~Aedan Vaelor POV~
The next couple of days and weeks came far too quietly for Aedan's liking.
He had been given his own room deep in one of the lower levels of Barak Varr, far, far, far away from the main court and the living quarters of the actual dwarves. It looked to be some form of holding granted to foreign human ambassadors, though the dust made it clear it was a long time since any honored guest last visited the place. The chamber was large, carved from solid stone, and surprisingly well furnished with a heavy bed, a table, and a few chairs that looked like they had been dragged here specifically for him. But the message was clear: the dawi wanted him isolated, away from sight, until they could decide what to do with him.
Aedan sat on the edge of the bed, still wearing his dark carapace armor, though he had removed the skeletal helmet and set it on the table. He could feel the fear rolling off every dwarf who passed near his corridor. They didn't just dislike him, they were terrified of the man that could end an orc waaagh! with his magical might.
Aedan didn't need to read their minds to know why. Dwarves hated magic. To them it was the tool of the treacherous elves, the Ulgi as they called them magical hippies. And what Aedan had done last night was nothing like the magic they knew. Growing wings of light, tearing open portals through reality, commanding the earth itself to swallow and spit out hostages, and then raising a moving wall of fire across water… none of that belonged in their understanding of the world. It was unnatural. Dangerous. Possibly Chaos-tainted in the more paranoid minds of certain dwarves.
Even his armor and weapons made them uneasy. If they ever learned he could simply will his entire arsenal in and out of a personal dimensional storage space, half the hold might actually have a collective heart attack. Only one dwarf had come to visit him so far.... but that was more out of duty.
Thrain Stonebrow stood near the doorway, looking like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. The dwarf's face was still raw and beardless, his scalp patchy where the goblins had torn out his hair. He kept shifting his weight, fists clenched at his sides, clearly forcing himself to stay in the room.
Aedan stayed seated, keeping his movements slow and open.
"You don't have to stand all the way over there," he said quietly. "I promise not to turn you into newt if that makes you feel any better. On my honor no magical harm shall befall you."
Thrain grunted but didn't move closer. He just stared at the skeletal helmet on the table like it might jump up and attack him.
Aedan tried again, keeping his tone light. "Look, I know, magic is not something your proud people approve of, but let me make it clear, I stand against the ruin of chaos, the urk, and annoying noises of the Ulgi. So how about we start over again from the beginning honorable Dawi, I am Aedan Vaelor, true loyal citizen of the Imperium, and loyal worshipper of my glorious GOD EMPEROR OF MANKIND."
Thrain's jaw tightened. He was silent for a long time before he finally spoke, voice rough and ignoring much of what Aedan said. "Why did ye help us, sorcerer?"
Aedan leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "You needed help. Simple as that. The orcs went with a dishonorable move in order to invade your hold. I saw an opportunity to offer my serveries. I freed your prince and the other people held hostage, and saw to an end of the green skin horde."
Thrain stared at him, suspicion still heavy in his eyes, but he took one small step farther into the room.
Aedan pressed gently. "I've seen enough to know the dawi don't ask for help lightly. And I don't expect verbal thanks, though I would not be against the monetary version. Just think of me as a mercenary psy.... wizard, if there's anything else I can do while I'm here, just say the word."
Thrain was quiet again. Then, almost reluctantly, he asked the next question.
"Manling! How did e' come to know Khazalid?! And speakin' it so cleanly too? That ain't somethin' ye hear every day!"
Aedan blinked. He hadn't even realized he was speaking Khazalid the entire time. The reincarnation system must have just… given it to him when he picked "all languages." He had assumed it would feel different, like some obvious shift in his words, but it had slipped in so smoothly he never noticed. Seeing the gaze of the dawi burning into his side, Aedan half-lied, half-told the truth, in the only way a meta being that was a fan of the setting could. "I've studied your people for a... long time. I respect the dawi. Your culture, your history, the way you build things that last forever… it's impressive. I wanted to learn your tongue properly. Guess it stuck better than I thought."
Thrain snorted, most likely disbelieving Aedan, his eyes had narrowed as he looked on Aedan with suspicion, looking for any sign of deceit.
Aedan saw the opening and kept going, careful not to push too hard, instead focusing on a matter that will be as legendary as it would be golorious. "Besides, I've always wanted to document the deeds of a true dawi hero someday. Maybe even a Slayer. Stories like that deserve to be remembered right."
Thrain's shoulders tightened and shook greatly, Aedan's words had not eased the man's suspicions only reminded him of the next step he would have to undertake to regain the honor he had lost. Now the dwarf had left his corner of the room and actually took several steps closer to the table. Finally the dwarf asked the last question, voice still guarded but curious now.
"What in the Ancestors' names would make a manling sorcerer want to go to Lustria? What business have ye got in that fever-ridden, cursed green hell?"
Aedan smiled faintly and gave the lie he had prepared.
"On top of my magical skill set and mercenary desires, I'm a treasure hunter and adventurer. Simple as that. Lustria has ruins, lost temples, old relics… the kind of things that pay very well if you're brave enough to go looking. I figured Barak Varr might have a ship heading that way, or at least know someone who does." Aedan lied like a dirty rug, but his high charisma characteristic with a equally high manipulation skill helped make it impossible for anyone to know the truth.
Thrain studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow, grudging nod.
"Aye, the southern continent holds a mighty haul for any brave enough, or foolish enough, to go huntin' for it. Though I doubt the lizards will give it up easy. Still... bringin' down one o' their great beasts might be a fine way to wash away the shame. Won't be as simple as that urk chief ye killed. The king is mighty grateful for yer deed, even if he'd have preferred to settle the grudge himself."
Aedan shrugged, not caring much for the deed, though he was not happy that the dawi demanded the head of the warboss. Not desiring or wanting to risk the chance it might turn him into becoming a slave of Khorne, Aedan was more than willing to offer the trophy up, though he was hoping for a big reward in turn. "Hopefully the lord of this keep is willing to offer me a ship to the new world. Make my journey a lot easier."
Thrain didn't smile, just grunted something that sounded like a maybe, but the hard edge in his eyes had softened. He still looked like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, the internal guilt over the failed scout mission, the shame of his lost beard, the quiet decision he and the other twenty-four hostages had already made about taking the Slayer's Oath. Aedan could sense all of the dawi's surface thoughts without saying a word. No dwarf needed to know he could read minds, espically doing it now without asking permission. Aedan did not know of a faster way to get himself placed at the top page of the book of grudges faster than that type of magic. Nope, Aedan just kept acting like a friendly human, as Thrain sat near him.
After letting the beardless dwarf stew in his misery, Aedan finally got a turn to ask questions that he believed Thrain was willing to answer. First was finding out the current date of the old world, what important events had happened recently, and how close the end-times event was from happening.
"The second o' Kazakzet, year 4725 by proper Dawi reckonin'." Thrain's answer had Aedan calling upon his old warhammer fantasy lore. Trying to mentally match the dwarf calendar with the Imperial one. Once he got the proper date, Aedan was filled with a calm sense of relief realizing that he had enough time ahead of himself before the end times arrived.
By the Imperial calendar that places me around the start of the summer months at the year 1725 IC. That would mean the world has roughly 803 years left before the End Times hit. With my biomancy I can probably live more than double that if I wanted to. Plenty of time to enact my master plan of escaping the old world... might take a detour... or ten... maybe try to marry Isabella von Drak... just got to wait 72 years to achieve that. Hopefully that makes me long lived enough to steal her from Vlad, just have to find a way to time this correctly... well in the mean time I can see about getting a ship or paying a ship to help me travel to Lustria.
Aedan didn't say any of what he thought of out loud, it would be a problem that even he would have a tough time coming up with a bullshit excuses to lie his way out of. All that mattered now was finding a way to Lustria to get gold, treasures, and a space ship. Then to pick up a big titty gothic noble girlfriend, then off to save the imperium of man from aliens. All apart of his every growing master plan that grew more ridiculous every moment he came up with new ideas.
The outworlder looked upon Thrain wondering what else he could ask the dwarf, but the solem sight of the dawi made Aedan to think of a cat, caught out in the cold, sick and starving, only for the mental reaction to hit him. "Aaachoo!"
"Bless ye, manling. Best ye not be bringing no plague to Barrak Varr!" The dwarf was still watching Aedan, now more carefully as a new fearful thought came to the short man's mind.
"No, no plague mighty Thrain, Nothing contagious. I promise, just a little bit of dust causing my allergies to act up." Aedan said quickly, raising both hands in a peaceful gesture.
Thrain eyed him suspiciously for a few more seconds, then grunted and went back to staring at his mug of mead. The dwarf still looked like a cat caught out in the cold — sick, starving, and ready to bite anyone who got too close. But at least he hadn't stormed out yet.
Over the next few days the pattern continued. Thrain would bring food for the two of them and a jug of strong dwarven mead. He would sit, eat in near silence, and leave. Aedan used those short visits to slowly earn the conversation, never pushing too hard. He asked small things about the hold, about how the other rescued dwarves were recovering, about the damage the orcs had done before the battle ended. He kept his tone respectful and calm.
Thrain remained mostly introverted, answering in short grunts or single sentences. But he kept coming back. That was something. One evening, after almost a full month of these careful visits, Aedan finally asked the question he'd been waiting for. "Thrain... what are your plans now?"
Thrain went completely still. He refused to answer at first, staring down at the table like the wood had personally offended him. The dwarf was still carrying that heavy shame, Aedan could sense it clearly without saying a word. Thrain planned to take the Slayer's Oath. He was just waiting for enough hair to grow back so he could shave it properly and begin his path to redemption through death. The same decision had already been made by the other twenty-four hostages from the front line. Aedan watched him for a moment, then spoke carefully. "The horrible events that left you beardless… I imagine the only path left that feels honorable to you is the Slayer's Oath."
Thrain's head snapped up. He was not happy. His eyes narrowed sharply, and his voice came out low and angry. "How do ye know so much about dawi ways, sorcerer?"
"The same way I know of your language Thrain Stonebrow, with deep respect for the culture and all it stands. The dawi have always been a good friend to humans, it is only fair to show the same gratitude to the dawi people, especially those of Barrak Varr who have shown me such hospitality of offering me food, drinks, a roof over my head, and a great dawi to share it all with." Minus denying me of all the requests to meet with the Lord of this dwarven keep. Thrain was Aedan's only real contact since the battle ended.
"I can help with your hair and beard. Not fully — just enough so you can take the Slayer's Oath properly. Enough to grow it back so you can dye it and have something to protect your face in battle. Nothing more." Thrain's face tightened. He looked torn, fists clenched on the table. The look he gave Aedan, made the psyker think he might have overplayed his hand.
"Nay manling, I will not be touched by your foul sorcerer... even if it is used to better my station. I already made the oath, only a debt to my prince has prevented me for journeying out for my doom."
Aedan felt confident now. The dwarves hadn't tried to kill him yet, and Thrain was still sitting here talking instead of running for the guards. That was as close to safe as he was going to get in a dwarf hold.
He leaned back in his chair and asked the question that had been burning in his mind for days.
"Thrain… when can I see the lord of Barak Varr?" Aedan had asked that question for the hundredth time now since being relegated to this gilded cage. Thrain mumbled the same answer as always, something that always sounded like either soon, maybe, or not my place to say. Always refusing to meet Aedan's eyes. Aedan had enough as his earlier plot failed, and now his patience went with it. He stood up slowly, armor plates shifting with a soft click, he had clean the armor, but always wore it in case the dawi decide to be a bit more hostile to the psyker they mistook as a sorcerer.
"Then I will not waste any more time here. If your king will not see me, I will leave. There is a whole world of dangers and adventures out there that need to be slain or discovered, and I have better things to do than sit in a dusty room waiting for dwarves to decide if I'm a threat or not. Either arrange a meeting with Lord of this hold, or show me the way out of Barak Varr. I thank you for the hospitality, but I am done waiting." Thrain tensed instantly. His shoulders went rigid, and for the first time since their talks began, real fear flashed across the dwarf's face. Aedan caught it clearly, there had been some kind of plot or discussion among the upper ranks about what to do with him. Thrain knew more than he was letting on or willing to share.
Aedan didn't voice it. Instead he reached over, picked up his skeletal helm from the table, and sealed it back onto his armor with a sharp hiss of pressurised air.
"Lead me out, Thrain Stonebrow. I'll find my own way to Lustria if I have to." Aedan bluffed, lik he never bluffed before. Thrain was sweating now. The joy at the thought of the sorcerer finally leaving warred with the debt and oath he had sworn on behalf of his prince. The latter won.
"Wait a moment," Thrain said quickly, voice tight. "Just… wait here."
The dwarf hurried out of the room, boots echoing down the stone corridor. Aedan stood in silence, arms crossed, helmet's cold blue-white eyes glowing faintly in the dim lamplight. He waited. Nearly an hour later, a group of heavily armed Ironbreakers arrived. They did not look happy, but they did not raise their weapons either. Their sergeant spoke in clipped Khazalid. "The king will see you now, manling. In the throne room. Follow us. If we see your hands making unnatural moves, we will send you back to the plane of chaos you crawlled out of sorcerer!"
Aedan nodded once and fell into step behind them. They led him through winding corridors and up several wide staircases carved directly into the living mountain. The deeper they went into the heart of Barak Varr, the more magnificent the hold became. Finally they reached a set of towering double doors reinforced with thick gromril bands and covered in intricate runes that glowed with soft inner light. Aedan had the urge to touch the gromril, the magical dwarven forge metal could be analyzed by his geomancy, maybe even able to transmute simple lead into large quantities of the fabled metal. Unfortunately the doors were swung open by another, denying Aedan the chance to touch the mighty metal.
The throne room of Barak Varr was a marvel of dwarven design and raw ancestral power. It was vast easily the size of a small cathedral, carved from a single enormous natural cavern deep inside the mountain. The ceiling rose so high that the rune-lanterns hanging from massive chains looked like distant stars. Every surface was covered in masterful stonework: walls adorned with epic friezes depicting ancient battles against greenskins, dragons, and the forces of Chaos. Scenes of Grimnir fighting the great wyrm, Grungni forging the first runes, and Valaya shielding the first holds glowed with inlaid gold, silver, and precious gems that caught the light like living fire.
The floor was a polished mosaic of different colored stone depicting the great map of the Karaz Ankor, with Barak Varr itself marked in gleaming gromril at the center. Massive pillars, thicker than any tree Aedan had ever seen, rose like the legs of titans, each one carved with the faces and names of countless ancestors. Runes of protection and strength pulsed along their length, ancient power that made the air itself feel heavier.
At the far end, raised on a wide dais of black granite, sat the throne of Barak Varr. It was not merely a chair it was a monument. Carved from a single block of gromril-veined stone, the seat was flanked by two enormous statues of Grimnir and Grungni standing guard. The backrest rose high, shaped like the prow of a great dwarf warship, with golden cannons and anchors worked into the design. Behind the throne hung an enormous banner of the hold's sigil a golden gate against a deep blue field flanked by ancient weapons and shields taken from fallen enemies over millennia.
The air smelled of stone, oil, incense, and the faint metallic tang of gromril. Every sound echoed with perfect clarity, as if the mountain itself was listening.
Lord Rurik Grundadrakk sat upon that throne, clad in full plate armor of black and gold, his great hammer resting across his knees. His beard was long and braided with runes of silver, his eyes hard and measuring as they fixed on Aedan. The entire throne room was filled with the elite of Barak Varr, Longbeards, Runesmiths, and captains of the Ironbreakers all watching the human sorcerer with open suspicion and barely contained hostility.
Aedan stepped forward into the center of that magnificent, intimidating space, skull helmet still sealed in place. Magdoof's severed head was now stuffed and hanged as a mantle piece on the walls of throne room, near the throne of the sovereign of the hold, showing just how much the dawi came to hate the orc warboss. The king of Barak Varr was seated upon his throne, and had finally agreed to see Aedan.
Lord Rurik Grundadrakk sat like a statue carved from the mountain itself. His thick fingers tightened around the haft of his great hammer until the knuckles stood out pale against the dark metal. The long silver-braided beard did not move as he stared down at the human standing in the center of the throne room. The silence that followed Aedan's appearance stretched uncomfortably long. Several Longbeards shifted their weight. A Runesmith's hand drifted closer to the axe at his belt. The air grew heavier, as if the mountain itself was holding its breath.
When the king finally spoke, his voice was low, each word ground out like stone being crushed under a millstone.
"Ye forced this audience, manling." Rurik's gaze never left Aedan. One heavy boot scraped slowly across the granite dais as he leaned forward, the sound echoing through the vast chamber. "That alone would be enough for many here to demand yer name be added to the Dammaz Kron this very hour."
A low murmur rippled through the assembled dwarves. Some nodded. Others gripped their weapons tighter. The king raised one hand, and the room fell silent again, but the tension did not ease.
Rurik continued, each syllable measured and cold. "Yet the aid ye gave during the battle stays my hand… for now. Even a manling's ignorance has its limits. Speak yer piece, sorcerer. And choose yer words with care."
Aedan stood straight, skull helmet still sealed, voice calm and clear through the vox-grille.
"I have saved this hold from destruction. I have enjoyed its hospitality. Now I must leave. I only wish to claim the reward that Prince Torik promised upon his honor and his armor."
The reaction was immediate.
A collective gasp swept the throne room. Longbeards exchanged shocked glances. One Ironbreaker captain actually took a step forward, axe half-raised before he caught himself. Whispers erupted like sparks on dry tinder.
"The prince made a deal with a sorcerer?!" "Lies! The manling seeks to trick us!" "Impossible! No true dawi prince would bind himself to such filth!"
But Prince Torik stepped forward from the side of the dais, red braids swaying as he moved. His voice rang out strong and unwavering.
"Enough! The manling speaks truth. He slew Magdoof da Chompa with his own blade. He rescued every prisoner and hostage, myself included, and destroyed the entire orc fleet with his magics. I gave him my word as prince of Barak Varr that he would be greatly recompensed for his deeds. I will not have a his or my honor questioned here."
The silence that followed was deafening. Many dwarves stared at the prince in open disbelief. Even those who had witnessed the massive fires consuming the fleet the night of the battle had believed it to be the work of the ancestors. Now they looked at Aedan with a mixture of awe and deep, visceral unease.
Lord Rurik's fingers tightened further around his hammer. The knuckles cracked audibly. His jaw worked beneath the braided beard as he turned his gaze slowly from his son to Aedan. The look he gave the human was sharp enough to cut gromril. Several Runesmiths exchanged uneasy glances, clearly unsettled by the king's visible displeasure.
The king spoke again, voice lower now, each word dropping like a hammer blow on an anvil.
"Whatever deal my son made… was born of desperate circumstances." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. "We will honor it. But know this — Barak Varr does not make a habit of bargaining with wielders of magic. Nor do we forget when our own blood speaks out of turn."
Prince Torik's face flushed, but he held his ground.
"Father, he saved us. Even if his methods are cowardly and unnatural, he stood as a friend to the dawi that day. Such rudeness is unbecoming of a hero of the hold."
More muttering broke out. Accusations flew that the sorcerer had bewitched the prince. Prince Torik's temper finally snapped.
"Any who doubt the certainty of my words and my honor will answer to me! If my word is not enough, then I will take the Slayer's Oath this very day, for it is clear no one here respects the honor of their prince!"
The threat landed like a cannon shot. Lord Rurik sat up straighter on the throne. His beard bristled. One hand slammed down on the armrest with a loud crack that echoed through the cavernous room. Several Longbeards flinched. The king's eyes bored into his son with clear disapproval, the kind that needed no words to convey how little he desired his heir marching off to die as a Slayer.
Aedan saw the opening and raised both hands in a calming gesture, speaking loud enough for the entire throne room to hear.
"There is no need for the prince to go to such lengths. All I desire is either a ship bound for Lustria, or enough gold that I can pay for passage on a ship bound for Lustria. Nothing more. Nothing less."
The crowd reacted with visible confusion. Many dwarves exchanged baffled looks, as if they had been expecting Aedan to demand something insane, like the entire hold converting to Chaos or offering a thousand dawi babies as payment.
Aedan, his voice steady and persuasive, drawing on every ounce of his high charisma and oratory skill, aided in getting the suspicion and fear on their faces to ease, if only slightly. "I wish no harm to the dawi of Barak Varr. I honor the old agreements between Sigmar and your people. I see the dawi as friends of humanity, and I would ask nothing that would force you to do anything dishonorable. I only wish to be paid like any mercenary who fulfilled his contract."
His words did much to calm the room. Shoulders relaxed. Grips on weapons loosened. Even Lord Rurik's expression shifted from outright hostility to something more measured, though the king still watched Aedan with narrowed eyes and a jaw set like granite. Lord Rurik finally spoke again. "There is no ship currently heading to Lustria. Our trade routes go to Marienburg, portions of Araby, and Bretonnia. If ye desire passage to one of those cities, I am willing to see ye leave with the first available ship. But Lustria? That cursed jungle is no place for any sane dawi."
Aedan stood firm. "I desire only to go to Lustria. surely the wonder of the sea port of the Karak Ankor has a means of reaching it."
There was some arguing back and forth. Many dwarves were impressed that Aedan could negotiate like a dawi, able to talk up the king without insulting him. Gold was offered as payment, but no travel paths to Lustria were available. Most ships from the Border Princes were also unlikely to head somewhere as dangerous as Lustria, which only lead to more heated words exchanged. Eventually a deal was reached. Lord Rurik leaned forward on his throne, voice heavy with the weight of his word.
"If ye can gather the gold to fund an expedition to Lustria, then on my honor I am willing to have a steam-powered ship built that will see ye travel there safely. Anything else is beyond the agreement you made with my son. Now begone sorcerer, only return back when you have gathered enough gold for the undertaking."
Aedan agreed to the terms, even though he currently had no money. He could already think of a couple of ideas that could see it achieved. The king gave a single, curt nod. The audience was clearly over.
As Aedan was escorted from the throne room by the same group of Ironbreakers, he felt the weight of dozens of suspicious eyes on his back. The magnificent doors closed behind him with a deep, final boom. He had his deal. Now he just needed to figure out how to get the gold.
The Ironbreakers did not take him back to his isolated chamber. Instead they led him through another set of winding corridors and up a wide staircase until they reached a smaller, more private hall. Prince Torik and Thrain Stonebrow were already waiting there.
The moment Aedan entered, Prince Torik stepped forward. The young dwarf's face was tight with clear discomfort.
"Aedan Vaelor," Torik began, voice heavy, "I must apologize for the discourtesy my hold has shown you. Ye saved my life, ye saved hundreds of my kin, and yet ye were hidden away like some dangerous beast. That shame falls on all of us. If it would restore even a fraction of the honor that was lost this day, I would take the Slayer's Oath myself to make amends."
Both Aedan and Thrain froze in shock. The Ironbreakers escorting Aedan actually stumbled a step, their sergeant's mouth opening in disbelief.
Aedan raised a hand quickly.
"Your Highness, that is not necessary. My deal does not require such dedication. The fact that you spoke up in my defense in front of your father and the entire throne room was more than enough to make up for any discourtesy I suffered. I hold no grudge."
Torik looked relieved but still determined.
"Even so, I offered you my word. And I mean to see it fulfilled. You wish to reach Lustria. To do that you will need a proper dwarf steam ship and a crew willing to sail into that cursed jungle. The total amount you will need is upwards of 50,000 gold coins… with at least 35,000 of that spent on building the ship alone. I do not have such a sum freely available. But I can offer you a path to earn it."
The prince reached into a pouch at his belt and placed a heavy leather bag on the table. It clinked loudly.
"Two hundred gold coins to start. Plus another three hundred gold worth of fine dwarf ale and crafted goods all loaded up on a wagon with two of our best horse to help in transporting it all. The weapons, tools, and jewelry are all of Barak Varr make. Take these and join a trading caravan heading east. The dwarf goods alone should fetch you three times their value in the distant land of Grand Cathay. On the return trip, bring back Cathay silks, spices, jade, and ivory. Barak Varr and many other holds will pay steep prices for such rarities. Travel the trade routes enough times and you will eventually have enough to fund the expedition for Lustria."
Aedan listened quietly. He had originally been quietly planning to use geomancy to alter the chemical composition of rocks and turn them into gold, but the prince's idea was far more interesting. A decade or two travelling the Silk Road to Grand Cathay sounded… fun... something the Warhammer fantasy fan would have dreamed to undertake before the end times ruined the world. Aedan could also use this as an opportunity to test his powers against whatever lurked in the Dark Lands. And in the worst case, he could always open a Gate of Infinity and fast-travel goods back and forth between Barak Varr and Cathay. Keeping those cheat ideas to himself, Aedan bowed his head slightly to the royal dawi.
"I thank you for your kindness, Prince Torik. This gives me a clear path forward." Torik smiled for the first time since the meeting at the throne room.
"There is one more thing." He gestured to a nearby weapons rack. "Choose any rune weapon you wish. It will help you on your quest to gather the necessary funds manling."
Aedan glanced at the rack, then shook his head. "I am happy with my current blade. But if anyone should have a new runic weapon to aid them in combat, it should be Thrain Stonebrow. He is about to begin his path as a Slayer. It is best he does so with a weapon worthy of hunting powerful creatures."
Thrain's head jerked up. For once the dwarf looked genuinely touched. His raw, beardless face showed clear surprise, then something close to gratitude. Even Prince Torik looked moved by the gesture.
"Thrain," the prince said, turning to the other dwarf, "if you are willing… would you travel with Aedan? Use that runic weapon to protect the manling who saved Barak Varr. Keep him safe on the road to Cathay."
Thrain was silent for a long moment. Then he straightened, voice rough but steady. "I will. To make up for my failure to properly guide you, my prince, I will travel with Aedan. I will keep the manling safe… and if there is any dangerous creature on the way, I will battle it and seek out my doom."
Aedan was taken aback, but a genuine smile grew beneath his helmet. A Slayer companion for adventures across the Old World? That sounded perfect.
"Then it is settled," Prince Torik said. "You two will head off tomorrow with the next eastbound trading caravan."
Aedan gave a small bow. "Thank you, Prince Torik. I will not forget this kindness."
As the Ironbreakers led him back toward his chamber to prepare, Aedan's mind was already racing with plans. Cathay. The Dark Lands. Potential battles. And a grumpy, honor-bound Slayer at his side. If only I knew poetry, this would be a nice replication of a Gotrek and Felix novel.