# Cartolis' Story hour  "The Hammer of Fate"



## Cartolis (May 16, 2003)

Hail and well met all. This is my first attempt at a story hour and is simply creative writing Vs. a game story. Please feel free to coment if you wish 


The Hammer of Fate part one.

 The sounds of the forge rang forth clearly in the crisp morning air. Patrick slowly folded the metal of the blade with precise blows from his fathers hammer. The hammer was unique in all the world he thought as he folded the metal again and again. His father had discovered the hammer in a cave complex in Iceland on one of his many archeological expeditions. The cave had once been used as a place of worship to several of the Norse gods most specifically Thor. Recalling his fathers sketches of the cave walls and the remains of what once must have been a huge elaborate altar carved in relief with dragons and gods at war he wondered if the translated manuscript on forging weapons and armor was factual or simply some fiction to praise long forgotten gods.  He did not wonder for long.

The hammer was in incredible shape for an artifact of its age. Whats more, the construction of the hammer was a mystery to those that had discovered it as there were no discernable signs of smithing or forging. Made entirely from metal even the braided steel thread handle wrap seemed to have no ending or beginning. It was as if  it had been born instead of created. Patrick continued raining blows down upon the red-hot metal as the hammerhead began to glow.  He watched in wonder the glow flared with each strike growing brighter and brighter. A twinge of fear almost made Patrick stop his furious assault on the metal, but as he considered stopping he was overwhelmed with a powerful need to continue. It seemed that the hammer wanted to create the blade, almost as if it needed to. Patrick redoubled his effort feeling all the weariness drain from his limbs as he continued to pound on the blade that was taking shape before his very eyes.

Sarah had been so busy cataloging the latest finds from the Mayan temple dig that she did not notice the hour. Glancing at the clock Sarah cursed and put the file back in the cabinet. Patrick was supposed to meet her for lunch but he had not called. “Probably playing with that damn hammer again” she remarked as she gathered her things. Grabbing her keys off her desk she headed towards the door of her office.

Sarah remembered the first time she had met Patrick. They were both sophomores at the university working on a project for the archeology department. He had been so reclusive then. She had liked him immediately but had really had to work to get him to come out of his shell a bit. Sarah smiled thinking about that. She remembered very vividly the first dorm party that she had drug him too. Patrick had protested several times but finally agreed to go. He spent the entire night sitting in a corner nursing a single beer. 

Things had changed after his father died. Jonathan Gibson had been one of the world’s foremost experts in the field and had been responsible for finding millions of dollars worth of artifacts around the globe. When he died Patrick seemed to come alive. Throwing himself into his studying, volunteering for every project in the department and most of all consuming every bit of information he could find on the Norse gods. 

Sarah began walking across the quad toward the industrial building where Patrick had built his forge.
Suddenly reality came apart. The building she was walking towards began to glow like a miniature star. Several seconds later the entire building vanished with a soft “whump”. In its place there was a red vortex of energy that seemed intent on sucking every thing around it in. A fierce wind howled towards the void at the center of the vortex threatening to drag Sarah inside. Frantically she grabbed hold of a lamppost she was standing by as the wind lifted her from her feet. Screaming for someone to help her Sarah lost her grip on the post and sailed into the heart of the void.


Calder walked along the old trade road towards the coast with a purpose. His long trek from Drumail was almost over and he had hoped that he might make the port city of Deeping Bay by dusk. The trade road was fairly safe but the idea of a bath and a soft bed spurred him onward. Calder’s thoughts drifted back to why he was heading to Deeping Bay. The representative of the trade coster had told him of the ships there and the wealth that could be made as a hand on a schooner. There was a brisk Ivory and Gold trade coming out of Hamprn these days as more and more of the jungle was cut back. With the formation of the trade agreement between the Vahnier lords and the Hamprn tribal council all manner of goods were being shipped back and forth. A good hand could sign on for a percent of the profit and retire in a few years with enough wealth to live out his life in comfort, or so he had been told. Calder wondered what kind of crew he might serve with as he walked down the road.

A great rushing wind roused Calder from his musing. Suddenly before him in the clear summer sky appeared the strangest storm he had ever seen. A great red vortex appeared and began to spit forth all manner of rubble and ruin. Amongst the rubble strewn across the ground before him lay one badly shaken woman, a completely naked and somewhat burned man, and one gleaming sword blazing in the afternoon sun.


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