As the Vault Door opened wide, a wave of noise washed over us, a thing of ringing hammers and picks, of deep voices calling out, while the rumbling of forge fires and a wave of heat and forgelight stole upon us like something alive.
I silently guided Himmelstern ahead of us, the dark red face of the Moorian dwarf who had fought for centuries curiously wide with wonder as he stepped in front of us and led us to face his ancestors.
The tunnel was not long or as large as its door, nor was it meant to be. We came quickly to the edge of it, and paused there to behold the work of an ancient Immortal.
The mining pit was hundreds of miles across, we could not see to the far side. Internal mountains rose up out of it, carved with representations of dwarves and forging, family and kin, but none trod the ledges and paths of them, obviously tributes to the worlds where Harnadin was worshiped.
There were no spires closer to his forge than ours.
There he was, on a plateau in the center of this greatest of mines, stripped to the waist, the size of a Jotun, but plainly a silver-bearded dwarf of mighty girth and prowess, pounding away with a great burning Hammer upon something of adamantine, possibly a breastplate.
Countless millions of dwarves moved through the pit on a hundred errands: transporting ore and stone to the thousands of smelting furnaces, driving carts of metal to the forges and the smiths with them, crafters working on the nearly-finished products to create things of great beauty and tribute to dwarves and their Creator alike.
I tossed out Eagle’s Vantage and looked at the spire upon which we stood from a thousand feet away.
Unlike the others, the spire was almost blank. One could barely see the shadow of the carvings which had once adorned it, hammer and crook raised high to salute the being who had made them from earth and stone and will.
The blankness was like a stinging blow compared to the loving craftsmanship of the younger, more distant spires, ornamental and detailed, clearly labors of love by the ancestors for their god and people, showcasing the gifts he had given them.
This spire, almost blank, showed that they had mutually not remembered one another at all. Either a failure, or abandonment, for not even death would stop the love of those who had already come here.
But 2500 years of silence on both sides, plus subtle pressure to forget?
Himmelstern’s fist creaked on his axe hilt. The insult and shame made his dark skin redden at the impact, this sight of his people in the eyes of their maker.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Not your fault,” I reminded him. “Put the blame where it lies.”
He settled, and took a deep breath. Harnadin might be a racial Patron, an Immortal devoted only to His creations and not much beyond them, but He had treated them well and wisely… and His ambitions at least did not include much prejudice, seeing the White of his Aura and those of the vast majority of his people.
“How do we… what do we do?” he asked helplessly, staring out over the vast engine of industry below him, endless dwarven spirits happily at work, and the great Immortal in the middle of it.
“You kneel, and you ask the dwarves who remain upon Nown to break the silence with you.”
Both of them, old dwarf and new, closed their eyes and went down on one knee. They reached out through the Markspace, and thence to the Oath of Allegiance I opened to them, sharing the vision of where they were, what they were standing before, who He was, who He was surrounded by.
Back on Nown, a dozen planes between us, over a hundred thousand dwarves turned to look at this sight in their head, and felt the siren call of awe and reverence built into their blood when they looked upon their Creator.
He was utterly real. The silence, the words that he was cut off by another, that he had not abandoned them, but their link had been silenced… just words, just distance.
This, this was reality, and the Moorian dwarves, and what few of the altered children of Clangyr were here, could not deny that before them now was their true Creator.
HARNADIN!, they thought, many of the dwarves falling to both knees, tears falling from their eyes as they were able to finally behold a sight that had eluded their ancestors for generations.
At the great forge, the great figure of the smith jerked, and His head turned, as if hearing something unexpected.
FORGE-FATHER!, they called out to Him. HAMMER-BEARER! STEEL-QUENCHER! FURNACE-STOKER!, they named off His ancient titles.
His great hammer slowed in its work, and paused. Silence spread like a wave from the forge as He turned, his work actually interrupted, following a flow of prayer and faith that had been silent for nigh on three thousand years.
His eyes speared across the mile between us, and saw the two dwarven priests kneeling to Him, and the elfin bowing in His direction.
Across the breadth and length of the mines, the sounds of work muted as multitudes of heads turned to look upon the Empty Spire, and found it was empty no longer.
Work the fields to feed the belly,
Barley for the blood, wheat for the arm.
Pull the coal from earth and stone,
Gather together with flame and bone.
Light the furnace, fire the forge
From ore and stone let new life shine.
Raise the Hammer! Bring it down!
Honor the worker! Honor the crown!
From skill and sinew comes steel and flame!
With honor and will raise high your Name!
HARN! First tap of the Hammer!
A! The beat that never dies!
DIN! The Thunder that echoes the Age!
HARNADIN!
HARNADIN!
Twenty-five hundred years of silence, but they had not forgotten that song, as its many verses began to echo forth a world away, and thundered their way through a door that was no longer closed.
“MY CHILDREN…” the voice of the Immortal, clearly a Hierarch in stature, murmured in astonishment, hearing their voices, and the dwarves at home nearly went crazy in rapture at the sound of it.
Power reached out, wrapped around us, and brought us before Him and His great forge.
There was no dishonor as He took up His Hammer and continued with His work, but His eyes did not leave us. He was a smith and would continue His work properly, not leave it and break the flow.
I lowered the Astral Wards on all of us, so that He could see what He wished, as He wished to. His eyes glowed as He raked us all, pausing only a minute on the artificial form of my Sim-Avatar before regarding the two dwarves before Him, both of them prostrate and weeping before Him.
“WHO BIN RESPONSIBLE?” He asked, His furnace-eyes glancing once at the Door there.
“The Door was made by Wushar the Maker, Forge-Father!” Himmelstern cried out. “We, we have not heard your calls since before my grandfather was born!”
Fires burst out of Harnadin’s nose in outrage, turning silver as they danced down a beard of copper and mithral alike.
“SO…” His eyes turned on Prince Ukker. “YOU BIN WHAT HE MADE OF MY PEOPLE?” He asked Ukker directly.
“Yes, my ancestor!” the prince answered with neither guilt nor shame. It was not his fault, after all. “And we honor our ancestors still, even if our past was taken from us!” he added fiercely.
Clangyr was not their true Creator, a reforger, at best a repairman who had not made anything new, merely altering what was already there.
Without Harnadin, there would be no dwarves!
“UND THIS?” he asked me directly, a bit aloofly, obviously knowing I was a Construct.
“An Avatar of their advisor, and an ally of dwarves, Forge-Father of the Rockborn.” I took my hand from my sleeve and set an array of tokens on the ground before me with a sweeping gesture.
They gleamed with care and love, honor and respect. Freely given, freely accepted, honor exchanged, duty and loyalty rewarded equally.
A dozen clans naming the bearer a Friend of Dwarves.
He acknowledged their meaning with a slow nod. “WHY BIN YOU COME HERE?”
I tapped Himmelstern on the shoulder and hauled him to his feet, his knees shaking. “Before you is a worthy soul who has done all that is required and more on the path of the Polymath.
“The Immortals of our realm have denied the Rockborn the right to Ascend to Earth! Those same Immortals locked you away from their world and courts, knowing you would oppose them, Forge-Father!
“We would raise up an Immortal to protect the dwarves that are left behind, one of their own and blood!
“Turn your gaze upon Himmelstern Karrackheim, and know that he is worthy of this honor!”
The burning gaze did indeed fall upon the great dwarven warrior-priest, having been allowed to take up the mantle by Valus despite not being allowed by his blood before. Himmelstern stood up straight, knowing this was his moment, and baring all to show the Smith-Father what a dwarf he was!
He was a warrior unmatched among his people, a Grandmaster of Axe and Hammer, Crossbow and Pick!
He had founded not one, not two, but THREE dwarven realms, if not kingdoms!
His apprentices and followers numbered in the scores, if not hundreds!
He had mastered the skills of an Artificer when his Stone Blood proved inadequate, and learned the arts of magic through the utility of tool and mana!
He had learned the arts of the thief in the silence of the Underdark halls, the decoding and deconstruction of traps, and he had used all that mastery in the hunt for the three keys of the Vault Door to the Heart of the Mountain, bringing him here!
He had learned secrets of metal and steel, crystal and fire, of high technology, wedding mortal intelligence and knowledge to the power of the Earth!
Harnadin saw, and saw that this was a true dwarf of his own blood, one of the greatest to ever walk the mortal world!
“YOU BIN WORTHY TO ASCEND TO THE HEIGHTS OF AN IMMORTAL, INDEED,” he stated firmly, staring at the three of them. “BUT WHY BIN YOU HERE NOW TO DO THIS?”
“The Vault door will close when we depart, Forge Father. You will not be allowed to return, Nown is closed to you. We can open it again, but it will close once again on our return. The dwarves need one of their own to protect them, and Regent Karrackheim is the best one to do so on your behalf, Forge-Father! Also, he must be an Immortal of Nown, and no other realm or world!”
The burning gaze lifted towards that door, seeing beyond it. “THEY TURNED UPON ME, UND YOU, YOU HAVE TURNED UPON THEM.” The truth of it made the ancient Immortal smile. “THIS I KANST DO. BUT ONLY IF YOU PROMISE TO RETURN UND TELL ME TALES OV WHAT BEFALLS!”
All of us promptly bowed again. “Forefather, it would be our greatest pleasure to do so!” Himmelstern shouted back, his voice cracking.
“KOMEN THEN.” At a gesture, all of Himmelstern’s gear fell off and through him neatly, clattering to the floor and staying there neatly. “LET US FORGE A NEW IMMORTAL!” his voice rang out to the numberless dwarven spirits, who roared back their approval and support for this daring descendant!
Himmelstern floated off the ground and up to the very anvil of his ancestors, closing his eyes and consigning him into the hands of his Creator.
As Himmelstern lay upon the World Anvil of the Forge-Father, I stepped back to the nearly blank spire that had loomed up so shamefully bare that we had arrived upon.
Gamma-Ceti had great power, but not Eternal power… but, you know, for this it was enough.
As an ancient Immortal forged a young one, I Shaped Stone into roses and vines and images of dwarves in solidarity across the ages, giving one message back to them all.
We did not Forget! We never Forgot!
Words to forge songs and work shanties scrolled across and around the Spire with the speed of stone moving like water.
A dwarven hero was remade, and so was an empty Spire…