They walked for about half an hour before reaching Blackhand's cave dwelling. Since the Forge Clan had settled near Lava Mountain, they had built many cave dwellings along the nearby cliffs. Solam thought the caves were quite nice—warm in winter and cool in summer. For the past two years, he had lived in the cave next to Blackhand's.
"Old man, why'd you call me back?"
"I've got something for you."
"What is it? Why all the secrecy? Afraid someone might see?"
The old man ignored Solam and went straight to the corner. He moved a rectangular stone set into the wall. It fit so snugly that you'd never know it could be moved unless you looked closely.
Behind the stone was a large chest. The old man glanced around mysteriously, then opened it and took out a large cloth bundle, a little over a meter long.
That's right—a cloth bundle. Solam was taken aback when he saw it. As far as he knew, no one in Avalon knew how to weave, so you hardly ever saw cloth there. That was what struck him as strange.
"This is what I wanted to give you." The old man carefully held the bundle out to Solam. Only then did Solam see that it wasn't just a piece of cloth, but silk. The black silk was covered in runes, also black, which were almost impossible to make out unless you looked closely.
Whatever was wrapped in that mysterious cloth had to be something extraordinary. Otherwise, the old man wouldn't have been so careful.
Solam took the bundle. It was heavy, and the cloth felt smooth in his hands, just like the silk from his previous life.
"What's in here?"
"Open it and see."
Seeing that the old man was still keeping him in suspense, Solam stopped asking. He'd tell him what needed telling eventually. Carefully, Solam unwrapped the bundle.
Inside was a warhammer. It was about 1.2 meters long, made entirely of metal, with a large head engraved with numerous runes that occasionally flashed white. The handle was wrapped in some kind of leather that felt comfortable to grip. Its surface was textured, letting you hold the hammer firmly without it slipping. (Appearance reference: Doomhammer from World of Warcraft.)
Solam looked at the clearly enchanted warhammer and immediately jolted.
"Holy shit, old man, are you out of your mind? You stole the Doomhammer! Aren't you afraid the Frostblade Clan will come after you?"
"Holy shit, what are you talking about? I'm not that crazy. Besides, the Doomhammer's with Dussel, the Frostblade Clan's High Elder. If I tried to steal it, I'd be asking to get myself killed." Dussel was the leader of the Frostblade Clan. They had no chieftain; they were generally led by a Shaman, and they were the only clan whose leader was always a Shaman.
They held wisdom above all else, believing it was the only thing that could truly guide the Orcs into the future. Warriors were too reckless to lead all the Orc clans. Their leaders were called High Elders.
Their High Elder was also the spiritual leader of all Avalon Orcs, which was why they didn't call their leader a chieftain like the other clans did. Dussel was the only legendary Shaman in Avalon, and the Doomhammer was their ancestral weapon and a symbol of the High Elder's office. It had belonged to the prophet Garul, who was born into the Frostblade Clan.
"Oh. Then what's the story with this warhammer? I can tell it's no ordinary weapon."
"Of course it isn't. It's the heirloom of our line," Blackhand said proudly.
"The heirloom of our line?" Shamanic lineages weren't very formal. Shamans only needed guidance from others in the early stages; after that, it all came down to their own understanding. Everyone followed a different path, and even their interpretations of the doctrine varied widely, so there was little in the way of a close teacher-student lineage.
Now old Blackhand had suddenly produced an heirloom straight out of a martial arts novel from Solam's previous life. Naturally, Solam found it strange.
"No need to doubt it. This is our heirloom. My master passed it down to me, and his master passed it down to him."
So it really was an inherited heirloom. But...
"Wait, that doesn't make sense. If it's the heirloom of our Shamanic line, why don't you use it? Your weapon's a warhammer too." The Avalon Orcs were practical. If they had a treasure like this, there was no reason not to use it. Orcs wouldn't leave an heirloom sitting around just because it had been passed down; they'd consider that an insult to the treasure.
The prophet's warhammer was still being used to this day. The Bloodaxe Clan Solam belonged to was the same: the real Bloodfire was still in his grandfather's hands, and it still tasted blood now and then. Orcs simply wouldn't leave an heirloom on display instead of using it. In the eyes of the Avalon Orcs, that was just crazy.
"Ahem. That's because... I can't use it," the old man admitted, a little sheepishly.
"You can't use it? It's just a hammer. What's stopping you? Swing it around and use it." Solam hefted the warhammer in his hands. It was heavy, but not so heavy that even Solam couldn't swing it with ease, let alone the old man.
"You don't know a damn thing. If it were just an ordinary warhammer, it wouldn't be worthy of being an heirloom." The old man gave Solam a withering look for his ignorance.
As it turned out, the warhammer had once belonged to an Elemental Shaman of the Blackpeak Clan, one of Avalon's three great clans. Though the clan had never produced a world-shaking hero like the prophet Garul or Grom Hellscream, it was still not to be underestimated. The prophet Garul's two mentors had both come from the clan, and the Doomhammer had been wielded by each of them in turn. After they both fell in battle, the legendary weapon was given to the prophet Garul.
It was said that the weapon had also been a symbol of the Blackpeak Clan chieftain. The prophet had intended to return the Doomhammer to the Blackpeak Clan after arriving in Avalon, but they refused, saying that he had given the weapon immeasurable glory.
That was why many Orcs of the Blackpeak Clan chose warhammers as their weapons. That Shaman had done the same, though the weapon hadn't been made by Orcs.
Legend had it that when the Shaman was traveling in the outside world, he and a band of companions defeated a powerful demon and thwarted its scheme. To reward him, people commissioned the finest Dwarf smith of the time to forge the weapon. It was also imbued with powerful magic.
The weapon returned to Avalon with the Shaman. But, to everyone's surprise, after he died, no one else could use it. Even if someone tried, it was no more than an ordinary warhammer, utterly powerless. So they gave it to the Shaman's apprentice, hoping that one day another Shaman might restore its former power.
But even now, the warhammer was still in the same sorry state. Everyone except the Shamans who inherited it had forgotten all about it.
"So you're saying this warhammer is completely useless?" Solam gave old Blackhand a sideways look. He suspected the old man was trying to get back at him for winning so decisively and had picked up some random hammer to mess with him. For all his age, the old man was wildly irresponsible. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gambled away everything he owned over some stupid title like Lava Mountain's Gambling King.
"Come on, am I really that kind of person? Is that how irresponsible you think I am?"
But when he saw the absolute certainty in Solam's eyes, he was at a loss for words.
"All right, all right. I can be a little... well, like that sometimes. But not much. Just a tiny bit." He held up two fingers to show how little.
Solam still looked at him with contempt.
"All right, all right. I'm usually pretty irresponsible." Under Solam's gaze, old Blackhand finally gave in. Thinking about it, aside from when he was teaching Solam, he rarely acted like an elder. Who else would shamelessly pester a younger relative to gamble, only to nearly lose the clothes off his back?
"But I wouldn't make up a story involving my master and his master." That was true. The old man might have been a mischievous old fool, but he wouldn't joke about his dead elders. Though Shamanic lineages weren't very close, a master still counted as a respected elder in Orc society. He couldn't just make them the butt of a joke.
"Then what's going on? Could one of our predecessors have been messing with us?"
Smack! The old man cuffed Solam on the back of the head.
"Pah! You think everyone's as bored as you are?" But when Solam saw how satisfied the old man looked after hitting him, he was sure Blackhand had asked his own master the same ridiculous question once—and gotten smacked for it too.
"Ahem." Seeing Solam looking at him suspiciously, the old man cleared his throat and said solemnly, "When I was young, I was curious too. So I went out into the wider world to find the Dwarves, hoping to get an answer. And I'll tell you, I met plenty of Dwarves, but none of them could explain it. Eventually, I found the legendary Dwarf kingdom of Talundir in the Great Rift. I made quite a few friends there, and at last I got an answer from a master smith. The warhammer has a will of its own. It can choose its owner. Anyone it doesn't recognize can't bring out its true power."
"A weapon? With a mind of its own? You're not pulling my leg, are you?"
Before you continue