Taven and the Forge of Faer: Chapter 2

“Sit still!” Taven yelled, grasping the ice golem in a headlock. His entire body burned with a brilliant fire, sending pools of steam pouring through the room as he wrestled with the titan. In a final burst of strength, he cracked at the creature's head, sending it sprawling to the floor. Large puddles had begun to crystalize over the floor of the marble temple. A cold wind rippled through the open domed ceiling, where a starry night shined overhead.

Taven crawled from under the fallen beast, pulling himself toward the massive crystal head of the golem. Where bright blue eyes had once glown, the magic of the creature seemed to retreat with his final punch into its skull. Now a large collection of ice shards lay upon the temple floor, unmoving and slowly melting in Taven’s warm aura.

The head (now no more than a snowball) rolled aside as Taven fished into the creature’s mouth.

 “Ha! Got ya!” He cheered, ripping the pair of lengthy ice fangs from its jaw. Taven took a moment to examine his prize, a pair of dagger sized shards of ice. At the heart of either, a green mystic energy swirled.

 Taven slowly stood, taking deep breaths to quell the fire that had built up over his skin. When the last patches of flame have dissipated, Taven stuffed the twin fangs into the small burlap sack at his side. The doors of the temple were still tightly shut, keeping out the natural light of the valley that glowed just beneath. It had been almost a week that Taven had been in the village of the valley, patiently awaiting his change to meet (and defeat) the golem.

On his journey up the mountain, Taven had encountered a number of strange and unfriendly people. The genasi who occupied this valley were an unforgiving breed. They had been born of the frostgrowth winds, cold and bitter. They tended to live in secluded towers and huts, far from the eyes and ears of any others. It had taken him an entire day to find a place to stay, turned away by most everyone except a farmer who allowed him to sleep in the donkey pens for a steep fee.

In his past few months of traveling and collecting, Taven had come across a many number of unique races. The wind genasi of this mountain had cursed at him and stared with hatred, but they were far from the worst of his encounters. The six-headed sand gators of the south had nearly had him for breakfast, and the Onellian Gnoll Slavers made these genasi seem like social butterflies.

Even Taven’s usual charm and buffoonery did little to sway these genasi. As he stood against one of the temple’s pillars, he wondered how they would feel now that he was finally leaving. Perhaps they simply could sense his fiery spirit, and their natural affinity for the cold winds had turned them off from him. For now, that’s what he was going to chalk it up to.

Taven strode towards the doorway of the temple, readying his magic to summon Summerslayer if needed. He had not yet been forced to fight the genasi, and was unsure what tactics they might use to try and battle him. Another cold wind blew in from the high ceiling, sending a shiver through Taven. He looked back once more, and smacked an open palm against his forehead.

Taven jogged back towards the fallen beast, which was now little more than melted snow and ice. Fishing under the soaking pile, Taven snatched at the small cap and shook it out. The hat was a soggy mess. Taven summoned a bit of warmth to his hands, drying it the best he could and slipping the hat over his hair.

Taven’s hands wiped at his clothing, trying to even them as best he could. Striding once more towards the doors, he quietly slipped between them, pulling them shut and sighing. As he looked up once more, two genasi guards stood staring at him.

“Oh, hey guys! Work’s all done!” He told them, cracking a nervous smile. The genasi looked to one another, and the taller of the two spoke.

“We will see the master then.” The genasi had pale, almost transparent skin. Their wild, flowing hair was a pearl white, and wound in tight braids to prevent them from permanently looking hypercharged. Both wore gleaming silver armor, with thick ice-like pauldrons and padding. The pair bore a twin set of long spears, with curved fishhook heads.

“Oh no, you really can’t. Operation took a lot out of him, he’s definitely going to want to rest.” Taven told them, standing and spreading his arms. Both of the guards took a step forward, lowering their spears.

“The master is not a *He*, and we will see them now.” The second guard spoke now. Taven’s eyes danced wildly between the two, and he sighed reluctantly.

“Okay, okay guys. But listen, I don’t know when the last time you went to the dentist. It’s not a fun experience. You’re all jacked up after. Did you know dentists have the highest rate of depression based on occupation? There’s a reason for that statistic. As soon as I left, he, I mean they were practically throwing a tantrum.”

“That would explain the yelling.” The first guard conceded.

“Yelling?” Taven asked, quickly realizing. “Oh right! Yes, all that noise was your boss, not enjoying the operation. I’m pretty sure they said they wanted to take a big nap afterwards, and not be bothered at all!”

The two guards looked at Taven with confusion, and what he hoped wasn’t anger. Their glares seemed to last a lifetime, until the second spoke.

“Fine. You are done. We will just peek in to check on the master, and you will go.”

Taven could feel the heat rising in his body, but he knew better than to draw his weapon. He could talk his way out of this.

“Say, that was a good question I posed a minute ago. When is the last time either of you have been to the dentist? Oral hygiene isn’t just something for ice golems! How about we schedule both of you an appointment? I can go back in with your boss and set something up for this week? I’ll just have to stay in town a couple more days. I’m sure we can-”

“No!” One of the guards blurted out. “No no, that’s quite alright. You really should be going, like you said. No need to check with our boss, let’s get you on your way.”

The other followed in his stead, and the two guards split the way for Taven, quickly escorting him down the mountainside.

“Are you certain guys? You look like brothers, we have a great family plan! I-”

“No!” The guards said in tandem, quickening their pace as they followed him down the mountain.

     \*\*\*

As Taven reached his airship, it seemed the entire village was at his heels. It took him only a moment to board the vessel and discreetly pour fire from his hands into the ship. As he began to lift into the air, Taven looked over the railings and waved to the villagers. None returned his wave, but many were cheering and clapping. Taven walked back to the port of the ship, tossing his disguise aside.

“They’re gonna miss me so much.” He said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Alright, let’s get these bad boys back home.”

\*\*\*

The airship set down over the ruined village, and Taven was glad to be back in the heat of the volcanic mountainside. Running a hand through his orange hair, Taven took a deep breath of the ash and dust that filled the village.

 “Smells like home.” He told no one in particular. A long rope hung from the side of the airship, and Taven took it into his hands as he began to repel towards the base of the village.

 Taven leapt from the ends of the rope, cracking down against the earth. He readjusted his bag and began the short hike to the mouth of the volcano. As he went, Taven glanced over the buildings that had once been regal palaces and towers. His feet kicked at rubble and he hummed a tune as he walked.

 “Taven!” A voice filled the air. The bulbous fire-eater was propped up against one of the buildings, his small amber claws rubbing over the massive belly that made up the majority of his body.

 “Hey there Habi! How’s the day treating you?” He asked. The fire-eater extended a large thumbs up, something Taven had taught him in the last few weeks. Habi’s movements were slow, only outranked by his unhurried diction. The Fire-Eater had become a sort of guardian for the forge, as the sole survivor of the fire-eating cannibal frenzy Taven had inspired during his first visit. The creature was just another of the fire-eaters, but Taven and he had formed a strange friendship as the only two inhabitants of the volcano. Taven had come up with the name Habanero for the elemental creature, but it quickly transitioned to Habi when he realized fire-eaters had trouble with multiple syllable words.

 “Can’t complain.” He slowly replied. “You find the thing?” Habi asked. Taven held the bag up in response, rummaging through its contents. Taven withdrew the long wrapped stick, and tossed it in Habi’s direction. The fire-eater floated towards the stick, unraveling the parchment and staring at it in confusion.

 “What is it?” He asked, marveling over the massive shard of white crystal.

 “Food from the village I just visited. It’s called an icicle, it’s practically all they eat out there! I had them make me an extra big version for you.”

 “For me?” Habi asked. Taven wasn’t sure fire-eaters could express gratitude, but this was the closest he’d ever seen the giant ball of fire come to it.

 “How bout you give it a try first, then thank me.” He said, continuing his hike and waving a goodbye.

\*\*\*

Taven leapt deep into the lava, swimming towards the depths until the orange waves began to darken. He quickly reached the magical border that acted as the forge’s ceiling, and turned his body forward. Tightly twirling from his outstretched position, Taven fell into a somersault as he was thrown to the floor of the massive forge. His first few visits, he’d simply fallen forty or so feet straight onto his face, which hadn’t been great for his teeth. Maybe he should’ve taken himself up on that dental plan.

Taven wiped the few cinders from his clothing, and approached the main anvil at the center of the room. Millenia ago, his father had built this forge as a base of operations at the heart of this volcano. The walls were a dark obsidian, and covered with thousands of strange runes and magical glyphs Taven could not begin to understand. The room was primarily an open workshop, with every sort of crafting table and equipment bench he could envision. The lower walls contained thousands of tools strung from hooks. Hammers, saws, drills, all sorts of magical odds and ends, and even some strange contraptions Taven had not yet been brave enough to use filled the room. Drawers had been carved into the floors containing screws, nails and bolts of every material imaginable. His father had forged pipelines in the walls, so that Taven only needed to call out and water, or lava, or any sort of liquid would spill into buckets at his leisure. Long mineshafts descended into the earth, imbued with magic to draw out any sort of metal Taven could think of.

Faer had truly thought of everything, for Taven had never felt so at home, or so necessary in a place. He had often been the outcast among his friends, preferring the solitude of his work. Now he had been granted the strongest tools and the greatest forge in all of mortalkind, and yet, something was wrong.

No matter how much Taven reminded himself that his quest would help to save the world, he couldn’t help but feel punished. The forge had granted him all sorts of blessings, but part of it would always feel like a prison. Here he was alone, a sanctuary in which no other being could ever wish to enter. His friends were out there in the world, fighting the forces of darkness. Taven was stuck down here, blasting away at metals and leaving only to give ice golems root canals.

“No, this is important.” Taven told himself, drawing the ice fangs from his bag and settling them down into the mold. Both had fit perfectly, just as the schematics told him they would. Taven turned to the large stack of parchment, examining the blueprint once more.

He took the cover of the mold into his hands, the heavy piece of hardened magical metal and placed it atop the fangs. With a burst of fire, he sealed the edges and lifted the mold into his hands. It was almost half his height, and the dense shell he had crafted weighed heavy in his hands. Taven lugged the mold across the room, finally arriving at the bathing pool.

A semicircle of polished gold, the pool was a sort of relic left by Faer. The crackling magma that flowed through the center of the half-fountain had been drawn from Faer’s own essence, and so held some of his magic within. To complete the creation of any of Taven’s weapons, he had to sink them within the pool.

As his hands slipped under the honey and garnet colored liquid, Taven let out a heavy groan. This was often the hardest part of his work, because he was not immune to the pain of Faer’s essence in the same way he could resist fire. It did not harm his flesh, but as Taven’s arms sunk into the lava, they filled with explosive pain. Thousands of spiky missiles shot into Taven’s forearms, anchoring under his skin and digging back and forth, over and over again.

He let forth an agonizing wail, summoning what strength he had left to pull the mold from the lava, knowing it had finished its work. As Taven wailed, the mold finally broke free from the current, drawn heavily against his chest and forcing him to the ground. Taven pushed the mold aside, breathing heavily as it set down with a mighty *CLANG!* Then...he slept.

     \*\*\*

Taven stood in an endless pool of dark and cragged stone. All around him, mighty stalagmites and stalactites polluted the earth, twisting like tendrils and seeping with dark aura. At his feet, the bodies of his friends and family. Twisted corpses were covered in flames. Some of their faces left in agonizing pain, others unrecognizable, their flesh burned away.

Taven looked around in desperation, attempting to move. His feet had been bound to the earth, as hundreds of the black stone tendrils had wrapped around his form. He tried to fight, hopelessly drawing upon his halberd, or fire, or anything. The tendrils entombed him, leaving barely enough light for Taven to see the figure that stepped in front of him.

The hollow white mask of the Reaver filled his vision, as Salavatore set a heavy palm against Taven’s forehead.

“Rest. I will come for you.” He told Taven, allowing the last of the tendrils to ensnare him completely. Taven began to sink into the darkness, his screams lost to the void.

     \*\*\*

 Taven awoke with a pained gasp, wildly surveying his surroundings. He was still on the floor of the forge where he had fallen asleep under the exhaustion of the ritual. Taven let forth a sigh of relief, attempting to stand. He stopped when a voice rose from behind him.

 “Beautiful craftsmanship.” The woman said to him. Taven leapt from the ground, spinning around and summoning Summerslayer in a blazing bolt of light.

 Before him the figure towered. The woman had pale, almost wintery white skin. Her hair was frayed and strung at crazy angles, glowing with a grey aura. She was thin, thin enough that bones protruded from her skin under the flat layers of her dust colored dress. Where eyes may have once been, Taven saw only sunken, hollow holes.

 “You, your eyes…” He muttered, too shocked to say anything else.

 “The mad are blind, they say. But I must say, this is truly impressive work you’ve done here. You take after your father for certain, an anti-god at the core.”

 “Who are you?” Taven asked, now regaining his senses. Summerslayer hung heavy in his hand, ready for battle. He calmed the fire that had exploded around his skin, eyeing the strange woman.

 “I am Sesiwn, the goddess of something you’ve become quite enveloped with.” The woman snickered, drawing her lengthy frame across the room. “But it matters not who I am, rather why I am here.”

 “And why are you here?” Taven retorted. “I don’t assume you’re one of Habi’s friends, here for the icicle recipe?”

 “What?” Sesiwn said. “No, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyways, I have come with a bargain.”

 Taven shook his head. “I don’t want whatever you’re selling. How did you even get in here?” The woman tan a blackened fingernail over the surface of the anvil, creating a shrill screech from the metal.

 “I often find myself in the hearts of men like yourself, consumed by a quest. You’d be wise to hear out my offer before turning it down.” Sesiwn told him.

“Fine.” Taven relented. Sesiwn drew herself back to her full height, now peering down upon him. Taven watched as the ends of her hair flickered into dust as they made contact with the lava pool ceiling.

“There is a war coming. Surely you’re smart enough to know that, right?” Sesiwn asked.

“ The anti-gods are awakening, growing stronger and stronger every day. All the while, the new gods bicker over politics and ignore the danger under their nose. Surely you know who will win the day?”

 Taven stepped towards the goddess, his body now engulfed in flames.

 “Is that a threat?” He asked.

“Quite the contrary, my little inventor. The anti-gods have more use for you than you could imagine. In fact-”

“Not interested.” Taven told her dryly, turning his back to the goddess and returning towards the pool. Sesiwn stood quiet for a moment, as a wry smile poured over her cracked lips.

“You would be wise to reconsider. It is not often the fate of a demigod is fair, especially one of such powerful parentage. Often the gods see your kind as a threat. The anti-gods would grant you power, immortality, friends, whatever you’d like.”

 “Why do you know so much about the anti-gods? What makes you their sales-goddess? Aren’t you one of the new gods?” Taven asked, his anger growing once more. She was asking him to betray everything he cared about, everyone he loved. Taven could never.

 “Oh child, you will learn in time. If you allow your family to decide your fate, you will never truly be happy. Consider the anti-gods offer. I know what you fear most. If you continue down this path, that which you so fear will come true, and it will be your own fault.”

 “Go away!” Taven barked at her, turning back towards the goddess. Whether his words has wished her elsewhere or the goddess had gone on her own accord, Sesiwn had left. Taven sensed the goddess no more. Her words had angered him, and it took minutes for the wildfires that tore through the forge to melt away.

 Taven collected himself, moving back to the mold and pulling it apart. The spear had been forged perfectly, just as the schematics foretold. He tried as best he could to push the goddess words away, but they stuck with him no matter how hard he tried.

*If you continue down this path, that which you so fear will come true, and it will be your own fault.*

“I’ll show her.” Taven said to no one in particular. He lifted the spear, and set it on the weapon’s rack with the first four of the god killers. He lifted the schematic, tossing it aside and pulling forth the next.

 “Time to get to work.”