The following story is one of my best works. It's a personal favorite that I hope you'll enjoy as well!

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Tales from Anghvir: Aldwynne the Behemoth 

The solid thunk of the pickaxe hitting the stone and then releasing again brought satisfaction with each strike.

Though he did not know it, Aldwynne was destined to be the father of all of the Children of the Sleeping Giant, but for now, he was a humble stonemason. He would gather his own stone and shape it to his liking and for whatever his tribe, the Stonetalkers, needed.

He stopped to drink from his skin of elderberry mead. Later on, he knew he would need more water. All of that could wait. For now he needed to collect more stone; it was meant to be fed to his forge. That and the coal he and his people have recently unearthed a vein of - their steel would be stronger than ever. Life was harsh on the steppes of Tarsitteus, as permafrost kept the ground cold and almost barren for the vast majority of the year. The peaks of the Silverblade Mountains loomed overhead. Though his people had come down to this mountain valley from the uncharted howling winds of Farnorth, their lot had not improved much. 

Aldwynne worked for another twenty minutes until he felt he needed a drink that wasn’t mead. Sweat covered his brow, and he brushed his prematurely-greying hair out of his eyes. He was still rather young, as evidenced by his cordlike muscles. In other words, he was tall, broad, and strong, a physique borne of hard work almost all his life. Right now he wore a leather apron over his fur tunic, kilt, and boots. His forearms were protected by hardened leather bracers.

He and all his people were renowned for their incredible constitution, but one cannot work efficiently while overly drunk. Once he determined that he had enough stone for now, he gathered up his tools and left his personal quarry. His cabin was waiting. 

The town of Brightwater, home to the unified tribes, had grown for several generations since all the people had settled here. Found in the delta of the Shining River, that sacred body of water was revered as the life-giver. Without its water, they would be unable to carry out many mundane tasks that no culture could without on a daily basis. Even so, the Tarsitteun people were called “barbarians” and “heathens” by their cousins, the Patna people. The Patna people had also emerged from the north, but they had found fertile grasslands to suit them better than this harsh environment. 

Back in his cabin, Aldwynne sorted through the day’s gathering. A gut feeling told him that he had found something unusual. Still, he must wait for Red Stag, his tribe’s druid, to return from hunting elk with Chief Black Bear. The druid was the wisest man among them, and would know a great many things that went beyond Aldwynne’s ken. 

Picking up his trusty quartz hammer, he slammed it against the largest of the stones he had gathered that day, a heard a telltale shing that told him he had found steel, pure and blessed, steel was the most valued of all the resources the tribe could wield and bend to their own ends. At last the final crumbs of dirt and grit fell away, and he beheld a massive two-handed sword. He knew at once that this was no ordinary weapon, and that either it had been cast down into his quarry by the gods, or it was a forgotten relic of a time long before the reckoning of mortals. 

In any case, immortal steel was the only thing more precious than mortal steel. It was said that immortal steel came from the stars, as it could only be forged from starmetal. Aldwynne picked up the sword with trembling hands. It felt friendly in his grasp, almost as if it was rejoicing at the touch of its true and rightful owner. He was still in his reverie when the door to his cabin creaked open. His comrade, Leonidas Thermon, strode across the threshold with his fishing rod over one shoulder and the barbed spear which gave him his honorific name of Longtooth over the other. A net full of salmon hung in his right hand. 

“Well met, brother,” he said in a hearty voice, a wolfish smile on his face. “How goes this day?”

“Look what I have found, brother!” Aldwynne replied, in a whisper that was vastly unequal to his normal timbre. Leonidas’s eyes went round as moon pools when it dawned on him what was in his brother’s hands. 

“We must go to Red Stag at once! I hear he has returned from the hunt at last.”

***

And so they went to the longhall of their chieftain, Black Bear, where they both knew they would find the wise man sitting in council with their fearless leader. They met no one else on their way there. Evening was drawing near, and the townsfolk who were not dutifully attending the communal bonfire must have been busy preparing the night’s banquet celebrating a bountiful hunt. 

Upon reaching the door of the hall, they were shown in by a glowering bodyguard who did not speak, but only growled at their approach. There were whispers that Wolfhammer was not really a man, but a wolf in the shape of one. 

“Hail, my friends, hail!” Black Bear was in his cups, as he always was after a successful hunt. A roasting boar was turning on a spit mounted over a glowing fire, minded by the druid, Red Stag, who balanced a horn of ale in his other hand. He looked up and toasted the companions before taking a long drink from the horn. Aldwynne got a good look at him: shorter than he, but covered in more hair. The tunic, bracers, and boots he wore were all made of black leather.

Leonidas plunged his spear into the ground at Black Bear’s feet in a mark of respect. Then he knelt. “Brave chieftain, we come before you with a fearful thing. It is our wish to consult with Red Stag on what it is we have found.” 

“Approach, kinsmen, and tell me!” boomed the chief jovially. He had well-earned his name by being fond of the honeyed mead that the tribe specialized in brewing. Aldwynne answered by kneeling as well.  

“I believe we have found an immortal steel blade, my chief, but only Red Stag can tell for certain.”

Red Stag tossed aside his finished ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He said in his hoarse voice, “Let me gaze upon it, Aldwynne, to see if ye be truthful.” 

Without a murmur of protest, Aldwynne handed the heavy sword over to the druid. Red Stag had auburn hair, and wore most of his clothing in various shades of brown, except his belt, which was as white as the eternal snow outside. He examined the sword by the firelight for a few minutes before saying another. Then he tested the point of the sword and drew blood from his fingers without even closing his hands around the edge and thus rendered his opinion. 

“Indeed, this is starmetal, most rare. It is, as our kinsmen surmised, immortal steel. However it has come into our midst, it is surely a sign from the gods.” 

“Ah! A sign of what?” Black Bear exclaimed. 

“A trial by combat,” Red Stag said without blinking. 

“Very well!” Black Bear thundered as he rose to his feet. “I accept this challenge!” His cup of mead went flying from his hand as he flexed his broad shoulders. 

“No!” Red Stag said. “This ritual comes to us from ages ago. The contest must be fought in front of all the people, by the evening fire, before we dine.” 

***

A buzz of excitement had gone up around Brightwater’s main square. Here in this common area, all the tribes could convene for the celebration that heralded a special occasion. Tonight’s feast was even more spectacular than usual - combats for honor were common, but challenging for the title of chieftain mattered even more. Red Stag had adjudicated that the combat would take the form of a wrestling match where the winner would be the first fighter to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the ground for a count of three within a squared-circle ring of metal. Red Stag himself would serve as the judge and referee.  

Night had not yet truly fallen, and yet it felt darker and colder than usual. Aldwynne knelt by a pile of loose ash and scooped some up with his hand, he held some up to the wind, whereupon it was carried away. This ritual was something he did every day before he went to work, usually gathering ash from his forge. 

Black Bear, for his part, flexed his powerful muscles and crushed a twig between his fingers, throwing the dust into the air where it sparkled for a moment by the light of the fire before coming back down; he wiped the remnants of the dust of his face as if it were warpaint.

Red Stag strode between them, silhouetted by the fire. He raised his hands to shoulder-level and beckoned the challengers closer to him.

“Kinsmen, heed my voice!” His usually gravelly voice was louder now, clearer than normal. “On this night, we see a trial, a combat for honor. As is our custom, no weapons may be brought into the iron circle. Our contestants must wage this battle with their fists, their strength, their endurance, and their cunning. Only by a count of three on the sacred ground may this be ended; alternatively, a sign of submission will end the fight as well. These are the rules as I  have spoken them. Any violations will be punished most severely.” Here he unfastened the mace from his hip and pointed it around the assembled tribespeople. “Anyone who dares interfere or break our traditions will face me in single combat.” 

There was a general noise of assent - no one dared cross the druid, who was second in reverence to their chief. Without any further objections, Red Stag clapped both fighters on the nearest shoulder: Aldwynne on the left, and Black Bear on the right. 

“BEGIN!” 

Immediately, Black Bear feinted under Aldwynne’s guard and smashed him with a wicked uppercut punch that rattled the teeth in Aldwynne’s jaw. However, he blinked stars from his eyes and shook it off. He snatched Black Bear into a headlock and threw him over his hip. Then he initiated a ground-and-pound exchange, with both men trading punches as Aldywnne took a mounted position. Black Bear got his guard up and started kicking Aldwynne in an attempt to break the clinch. Red Stag interjected himself.

“My chief, do you wish to submit?”

“NO!”

Black Bear grabbed ash from the ground nearby and flung it into Aldwynne’s eyes, finally escaping the situation. As Aldwynne recoiled, Black Bear pressed his advantage with a fierce front kick. Although winded, Aldwynne anticipated Black Bear’s next move, sweeping his legs out from under him when he tried to throw another kick. Before Black Bear could fall, Aldwynne scooped him up into a leg-capture suplex, sending him smashing to the ground. A great gasp of surprise rang out from the crowd of hundreds, watching in near-total silence. Aldwynne transitioned into an armbar, at which Black Bear tapped out, slapping his hand against the ground without any further resistance. Seeing this, Red Stag intervened and broke up the fight. 

“We have ourselves a winner!” He bawled into the night. “Black Bear has submitted! This means that Aldwynne has become our new chieftain!” As Black Bear rose to his feet, both contenders shared a tight embrace before Black Bear bade Red Stag to retrieve the immortal steel sword, which had been laid by the roasted boar.

“As my last command,” Black Bear boomed, “I bestow this sword upon you, kinsman! You are now the new chief. Take this sword as a token of my intent to pass leadership onto you. You have fought bravely, and succeeded where none have done before.”

Aldwynne accepted the sword, but before he could say anything else, a terrified scream rent the air. “My child! They have taken my child!” Mollie, Black Bear’s daughter, raced into the iron circle. She alone had hung back from the crowd to look after a sick child who had been afflicted with a fever: her son Evander.  

“Who, daughter of mine? Speak true!” Black Bear thundered in response.

“The ogres! They came while our ceremony was held. I saw no sign of gargoyles or giants, but that matters not. We must save him!”

“Then we must go at once,” Leonidas said, speaking for the first time since the combat began. “And show them what happens when they trespass against us.”

All eyes now turned to Aldwynne, who shouldered his new prize. “We fight!” 

***

So it was decided: Aldwynne carried his sword, Leonidas his spear, Red Stag his mace, and Black Bear brought his battleaxe. Mollie came too, ignoring her father’s pleas to the contrary.

“It is my son they took, and I will serve them the edges of my knives and my arrows.”

Black Bear clenched his fists in anger. He knew how stubborn his daughter could be. Her husband, Erik, had been slain in battle against the ogres two years prior, and since then, she had become as hard as iron. 

The trail wasn’t hard to follow. Ogres were not known for stealth or subtlety, and they proved their reputation this time. Although many and more declared that they would come along to rescue Evander, Red Stag had declared that only a small hunting party would go, while more fighters remained behind to guard the town. Within twenty minutes, the group had found the ogrehoard where the huge footprints ended.

Here Black Bear tested the bite of his axe. “At last. We rescue Evander.”

Without another word they charged inside the warren. Ten ogres sat around a small campfire that was guttering low, while a canvas bag by the pitiful fire kicked, thrashed, and struggled. 

Ogrehoards were often found in caves within the foothills of the Silverblade Mountains. A rumble of displeasure echoed around the small chamber. 

“Aghat kelaz!” one ogre roared, apparently the leader given the warpaint of ash and dried bloog on its gnarled, blocky face. The others snatched up their weapons and lumbered towards the hunting party. Aldwynne swung at the one that was first in line and lopped an arm clean off. The ogre bellowed with pain and rage. The others fanned out as the first ogre stumbled back towards the safety of the fire, whereupon it was slain by the ogre chieftain, who had hefted an enormous club clumsily fashioned from a tree branch. “Aghat kelez!” it yelled again, goading its minions on.

One by one the remaining ogres fell to the party’s weapons: Black Bear brought his axe down into the skull of one enemy, while another ogre received an arrow to the eye, courtesy of Mollie. Leonidas and Red Stag accounted for three more between them with spear and mace. Now it was down to the chieftain. 

“Youmaz terkan aeh khaid, hen morehen paza, ” the ogre growled in before finishing with “Go away!”

Aldwynne took the command as a dare. Instead of fleeing, he strode forward, uttering a war cry. A strange light emanated from the blade of the sword. The ogrechief attempted to swat him with its club, but Aldwynne ducked under the incoming blow that would have likely taken his head off. He lunged with both hands launching forward and his mighty weapon bisected the ogre at the waist, sending a violent spray of blood towards the ceiling. Mollie sprinted to the bag and split it open with one of her knives. Evander sprang out of the bag into his mother’s arms, sobbing with terror. 

“Look!” Leonidas said. “The ogrehoard!”

Black Bear and Red Stag approached the stash of loot, recovering the crude weaponry, bronze coins, and battered armor within it. 

“It’s time to go home,” Aldwynne said. 

“Wait,” Mollie said. He seized Aldwynne around the neck and kissed him on the mouth so hard he saw stars again. “That beast was a behemoth. How did you kill it so easily?”

Aldwynne looked down at the blade of his sword - it was gleaming again, as if he had not just chopped a gigantic monster in half. “With this.”

“Then we shall call it the Blade of the Behemoth!” she exclaimed, kissing him again.