The Smith

There had been fifteen of them at the outset. Find the Smith. Ask for a weapon to end the war. Return home and push back the Emperor.

It seemed like such a simple task. The Tribes had banded together for the first time in generations, pooling their knowledge, wealth, and skills, all for this single thread of hope.

Find the Smith. Build a weapon. Make it home.

Each of the fifteen tribes had different legends of the Smith, sometimes conflicting and sometimes vague, but their lorekeepers had come together to weave the legends into a tapestry. A faded map of how to find their one hope. A candle in the darkness.

And then they'd asked for each tribe to send one of their best on the quest. Hunter. Warrior. Scout. Spirit-singer. Elemental. Storyteller... So many different versions of the best, but together they themselves were a painting of their combined cultures. Everything their people's were, was represented in these fifteen.

They had been laden with gifts, unique materials, and rare artifacts - because one thing all legends shared was an offering. The Smith could make anything, out of any material, but nothing was provided for free.

And so they set off, with hope and determination and glory burning in their hearts.

But there was another thing that all the stories shared. The path was dangerous.

The lorekeepers hadn't offered them up that knowledge. It probably wouldn't have changed anything if they had.

Find the Smith. Bring back a weapon.

Khari was the last of the fifteen. She stumbled half blind through bioluminescent-lit caves, repeating the concept that had become a lifeline.

If her parched throat could be coaxed into making sounds she'd have barked a bitter laugh at the reality that she was the last. Barely a storyteller, she's been offered up because the tribes best had been a coward, and she was technically next in line... But she couldn't hold a crowd with the power of her words. She couldn't sing. She only remembered half of the tribes history. And yet she'd made it when everyone else fell or simply lost the will to go on.

The offerings and materials had been discarded days ago, though she had lugged some of them along for three days even once the food had run out. Then the water ran out. Then the lantern broke.

Some time after, utterly blind in a lightless cave she had fallen and hit her head. Blood had caked her right eye closed, and her left was swollen half shut. Still she pushed herself forward, feeling the walls when she couldn't see, trusting luck to avoid dangers.

Smith. Weapon. Home.

She realized with a jolt that at some point as the hours had dragged on that she could see. Strange moss on the walls had begun to glow. And some unknown amount of time after that, the walls stopped being natural, giving away to massive carved bricks.

She picked up her pace, feeling the ember of hope she'd kept burning inside herself roar to life. This had to be it.

When she first heard the hammer ringing rhythmically against metal, it sounded like all the ancestors singing at once. Nothing had ever been so beautiful, or so hopeful.

The Smith!

"So, you made it." The voice was soft, tired almost, but warm. "I admit, I was worried for a bit. Sip from the jug there."

The Smith hadn't turned around to even see her. How could they know she was even there? But, to her left on a little table sat an earthenware jug, and she grabbed it with two hands drinking deeply of the sweet liquid.

"You're the Smith. You're real. I found you." She finally gasped.

Then the being turned, and she gasped as she realized how large it was. Easily a full human chest above her (and she was considered tall among the Tribes), and thick. Proportionally it was similar to a human but so much larger. Strange geometric tattoos covered the skin she could see in sometimes bold and sometimes intricate designs. The Smith's face twisted in a look of almost pain as they replied.

"The Smith is gone and has been since your kind was young. I am a simple apprentice compared to him. But that is a truth you aren't here for. Ask for what you need."

She reeled mentally, but pushed the questions back, and focused. "I need a weapon. A weapon to kill the Emperor."

The being she thought of as the Smith nodded. "I can make you a weapon. What do you bring me to fashion it out of?"

And dread filled her. She had nothing, it was back there in the labrynthiab caves among the dead and the rocks.

"I.. I have nothing. It was all lost getting here."

The Smith reached forward, and rested a hand on her shoulder with more tenderness than she expected.

"Is there truly nothing you have?"

And she knew immediately what the Smith was asking. She closed her eyes, and let images of home flood her mind.

"No." She finally said. "I have myself. I have everything I am. I offer that."

The Smith's eyes widened the slightest bit. "Everything you are? You don't know what you offer."

"Is it enough? Can it kill the Emperor?"

The Smith nodded. "Yes, but you don't know what you're asking."

She stood, facing the strange being that all of her people's hope rested upon.

"Do it."

There was a sadness and a kindness in the being's eyes as it nodded. "I will do this for you, but the cost will be great. For you, and for your people. It would be best if you closed your eyes now, and think of home."

She did as the Smith suggested. The faces of her family were the last images she ever saw.