The Journey, Book 2; Chapter 9 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 10; Welcome
“Wild boar and mead!” Althor clapped his hands, his beard bouncing with joy. “This be what I’ve been waiting for all day!”
“The meetings aren't going as planned?” Nekonata asked, arching a brow.
“In mine world, things move slower than snails, my friend—but fear not!” Althor grinned. “We’re on to more important matters now.”
With a flourish, the Dwarf King raised his hand, gesturing to the long oak table laden with food and drink. “Feast, as honored guest. First bite’s yours.”
Nekonata hesitated, until Donal leaned in close and whispered, “Grab the leg. Take the biggest bite you can. This be our custom.”
Obliging, Nekonata reached for the roasted wild boar, grabbed a leg thick as his arm, and tore into it. Juice ran freely down his chin. With a grin, he raised the leg high.
“Delicious!”
A roar of approval echoed through the cavern hall. Dwarves cheered and slammed their mugs on the table as they dove into their feast.
“Excellent!” Althor beamed. “This is what they needed. Small gestures, aye—they go a long way with mine kin.”
Nekonata nodded. “The quicker, the better...”
A tug at his robe made him glance down. A dwarf child—no older than six—stood there, nervously wringing her hands.
“Please, could you show us a magic trick?” she asked quietly.
Nekonata looked to Althor, who only shrugged.
“Clear the center of the hall,” Nekonata said gently.
Althor barked something in Dwarvish, and the crowd shuffled back, clearing a wide circle. Nekonata stepped into it.
“Magic,” he said, loud enough for all to hear, “is precious. It can guide, heal, destroy, kill... and, in rare moments, make beauty grow.”
Donal translated smoothly.
He cupped his hands. “Akvo.”
A small orb of purple water shimmered into existence. It writhed and twisted, forming petals, a stem... until a perfect rose hovered in his palms. Gasps rose from the crowd. He released the spell, and the water-rose splashed gently to the stone floor.
“Fajro.”
A purple flame burst to life in his hand, expanding quickly into a bird, fiery wings spread wide, its tail a trail of embers.
“Behold: the Phoenix.”
The magical creature soared above the crowd, looping and circling as dwarves watched, awestruck. After several moments, the firebird flickered out into embers.
Nekonata smiled, his brow damp with focus. “For my final trick,” he said, “I advise you all, cover your ears.”
He waited.
Then, clap! “Tondro!”
A sharp crack split the air. A ball of violet lightning buzzed between his hands, growing in size and volume. It pulsed, twisted, morphed, legs formed, then a neck, a head.
The ball became a creature.
A thunder-horse, six feet tall and crackling with storm energy, stamped its hooves and snorted sparks. The crowd gasped in awe.
Nekonata turned to the girl. “Come,” he said softly.
Henrietta stepped forward. He lifted her gently, placing her on the creature’s back. The horse whinnied and began a slow trot around the circle. Dwarves reached out to touch the flickering mane, murmuring in disbelief.
Althor stepped up beside him. “Enough for today, methinks,” he said, smiling. “Best not burn the hall down.”
With a nod, Nekonata guided the horse back, helped Henrietta down, and clapped his hands. The thunder-horse vanished in a pop of light.
The hall exploded with cheers, clapping, and boot-stomps.
Henrietta curtsied. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Nekonata replied, smiling warmly.
As the room buzzed with excitement, Nekonata leaned toward Althor and muttered, “I need food. As much as I enjoyed the show, I’ve no energy left.”
Althor laughed, loud and hearty. “You were enjoying it too much, spellsmith.”
The welcome feast continued well into the night, laughter rising like smoke through the stone arches of the great hall. Platters of roasted boar were replenished, mead flowed like rivers, and the hearth-fire blazed brighter with each cheer.
After Nekonata’s display of magic, it was only natural the dwarves would answer in kind.
A group stepped forward from the crowd, ushered by Althor with a proud nod. “Now,” he announced, “behold our gifts!”
First came a stocky dwarf woman with thick braids threaded in gold wire. She stood with quiet poise and gave a small bow before clearing her throat. Silence fell.
Her voice, when it rose, was nothing like her appearance, clear and haunting, delicate as snow on stone. She sang of mountain homes and stars beneath the earth, of long winters and deeper friendships. The hall was still, save for her melody echoing off the stone.
Donal leaned close and whispered, “Her name is Maelga. Voice like a dream, eh?”
When Maelga finished, even the usually rowdy dwarves gave a reverent silence before breaking into thunderous applause. Nekonata bowed deeply in her direction.
Next came a young dwarf with a scroll in hand and fire in his eyes. He stood tall and unrolled the parchment.
“I call this ‘The Spellblade and the Beast’,” he declared.
Donal whispered, “Ah. A poem. You’re famous now.”
The young dwarf began to recite, his voice rising and falling with theatrical flair.
He came from lands of whisper’d names,
With eyes like storm and spell-flame.
The Ingmar roared, the ground it tore—
Yet stood he still, and called for more!
With one bright spark and blade held high,
He sang the beast its lullaby.
The sky it cracked, the mountain wept,
As into death the horror stepped...
“Bit dramatic,” Donal muttered, “but it rhymes, so we let it pass.”
The crowd roared at the final stanza. Nekonata offered the poet a humble nod, both amused and embarrassed.
Then, to the crowd’s delight, a third dwarf leapt onto a table, round-bellied and red-faced from drink.
“Comedy time!” he shouted, nearly tripping over a mug. “Name’s Grombin, and I’m here to test your ribs!”
Donal groaned. “This should be good, or awful.”
Grombin launched into a routine of exaggerated tales: dwarves getting stuck in tunnels too narrow for their beards, a tale of a halfling who mistook a cave bear for a mining foreman, and a long, ridiculous impersonation of Althor’s “battle face.”
The King himself laughed loudest of all.
Donal translated in between snorts of laughter. “He’s saying you’ve got ‘wizard legs’ too long, too skinny, could trip over a flat stone.”
Nekonata chuckled, raising his mug. “Tell him I once tripped over a cloud, so he’s not far off.”
More laughter erupted.
The room swelled with warmth, songs, stories, laughter, and camaraderie. For a moment, the shadows of politics and war faded behind the comfort of kinship and shared fire.
Later, as the hall calmed and the mead softened voices into murmurs, Althor leaned in close.
“This,” he said, gesturing at the joyful chaos around them, “this is how bonds are made, Nekonata. Not with swords or treaties, but with song, and story, and shared meat.”
Nekonata nodded, watching Maelga sing a lullaby now for a dwarf child dozing by the fire.
“I believe you,” he said softly. “And I needed this too.”
Laughter lingered in the air, but the buzz of excitement started to settle into satisfied murmurs. The fire crackled, its light dancing over the rough-hewn stone walls of the hall, while the dwarves retreated to their corners to discuss their evening and look forward to what the days ahead would bring.
King Althor, sitting on his high seat, seemed content but thoughtful. He surveyed the room one last time, then turned to Neko, his friend and honored guest, sitting across from him at the grand oak table. The flickering firelight reflected off his jeweled crown, the dark red braids of his beard studded with bits of gold and silver.
“Ah, Nekonata,” Althor said, voice warm but carrying a hint of the weight that loomed ahead. “While these next few weeks will be filled with politics, alliances, and talks of battle, there’s something I’d like to mention to you.” His tone shifted slightly, though his eyes still twinkled with that mischievous gleam.
Nekonata raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I’m all ears, my King.”
Althor leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the carved arms. “Well, I’ve been informed there are those who’d rather not see this union of ours happen. Human, elf, and dwarf all coming together against a common enemy… that is something powerful. Dangerous, even.” He paused, a flicker of concern crossing his face, but it quickly passed. “But we’ll push through. We always do.”
He nodded solemnly, his expression hardening for a moment as the gravity of their mission settled in. “Together, we will. And the enemy will know what it means to face the strength of our combined forces.”
Althor grinned, as if reading his thoughts. “Aye, the weight of such an alliance is something I’ve dreamed of for years. But let’s not get lost in the future just yet. There’s something else on the horizon.”
“Something else?” Nekonata asked, curiosity piqued.
“Aye,” Althor said, giving a sly grin. “You see, my friend, while these weeks will be about treaties, strategy, and alliances, there’s something a bit more personal that’s coming. Something I believe even you will appreciate.”
Nekonata tilted his head, waiting for the punchline.
Althor’s lips twitched into a more playful smile. “I’ve an age to celebrate. A rather significant age, at that.”
A pause. Then, the sharp-eyed mage couldn’t help himself. “If I may ask... how old will you be, my friend?”
Althor’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mystery and mischief, and he gave Nekonata a wink, the kind that told of secrets shared between old comrades.
“I could tell you,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “but dwarves, you see, we live long lives. Much longer than most.” He winked again. “Let’s just say… age is but a number, and I’ve lived enough to know a few things that will keep me young in the years ahead.”
Nekonata smirked, leaning back in his chair, playing along. “Ah, I see. So it’s a state secret?”
Althor’s hearty laugh rumbled through the hall, a laugh that only a true dwarf could make sound so powerful. “Aye! A state secret, indeed! But rest assured, you’ll know when the time comes. I won’t keep the feast from you when it arrives. In fact, I plan to make it one to remember.”
Nekonata nodded, his grin widening. “I look forward to it. If I’ve learned anything about your kin it’s that dwarves certainly know how to make celebrations legendary.”
Althor’s voice softened, though his smile remained. “Aye, and there’s always a few surprises left for the ones who least expect them. But for now… enjoy this moment, my friend. The days ahead will be demanding, but tonight? Tonight is for friendship.”
The hall around them seemed to echo with that sentiment, a feeling of camaraderie that hung in the air, warm and comforting despite the challenges they would all soon face.
Nekonata raised his mug one last time, filled with fresh mead. “To friendship, then. And to the future of our united forces. And may I look as graceful as you do in old age!”
Althor let out another loud hearty laugh, he raised his own mug, the golden liquid sloshing slightly. “To the future, and to surprises!”
Chapter 10; Welcome
“Wild boar and mead!” Althor clapped his hands, his beard bouncing with joy. “This be what I’ve been waiting for all day!”
“The meetings aren't going as planned?” Nekonata asked, arching a brow.
“In mine world, things move slower than snails, my friend—but fear not!” Althor grinned. “We’re on to more important matters now.”
With a flourish, the Dwarf King raised his hand, gesturing to the long oak table laden with food and drink. “Feast, as honored guest. First bite’s yours.”
Nekonata hesitated, until Donal leaned in close and whispered, “Grab the leg. Take the biggest bite you can. This be our custom.”
Obliging, Nekonata reached for the roasted wild boar, grabbed a leg thick as his arm, and tore into it. Juice ran freely down his chin. With a grin, he raised the leg high.
“Delicious!”
A roar of approval echoed through the cavern hall. Dwarves cheered and slammed their mugs on the table as they dove into their feast.
“Excellent!” Althor beamed. “This is what they needed. Small gestures, aye—they go a long way with mine kin.”
Nekonata nodded. “The quicker, the better...”
A tug at his robe made him glance down. A dwarf child—no older than six—stood there, nervously wringing her hands.
“Please, could you show us a magic trick?” she asked quietly.
Nekonata looked to Althor, who only shrugged.
“Clear the center of the hall,” Nekonata said gently.
Althor barked something in Dwarvish, and the crowd shuffled back, clearing a wide circle. Nekonata stepped into it.
“Magic,” he said, loud enough for all to hear, “is precious. It can guide, heal, destroy, kill... and, in rare moments, make beauty grow.”
Donal translated smoothly.
He cupped his hands. “Akvo.”
A small orb of purple water shimmered into existence. It writhed and twisted, forming petals, a stem... until a perfect rose hovered in his palms. Gasps rose from the crowd. He released the spell, and the water-rose splashed gently to the stone floor.
“Fajro.”
A purple flame burst to life in his hand, expanding quickly into a bird, fiery wings spread wide, its tail a trail of embers.
“Behold: the Phoenix.”
The magical creature soared above the crowd, looping and circling as dwarves watched, awestruck. After several moments, the firebird flickered out into embers.
Nekonata smiled, his brow damp with focus. “For my final trick,” he said, “I advise you all, cover your ears.”
He waited.
Then, clap! “Tondro!”
A sharp crack split the air. A ball of violet lightning buzzed between his hands, growing in size and volume. It pulsed, twisted, morphed, legs formed, then a neck, a head.
The ball became a creature.
A thunder-horse, six feet tall and crackling with storm energy, stamped its hooves and snorted sparks. The crowd gasped in awe.
Nekonata turned to the girl. “Come,” he said softly.
Henrietta stepped forward. He lifted her gently, placing her on the creature’s back. The horse whinnied and began a slow trot around the circle. Dwarves reached out to touch the flickering mane, murmuring in disbelief.
Althor stepped up beside him. “Enough for today, methinks,” he said, smiling. “Best not burn the hall down.”
With a nod, Nekonata guided the horse back, helped Henrietta down, and clapped his hands. The thunder-horse vanished in a pop of light.
The hall exploded with cheers, clapping, and boot-stomps.
Henrietta curtsied. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Nekonata replied, smiling warmly.
As the room buzzed with excitement, Nekonata leaned toward Althor and muttered, “I need food. As much as I enjoyed the show, I’ve no energy left.”
Althor laughed, loud and hearty. “You were enjoying it too much, spellsmith.”
The welcome feast continued well into the night, laughter rising like smoke through the stone arches of the great hall. Platters of roasted boar were replenished, mead flowed like rivers, and the hearth-fire blazed brighter with each cheer.
After Nekonata’s display of magic, it was only natural the dwarves would answer in kind.
A group stepped forward from the crowd, ushered by Althor with a proud nod. “Now,” he announced, “behold our gifts!”
First came a stocky dwarf woman with thick braids threaded in gold wire. She stood with quiet poise and gave a small bow before clearing her throat. Silence fell.
Her voice, when it rose, was nothing like her appearance, clear and haunting, delicate as snow on stone. She sang of mountain homes and stars beneath the earth, of long winters and deeper friendships. The hall was still, save for her melody echoing off the stone.
Donal leaned close and whispered, “Her name is Maelga. Voice like a dream, eh?”
When Maelga finished, even the usually rowdy dwarves gave a reverent silence before breaking into thunderous applause. Nekonata bowed deeply in her direction.
Next came a young dwarf with a scroll in hand and fire in his eyes. He stood tall and unrolled the parchment.
“I call this ‘The Spellblade and the Beast’,” he declared.
Donal whispered, “Ah. A poem. You’re famous now.”
The young dwarf began to recite, his voice rising and falling with theatrical flair.
He came from lands of whisper’d names,
With eyes like storm and spell-flame.
The Ingmar roared, the ground it tore—
Yet stood he still, and called for more!
With one bright spark and blade held high,
He sang the beast its lullaby.
The sky it cracked, the mountain wept,
As into death the horror stepped...
“Bit dramatic,” Donal muttered, “but it rhymes, so we let it pass.”
The crowd roared at the final stanza. Nekonata offered the poet a humble nod, both amused and embarrassed.
Then, to the crowd’s delight, a third dwarf leapt onto a table, round-bellied and red-faced from drink.
“Comedy time!” he shouted, nearly tripping over a mug. “Name’s Grombin, and I’m here to test your ribs!”
Donal groaned. “This should be good, or awful.”
Grombin launched into a routine of exaggerated tales: dwarves getting stuck in tunnels too narrow for their beards, a tale of a halfling who mistook a cave bear for a mining foreman, and a long, ridiculous impersonation of Althor’s “battle face.”
The King himself laughed loudest of all.
Donal translated in between snorts of laughter. “He’s saying you’ve got ‘wizard legs’ too long, too skinny, could trip over a flat stone.”
Nekonata chuckled, raising his mug. “Tell him I once tripped over a cloud, so he’s not far off.”
More laughter erupted.
The room swelled with warmth, songs, stories, laughter, and camaraderie. For a moment, the shadows of politics and war faded behind the comfort of kinship and shared fire.
Later, as the hall calmed and the mead softened voices into murmurs, Althor leaned in close.
“This,” he said, gesturing at the joyful chaos around them, “this is how bonds are made, Nekonata. Not with swords or treaties, but with song, and story, and shared meat.”
Nekonata nodded, watching Maelga sing a lullaby now for a dwarf child dozing by the fire.
“I believe you,” he said softly. “And I needed this too.”
Laughter lingered in the air, but the buzz of excitement started to settle into satisfied murmurs. The fire crackled, its light dancing over the rough-hewn stone walls of the hall, while the dwarves retreated to their corners to discuss their evening and look forward to what the days ahead would bring.
King Althor, sitting on his high seat, seemed content but thoughtful. He surveyed the room one last time, then turned to Neko, his friend and honored guest, sitting across from him at the grand oak table. The flickering firelight reflected off his jeweled crown, the dark red braids of his beard studded with bits of gold and silver.
“Ah, Nekonata,” Althor said, voice warm but carrying a hint of the weight that loomed ahead. “While these next few weeks will be filled with politics, alliances, and talks of battle, there’s something I’d like to mention to you.” His tone shifted slightly, though his eyes still twinkled with that mischievous gleam.
Nekonata raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I’m all ears, my King.”
Althor leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the carved arms. “Well, I’ve been informed there are those who’d rather not see this union of ours happen. Human, elf, and dwarf all coming together against a common enemy… that is something powerful. Dangerous, even.” He paused, a flicker of concern crossing his face, but it quickly passed. “But we’ll push through. We always do.”
He nodded solemnly, his expression hardening for a moment as the gravity of their mission settled in. “Together, we will. And the enemy will know what it means to face the strength of our combined forces.”
Althor grinned, as if reading his thoughts. “Aye, the weight of such an alliance is something I’ve dreamed of for years. But let’s not get lost in the future just yet. There’s something else on the horizon.”
“Something else?” Nekonata asked, curiosity piqued.
“Aye,” Althor said, giving a sly grin. “You see, my friend, while these weeks will be about treaties, strategy, and alliances, there’s something a bit more personal that’s coming. Something I believe even you will appreciate.”
Nekonata tilted his head, waiting for the punchline.
Althor’s lips twitched into a more playful smile. “I’ve an age to celebrate. A rather significant age, at that.”
A pause. Then, the sharp-eyed mage couldn’t help himself. “If I may ask... how old will you be, my friend?”
Althor’s eyes gleamed with a mix of mystery and mischief, and he gave Nekonata a wink, the kind that told of secrets shared between old comrades.
“I could tell you,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “but dwarves, you see, we live long lives. Much longer than most.” He winked again. “Let’s just say… age is but a number, and I’ve lived enough to know a few things that will keep me young in the years ahead.”
Nekonata smirked, leaning back in his chair, playing along. “Ah, I see. So it’s a state secret?”
Althor’s hearty laugh rumbled through the hall, a laugh that only a true dwarf could make sound so powerful. “Aye! A state secret, indeed! But rest assured, you’ll know when the time comes. I won’t keep the feast from you when it arrives. In fact, I plan to make it one to remember.”
Nekonata nodded, his grin widening. “I look forward to it. If I’ve learned anything about your kin it’s that dwarves certainly know how to make celebrations legendary.”
Althor’s voice softened, though his smile remained. “Aye, and there’s always a few surprises left for the ones who least expect them. But for now… enjoy this moment, my friend. The days ahead will be demanding, but tonight? Tonight is for friendship.”
The hall around them seemed to echo with that sentiment, a feeling of camaraderie that hung in the air, warm and comforting despite the challenges they would all soon face.
Nekonata raised his mug one last time, filled with fresh mead. “To friendship, then. And to the future of our united forces. And may I look as graceful as you do in old age!”
Althor let out another loud hearty laugh, he raised his own mug, the golden liquid sloshing slightly. “To the future, and to surprises!”
