"What!? So you haven't learned a single weapon, not even a sword!?"
Dragkon's voice thundered across the street, startling a few passing merchants as the group of dwarves and one human made their way through the cobbled path.
The sky above was slowly dimming, the soft orange hue of dusk spilling across the rooftops.
"In our world," Razan began, his tone calm as he adjusted the strap of one of his heavy bags,
"swords, bows, and hammers are outdated. We use something more destructive—guns."
His boots thudded against the uneven cobblestones as his eyes traced the lanterns being lit one by one along the road.
"But then again, magic didn't exist back where I came from… so we had to rely on what we did best—technology."
Dragkon let out a low hum, stroking his beard as the word technology rolled off Razan's tongue.
"A world without magic, you say? Hah! Sounds like a sad place," he said with a laugh, though his curiosity was clear in the way his tone shifted.
"And this 'gun' you speak of—what manner of weapon is it? Have you perhaps brought one with you, lad?"
Razan gave a small shrug, his eyes flicking toward the darkening horizon.
"It probably wouldn't work as good in this world," he admitted, "but sure, I'll show you later."
"Hah! That's where you're wrong, boy," Dragkon barked, his laughter booming as he stopped mid-step and raised his hand.
He clenched it into a fist, his arm trembling with pride and conviction.
"Even a wooden sword can slay dragons if it's made by a master craftsman!"
His eyes burned with fiery determination as he looked straight at Razan.
"And fortunately for you, you're walking alongside a race that has dedicated their entire lives to the forge—to shape, to build, and to create!"
"Aye!"
"Our entire lives indeed!"
The other dwarves behind him cheered at his words, their laughter and pride echoing through the street as if they were announcing their glory to the world.
Razan couldn't help but smirk, his earlier tension easing at their energy.
"Well then," he said, glancing toward Dragkon, "consider me lucky and fortunate."
Dragkon grinned wide, giving a hearty nod before leading the group onward.
"Aye, lad. You best remember those words. For when a dwarf says he'll make you a weapon, it ain't just steel you're holdin'—it's the heart of the mountain itself."
"Wait, you're making me a weapon?" Razan asked, his brow arching in surprise.
His tone carried that mix of curiosity and disbelief—like someone who wasn't sure whether to laugh or take it seriously.
"Perhaps," Dragkon replied without missing a beat.
His deep voice rumbled with a tone that suggested more certainty than his words let on.
He gave Razan a quick side glance and then stopped in front of a massive inn that stood out among the smaller buildings around it.
The place was alive even from the outside.
Warm light spilled through its windows, dancing on the cobblestone path, while muffled laughter and music poured from within.
The faint smell of ale, roasted meat, and burning wood filled the cool night air.
Dragkon planted the end of his hammer on the ground with a heavy
*thud!
"I know for certain that you are the warrior from the scriptures," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly, their faint golden hue reflecting the inn's light.
"There's no denying it. I have the eye of Dregmar, and I am a son of Mirin. I can sense what others can't."
Razan looked at him skeptically.
"The warrior from the scriptures, huh? You sure you're not mistaking me for someone else?"
Dragkon let out a gruff chuckle, his beard twitching as he shook his head.
"You'll see, lad. All you need is experience—and that's something this place has plenty of," he said, gesturing toward the inn's grand doors as another wave of laughter erupted from inside.
Razan folded his arms, his expression turning serious again.
"Before that, just as I said before, I'd like to know more about this class of mine—this… monster hunter thing. And how it ties to that scripture you keep mentioning."
Dragkon shook his head with a low rumble of laughter, his thick beard swaying as he turned toward Razan.
Then, without warning,
*SLAP!
his heavy hand slapped Razan square on the lower back with the force of a hammer.
"Argh! What was that for!?" Razan groaned, stumbling forward slightly as he shot Dragkon an annoyed look.
"We'll worry about those things tomorrow, lad!" Dragkon boomed, his voice echoing down the quiet street.
He stepped ahead, his rough hands already gripping the iron handle of the inn's large wooden door.
"For now, we rest! And toast!"
He grinned wide, eyes gleaming with fiery pride as he roared,
"For Dregmar! For Mirin! For Ortholos! To the future of Dwarfvran!"
With a single powerful yank,
*creaaaaak!
Dragkon swung the door open—and the sound that greeted them was like a battlefield of celebration.
"Bahaha! Did ye see Thargrim try to outdrink Brokk? The fool's belly gave up halfway!"
"Aye, and the ale gave up too! Poor barrel didn't survive the battle!"
The sight inside was pure chaos.
Dwarves filled every inch of the grand hall—some sitting, others standing on tables, a few wrestling in the corner.
"Who in the nine mines threw that loaf at me head!?"
"Another round! On me coin!"
Tankards of ale were raised high in drunken cheer, golden liquid spilling freely onto the wooden floor.
The air was thick with the smell of smoke, sweat, roasted meat, and alcohol.
Some dwarves were fully clothed, others half-dressed, and a few—completely bare—danced proudly on tables as songs of victory echoed all around.
Mugs clashed, voices roared, and laughter shook the rafters above.
To Razan, it was madness.
To Dragkon, it was home.
The dwarf grinned from ear to ear, the chaos reflecting in his eyes like a gleaming forge fire.
"Come on then, lad!" he shouted over the noise, glancing back at Razan with that familiar smirk tugging his lips.
"Welcome to a proper dwarven evening! Let's see if your stomach and spirit can handle a night with my kin!"
Razan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before finally stepping in.
"This is gonna be a long night…" he muttered under his breath as the door shut behind them, sealing him into the heart of dwarven chaos.