Chapter 1 — Ækyl’s Gift
The halls of the Særnt,
for those that daren’t
brace the blade of Winter’s chill
offer barrels of ale
and a strangers tale
that enrapture the mind next nil.
Few know how Ækyl came upon the hammer and ore. Many stories have been told of his mysterious past: some say he was born grasping the hammer in his right fist, and its native ore in his left; Others claim he was born of the ore, and the hammer is an extension of himself. These tales are unlikely, but one thing remains fact — had Ækyl hidden or destroyed the hammer, this land would be a better place.
The Særnt is a region of the northern plains. Its people are hardy folk, who suffer piercing winds and thick snow throughout the year. Yet despite this hardship, the hall of Lord Sar, the Særnt’s ruler, remained a place of good cheer. On the eve of the Særnt winter festival, the longest night of the year, a mysterious craftsman arrived at the court of Lord Sar, wishing to gift him a weapon.
The craftsman lay a sword before Lord Sar, and spoke his name — “Ækyl”.
Sar happily received his resplendent gift — the beautifully crafted scabbard, with fine richly tanned leather and an elegant inlay was a sight to behold. But upon drawing the blade Sar’s expression darkened, and he hurled the blade at Ækyl’s feet.
The blade itself was clearly of inferior workmanship — ugly to behold, uneven, and poorly balanced. Most notably, its metal undulated and bubbled, scorched and stained with soot as if plucked from the heart of the sun.
Insulted, Lord Sar sent Ækyl, the craftsman from his hall, back to his sorry forge and instructed him never to return.
