(Note: This story and all characters within are the sole property of the author, and is under the protection of United States copyright law)
Grenwyn the dwarf had been returning to his village from a long trip to sell his wares when he saw the smoke rising on the horizon. He knew better than to walk into that sort of trouble. It could be wizards, or dragons, or even the gods themselves! Grenwyn’s dwarven sensibilities told him not to head into trouble…until after it clears up that is, one never knows what sort of treasures might be lying around.
Grenwyn had been through Sparrow Haven several times on his trips. It was a small town, nestled in a ring of small mounds on a wide open plain. Although the city lacked the protection that rivers, forests, and mountains offered, it was often overlooked because it was difficult to see. The people of Sparrows Haven weren’t very apt to make it more visible either. They happy to be hidden away from the world, and protected from the attention of the always hungry larger empires, and the population consisted mostly of paranoid or weary nobles who had sought the peace and solitude such an existence offered.
The cautious dwarf slowly made his way to the source of the smoke, and when the suns sank behind the distant ruins, he crept over the ridge to investigate. The utter devastation he saw made him gasp, and nearly fall backward down the hill. He cursed as only a dwarf can, and crawled back to the lip of the ridge. Everything was leveled to the ground, so he could see there were no visible enemies about. The gleam in his eye would have told anyone who cared to look, that he thought the chance of plunder far outweighed the risk of discovery in this dwarfs mind.
Grenwyn made his way through what was once the city of Sparrow Haven sifting through the ashes and pulling out anything he found of value. The night had been eerily silent thus far, so when he heard a low hungry growl, he jumped as high as a dwarf has ever jumped, and drew his bone white hammer. His own pulse sounded in his ears and he felt that his untimely demise was likely near, but true to his heritage, he did not plan to go down without a fight. The sound came again, but fainter this time, and more like a whimper than a growl. As he slowly rounded the corner, he saw the source of the sound, and had to bite back a laugh at his hysteria.
On the ground in front of him lay a young woman, most of her hair was singed off and she was covered more in blood than in the burned remains of her clothing. Though unconscious, she did not appear peaceful, and Grenwyn had the eerie feeling that the rage that burned inside of her could have fueled a dwarven forge. He cursed softly when he saw the wounds she bore. Grenwyn knew then that he would help this woman, because such a rage must be the start of an adventure, and he hadn’t had one of those in a good long time.
Grenwyn had hauled the woman back to town with him, along with the few things he found that would be of use or value. Grenwyn was successful enough to afford a house girl, Mynix, who was surprised and a bit perturbed when he dumped the unconscious woman on the bed and said “Fix this,” and stumbled off to his counting room.
Mynix was a plain girl, but had a spirit about her that made her seem to glow. This was why Grenwyn had picked her, but also why she was not chosen my one of the nobler households. Though Grenwyn was a bit surly, and more than a bit gruff, they had come to care for each other in a very familial manner, and so Mynix carefully went about “fixing,” the stranger.
Grenwyn ran a small shop lovingly entitled “The Demon’s Kitchen,” in the small town of Harpsail. Harpsail was on the coast about 3 days travel from Sparrows Haven. One might say it was bustling, which was strange for a place so small, however, many ships often stopped there on the way to and from bigger harbors in the trade season. One thing that made Harpsail a bit different from other cities was that from the edge of the harbor to the heart of town, everyone lived at about the same level of wealth.There were no slums, and no mansions, just clean small homes, and modest shops. That isn’t to say there was no crime, drunkenness, or other debauchery, because it was a port city after all, but the criminal element simply conducted itself in a respectable manner, and were treated the same.
Grenwyn’s shop was near the heart of town, but just off the main thoroughfare, and that’s just the way he liked it. Grenwyn knew that if he made quality goods, people would find him wherever he kept his shop. He didn’t like the causal browser pestering him, or gawking at wares they had no intention of buying. Grewnwyn lived a modest life, at a modest pace, and although happy, he was terribly bored.
The woman awoke to the steady sounds of a forge, and the cool feel of a damp cloth gently wiping the grime away from her face. She tried to sit up, but found the pain too severe, and ended up coughing instead. As her eyes found focus, she met the round curious eyes of Mynix, who simply stated, “Well Met.” The woman tried to smile, but found it only made her blistered lips crack, and she winced at the pain and fell back into darkness.
It seemed she had floated forever in and out of the void, somewhere between consciousness and oblivion. She heard voices calling to her, but she did not go to them, she wanted to stay in this realm of solitude, she did not want to face the reality of all she had lost. She was also more than a bit scared of the looming rage she sensed within herself. It was as if she had been transformed into a weapon. She knew that unconsciousness was the only thing holding back the tide of vengeance, and she was afraid of what she would do when it awakened. The vengeance seemed to devour everything else she once was, and when she awoke, she knew nothing of her prior life.
It had now been a few days since she had awoke, and although Mynix and Grenwyn were curious, they respected her privacy, she did not ask any questions, nor they of her. Grenwyn told himself he did not tell her how he had found her because she might go crazy and trash his shop, but the truth was, he did not want her to suffer from the terrible truth of her past. Either the will of her inner self or trauma of her injuries, had caused her to lose her memory, and as she effectively had no name, Grewyn had taken to calling her Feryl, because the growls she had made while unconscious, had reminded him of a wild cat.
Despite all that had happened, she was beginning to feel a fondness for Grenwyn and especially Mynix. She worked gathering wood for Grenwyn’s forge, and found that she was quite capable at demonstrating the fine weapons he made. Though she had no idea why, when, or how, she soon found she was an expert in blades of all types. She worked helping Grenwyn during the day, and after dinner, she would help Mynix with the dishes, and when they were finished, she would practice her blade work.
This was how they passed nearly a year, working and living together. Although Feryl was happy, she could not help but have a sense of foreboding that something evil remained from her past, remained within her even. As she tried to suppress the growing sense of dread, she turned more and more to her sword work. Her sessions became longer and longer, and she fought against no one, like a trapped animal fighting for its very life. She practiced until her muscles grew strong like the steel swords made by Grewyn. Her sword work became of dance of death and beauty. She grew stronger and more vital. Her burns and lungs began to heal, and her hair began to grow back. Each day she healed a little more, and each day she became more deadly.
Many from the town came to marvel at her blade work, and many bought the fine weapons Grewyn made. Feryl often wondered at the bone white hammer Grenwyn carried, and why he would choose such a thing over the fine metal weapons he made. Luckily she had the sense not to ask about it. Grenwyn grumbled to himself at the renewed interest. Although business had never been better, he couldn’t help but think that all this attention might bring danger to Feryl. At the same time, he couldn’t deny her the pleasure of doing something she saw as helpful. Even Mynix seemed to be blossoming under the throng of curious onlookers. She was always smiling as she bandied about, speaking with this sailor here, and that captain there. “Bah,” Grenwyn said to himself, “that’s just yer dwarven paranoia again, bein used to stayin under the ground and werkin by yerslef, it was likely an accident, and no one’ll be lookin for the poor girl. Or maybe even if someone does find her, it’ll be someone she is wantin to be seeing.”
(Note: This story and all characters within are the sole property of the author, and is under the protection of United States copyright law)
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