[D]emigod in the [D]warfworks [DarkRiffs & Confrazzled]

[Confrazzled]

The clang of anvil rang out with each strike of the smith-dwarfessâ?? heavy hammer, forged of an arcane alloy known only to the dwarves, and even then, known only in small enclaves. Like this one, the master smithworks, the cross-roaded crux of their spidersâ?? web of tunnelry, lacing through the mountains of Midgard and burrowing all of the way to Nedavellir, the offshoot of its well-guarded tunnel guarded at the very capital of the Dwarven kingdom. And here, the palace nestled at its very heart, hewn from the massive mountainâ??s craggy stone and carved in its labyrinth of rooms and set with precious and semiprecious stones and metals hewn from the furthest corners of Midguard and Nedavellir alike.

The masterforge, however, only a few kinks, twists, and hewn stairwells of tunnels removed from the lavish Dwarven palace was considerably less ornate in its design, though no less distinctive as a specimen of dwarven architecture. It never failed to impress visitors with its sheer magnitude and scope. The stoked flames controlled more immaculately than any humanâ??s forge, in any shade and colour, tailored to an expert optimum for each variety of metal and alloy. With furnace upon furnace upon furnace, as well as opened rings of firepits for different manners of detail, all set into in variously sized and ventilated caverns filled up several tiers of scooped mountain caverns. The panorama of it was hardly encompassable in a single glance, and for the surface-dwelling visitors, rarely comprehensible when assembled in the mindâ??s eye piecemeal, like the links of a coat of mail.

This dayâ??s visitorsâ??though perhaps it was not day, time always seemed to flow differently in the bowels of the Earthâ??certainly would be no exception. And Brynhildr Bodrunsdottir was not looking forward to this. She held little desire to lay aside the carefully-wrought mail-and-plate-backed gauntlets that she was forging, link by painstaking mythrill link, to meet Thorâ??s envoy. Mortal or not, half-mortal or not, like as not whomever it was would still not likely be capable of keeping that gaping mortal mouth from flopping open like a dead fishâ??s. Heâ??d be lucky they were not in one of those disgusting surface swampsâ??what heâ??d have wound up with there was a mouthful of flies. And she was not looking forward to having to crane her apple-round face towards for those endless-seeming hoursâ??it never failed to gift Brynhildrâ??s neck with brutal kinks and knotted gnarls, for she barely approached the nippleâ??s height of a human man. Spice to the mead, merely, to a duty that already shaped up to be dreary. Neither did she did not look forward to thrusting aside her leather smithâ??s jerkin and donning formal armed regalia, self-forged plate suit and all, and unpinning her jumble of burnished brass braids and tresses, currently roughly tossed up in a stable bun, as was required to keep from singing them.

She grunted, taking the tiny tongs from the blue-hot flame, blazing like the concentrated light of a thousand pinprick stars, twisting together the final link at the thumb of the right gauntlet. A shadow fell across the forge but she had no attention to spare to its source just yet. The half-gauntlet Brynhildr hoisted with her tongs and thrust into a springwaterâ??s bucket in a hissing cloud of steam before laying it aside, and raising her quick garnet eyes to assess just who had juxtaposed themselves between her torchlight and work.

 

[DarkRiffs]

Dagfinnr sighed as he received the message from a rather impatient looking Heimdall."Go to those damn dwarves and check the progress of my gauntlet!.How an I supposed to guard the bridge if I cant properly hold my blade!".The young man blinked a few times before beaming up at the god."Yes sir!" he said before he began to race off like the wind.Indeed he was as swift and fast as the wind, nearly as fast as Odin's steed, which was the gift the gods had given him.Dagfinnr's story began when he had been just an infant child, in the arms of his mother as she made her way through the forest, on her way back home to their cabin when the event had occured.The unwitting woman had accidently tracked in upon the god of thunder himself, at battle with a cackling Loki.The god of deceit had played a particularly nasty prank that time.He had stolen the god of thunders belt of strength, leaving him barely able to wield Mjolnir.

The enraged Thor had blindly swung the hammer, and had lost grip.His mother's reaction had been to toss the babe into the air, just before the thundergod's hammer had struck her down, slaying her instantly.Loki had immediately given the god his belt back and dissapeared, leaking an awe-struck Thor to deal with the situation.Thor of course wanted not to be stuck to the child, mortals were such pests, so Instead he thought of someone else.The thundergod took the young babe back to asgard, handing him off to Frejya, the goddess of love, to whom he promised a favour should she instead raise the boy.

He had grown up not knowing of the reason for being among the gods, and had always wondered as a child why he had no powers, no immense strength or no wondrous praise.It had been a strange life growing up amongst the gods, specifically as a friend of Thor's own bloodson Magni, whom indeed was stronger than Thor.Being raised by Frejya, the goddess made sure the lad knew she wasn't his actual mother, but that she loved him as such regardless.It was his eighteenth birthday the young lad had been given the ring forged in the fires of the dwarven mountain.While he had been raised a warrior proud, he was still no match for the men in asgard, for they were all spirits of the dead...he was still living flesh and blood.As such he had been given an advantage to level the playing field, godly speed.

"Finally, a task outside of fetching mead!" he said eagerly as he raced along.The ring instilled in him an amazing sense of navigation, both in the air, on the ground and under the sea.Elation ran rampant in his body as he skidded to a halt outside the gates.Long brown hair whipped in the wind as green eyes gazed proudly outward from behind a face as pale as snow."I, Dagfinner, messenger of the gods, come on behalf of Heimdall the guardian to inquire about the progress of his articles!".He was just so giddy, rarely did he get to leave the land atop the world tree.

Jaw wide open he strode along behind the guards, gazing about the amazing forges and furnaces that dotted the place.The novelty had worn off by the time he had been escorted to the dwarfess at the forge."You've got a visitor" the dwarven guard spoke to her."Some kid here on behalf of heimdall or other".