The cabin was still silent.

The rain was cool and clean, and he did not mind the feeling as it ran into the open door and washed the mud from his visor. He lay there for some time, deciding if this was a good place to rest or not. He slowly stood up, now able to see his surroundings…not with his eyes, but somehow with his feet. The raindrops sent vibrations through the floor and into the roots that filled his metal boots. He could feel the room clearer than ever. He was made more aware of the familiar smell in the air…burning leather. It was faint, distant and stale, but it was less than a day old. He knew the smell of a burning village with certainty; it was the same smell that he detected before his forest was scorched. He needed to understand why. The mass of metal and wood walked slowly and calmly, but deliberately, in the direction of the smell. He stopped, posing like a statue in front of his headstone. He pulled the shovel from the dirt and tapped it's iron tip on the fence to see of it made a mark. It was sharp enough to gouge pine…so it was sharp enough to cut bone. He made his way to the dirt road and began walking with his shovel and his purpose.

For a day and some additional hours, he walked at a slow pace, stepping over any obstruction so as to always point towards the smell. He arrived as the morning sun crested the fog on a smokey village road. The smell was strong now, he was there. The sound of sobs and peasants walking his direction, bearing bundles of clothes and food was strange to him. As they neared, the voices rose to gasps and alarm as they made wide arcs in their pat to avoid him. They must have never seen a Walking Oak before, or perhaps was not aware that they did. They tend to move slowly and not very often. He sensed one person that was not moving with the others. He veered to study it further and came across a puzzling find. Within the wreckage of a small hut that had been burned, there was a young girl sitting on what may have been a wooden chest before the fire. She was crying, and there was another person on the ground. He did not understand why the girl was moving and he was not. He reminded him of the old man in the cabin, the day he refused to wake.

"Are you from the city?" she asked him, wiping her tears and barely even noticing what he was, clad in metal. He stood silently.

"Because you got what you wanted. He's dead. Congratulations, you burned half of a village to kill one old man who meant no harm top anyone. An old blacksmith with no family and a bad back." she said looking up at him and getting a strange feeling. He clearly wasn’t from the south, and upon further inspection, he wasn’t even human." as the others left briskly to avoid the menacing stranger in armor, the girl found herself more curious than afraid. The faint hue of the orange seeds behind the slits in his helmet were luring, alien and intriguing.

"What are you exactly?" she asked, leaning awkwardly close to see behind the metal. She could see the dark, charcoal black shimmer of burned timber in the gaps of his jaw piece. She grabbed her gadget bag and took out a pair of crude glasses, made from shards of something foreign and placed them on her tiny nose to see closer. She closed one eye at a time, back and forth to get the best view of each of the different lenses, shifting from an ominous halo to a strange, almost transparent view.

"You are made of wood?" she asked, "Do you have a name?" she added, as he stood eerily still, allowing the non-threatening creature to move about.

"Fascinating. Do you speak at all?" she asked. He didn’t understand entirely, getting a vague sense of her trying to communicate, he watched her neck and mouth move as she made sounds and with great difficulty. He tightened the timber behind his jawpiece, making a crude grunt, like a deep groan of an old house in a strong wind. She grinned, finding it mildly humorous. For a second, she thought he was trying to say a word, perhaps his name, unaware that he had none.

"That's not much of a name, it sounded like you were trying to say BACON" she chuckled. "Are you hungry…do you eat?" she asked. He made the grunt again, carefully trying to emphasize the word she had called him. This time it sounded close to the word Bacon, vague, but almost coherent.

"Well I don’t have any food, but you can have all the bacon you want when we get to town. There isn't much left of this poor village. I only moved here a few months ago. I guess I am drifting again, as usual. Are you all alone?" he asked, digging around in her things for an ear-ring. It was an elaborate sculpture of wire and decorative designs, with a very distinct piece of silver in the shape of a teardrop in the center. She carefully fastened it to her pointy ear, lining it with the piercing marks. The tree shifted slightly, making a very faint rumble that most wouldn’t even notice, nearly inaudible in its low pitch and discreet volume. He may have been trying to speak again.

"You're thirsty." she said, grabbing her water skin and pausing as she debated weather or not he had a mouth. She got a hunch, pouring the water on his boots.

"Tree's drink through the roots, right?" she asked, really flexing her science muscles to think outside the box. He didn’t make any reaction for a few seconds, and then he extended a hand out and gave her head a very stiff and awkward pat. After the single, borderline heavy-handed tap, he returned to his statue-like demeanor. She grinned brightly.

"Yay, I did good. You can be my new friend." she said considering hugging him and decided it might be pointless. She grabbed his hand and proceeded to lead him down the dirt road to the nearest town, never considering he might be less than accepted in general public. He was like any other forest critter to her, and despite his appearance, the cold and rigid mechanical movements and the metal mask that had clearly been designed to resemble a skull or demonic spirit, did not bother her. It was part of him, but Miranda was never one to judge on appearances. She could sense the Walking Oak under the armor, and sense a good spirit, regardless of his face.

She got a number of confused looks from everyone as she rode into town, a smile on her face and comfortably sitting on the shoulders of her own personal suit of living armor. He didn’t seem to notice the additional 80 pounds or so.

"So do you have any family?" she asked, fiddling with her ear ring. He grunted. "I'm so sorry. I don’t have any family either, at least I don’t know if I do. They left me with the Monastery of Ash, its pretty far from here. Never knew my folks, I'm sure they thought it was best. When I was ten I joined the Ash as a scout. South Elm was still out for war back then. Half-breeds don’t get to join the army, let alone a girl, but they let orphans join the scouts. Disposable lookouts, no Ash uniform or anything connecting you to the castle or the Ash Kingdom. If you get killed you get killed." she shrugged. He tilted his head, attempting to see her as he grunted again.

"Exactly, We have a lot in common. I never liked Ash, but anything is better than the South. They don’t just treat outsiders like outsiders, I hear they execute half-breeds. I don’t know what has them in such a tizzy lately. They have been cutting down entire forests lately, planning something big. Maybe we should just keep going east to the sea, leave this place and its problems." she sighed. He grunted defiantly.

"I'm sorry, but you don’t have anything to stay for either. They wouldn’t let us do anything anyway." she reminded. Bacon grunted again, close to "bacon".

"That’s just crazy, you wouldn’t get 50 strides from the gates before they'd have you full of arrows." she argued. He slammed his fist into his chest a few times. "Yea I know you're sturdy, but do you burn like a tree? They have flaming arrows and oil you know. What good is armor if you get doused in that?" she asked. He hung his head a little. She spotted a nice little shop and a man with a table beside the market entrance.

"Hey little lady, feeling lucky?" he asked, flashing some cards. She grinned and hopped down from her pet tank. She discreetly fiddled with the bronze ring on her left hand as she approached.

"I'm afraid I don’t have any money." she admitted. Bacon stood silently as a statue as she dug in her satchel, removing a couple of trinkets she may or may not have stolen. "Will this get me anything?" she finished. The man nodded and placed down a copper coin. He shuffled the crude cards and looked confident.

"The game is simple enough. One red bird, follow him as he goes and when I lay down 5 cards, you tell me where he flew to." he smirked.

"Sounds like you have better chances than I do." she said raising an eyebrow.

"Hey, it’s a game of luck and if you don’t feel lucky, maybe your friend has a little luck." he shrugged. She let Bacon in to watch. The man placed the cards face-up. One red bird, and 4 other black cards. He shuffled them around and spread them down. He waited for an awkward amount of time as Bacon stared and decided. He was about to say something just before Bacon slowly reached out and touched a card. He chose wrong. The man sighed and took the trinket. Bacon got mad and slammed the table in protest. The man began drawing a weapon and Miranda stepped in the middle, calming Bacon down.

"No, you lost, big guy. It's only a game." she explained. He didn’t seem to understand. "It's only fair. We bet and he won, so he gets the prize. Now I get to play." she smiled, digging around and conveniently finding a fairly nice medallion. The man put down 2 silver coins.

"Now that doesn’t seem like a fair offer." she sighed, and he put down another to satisfy the wager. "Now I feel lucky." she grinned, stopping bacon's hand as he tried to pick another card. "No, no…you're bad at this game. It's Miranda's turn." she smiled.

Greg sat, napping away under a shade tree as the sound of horses approached. He opened one eye and stretched, munching on an apple as they neared.

"Adrian Michael of the house of-" started the very well dressed rider.

"No House, not anymore and never really to begin with. Otherwise you got the right guy."

"Come with us." he ordered, confidently supporting his shiny black armor and his royal crest.

"Try again, but with the reason why I'm interested." Greg yawned.

"You defy the Royal Seal of Ash?" asked the lead rider.

"You want something, I don’t. So, you can make an offer I might accept, or keep ordering me around and see what that leads to." he smirked.

"The Prince of Ash has summoned the land's Smiths to their sword duty."

"A duty I never vowed to uphold. The house of Gnor doesn’t own me, so I make my own rules." He said, shifting his hood to continue his rest.

"Do you care for nothing? I was told you were a man of the hammer, but the true Hammer I seek knows his destiny. Perhaps you are not the man I seek, but a town drunk."

"No better smith has ever lived, so I assure you I am the man you seek, but I'm also whatever town I'm in's town drunk!" he snickered.

"And a man of honor!" hollered Muradin, bringing firewood.

"Your apprentice?" asked the rider.

"Sure, why not?" yawned Greg. "Now about that reason I have to follow?"

"Prove your worth to the Prince of Ash, and you will be rewarded with your weight in gold." sighed the rider. Greg stood up, finishing his apple.

"Have your treasurer's ready, I'm a heavy guy." he grinned.

Muradin walked beside him as they lead them both to the road.

"What chosen individual demands gold for his purpose?" asked the rider to his right hand friend.

"One who needs to eat." hollered Greg, startling them a little, wondering how he heard them from so far away. He smiled and tapped his pointy ear.

"Who is this Prince?" muttered Muradin.

"According to legend, the 13th son of Ash. A lot of houses believe he is the Chosen One to wield the Sacred Sword. It's a bunch of superstition and nonsense, but he has gold and I have my skills. The time is right and they will back my needs, weather he is some chosen son or just another royal ass, it doesn’t matter. If he can kill a god, then we need him, and if he can't, I'll pick up the slack. Either way I get paid and armed, and even if a bunch of men do little more than distract the gates for me to get in…I AM getting into the Castle of South Elm." he smiled.

"So you don’t believe in the prophesy at all?" asked Muradin.

"Doesn’t matter." he shrugged.

A damp basement flickered with the light of candles, illuminating a face as a man with read hair and a well trimmed beard waited for someone. The Drab green coat shuffled into view. She placed down a small wooden box, unlocking it and looking displeased.

"You are not smiling dear sister." Said the sharp-dressed man, brushing his dreads back. The woman seemed to be rather calm, adorned with gold through her nose and pointed ears, even carved rings fitted at the base of her stubby horns.

"He has surfaced." she said softly, the light reflecting off her glasses. The dark obsidian glass lenses hid her deathly glare.

"How can you be sure? Rumors are just rumors.

"No Fayren. I have sensed him. The Chosen Child is alive, and The Hammer of Fate is being fetched."

"Then you know what to do. It seems Father was right, and you have a purpose after all. Kill the Hammer, then bring the child here."

"It won't be difficult to slay a blacksmith. But the Child will require something more specialized." She said opening the box and removing a small hand-held crossbow, adorned with gold on every available surface.

"I will have you some arrows made." he smirked. "Travel with the darkness, Athena, and bring me the head of the Hammer."

Greg tapped the anvil lightly as a dozen other blacksmiths pinged away and sweated profusely to show their greatest work to the prince. He strolled past, his advisors taking notes and judging them on their technique.

"What do you think?" the prince asked.

"They are all skilled, but I see little beyond experience and effort in all but one. This Greggory you found, what manner of breed is he?" asked the advisor.

"A mixed blood, defiant and impure. You can see the arrogant elf in his ears, the Troll in his large stature." The prince said.

"Yes, but a beast of a man he is. I have never seen a man of such stature this far north of the mountain. He has the brute strength of ten men, but he has skills beyond the natural as well. Have you noticed how he holds the metal?" he whispered.

"I am a swordsman, not a swordsmith." Prince William sighed, reminding his advisor.

"He has not placed the bar in the fire for hours, yet it stays hot…and he wears no gloves, nor uses tongs. That metal so close to his hand should have scorched his flesh to the bone, and he has not flinched."

"Interesting." Prince William nodded. He proceeded to dismiss the blacksmiths, leaving Greg to speak with him alone.

"Adrian Michael Greggarious?" he said taking a seat on a nearby stump as Greg kept working. "You may stop now, you have proven your skill."

"Prefer to keep working, I got a nice rhythm going." he said giving him little attention.

"You are not like the others…there is something destined in your grip." he noted.

"And I hear you can kill gods with the right weaponry." Greg added.

"I am the 13th son of this house, and a fine warrior." he boasted.

"You better be, to wield this thing." he said carefully shaping the metal as Muradin worked in the background.

"Not exactly a sword, is it? Care to explain why you chose an axe, or pick?" he said looking curiously at the moderate sized chunk of steel.

"Oh this isn't the blade. A fitting weapon needs a good guard." he said, laying down the huge chunk of steel for the blade.

"I assume you will be shaping that down to size?" he asked skeptically as the faint ping of a broken blade on Muradin's anvil was followed by Dwarven cursing.

"You didn’t expect me to make a dainty little thing, did you?" Greg asked. "The scrolls say the Hammer chooses his weapon, so if you can't handle it…either I am not the Hammer, or you are not the guy who is destined to wield it." he smirked.

"I understand men like you, half-breeds, or even more muddled than that level of purity. You think you can toy with fate, but fate toys with you. You are a giant man making a giant's sword, thinking you can be the only one to wield it." Prince William smiled.

"Well, if I made it easy, then anyone could just wield it. What kind of Chosen Child of destiny are you if you can't hold the damn thing? I'm half tempted to bury it in a stone. The idea is to root out the weak. If this prophesy has a hero in mind, he better be able to back it up, and if none can wield what the Hammer makes…then its all bullshit, and I'll step up fort the job." he said quenching the guard. William smiled, peering up at Greg as he shook his head.

"You may not believe the truth, but you cannot anger destiny. You work for gold and wine, but I work for mankind, and the gods have chosen me for a reason. If I cannot wield the weapon you make…then maybe you are not the Hammer." he said challenging Greg further. The two men stepped up, Greg towering a good foot over the sizeable Prince as if he was a boy. They stood in silence with a defiant gaze, trying to decide who was the one to be made the fool in the end of things. Muradin rushed to the Prince, proudly holding the worst blade ever made by the royal forges.

"Your apprentice needs work." he said without breaking eye contact.

"He isn't my apprentice." Greg smirked. "He is my stable-boy." he added.

Muradin shuffled angrily through the hay, trying to pull the defiant black horse along to its stable place.

"Hell be damned. This man better be the Hammer of Fate, or I quit." he muttered as if taking to the statues of the gods of Ash. Muradin noticed movement outside the stable.

A rather rich man sat on a throne with a very calmly displeased look on his face. Another man, kneeling with a look of alarm, carefully pondered his words before speaking.

"Lord Theyren…Please forgive my failure." he said nervously. Theyren fiddled with his very ornate dagger, cleaning his nails.

"Do not apologize to me, apologize to my dragon. You're worthless flesh will give him a sour stomach if you fail me again, not mine." he said looking more irritated.

"I have served this realm and you well, I ask for only a chance to redeem my mistake." he begged. Theyren peered over at his pet, the rather intimidating beast curled up in the corner as if sleeping. It's eyes reflected in the darkness as it followed him. Theyren strolled to the beast, carrying a small bag of something.

"If I were to ignore this transgression, how would my men respect me? What punishment would you consider fair?" he asked, handing the dragon a slab of raw meat. The beast carefully bit the slab, enjoying its treat as Theyren retracted his hand without fear.

"I cannot say, but mercy would be respected if shown, even by a god. Whatever you do will be an honorable decision." he said humbly. Theyren sighed and gave his pet his attention.

"What do you think, Onyx, do you like this idea?" he asked, peering back at the soldier of questionable rank. He snapped his fingers and the man walked towards him, trembling as he neared the huge beast.

"If my dragon likes you, perhaps you are worth my mercy." Theyren said. The man stopped just short of the beast and without warning, it swung an enormous claw and send him to the stone floors, devouring his head in a single bite. Theyren stepped back, peppered with blood and looking annoyed by it.

"I see we have not decided to wait until I am clear." he sighed, giving the dragon a look of scolding, met by a defiant growl. He wiped his face and waved for his servants to attend and clean his face and hands as another went to retrieve clean robes. The other 2 men stood nervously, wondering if they were next.

"You…simpleton." he said pointing at the taller one.

"Yes my lord?" he bowed.

"You think me unfair?" he asked.

"What right does a soldier have to question a god?" he asked. Theyren smiled.

"You do not beg for mercy or try and persuade my will?"

"It is not my place." he said softly.

"Very good. Mercy is earned, not given. Failure is not acceptable. I would not order you to do a task you could not complete, and by leaving this incomplete, you have no rights to ask for my forgiveness. For your honesty, you have been promoted." he said picking up the pendant of the dead soldier and tossing it to him.

"Thank you, Lord Theyren." he nodded.

"Now what will you do?" Theyren asked.

"Bring you the blacksmiths in chains, and burn anyone who opposes."

"Do you wish to know why?" he asked.

"The will of a god is the only answer I need." said the large brute, hitting his chest with a barbarian's sign of respect.

"Go, Ufa, bring me the Hammer of Fate and I will reward you with whatever you desire. Fail me, and you will be many hearty meals for my pets." he informed.

The soldiers headed out, now more determined than ever to find the Hammer. Ufa lead his new team to the stables.

"He is even more arrogant than his predecessor." muttered the other soldier.

"The gods are always arrogant, but they deserve that right." Uka nodded.

"I would have expected more to earn a Troll's honor. I thought your people valued strength of backbone, rather then political power. Does his pet frighten you?" joked his friend.

"I would face a dragon before facing a god." he said with a serious respect. "Any creature that can demand such obedience from something so powerful, and show no fear, is a creature I would not defy."

"It appears any beast can be tamed if rewarded properly." he smirked, referring to Ufa as much as the dragon. He did not catch the joke, which was fortunate for his friend. The powerful shutter of warm air got their attention, as the beast's wings propelled him skyward from the balcony window. They watched in Awe as the majestic monster took to its morning flight, most likely to feed heartily after its appetizer. The bold roar echoed through the kingdom, most peasants reacting very little as if used to the daily display of power.

A little girl watched in awe as he father held her up to see it better.

"Pappa…Where do the dragons go each morning?" she asked.

"To satisfy their wild hunger. Before the gods tamed them, they fed on us. A dragon cannot be fully tamed like a dog or horse, it is always wild at heart and must fly alone."

"How did the gods make them friendly?" she asked.

"They saw the beasts of the sky and respected them. Dragons can smell fear in man and elf, and fear makes us appealing to their ferocious tastes. The gods showed no fear, nor did they wish them removed from their lands. The wisdom of the gods is enough to even calm the most powerful of creatures. It is their power to control the dragons that made us understand their place. Before the new gods, Dragons fought one another to near extinction, feeding ravenously on helpless men. When the gods arrived, the beasts did not even hesitate to bow to them. To have turned such a foe into a pet with so little effort demands respect. They saved us from such fate, and in return only ask for our obedience." the dad replied.

"What can we do for them they cannot do for themselves, if they are so powerful?" she asked. Her father smiled at her curiously good point.

"Nothing at all. They only wish to teach us. After they tamed the dragons, scattered the brutal Trolls of old to the winds, they taught us how to build cities, grow our own crops. They alone know what is best for us, young one. We cannot understand the will of the gods, only that without them we would work just as hard for far less, and our enemies would be strong. The Trolls defied the gods many times. Their mercy knows great scales but it is not endless. They have paid for their disrespect. That is why we make offerings, and that is why even the great beasts of the sky dare not defy them. Now finish your chores." he said, petting her on the head and sending her away with the day's lesson. She watched the dragon disappear over the mountains and grabbed her broom.