and simple, industrious lifestyle. A part of her, however, always felt like an outsider, a flower in a field of stone. Katava was a quiet child, her small, slender frame a stark contrast to the stocky, muscular dwarves. She had a shock of hair the color of midnight, a change that seemed to happen very quickly once she was in the stronghold. She had unnervingly intense green eyes that she would often keep lowered, taught by Ontrose to stay out of the way of the bustling dwarven miners and smiths.
While most of the dwarves were wary of her, a human child raised in their midst, some gradually came to accept her presence. Others still even began to show her a measure of kindness, a rare thing for a human to receive from a dwarf. There were those, however, that would antagonize her mercilessly, making it clear that she was no dwarf and didn't belong there. One dwarf in particular, Bolton, was relentless. He was a gruff, stocky dwarf with a tangled mess of a beard and eyes that always seemed to be squinting in annoyance. Given any opportunity, he would call her names, mock her appearance, doing anything he could to make her feel his lesser. He was especially fond of referring to her as "Troll Bait," the words dripping with malice.
Ontrose had caught the young dwarf harassing Katava once. His face was a mask of fury and the muscles in his broad shoulders bunched under his worn leather tunic as he yanked Bolton off the ground by his beard. With one hand and a quick toss, Ontrose sent Bolton flying down the hall. After that, Bolton avoided Ontrose's wrath, but would still harass Katava when he wasn't around.
Because of Bolton and a few others, Katava kept to herself as a child. Ontrose had taught her things like how to read and write. He understood enough of humans to know these skills were important, even though dwarves often relied on more verbal means or pictographic records. She would spend her time reading anything that she could find in the great stone libraries, but the shelves mainly held instructional things like cookbooks and manuals for smelting oars and minerals, but occasionally would come across epic tales. She found that reading would take her mind to another place. The majority of what she read were dwarven tales, etched into thick, heavy tomes with pages of hardened leather. Rarely she would find fragile, thin books about humans. These books, often with strange, smooth covers unlike any paper or leather she knew, were filled with stories of a world beyond the mountains, hinting at vast open plains and structures of impossible scale. Those books she cherished. Her favorite story, a legend whispered among the dwarves, told of a legendary figure they referred to as "The Guardian." It was said that this great protector battled the dark elves and giants, but disappeared mysteriously with a metallic dragon. The tale spoke of his return, when dwarves would stand together with the other goodly races against a great darkness. This epic resonated with Katava, planting a seed of hope within her heart.
She would read the tales over and over, imagining herself as a mighty warrior traversing huge open lands or across water that stretched farther than the eye could see. She read of other dwarven kingdoms, and was once able to see a map etched into a slab of polished granite, showing all the different tunnels that delved deep into the dwarven city. The map also displayed an ancient network of subterranean passages, connecting named mountains she didn't recognize across vast distances, far beyond where any dwarf dared to dig now.
As a child, she would dream of a castle in the sky, hidden within the clouds. It felt more real than a dream, leaving her with a faint humming vibration after she woke. When she woke, her thoughts returned to the sky. As she got older, she was occasionally allowed to accompany Ontrose on his rounds outside the mountain walls. She treasured this time outside more than anything inside the stronghold, watching the sky for as long as she could, her intense green eyes scanning the horizon, searching. Ontrose, ever vigilant, never let her stray too far from his side.
"What are ye lookin' at lass?" Ontrose asked her one day. He had noticed her watching the skies anytime they were outside.
"There's a castle up there somewhere," she whispered. "And I'm gonna find it," she said with a smile, a rare, genuine expression that transformed her face.
Ontrose shook his head, a fond smile of his own hidden in his thick beard. "Ain't no castles in the sky, lass. It'd fall to the ground," he said with a chuckle.
Katava giggled with him, but she truly believed there was a castle somewhere in the sky. She didn't know why, but she could almost feel it, like someone was looking for her as she was confined under thousands of tons of stone.
The years passed uneventfully. Katava would avoid Bolton as much as possible, but would still spend the majority of her time by herself. She found she had a skill in the kitchen, a place of warmth and comfort, where the rhythmic kneading of dough and the sweet smell of baking bread soothed her. She began reading any cookbooks she could find, specifically looking for desserts. She preferred to work in the kitchens at night, knowing she was less likely to encounter others.
She spent many nights in the kitchens, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows as she baked different breads for the next day and desserts for the next evening. Time passed for her quickly in the kitchens, but her only respite was her stories. Ontrose attempted to be supportive, but dwarves aren't known for their compassion. He loved her like his own daughter, and tried to raise her as best he could. Her heart longed for open skies, but she felt guilty telling Ontrose. She knew that he had taken a lot of abuse from other dwarves because of her, and she didn't want to hurt him.
"So ye think we can go to one of them other mountains?" Katava asked Ontrose one day as they watched the sky, a hopeful glint in her eyes. He shook his head. "Why not?" She asked.
"The mountains ain't safe, lass. Giants roam 'em, among other nasties. And them thorn-creepers been spreadin' fast from the south," he added, a hint of unease in his voice. "Only thing that seems to stop 'em is fire," he added.
"But what about the other dwarves? Can't go see 'em through the tunnels?"
Ontrose again shook his head. "As much as I'd love to show ye our cousin's homes, they wouldn't be as acceptin' of ye, lass. And it breaks me heart." He regarded her curiously for a moment. "What tunnels are ye talkin' about?"
"The ones on them maps in the library," she said simply. "I've seen 'em a couple times, looked like they were trading tunnels or something."
Again Ontrose shook his head. "Lot of dwarves died in them tunnels," he said quietly. "Battle, before my time, that me pa used to tell me. Dark elves, silver dragon. Dwarves asked for help from the humans, but it never came. From what I been told, there were so many deaths that the tunnels were sealed and hidden. From then on, dwarves kept to themselves. We'll do some tradin', but humans and elves ain't privy to the finer craftsmanship. Dwarves don't like 'em or trust 'em."
Katava just stared at the dwarf. She could see the pain in his eyes, and she knew it was for her, being a human in a dwarven world. Not that she couldn't see the other dwarven kingdoms, but that those who lived there would treat her as an outsider or worse. She nodded, then hugged Ontrose. "Thank ye for bein' me pa."
Ontrose returned the hug, then held her at arm's length. "Ya know, I think we could use some of them sweet things ye make. Let's head back in and ye go grab us a couple good ones."
Now Katava truly smiled. They returned through the scout's entrance quickly, Ontrose heading to their home and Katava making her way to the kitchen. In her haste, she didn't see Bolton standing nearby, nor did she notice the two other dwarves with him. They watched her and Ontrose go, waiting a few moments before slowly following the halls to the kitchens. A dark glint appeared in Bolton's eyes, a grim, malicious intent that promised a cruel end to Katava's moment of happiness.
