Nights of Dragons and Genies: Chapter 1

The town of Witherbrand was quite a close-knit community. Despite the numerous species that lived there--from the versatile humans to the aged and experienced elves, to the calm and passive halflings and the boisterous orcs, even the sharp gnomes and the ever-curious goblins, Witherbrand was a very blended town. It wasn't really famous for a lot, but it had representatives of almost every race on the continent of Odiosera.

The fires of the smithy burned bright, as the metal inside of the heat glowed brightly in the dark of the shop. Weapons, armor, tools, horseshoes, and all sorts of objects made from metals decorated the shop. A giant warhammer with a dragon-shaped hammerhead hung from the wall with a sign that said, “Do Not Touch”. The hill dwarf smith, wearing a black mask over his face, a brown apron over his red shirt, and brown pants with black thick boots, grabbed the piece of metal with a black glove-clad right hand and held it over an anvil. The dwarf grabbed his smithing hammer and began pounding away at the hot metal. His hand kept a firm grip on the non-heated part, allowing him to calmly shape the heated metal, turning it into a sword. Once he was satisfied with the shape of the weapon, he quickly turned to a nearby cooling tub and dunked the sword into it.

As the dwarf cooled the weapon, a red-haired human male walked in, wearing a set of fine blue and black clothing, complete with a black cape. He gave the smith an annoyed glare as he didn't look back, and raised an arm to wave.

"One second!" the dwarf called. "Gotta let that project cool." He walked over to the desk, flipped the helmet up, revealing a red-headed dwarf with a pair of thick sideburns and a short mustache that culminated with a short beard. The dwarf greeted, "Welcome to the Forgefang Hall! I'm Gunnar Fireforge. Are you interested in a particular product, or do you have a custom order in mind?"

"Seriously, Gargec?" the noble asked aloud. Gunnar's eyes widened at the name. "Fifteen years since you gave up your position as heir, you could have done anything, been anyone, ruled wherever you pleased in Odiosera, and I find you simply living amongst the lesser beings... as a common dwarf smith? 'Gunnar Fireforge' was the best alias you could come up with? You couldn't even bother creating a noble identity?"

"Stratreo," Gargec frowned. "I should question what you're doing here, but there is a tone of hypocrisy, considering you're disguised as a human, right now."

"Only because Father ordered me to not just burn the Odioseran countryside we allow these weak vermin to occupy down looking for you," Stratreo answered. "And until he either retires, dies, or I make my move to properly challenge him for leadership, his word is the law. Of course, big brother, accidents CAN happen. That is unless you obey his order to assemble." He then pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to the dwarf.

"Father truly wants me to return?" Gargec asked opening the sealed letter. His eyes scanned the contents of the letter.

My son,

If you are reading this, then Stratreo finally tracked you down after all of this time. You certainly kept quiet when you renounced your title as my heir. You impress, Gargec with your desire for privacy.

But our people's politics have called for an end to this silence, and your exile. I am ordering all members of Tribe Raithwall--you included--to return to Raithwall territory. The fate of our people is on the line, and it's going to require ALL of us to decide this. We will begin the assembly on the first day of the Waxing Cachou Moon, and I'd like my sons to be by my side when we decide this.

Gargec, I know I'm asking a hell of a lot by calling you back, but... I feel that the fate of our people is about to be decided are going to need you to return. I'm not going to ask for you to retake your position as heir. I'm asking you to be a voice of reason in the next coming moons. We will need it, especially once Stratreo finally inherits the position. Please, son... come home.

Raithwall Tultoc

"You weren't the easiest to track down," the human replied as Gargec dropped the letter. "But yes... Clan Raithwall is being summoned together. Now, we can do this the easy way or the fun way. Your choice."

"Just let me add the finishing touch on this project, brother," Gargec said, looking at the scimitar.

"It looks complete to me," Stratreo observed. "Brother, why waste yourself on such insignificant drivel such as these lesser beings' mere cutlery they call 'weapons'?"

"The smaller races have a lot to teach us," Gargec answered, walking over to grab the sword, and held it up to Stratreo. "Tell me something, brother: what do you know about the 'smallfolk'? What trait is each of their races famous for?"

"You ask that like it matters," Stratreo scoffed. "These creatures are mere parasites on Skyeria. We only let them live because of tributes of wealth and food."

"That's it?" Gargec asked in disappointment. "It seems that somebody ignored the lessons about other races in Odiosera." Pointing to the sword, Gargec began, "This blade was made with the techniques of dwarven artisans who dedicate their lives to creating the sturdiest weapons and armor. It was made with the metals found by orcs, who take pride in their combat skills and strength. The goblins' style of experimentation taught me how to fold and forge pieces like this and more, encouraged by their sheer determination through trial and error. Lupine unity taught me how it was okay to ask for help and advice when I wasn't improving during my first few weeks at smithing.

"Gnomish research allowed me to understand where I came up short, and how to improve my technique, even inventing a style that works for me the same way a gnome would. The halflings' calm, cool, and collected nature and peaceful ways taught me how to properly barter and haggle to fetch a good price for all of the components, and their luck taught me how to know what was the best deals. Kitsune wit makes one question if the material is legitimate or an illusion. Felkin wit and speed taught me how to predict when the metal is just hot enough to work on or cooled enough to pull out of the water. Featharian sharpness showed where to spot imperfections. Human creativity taught me how to think outside of the box. And elven magic... well, I learned this from elves."

He reached behind his desk counter and grabbing a small, teal and brown chest. He then placed it atop the counter and opened it to reveal the collection of glowing stones shining in the shop's dimmed light. He picked one out and placed it into the hilt of the weapon before clipping the hole he had inserted the stone in shut, causing the blade to glow with a dark green hue.

"Enchantment," Gargec smirked. "And the patience of our true race made this possible. And this is only a sample of what the races of Skyeria can teach us... imagine what we can learn from studying the smallfolk more closely."

"Has anybody tell you that you talk far too much, older brother?" Stratreo asked.

"I get excited," Gargec said. "The humanoids that are easily written off by our kind as mere fodder, when given a chance, can not only impress us with a mere fraction of their capabilities... they can offer us something legendary with the full extent. Humanoids will rule this world, one day, Stratreo, and I'm excited to see what they'll bring to it."

"You should be excited that your self-imposed exile is finally coming to an end," Stratreo scoffed. "Now, I have orders to bring you home, but Father wants it to be YOUR decision. So, I'm going to ask this one last time: are you going to come on your own, or am I destroying this little life you've built and dragging you back?"

"No need," Gargec answered his brother with a wave. "I'll pack this place up." Stratreo finally offered a smile.

"Glad you're seeing things my way," the younger of the brothers declared. He then hunched over, only for Gargec to stop him.

"Not in here," the dwarf begged.

"Fine," Stratreo scoffed. "One hour, by the gate. If you're not there... I'm not going to be held responsible for what happens." He then left, leaving Gargec to look around.

“Fifteen years, huh?” Gargec asked. “We dragons live way too long for this to feel so short.” He began packing his supplies, taking one final look around the shop. He then looked at the fire that he once used for his shop. "Here's hoping it's not the worst-case scenario." He then inhaled, causing the fires to suddenly die out as Gargec, formerly Gunnar, absorbed the magical flame that burned bright, leaving the shop in darkness save for daylight.

When someone would later come to the shop to place an order, almost an hour later, they would find a locked door with a note placed on it:

Attention, Citizens of Witherbrand:

Due to unforeseen circumstances, Forgefang Hall shall be closed until further notice. And if I do not return or write back in a month, assume I’m dead and return the shop and the land to the town... or better yet, quite possibly leave Witherbrand altogether. The dragon clans that rule the continent may be preparing for war with each other. I apologize that I cannot explain the reasons for my sudden departure beyond that. But know that I’ve grown to care about this town enough to risk everything for its safety. So I plan to name my final piece created here after the town itself, to carry a part of it with me.

Sincerely,

Gunnar Fireforge

A.K.A.,

Raithwall Gargec

On the outskirts, Gargec looked at the town of Witherbrand, a familiar warhammer hanging from his back, and a bag of things he took from his shop adorned to his side. Stratreo rolled his eyes.

“These small, weak creatures live such quick, insignificant lives,” the human scoffed. “They’re parasites on Skyeria. Without guidance, they’re barely good for food, let alone worshipping us as gods. One day, they’ll be nothing but dust, and yet, we’ll be here for millennia. Why bother with them?”

“Because eventually, you’ll figure out we’re not immortals,” Gargec reasoned. “And they, the weak, will inherit this world, outliving us as a species. If I can build them up… forge our successors… make them remember us for the good we did for them… then THAT is the definition of godhood for me.” He then hunched over, and a pair of brass-colored, leathery, scaled wings sprouted. He then was surrounded by fire, and in his place stood a massive brown and yellow dragon.

A red and yellow dragon, somewhat smaller than Gargec, stood by him. “You are incredibly lucky we’re brothers and I’ve yet to become Chief, Gargec. Any other dragon who would have suggested that would find themselves eviscerated under my rule.” With a mighty roar, Stratreo took to the skies, Gargec behind him.