Reincarnated as a Dwarf

Dwarven Youth center

The next morning I woke up at the usual time, but when I attempted to get started on my usual chores, my father stopped me with a gesture. “Don’t worry about that, Kvalinn. Today you will be accompanying Zikruk to socialize.” Father almost gagged in disgust and revulsion on the word socialize. Apparently he was no fonder of the act of socialization then I was. “Wash yourself up and prepare gifts in case you meet anyone you need to make a good impression on.”

“Gifts?” I asked. “What type of gifts should I give?” 

“Depending on the person, either something small and token, or something more substantial. Customers get the former, and Elders get the latter.” Father then began working on the chores I normally did. Pointedly refusing to elaborate. 

I began thinking of what gifts I could feasibly give. I didn’t have any money, and most of my practice weapons that I had made up until now had been scrapped so that the materials wouldn’t be wasted. 

Maybe I could bake something? In my previous life I had been a relatively good amateur baker. So after washing up, I went to the pantry to hunt for ingredients. Unfortunately, the results were extremely disappointing. There was no baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and barely any flour. Eventually though, I was able to cobble together a rather tasty oatmeal cookie recipe and bake it over the forge fire.

“Father, will I be able to use these as gifts?” I passed a couple cookies over to him to gauge his reaction. From the crunching sounds, the cookies were likely a bit harder than they should have, but compared to the hard bread we had every day they were much easier on the teeth.

“Hmm” Father didn’t say anything, but he ate the other cookie so it at least wasn’t terrible to dwarven palates. “Not bad, probably would go better with beer though. Give those to your friends, save weapons for potential customers and the Elders.” 

I nodded quickly and put all the cookies I had made in the lunch tin that was my only successful attempt at creating 21st century tech. It was a small tin box with a tight fitting lid, but it was better than just a cloth bag for food storage. I also packed the few daggers that had passed my father’s inspection and were deemed sellable, as well as the dagger I was going to finish at the youth center. 

Just after we finished eating breakfast, Aundarord showed up with his son in tow. Instead of giving his normal relaxed greeting that he usually gave my father, he stopped just inside the door and turned to his son.

“Alright, Zikruk. I’m going to demonstrate the formal greeting a merchant gives to a goods producer when meeting for the first time, watch closely and then give it to Kvalinn.” Aundarord then took his hammer and held it out horizontally to the ground towards my father, and gave a well practiced greeting.

“Greetings, Master Smith Ekgor. I am Aundarord Silverbasher of the merchant clan. May the ancestors see fit that our future collaborations bring profit and honor to both our clans.” Father took his hammer and repeated the gesture, and while the greeting he gave was slightly less practiced, it was no less formal.

“Greetings, Aundarord Silverbasher of the merchant clan. The teachings of the ancestors run through my veins to craft the finest weapons for you to sell. May the ancestors ensure that we act with honor in our future endeavors.” 

Both fathers then looked to their offspring to repeat the greeting that they had demonstrated. Since Zikruk was from the merchant clan, he went first. Holding out his brand new and purely decorative hammer, he began in a nervous tone. 

“G-greetings, Master Smith Kvalinn. I am Zikruk Aundarordsson of the merchant clan. M-may the ancestors see fit that our future collaborations bring… Profit and honor to both our clans.” Zikruk’s greeting was a bit awkward, and he stumbled over some of it. But his father patted him on the back in affirmation anyway. 

Zikruk was the same height as me, roughly two feet tall. With inquisitive brown eyes that roved over the walls, and a mop top of straight brown hair that matched his father’s. 

I held up my own hammer as I had been taught, and gave the corresponding greeting. “Greetings, Zikruk Aundarordsson of the Merchant clan. The teachings of the ancestors run through my veins to craft the finest weapons for you to sell. May the ancestors ensure that we act with honor in our future endeavors.” The last line was basically a warning to both parties that crafting sub standard weapons, or ripping off the smith with unfair prices, would be seen as a grave offense with both clans and the offender would receive punishment from the clans. 

“Well done, both of you.” Aundarord smiled at me and Zikruk proudly. “Now that you have gone through the formal introductions, you can be a little less stiff when interacting. You can even develop a friendship if you get along well. Just be wary of letting your friendship interfere with business.”

“Yes, father.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Zikruk, would you mind leading Kvalinn to the youth center? As I told you on the way here, he’s devoted himself entirely to learning his father’s craft and hasn’t even been outside his house yet.” 

It struck me that I indeed hadn’t left my house for the five years of my life so far. I’d been kept so busy every day with work, studies, or my attempts at creating tech, that any thoughts of leaving the house hadn’t occurred to me. 

Freed from the restraints of formality, Zikruk looked at me like I was a fascinating and never seen before bug. “Seriously? You haven’t even left the house to get food or bring in water?”

I could only shrug, slightly embarrassed. “No, father has someone bring in food and water for us so that we can focus on our work. He says that any time not spent working is time wasted.” 

Zikruk looked at me, then glanced at his father questioningly, before looking back at me as if asking if I was serious. Aundarord laughed in amusement at his son's befuddlement. 

“It’s not just you who thinks it’s crazy, son. Ekgor has been like this for over a century, so it’s no surprise that he’d train his offspring to follow his workaholic ways.”

“Workaholic!?” Father shouted, his beard bristling in indignation. 

“Ekgor, what else would you call someone who stays in his work area for 9/10ths of the day, and only leaves for a solitary mug of beer at the tavern before returning to work?” Aundarord asked with a smile that was equal parts amused and exasperated. 

“I’d call that person a true dwarf dedicated to perfecting his craft! You know as well as I, that if other smiths in this town worked like I and Kvalinn do, then we wouldn’t struggle so much against the Zaihanians or The Empire!” 

As father was beginning his tirade on the benefits of hard work, Aundarord glanced over at Zikruk and gave him a stealthy wink. Zikruk seemed to understand and grabbed my wrist to start pulling me towards the door. 

“C’mon.” Zikruk said quietly. “That’s the signal Father gives when he knows it’s going to be a long negotiation. We should leave before our fathers get down to business and things get really boring.” 

Zikruk led me to the door where I hesitated for a moment. I had spent the last five years of my life in this house without ever bothering to think what was outside this door. Would I be alright in a world that might kill me if it discovered the secret of my runes? Would I be able to survive in a world that was roughly in the middle ages technology wise? Sadly, I was not given time to contemplate these questions because Zikruk abruptly pulled me out the door.

“Hurry up! We’re gonna be late for the games!” Zikruk said as he rushed down the streets, half pulling me along to the youth center with the eagerness of a five year old who just made a new friend.

“Games?” I asked while struggling to keep up. My training thus far in this life had been entirely focused on the upper body so my leg muscles were sorely neglected. “What games do they play at the youth center?”

“Mostly they play shield wall, but I’ve seen them play other games like dodgeball, and they have tournaments with practice weapons. The winner gets to eat a piece of candy imported from a human town!”

“Is the candy good?” I didn’t want to win if the prize was a piece of black licorice or something equally nasty.

“I don’t know.” Zikruk responded with an innocent smile. “I wasn’t old enough to play when I watched the games before. But now that we’re five, we can participate in the tournament and win the candy! Just think of how much we can sell it for!”

“Wait. So you’d sell it rather than eat it?”

“Of course! A merchant's duty in life is to bring what is wanted to those who want it all while lining your own pockets.” Zikruk seemed to think that was the most obvious answer in the world. Evidently his father wasn’t too far behind mine in training the next generation. 

Eventually we arrived at the youth center. It was a rather plain building, but very large, I found out later that it had been a warehouse that was renovated for public use. And like every other building I’d seen in the city so far, it was made from solid stone, as if it were carved directly from the mountain. 

An older teen boy stopped us at the entrance with a polite smile. “Welcome to the Vonur youth center. Is it your first ti- ah, it’s you Zikruk. I guess you are finally old enough to train here. Who’s your friend? Is he at least five winters old?”

Zikruk nodded confidently. “Yep! Kvalinn was born the same year as me so he’s old enough to participate too.” 

“Alright, since both of you are going to be first years in school. Go join that group over there and Elder Threrburk will explain the rules to all of you in a minute.” The teen gestured towards a small group of kids who appeared to be five as well. After thanking him, we went to join the group. 

In the group, we were greeted by several of Zikruk’s playmates. He spent the next several minutes introducing me to his friends and telling them about how I hadn’t left my house until today. Needless to say, they all reacted the same way he had and asked me lots of questions.

“Silence. Now!” A booming stentorian voice cut through our childish chatter and startled us into a dead silence. Looking towards the source of the shout, I saw an old dwarf whose white braided beard stretched down to his knees and was decorated with a few gold ornaments. After glaring at each of us in turn, daring us to make a sound, he introduced himself in a gruff voice.

“I am Elder Threrburk of the warrior clan. I have been appointed by Thane Throdhengrun to monitor this experimental youth center. Here I will train you in combat, warfare, and interacting with your peers. It is the hope of the Thane that this place will help develop you beardless youths into warriors that he can call upon when King Thralgrorlum sounds the war horns to defend the mountain.”

Elder Threrburk noticed me in the middle of the group of kids. He pointed at me with his hammer and bellowed an order. “You! Come forward and introduce yourself. I have not seen you here before.” 

I found out later that the youth center had been open for about a year by now, and Elder Threrburk had seen every kid in the group visit aside from me. So he was more than a little suspicious of me showing up seemingly out of thin air.

Making my way through the rows of children to the front of the group, I mentally crossed my fingers and attempted to give the appropriate greeting for an Elder. 

“Greedings, Elder Threrburk. I am Kvalinn Ekgorsson of the Weapon clan. May you see fit to impart the wisdom of my ancestors so that I might follow in their footsteps.” I nervously held my breath, hoping that I hadn’t messed up my introduction. 

Calling someone an Elder here didn’t just mean that they were old, it meant that they were at least two hundred and fifty years old and were recognized by the king as masters of their craft. Offending an Elder, even accidentally, could have dire consequences for the offender and their family. 

After a few seconds of me waiting on pins, Elder Threrburk grunted in acknowledgement. “Well said, Kvalinn Ekgorsson. Your father at least taught you to keep a civil tongue. I understand now why I have not seen you before. Your father prefers to remain by his forge and has doubtless passed that habit to you. Hopefully you will not adhere to his strict lifestyle so rigorously.”

The ‘strict lifestyle’ was definitely more my speed than going out to socialize, but sensing that saying so would be the incorrect answer I did my best to bluff. “No, Sir. I plan on coming here often to train under your supervision.”

“Hmph, it should be interesting to see what Ekgor’s offspring is capable of.” Elder Threreburk dismissed me with a nod and I faded back into the obscurity of the group. He then began giving us a tour of the youth center. Pointing at the various activities as he listed them.

“Over here we have a wide selection of weighted practice weapons. Do not use excessively weighted weapons just to impress friends or members of the opposite sex. Dealing with back injuries sustained in childhood for several centuries is a grim fate. Anyone caught wielding weapons unsafely will be forced to polish the weapons and shields until I can see every hair of my beard in them.” 

Looking at the area indicated, I could see a huge variety of fantasy weapons of all shapes and sizes that were sorted by weight like barbells. There were also a couple of kids sitting in a corner polishing the weapons. Evidently they hadn’t listened to Elder Threrburk’s warning and were paying the price. 

“In the corner over there,” Elder Threburk continued, “we have a few refreshments. Be sure to pay attention to which barrel you take beer from. The stronger beers would be deadly for you at your age. And finally, we have a forge fire with several anvils you can use. As you are first years, do not attempt to use them unless a fifth year or higher is supervising you.” 

As soon as I saw the forge area, I knew where I’d be spending most of my time when I was forced to come here to socialize. Despite crafting weapons every day for work, I had absolutely no interest in learning how to fight with them. My attempt to sneak out of the tour to get a closer look at the forge was noticed by our guide. 

“Kvalinn Ekgorsson!” Rumbled the angry voice of Elder Threrburke. “Where do you think you are going? I have not dismissed the first year students yet.” 

“I was just going over to the forges to finish a project?” I tried to give a confident answer, but the furrowed brow and glaring eyes of the indignant Elder forced my voice lower and lower until it was barely a whisper. Several seconds of silence passed, each one feeling like an hour under his gaze. 

“So. You want to finish a project?” I silently nodded to the Elder’s rhetorical question. “In that case, you can finish your project in a game of shieldwall.” He then turned to the other first year students. “Everyone aside from Kvalinn, go retrieve a practice weapon and a shield, and gather in the corner over there.”

Elder Threrburk then motioned to one of the older kids who seemed to be acting as his assistant. “Bifor, separate an anvil from the group for a game of shieldwall and gather some fifth year students to be their opponents.”

A few minutes later, all of my fellow first year students returned holding various weapons and shields. Some of them looked comfortable and familiar with their weapons, while others were stuck desperately trying not to hurt themselves or others with theirs. When everyone was in a group again, Elder Threrburk began explaining the rules of the game.

“Shieldwall is a game that we in the warrior clan have played for centuries to prepare for the battlefield. The rules are simple. You will be arranged in a line with Kvalinn behind you. Your opponents will try to break through your line to get to Kvalinn. If your opponents manage to break through the line and reach Kvalinn before he finishes his ‘project’ then you lose. If you somehow manage to hold them off until Kvalinn finishes, then you win. Losers have to stay and clean after everyone leaves. Prepare yourselves to fight.”

Threrburk then left us first years to prepare, while he went to talk to our opponents. 

Every single first year student, Zikruk included, were glaring at me in annoyance for netting them a punishment cleaning on their first day. 

“Kvalinn, please tell me that the project you are working on won’t take more than a few minutes. Otherwise we’re toast.” Zikruk looked at me with hopeful eyes. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to give a good response.

“I still have at least an hour's worth of work complete, maybe a half hour if I rush several steps and settle for a subpar knife.” My attempt at compromise was met with a firm refusal.

“No! Don’t settle for subpar!” Zikruk grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me, or trying to at least. My three years in front of the forge had left my tiny body extremely well muscled. “It’s bad enough that you negatively caught the attention of Elder Threrburk, but showing him anything less than your best would make it so much worse! So don’t make a subpar knife!”

“Ok! I got it! I won’t make my work subpar!” I pried the desperate Zikruk off me and began mentally going over what I still needed to do for the knife. 

While I was thinking, Elder Threrburk walked over to our group again and with a long and protracted sigh he began organizing us. “Didn’t I tell you to prepare for battle!? Khuder, you are now the right flank. Thrigzeg, you are the left flank. Everyone else, get in a line between them. Kvalinn, take your place before the forge, but do not start until I say so.”

Elder Threrburk spent the next ten minutes physically wrangling the kids into position. And as any childcare worker or mom can tell you, getting kids to do something specific is like herding cats. He’d give instructions to one kid on holding their weapon, move another kid's shield into position, scold another for messing around with their playmate, and dealt with all the usual petty complaints that children have.

Eventually, the line of weapon bearing kids was ready to play defense. Or at least as ready as they would ever be. Zikruk’s estimate of them lasting five minutes was looking more and more like wishful thinking, as they struggled to even hold up their weapons and shields.

Stepping between the two teams, Elder Threrburk reiterated the rules for both teams of kids. “First years, you will be working together to stop your opponents from getting past you. But if you drop your weapons, or are dealt a blow that would normally be fatal, then you’re out. Fifth years, I want to see the new students in action so don’t defeat them immediately, give them a half hour and then finish them.”

Once he verified that all the students involved understood their roles, Elder Threrburk held up his hammer like a race flag for a moment before banging it down on a nearby anvil and bellowing. “Begin the game!”

The fifth years ambled over to the first year defenders and attacked them in a very relaxed manner. They seemed to be treating it like warm up exercises rather than a mock battle while the first years fought with all their strength and tenacity. However, as five year old kids, their strength was laughable when compared to their ten year old opponents. 

Sensing with all the instincts of a long-time strategy gamer that my defensive line was weaker than a cobweb, I decided to add just a bit of magic from my rune to rush the crafting. Over the past couple years I had learned how to minutely adjust how much magic went into my rune of forging to create exactly what I wanted. Back then, it was the only way I could make an, admittedly non functional, lightbulb without it exploding. 

A few minutes after I began working, Elder Threrburk yelled out an order. “Kvalinn! Sing a forge song. It will encourage your comrades and speed up your own work.”

Seriously? A forge song? Forge songs were simple and repetitive chants that had a strong beat. Father often sung them while working on projects that took an extremely long time, or that required exact timing from his hammer blows. 

Taking the Elder’s advice, I quickly ran through the list of songs I knew so far and began singing. But instead of creating the encouraging effect that Elder Threrburk was hoping for, my song just caused everyone to laugh. Because the only one I knew by heart was about a dwarves' love of beer and hatred of all other beverages.

“Not exactly a traditional song sung during a battle, but since it’s your first day I’ll let it slide. Fifth year students, stop laughing and resume the attack!” Elder Thereburk seemed to be suppressing a laugh himself, but did his best to make sure the older kids kept up the attack. 

Despite the fifth year students going easy on us first years, the defensive line protecting me was quickly dropping like flies. Some were kicked from the game by being knocked out by the practice weapons, others ran out of strength and collapsed panting for breath, and one girl was pulled from the game for being too aggressive with her weapon. Needless to say, I was under a lot of pressure. 

I hammered away at the hot metal while singing the forge song, but as I sang the last note in the song, I felt a sharp pain along my rune of forging. It was even more intense than what occurred when I was using magic to craft an otherworldly item or a weapon. Before my eyes, I saw rune lines carve themselves in the now finished dagger.

“Finished!” I victoriously yelled out.