Becoming

[Ezekiel Stronghammer]

"Well that's just bloody lovely," Zeke hefted the stale bread over his shoulder and searched a little deeper into his pack. "Oh well hell death and damnation!" A hunk of moldy cheese joined the bread as the much disheartened dwarf slumped back against the tree he'd stopped under. Zeke's belly grumbled again, "Ooh don't you think I know it?! Blast and damn, I knew I shouldn't have passed that last town." Hindsight was always clearer he supposed, at least that's what his father would've said. But the town was to far back, he knew it would be ridiculous to backtrack that far. Still, he was rather glad to avoid the towns, most of them full of Dark Elves, the less complications along his journey the better.

Ezekiel fingered the medallion at his neck while he gazed across the surrounding plains in contemplation. It was hard to see with the bright sun beaming down. This far south of Ettermire it was becoming almost unbearably hot. As a smithy, Zeke was accustomed to intense heat, even so he'd taken to breaking in the shade during the hottest parts of the day. "All a good smithy'd need out 'ere would be an anvil and hammer, let the sun be his forge." A bead of sweat ran down his brow and nose dripping into his water skin as he brought it to his parched lips. There wasn't any food perhaps, but luckily he'd crossed a stream only a few hours past. He sat the water skin aside and took up his satchel, now nearly empty but for his hammer. Zeke lay the hammer at his side and leaned back against the tree, covering his face against the bright mid-day glare with the satchel he promptly fell asleep.

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Ezekiel awoke in a mental fog, opened his eyes and gazed at the blanket of stars in the now dark sky. Grumbling and shaking the sleep from his mind he sat up and gazed about. "Guess I was a bit more exhausted than I thought." He'd been travelling for days, and for the past couple of nights he'd not slept for very long. With the unfamiliar city looming nearby he'd been eager to move on, lest he fall prey to brigands. With the clearing of his mind, the sharp pain in his gut was returning, food was quickly becoming a necessity. "What's this now..." Getting to his feet Zeke stared to the southwest where a point of light faintly shown just on the horizon. A farm perhaps, maybe a small settlement, at the very least Zeke knew that where there was light there would be people. It was a little out of his way, but it beat the unpleasant prospect of turning back towards Ettermire.

Gazing into the night sky Ezekiel muttered a prayer, "Forge Master watch over me, your hammer, a tool of your will." And with a grunt of determination he set off across the plain and into the dark blanket of night. Unsure what sort of welcome he would receive, Zeke hoped the coin purse that he carried would help to sweeten those prospects. Few people frowned upon the chance to earn a few coin. He felt fairly certain at the very least that he would be able to purchase a few days rations, enough to see him into Etheria.

His mind wandered further as Ezekiel felt at that coin purse. A faint smile crossed his face as he thought back to the conversation he'd had with his father that day.....

[Ezekiel Stronghammer]

Ezekiel was the image of his father remade, and side by side they were hard to distinguish, aside from the marks of age that the elder Stronghammer bore. Bradon's beard had yet to turn grey, but it's hue of golden bronze wasn't quite as brite as Zeke's, his eyes were the same glinting blue, he stood maybe half and inch taller than his son, from behind even family had difficulties telling them apart. They stood now facing each other in the courtyard of the Temple, a statue of Vulcan looming behind them looking down on the small party gathered there.

Bradon Stronghammer lay a leathery work-worn hand on his son shoulder. "Ye've done the Stronghammer clan proud son, proud indeed." Ezekiel said nothing, he knew his father wasn't prone to emotion or things of this sort, saying anything might cut short what his father had to say. "I'd expected ya to live your life full on the gold you'd been entrusted with," Bradon turned his gaze from Ezekiel as memories drew his gaze into the past. He chuckled, "Damnation, its what I did. I left home with only a few coin in me pocket, and a nary much to show for the gold I'd spent. Cept fer maybe a knock on me head from one of the Doursmith Clan." He lifted the medallion from Zeke's chest and smiling, looked his son in the eye. "You've shown a great deal of character, and a strength of faith that speaks highly of you. It is somethin that I feel should not go unnoticed." Bradon drew out of his pocket a small purse, "I've spoken with your mother, and we're in agreement that ya should take this. Two hundred coin, more than enough to make yer journey and to send word once ye've settled yerself."

"Father, ye know that's not necessary....."

The elder Stronghammer cut off his son, "Don't tell me what is and isn't necessary. Its been decided, take it and be greatful."

"I am greatful, terribly so, but I don't think...." He trailed off here, the look in his father's eye told him it was best to leave it alone. "Alright... thank you father." He made to shake his fathers hand, but the strong Dwarf drew him into an embrace.

"Walk with the Forge Master my son, and make the name Stronghammer known." He held his son at arms length as he gave this command, looking him in the eyes once more. "Keep your hammer close to ya, you may need it for something other than working your craft." With that Bradon Stronghammer stepped back from Ezekiel, crossed his arms, and fell silent.

Ezekiel said his good byes to the rest of his family and relatives gathered there, and to the priests who'd come to see him off. His father didn't speak another word, only stroked his beard and watched proceedings stoicly. Zeke accepted this as his fathers way, he knew that the emotion Bradon had already shown was more than he'd meant to.

[Ezekiel Stronghammer]

Lost in though, Ezekiel hadn't noticed as the single point of light became several, distinct points. So it was something of a surprise to him when he stood staring at a large farmhouse just a few dozen yards ahead. Light was streaming from two ground floor windows of the large house, someone from inside the house cast a shadow across one of the windows as they moved past it. "Well at least someone is awake." Another grumble from his stomach prodded Zeke onward, and so he approached the wide steps that led to the farmhouse's front porch and large wooden door.

A bellowing hound caused Zeke to nearly jump out of his skin, "What the!?". The dog bellowed again, but was cut off by a female voice from within the house.

"Shut your trap you damn creature, you'll wake the child." A tall form was siloetted in the window, peering out into the night at Zeke. The window opened a few inches, "What are you after dwarf?"

Zeke cringed, the voice was elven, dark elven to be precise. It didn't matter though he couldn't continue on without any food. "Just a traveller with a need to trade for some food, was 'oping.

"There's sickness in the house so I cannot be inviting you in. Though with you coming in the middle of the night like this I'm not inclined to anyway."

"My apologies for coming to ya in the middle o' the night, but I'm no bandit, just a traveller, and a Drawf o' the cloth." He withdrew the symbol of Vulcan that he carried around his neck. "A Cleric of Vulcan to be precise. If perhaps I could just purchase a bit of food from you, enough to see to the port then I'd be on my way." Zeke didn't mind not being invited in, just this little transaction and he could be safely on his way. "I have coin, and I'd be willing to compensate you well for anything you could offer."

"We've no need for your money dwarf, and we've no need for strangers bothering us in the middle of the night. Now be on your way and leave us be."

"Did ye say there was a sickness? I may be of some help to you then, and if you aren't interested in my money, then perhaps I could earn a bit of food." The elf had made as to shut the window, but at this she halted.

A murmering of voices in the house, movement, and in a few moments a Dark Elven male opened the door. He studied Ezekiel for a few moments before he spoke. "We're not going to put up with any sort of ruse, can you or can you not help us? Our daughter is terribly sick, has had a fever for three days now."

"I can help, and I will, all I ask in return is shelter for the night, and food to see me through to Etheria."

[Ezekiel Stronghammer]

So it was into a small little room in a back corner of the house that Ezekiel found himself ushered. There was a window in the room, but Zeke doubted that much light came into the room, even in daytime, with the heavy drapes the hung over it. There was an odor of sickness in the air, someone had attempted to mask it with incense or some sort of perfume, but the smell was unmistakable even masked as it was. Coupled with the sickly air was the scent of strong elixirs and medications, camphor and ginger were strong in Zeke's nose as he entered the room. Whatever ailed their young one, Zeke could tell that they had gone to some lengths to treat her, seemingly to no avail. That thought began to make Zeke a bit nervous, training to use his priestly abilities was one thing, but he'd never actually taken a disease from someone before. In theory it was simple, but the process was dangerous, and without practice and experience only the most simple of diseases should be attempted. "Oi, may the cleansing flames cover me." he muttered.

The lady of the house, who still hadn't introduced herself, lit a candle shedding a small glimmer of light onto a tiny form lying on a bed in the corner. The little girl moved, rustling the straw mattress she lay on, Her mother immediately blocked the light with her hand. "Well priest, can you help her?" Her gaze was sharp and piercing, but Zeke could see within it fear, mixed with a glimmer of hope.

"I believe so." Zeke gently placed palm on the small girl's forehead. The mother started to protest, but stopped herself. "How old is she?", Ezekiel asked.

"Only just turned nine last month..." She stilled herself from referring to Zeke as "Dwarf" again, "... Have you a name priest?"

Zeke withdrew his hand from the girl, and turned to face the mother. "I am Ezekiel of the Stronghammer clan, priest of Vulcan, the Great Craftsman." Zeke bowed ever so slightly. "Ezekiel will do fine."

"I am Madea, and my husband is Noleth." The elven man nodded, and murmured some sort of greetings that Zeke didn't quite catch. Madea stood over her daughter and caressed her gently, "Annalee is all we have in this world priest, tell us what you need and we will find it."

"I require little, but I will need silence, and a short time to pray. The process is dangerous for me, and much of my strength may be gone afterwards. If you were to bring me several candles, I would be obliged if you were to find eight of them." Noleth left the room to find the requested candles, but Madea seemed ill-inclined to leave the young girl.

Ezekiel carefully examined what he could see of the child, her face, her temperature, her breathing, her pulse. For some time he stood over her silently, careful not to wake her, especially under the watchful eye of her mother. He was becoming more and more certain that it was a particularly strong fever that had gripped the young girl, coupled with her age and apparently frailty it was slowly overtaking her, and would no doubt take her before long. The fever had raged nearly out of control at this point, the girl was blazing hot to the touch, and her breathing was terribly shallow.

The father returned, and Ezekiel arrayed the different candles around himself at the points of an octagon. "I must pray now. You may stay, but you must not speak." He gave a look of warning to each parent in turn, but they showed no desire to leave the room. So Zeke knelt among the candles after he'd lit them. "Vulcan, mighty forger, I seek your cleansing flames. You who craft stars, you know the inner workings of mortals, help me that I might be your tool, that this young one may be set to rights." He trailed off for a moment, and then began to chant in elder Dwarven, it was an invocation against disease. Ezekiel continued on in this manner for some time, praying and chanting and praying some more. After some time Ezekiel placed his hand across the forehead of the young girl and began to chant once more.