Father,
It is with a heavy heart that I write to you today. I can barely bring myself to write these words, but my hammer has been defeated. I was fighting a great evil, once disguised as a friend. The priests daughter, Nualia, now more demon than angel hit us with a lucky shot, more specifically, she hit me with a lucky shot. I heard her mumble, felt a tremor in my hands and then the hammer that you and I spent so long crafting, my right of passage, my connection to the mountain, lay in shards all around me. I had no chance to grieve, I could not mourn, I could only fight. As you taught me, I have held on to every spare weapon that I could lift, and with my hammer Ironheart scattered around me, I pulled out my longsword, then the heavy flail, and I beat my foes into submission. Perhaps I can work with Alexi to mend my shattered hammer, and perhaps it will work again, but I know that until I can once again bring it to the heart of the mountain, it will never truly be whole. Until that day, I will continue to fight, to learn every weapon at my disposal.
Please do not tell the others of what has happened. I do not think I could handle the ceaseless teasing and torment.
Life on the outside has been interesting these last few weeks, between the goblin attacks, a psychotic tumbling monk who chose to embarrass me one too many times, and a bug bear with a raging…sense of murder, I long for the simple tunnels of the mountain. I can’t, or shouldn’t, complain, I suppose, but still I do miss mom’s cooking, you just can’t find good Dwarven cuisine. Could you ask mom to please send a batch of her famous cookies with the next trade caravan?
I have also been watching Alexi work, and while I have no interest in learning magic, I think given a little more time, I can learn to craft magic armor on my own. That could become handy in the future.
Please give mother my best. And not a word of Ironheart to anyone.
Your son,
Telchar