Dwarven war knife.
Posted: Thu Mar 10, 2022 8:29 pm
It is 25.5 cm long with a 12 cm long blade, which I forged of 5160. The handle is full tang, made of carved beech wood.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, in the heart of the great wilderness was a tiny glade, and in the middle of the glade stood a small cottage. In this little shack lived a laddie with his parents.
One day, the boy went into the woods to gather loppings for the fireplace. As he rambled among the trees, suddenly the moss moved under his foot and a cavernous hole swallowed the boy without a trace, like he was never even there.
The vent was slippery, steep and enchanted, the boy sled for minutes, maybe even hours till he finally met the end of it, by falling right into the middle of a coal forge. The fire just got revived, but the flames already was strong enough to bite into his rear end, setting his trousers on fire.
He instinctively sprung up, but by the time he jumped out of the hearth, a bucket of ice cold water landed on his back, canceling out the flames.
Thirteen sooty dwarves stared at the weird newcomer, with the awe of a witless calf looking at a new gate.
The boy was horrified, but the dwarves were simply worried. The lad, by chance, found their secret lair, the ancient forbidden hall, far and deep in the earth's womb. They were working here furtively, from the dawn of time, perfecting, improving the magical art of forming metal. And they were bound to this place by oat for eternity, never aging, never dying.
The boy was not allowed to leave.
They taught him some of their craft, keeping the secrets to themselves of course, and the boy steadfastly learned, soaking up everything interesting as a sponge.
One day, home sickness engulfed the laddie. He pleaded the dwarves to let him go home just for a few days, to see his parents once again and let them know, that he is still alive. The dwarves didn't like the idea at all, reciting vague ancient lore and mystical shreds of a long forgotten curse, but couldn't bear the boy's suffering and in the end they let him leave.
The boy was amazed when he finally got to the surface. The galde, the forest and even the small lodge was all gone, instead there stood a large city, with tall buildings which could scratch the clouds.
No one could help him, no one knew his parents names, or his. And then he saw his reflection in a car's window. He immediately understood why he got so tired so quickly and where to look for his parents. A stooping old man looked back at him.
At the back of a near cemetery, he found two mossy, weathered headstones, with the names and dates barely visible. He crumbled onto the grave and turned to dust, leaving only his enchanted knife behind, which still held some dwarven magic.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, in the heart of the great wilderness was a tiny glade, and in the middle of the glade stood a small cottage. In this little shack lived a laddie with his parents.
One day, the boy went into the woods to gather loppings for the fireplace. As he rambled among the trees, suddenly the moss moved under his foot and a cavernous hole swallowed the boy without a trace, like he was never even there.
The vent was slippery, steep and enchanted, the boy sled for minutes, maybe even hours till he finally met the end of it, by falling right into the middle of a coal forge. The fire just got revived, but the flames already was strong enough to bite into his rear end, setting his trousers on fire.
He instinctively sprung up, but by the time he jumped out of the hearth, a bucket of ice cold water landed on his back, canceling out the flames.
Thirteen sooty dwarves stared at the weird newcomer, with the awe of a witless calf looking at a new gate.
The boy was horrified, but the dwarves were simply worried. The lad, by chance, found their secret lair, the ancient forbidden hall, far and deep in the earth's womb. They were working here furtively, from the dawn of time, perfecting, improving the magical art of forming metal. And they were bound to this place by oat for eternity, never aging, never dying.
The boy was not allowed to leave.
They taught him some of their craft, keeping the secrets to themselves of course, and the boy steadfastly learned, soaking up everything interesting as a sponge.
One day, home sickness engulfed the laddie. He pleaded the dwarves to let him go home just for a few days, to see his parents once again and let them know, that he is still alive. The dwarves didn't like the idea at all, reciting vague ancient lore and mystical shreds of a long forgotten curse, but couldn't bear the boy's suffering and in the end they let him leave.
The boy was amazed when he finally got to the surface. The galde, the forest and even the small lodge was all gone, instead there stood a large city, with tall buildings which could scratch the clouds.
No one could help him, no one knew his parents names, or his. And then he saw his reflection in a car's window. He immediately understood why he got so tired so quickly and where to look for his parents. A stooping old man looked back at him.
At the back of a near cemetery, he found two mossy, weathered headstones, with the names and dates barely visible. He crumbled onto the grave and turned to dust, leaving only his enchanted knife behind, which still held some dwarven magic.
