The Forge Nornir Chest Novels & Stories

“Our smiths don’t make steel this color.” Elira took it. Her fingers curled around the cold metal, and her senses flared. It wasn't just the feel of it; it was the scent. The steel carried the faint, oily smell of Vorlagian forge-smoke, a bitter, icy odor that was utterly foreign. It made the wolf in her bristle. “It’s Vorlagian. Hardened in their ice-forges. This is from a breaching charge or a tool,” she confirmed, her voice low. Further down, a guard pointed to a scrap of fabric snagged on a jutting rock. It was thick, woven in a stark pattern of grey and black.

The forge’s heart pulses, its walls alive with runes that sing of forgotten wars, their heat like a fever against my skin. We enter, the guardians carrying Cassia, Maddox’s shadows guarding our rear, Sylvara’s aura weaving a faint ward. The forge is a labyrinth of stone and starlight, its air thick with the scent of molten metal and ancient sorrow. At its center stands the guardian—a construct of light and shadow, its form fluid, eyes like twin moons, a mirror to my own. Its voice is a chorus, resonant, cutting through my soul. “Convergence, bridge of realms, you seek the blade. Prove your worth, or perish.”

She fake gasped, making me roll my eyes as I took steps into the school compound, ignoring her. "Why did you decide to dress no...like this today?" I heard her ask, her eyes going up and down my figure making me frown. Of course, I couldn't tell her that this was the cloth the devil ordered me to wear this morning just as I was about putting on my usual hoodie. Unlike before, where my head, legs and hands aside my face were always covered, this time, I was wearing a newly bought jeans paired with a white sneakers and a black top. The only thing that remained was a spectacle for me to look like a nerd.

“Great, follow me.” The first place Alexander takes me to is the Forge. It’s a building made entirely of stone with a large chimney, a hearth as Alexander calls it, in the middle which burns from morning to night. At night, the last person to leave the Forge would put out the fire, and in the morning the first person to arrive will light it up. As I enter the Forge, I feel the heat rush over my skin. The interior has a faint orange glow from the large hearth in the middle, and thankfully, there is plenty of ventilation from all the open windows. Weapons and tools of all kinds line the walls, swords, daggers, knives, spears, various kinds of arrowheads, maces…and many of whom I can’t recall t

“…later.” He closed the scroll. One use meant one choice. And he wasn’t making that choice until he understood exactly what he was gaining. The forge design pulled his attention next. Verdant Chest Piece — Rare He opened it as he stepped into the market. +3 to all stats Passive: Poison Resistance Riley slowed slightly as he read it. Then read it again. Once again It was simple. And that was what made it strong. He thought back to the dungeon—the poison, the pressure, the way it forced positioning.

It pulsed with a steady, clean golden light. "The localized Aether-capacitor," Nero breathed in awe. "It’s what powered the pod's descent and life support. It’s fully charged. Scribe, this thing has enough pure Aether inside it to run my forge for a decade." Ren’s abyssal eyes locked onto the glowing cylinder. The Scribe didn't see a power source for a forge. He saw a solution to his most critical biological failure. "Nero," Ren said, his voice deadly serious. "You told me you were a mechanic. Can you forge a regulator?"

Had she been watched this entire time? “All in this room will place their blood in the bowl.” She said and then it was passed around with a small red dagger they had to use. The moment it was done the Norn took the bowl and drank it. Which was odd in itself as she had no face, yet it disappeared like she was drinking it. “Place the chains.” The Norn said and Max handed gleipner to Tamara she turned around and looked up at Fenrir. How was she supposed to put this on? It was going to be a project.

Metal whined and clanked as the Gearbanes were rive with activity. Swinging, firing and shattering any of the Fangsworn they encountered. Ragehog’s grappling hook was a devastating melee weapon up close, folded into a spike it served as a gigantic stake. While Thornrat carried a long pick axe, which by now was stained with blood and wood from the enemy dead. The Gearbanes were called such, due to the noise their gears would produce while in battle. As if their internal contraptions were close to giving way from the strain of their power.