Reincarnated as a Dwarf

Meeting other dwarves

“Kvalinn, pump the bellows! You’re working with steel now, remember? The fire has to be a lot hotter if you want to melt it.” Following my father’s instructions, I climbed my makeshift stairs to reach the bellows. I’m now a little taller than I used to be, but I’m still less than 2 feet tall.

Three years have passed since I first received my hammer. I’ve been so busy that they seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Father has been teaching me weapon crafting work from dawn till dusk. Not that there is a dawn or dusk since we live deep underground, but from breakfast to dinner, Father would train me as he did his own work. 

Unfortunately, the grand dreams I once entertained of using my rune of forging to bring 21st tech to this world all failed spectacularly. Like any American millennial, I could tell you roughly how the various gadgets used in my daily life worked and could operate them with finesse and competence, but that didn’t translate well into knowing exactly how the devices worked and operated. So most of my attempts to craft gadgets ended up either useless or trash.

The piston engine I had so lovingly made was eventually melted for scrap due to lack of fuel. My attempts at an early lightbulb had been tossed due to lack of electricity. No lightning to harness and no chemicals to make batteries. Not even my attempt at a tiny model airplane had worked, iron and steel were the only materials available to me and they were way too heavy to fly.

So with nothing else to do, I did my best to learn the weapon crafting trade. It’s not the most thrilling life for a fantasy world, but it is never dull. (Pun intended.)

“Yes! That’s it, Kvalinn! You’ve got to keep the fire hotter than hell hounds to work with steel. Otherwise you’ll be uselessly pounding away.” Father shouted a few encouraging words my way as I put my whole body weight into pumping the bellows. 

“Honestly, Ekgor. I know that you are the only one raising Kvalinn, but should you really be teaching him such advanced training so early?” This was said by Aundarord Silverbasher. A merchant who sold fathers weapons, and had been his friend for nearly the past century. He was a bit younger than my father, at only a hundred and twenty, and his brown beard was only half gray. He also wore spectacles that he often peered through when examining merchandise. 

“What’s wrong with teaching him his clan’s trade? Besides, Kvalinn has taken to it like a dwarf to beer. Take a look at this dagger he forged the other day. It’s not half bad, you could get a couple silver for this in the human markets.” 

Aundarord picked up the dagger and examined it closely with a practiced eye. “Yes, it’s definitely sellable in human markets. I’d probably price this at… 4 silver, but I’d accept 2.”

“2 silver!?” Father roared out, then he paused in thought as he ran the calculations through his head. “Yes, that sounds about right for an iron dagger. Possibly even a little generous. Are you trying to sign Kvalinn up to sell weapons to you as well?” 

“No, I already have too many contracts to keep up with selling your weapons,” Aundarord said with a shake of his head. “I was thinking of having my youngest son, Zikruk, sign on with Kvalinn to sell his weapons. They’re the same age, and should come of age in the same year. Assuming they both survive the trials of the mines and their apprenticeships, of course.” 

“Of course. But I’m sure Kvalinn will pass through the trials with ease. It’s what comes after that worries me. I may have sheltered him a bit too much so that I could teach him, and I’m not sure how well he will interact with others.” Father shifted uncomfortably, from experience I could tell that he was indirectly asking for help. As an experienced merchant, and long time friend, Aundarord immediately picked up on it and gave a solution.

“School won’t start for a week or two, but in the meantime. Thane Throdhengrun recently set up something called a ‘youth center’ for children and young adults to interact and learn from each other. I could have Zikruk take Kvalinn there so they can get to know each other, business isn’t solely run with money after all.”

“Excellent!” Father’s face brightened as he realized that he didn’t have to leave his forge. “Kvalinn, you’re taking the day off tomorrow and going to this- what was it called again? Right, youth center!”

“But, Father! I’m almost done with the dagger I’ve been working on!” I exclaimed in protest. Both in my previous life, and my current one, I had the instincts of a shut-in nerd who actively avoided loud and noisy places like youth centers with a passion. Unfortunately, Aundarord had a solution to the problem I did not want fixed.

“Take the dagger with you and finish it there.” Aundarord said with a smile. “The youth center was set up as a place of collaboration and teaching between clans so it has a forge and several anvils. Besides, it’s never too early to show off your skills for potential customers.” 

Both adults in the room grinned and stroked their beards. Audarord at the thought of potential profits, and father at the prospect of getting more work. I, having no beard to tug in frustration, settled for sighing in annoyance and mentally reviewing my father's lessons on dwarven manners. 

Later that night, after our usual simple dinner of stew, hard bread, and beer. Father gestured for me to sit down for a talk. Once he had found the right words in his beer mug, he began to speak, slowly but surely. “Kvalinn, when talking to both adults and children tomorrow. Say absolutely nothing about your runes. Keep your gloves on at all times, and do not let anyone get even the slightest idea that you have magical runes on your body.”

“But why, father?” I asked, more than a little confused at how serious he looked. “Isn’t my rune of forging why you’ve been teaching me so much? So that I could use it effectively?”

“Yes, and no.” Father paused for a few minutes as he searched for simple words that he could use with a five year old. Just because I had adult memories from a previous life didn’t mean I had a perfect grasp of the language here. “I’ve been teaching you extensively, so that you would be able to survive if you were ever cast out of the mountain.”

I stared slack jawed at my father. Who would cast a five year old infant out of the mountain?! And why!? My father soon provided the answer.

“Magic is the power of the gods. When our race was created to make their weapons, the gods intentionally did not give us the power to wield magic to prevent our rebellion against them. But the first dwarf, Hjerouhrdinn Godforged, discovered how to harness the power of the gods into runes and cast off his celestial shackles. Ever since then, the relationship between the gods and dwarves has been tense, sometimes hostile. If a dwarf manages to make a celestial class weapon, a nearly impossible achievement, the gods will appear and claim it. Most of the time the gods will pay, but occasionally they will simply take the weapon and kill anyone who objects.”

Father looked at my hands, specifically at my runes. “Because of this tense relationship, if people discovered that you were able to wield magic. To use the celestial power that has been denied to all others of our race. People could turn violent, and to pacify the crowds, the King will either cast you out or have you killed.”

I sat in stunned silence for several minutes. I never expected that the ability to make weapons with magic would be that explosive to the dwarven community. After a few more minutes I solemnly nodded. 

“I-I understand, father. I’ll be sure to never tell anyone about my runes.”

“Good.” Father took a quaff of his beer and finished it off. “Now then, let’s go over greetings and introductions.” 

The rest of the evening was spent with my father reteaching me how to greet people and introduce myself politely. Apparently Dwarven interactions are much more formalized than the more relaxed American culture I was used to. A quick handshake and a simple hello would be a one way ticket to getting your skull bashed by a hammer and an entry in a book of grudges. The dwarven Elders were very big on politeness. 

So I did my best to memorize the complicated and drawn out methods of introductions to various classes and ranks and social levels. And went to bed that night with greetings, farewells, and polite bows swirling through my head.