Inside a cottage in the woods lay a dwarf, a drunk dwarf. Not a stout muscly dwarf, nor an iron casting dwarf, he was but a normal dwarf. Though in all honesty, he's an anomaly even amongst his brethren. This specific dwarf loved to drink wine. Not to mention his unique appearance of being lean and thin like a human made him up to be a subject of great scorn. He was outcasted as a freak in their local mountain village. For the Blackgold village dwarves, a dwarf who couldn't do any work, nor even respect their culture at the very least was a useless dwarf. He was constantly bullied, treated lesser than livestock, and humiliated like a dog. The beaten and weak dwarf found his situation hopeless. But better yet, he had a drive powered with will and grit to prove them all wrong. "I will prove you all wrong!" The weak dwarf said, wiping his sweat. "I will win against you all."
And as such, he wasted no time searching for ways to aid his goals. He asked other villagers, but nobody heeded his calls. He asked the village elders, but none wanted to even go near his wine. "It'll ruin my honor to touch wine." An elder said. Therefore, he asked his parents for help, and asked his father to lend a hand to sell his wine. "I need help, father." He said. "I'll pay you a portion of my earnings for your wisdom." He asked. "No need to pay me." His father said. "Just stop your habits, and we'll be satisfied." His mother added. After what his parents said, the dwarf genuinely pondered for a few days regarding the matter. He also wanted to end this, but to start in the first place is the hardest part.
For the weak and wine addicted dwarf, he sought for ways to better himself. And among the most obvious resolutions was to fix his insane fixation with wine. At first, he found himself crying with every bottle of home-made wine disposed of. He even occasionally broke his promise and ended up drunk beyond recognition. And every time it happened, for some strange unforeseeable reason, he always forgot he got drunk. All the dwarf knew was that he regularly woke up in strange places, with a bad hangover, and empty wine bottles around him usually. "I l-love wi-wine!" The drunk dwarf exclaimed. "How c-can the others ha-hate th-this? Wine i-is the b-best!" The drunk dwarf said, as he slowly started closing his eyes, and went to sleep on the warm wooden floors of his cottage. But those days of being drunk and pitiful didn't last forever. With the passing of each and every day, he was more and more able to resist his temptations for wine for longer and longer periods of time, until eventually, in only a measly single year, he completely rid himself of his addiction. And one of the main reasons for this was his new growing obsession: Smithing.
"I figured I should learn some skills." The dwarf asked. "Any recommendations, mother?" His mother, probing for an answer, thought deeply. "Then I will ask your father to teach you how to smith." His mother said. In the past he tried to learn it already, but due to an untimely accident with a hammer dropping on the young dwarf's legs, it broke his legs, damaged his interests, and left him traumatized from ever touching a hammer, or even going near a smithy. But for the motivated weak dwarf, such a problem was barely an issue. He overcame his trauma through trial by fire: Repeatedly forcing himself to slowly go inside the local smithy, buying himself his own hammer, he even asked for help with the village elders to hopefully learn blacksmithing under them. He was a very insistent, annoying, and passionate dwarf from what the village elders saw. And because of that, they admired his tenacity. Through this experience, he very quickly learned the fundamentals and basics from direct lessons under them. One of the veteran blacksmiths of the village especially admired his tenacity to better himself, and his passion for blacksmithing. The veteran took him under his tutelage, there, he furthered not just the fundamentals he learned, but learned how to work with various other materials as well. Learning other skills directly related to smithing in his free time like: handicrafts, masonry, sculpting, and more!
On the day the merchants came to trade, he went to the venue with his father. "Be careful with them. Those bottles are at least a decade old. They're fine wine made from forest berries." The dwarf informed the traveling merchant, as he placed the trays of wine bottles behind the merchant's covered wagon. "These can't sell any lower than two pouches of silver sir." He retorted. "I'll keep that in mind." The traveling merchant nervously said. The awkward and anxiety-inducing tone of the dwarf startled the merchant. "Don't be too worried about my son, sir Jandel." His father assured. "He's just a bit passionate about wine, and he's young." The traveling merchant was surprised that a dwarf would like wine. For the dwarves who took the sanctity of nature and all that surrounds it to a high degree, wine made with fruits was highly considered taboo by the majority of dwarven folks. "Don't you dwarves have a rule against wine?" The traveling merchant curiously asked. "Well no matter, I at least trust you Braum. I'll trust your words." The traveling merchant added. "I'm grateful sir. It is a pleasure to be doing business with you." His father shook the merchant's hands as they said their farewells with each other.
"Don't you be foolish again like that boy." His father said, raising his tone. "We already have scarce business with humans, he was one of the few lucrative and rich merchants who does business with our village every year, yet you insist on pushing him away?" The dwarf turned silent and bowed his head in guilt. "Let this be a lesson learned. Learn to be humble or you die. We're no nobility nor rich folk, we're only peasant folk." His father ended. The mood turned sour, the dwarf felt immense guilt and contemplated his actions. "I shouldn't take father's words for granted." The dwarf thought. "Though those humans looked weak like me, they weren't weak at all it seems."
Several seasons passed, the leaves bloomed; the leaves dried. Now, it was time for the leaves to be cold and hardened. This especially harsh season of winter, the Blackgold village was required to finish their monthly quota of five-hundred refined blackgold ores, at least doubled. If not, they would not have enough funds to sustain themselves and survive the harsh winter. They needed to buy thicker coats, more lumber for their abodes, and more food because of the extreme cold, resulting in yet more expenditures. And so, the village had a gathering among the pillars. They decided to make it mandatory for every man to be inside the mines digging; the women, old, and young were to refine the ores in the village smithy alongside the other more menial tasks. Everyone had a duty to abide by, and all manpower was utilized according to their capabilities equally. Naturally, our perceived to be weak dwarf was not allowed inside the mines. He was tasked to help with refining due to his incredibly frail physique. He looked like a human, but make no mistake, he was still a dwarven man.
The Blackgold village has a long history. Amongst all dwarven villages in the north, they had one of the richest histories. Though in all honesty, in recent times the village has degraded due to a lack of talented dwarves for almost a hundred years. Their most talented, had already long since died at the age of 150 years old—quite early for the long-lasting dwarves. According to the elders, he died in an accident. And as for what accident? Nobody knew. This, coupled with the fact that they were recently well-known for having a freak dwarf, lowered their reputation and long-standing honor amongst the northern villages even further.
The dwarf knew this the best, and he understood their reasoning for resenting him. But he always asked himself, was that his fault? If he hadn't been born so different from everyone else, and so adamantly outcasted for it, he perhaps wouldn't have ended up resorting to wine. "They had it coming." The dwarf thought. And they indeed had it coming. The dwarf could feel himself finally about to repay his long overdue grudge. Honing his strikes with extreme grit and will behind every clang of his hammers, he was confident unlike his past self. And coincidentally, he was recently asked to help with refining in the smithy by the elders. Such an opportunity can only come rarely for his secluded self. Even before, he was only ever asked to fetch the ores from the mines. Now, he was finally given a chance to prove his worth. Elation and adrenaline filled the dwarf's body. His ears turned bright red, and his face smoldered with immense intensity.
"I haven't touched wine for quite some time..." The dwarf thought. "I should drink some later." While it is true that the dwarf had long since rid himself of his wine addiction, he still liked to drink on occasion. This time, to celebrate him finally finishing his training under the veteran blacksmith. "You have already learned everything I have to offer." The blacksmith said. "Go out into the world and hone your skills even further. Show them the pride of Blackgold." The once weak dwarf, had grown quite immense in the past decade. His physique has considerably bulked since his training's inception; his confidence had increased since the last time. Perhaps it was time for him to showcase the results of his efforts. "It's time." The dwarf thought. He went to help in the smithy, carrying beautiful ornate hammers in both hands.
Everybody wondered who could own such hammers. With a leather strap on the handle, knotted and tied and the hammer itself shaped like a claw, riddled with runic engravings all over. The other side was flat and seemed to glow when you stared directly into it; the other pointed and curved downwards like the horns of an ox ready to impale its targets. But when all had come to take a look at who handled such tools, they saw the once puny and thin dwarf, donning a crimson gambeson. They couldn't gauge if he was chiseled to the brim. But despite the thick clothing, his muscle definition clearly bulged through them. When he went to open the doors of the smithy, everyone was surprised at who finally showed up. "You finally showed up for once." A female dwarf said. They saw his transformation, but still didn't acknowledge him. They swiftly came to test his capabilities, whether his appearance amounted to any real ability. He didn't utter a single word. He found a place in one of the corners, and let his abilities do the talking. With every pound the metal rang like a bell; with every collision the metal sparked into flames. It was a beautiful sound that surrounded the entire place, encapsulating everyone's attention. As he stuck into a trance, his eyes seemed to glow. At that moment, not a single person thought him to be weak, nor a freak. At that very moment, they saw a dwarf.
"You are wrong. It's all about the skills. The beauty of the form is the best indication of one's ability." A dwarf claimed. "It doesn't matter how beautiful your form may be, if the product comes out bad, it's bad." Another dwarf argued. The Blackgold village, especially the pubs, was lively and filled to the brim with travellers. Rumors quickly spread about the beautiful craftsmanship of the young dwarf. Some say his form looked flawless; some claim the sounds of his hammers were heavenly. Other blacksmiths, not just dwarves, but even other species from far and distant regions and kingdoms came to see the spectacle of his work. Some even challenged his abilities directly, and were all swiftly humbled. Some say he was a beautiful dwarf; some say a fanatic of the craft. But all came to agree on one thing: His exceptional technique showcased a never seen before beauty in blacksmithing.
