[i]“Smith… what dost thou forge?”

Orodyuke paused, and peered into the darkness that surrounded him. The whisper had come from a figure hanging just on the edge of his vision, its form obscured by the blackness that the light from the soft embers of his forge failed to reach. “A future” he called out automatically, before returning attentively to his work, the resonating clang of his hammer echoing into the void.
He heard more than saw, the figure slowly and with light footsteps make its way around the pool of light. He ignored it, focusing on his task, even as he felt it peering over his shoulder and examining his handiwork.

“But dear Smith” it chuckled, right in his ear. “You have no materials! Will you ask for them to be granted to you?”

Orodyuke’s grip tightened on his hammer, but he kept working. “No.” he grunted between strikes “mortals must craft the future by their own strength.”

Another chuckle. “You will not get so far… with such poor quality goods.”

“I have faith.”

“Faith?” The voice said incredulously, and now it appeared to grow angry. “FAITH?” it roared, and so too did many others, as did the fires of the forge as they flared to life and grew tenfold into a pillar of towering flame, banishing the darkness and casting nightmarish, flickering shadows onto the tangled masses of corpses that now lay revealed; broken, bloodied and mutilated, around the forge.

“THIS is the result of your faith.” the voices chorused.

Bathed in crimson light, the bodies of Orodyuke’s kin, those who had looked up to and depended on him, stared accusingly with glazed eyes. Orodyuke trembled before them, and tears appeared in his ancient eyes. “I was trying to save you.”

“Your excuses mean nothing to us. We believed in you, and you led us to our deaths. MURDERER.”

Orodyuke covered his ears and curled into a ball as the apparitions tormented him. Then slowly, deliberately, he picked himself up and resumed pounding on the anvil, even as the ghosts continued to howl their anguish at him. It took some time, but their tumult gradually diminished, and the raging fire slowly shrank down, growing quiet.

“You insist on trying then?” they said finally.

“Yes.”

“Why? We will not forgive you regardless.”

“Justice. For all of you. I will force Kurladt to see the truth.”

“You would bring a god to justice with this… paltry thing? How?” they whispered, the flames dwindling even more. “The gods ARE justice… they have never been held accountable. And the mortal whose hands are stained… is you.”

The fire extinguished itself completely, leaving Orodyuke alone in the dark.

“How?” they whispered to him.

“How?”
[/i]
[hr]
It was with heavy footfalls and stiff joints that Orodyuke dragged himself down the Inn’s rickety stairs and plonked himself down on a stool by the bar, feeling drained. He had hoped to get a better night’s sleep once he was inside the city. But Urenda’s walls could do nothing to protect him from the wolves inside his head. It was only his second day off the road, but the unsettling tricks his imagination was playing on him only convinced him further that he could not delay. Today he must speak with the priests.

But first…	

The old dwarf looked up from the counter. “Barkeep. I could really use a stiff drink.”