2.3 Hef Fastuz

Part II: The Fires of the Forge
Chapter 3: Hef Fastuz

I needed a weapon of mass destruction to start The War of the Ghast. And I’d pegged the legendary weapons smith Hef Fastuz for the job. Locating him was no easy task but I am a god after all and eventually I found the guy. 

Situated in a remote, underground vault-like location, the forge of Hef Fastuz seemed to grow out of the bowels of the flat earth mountains. With a blackened chimney that’s exhaust was lost in the wall, the rest of the interior space was a chaotic symphony of metal and fire, the air thick with the smell of molten iron and burning coal.

Tools of all shapes and sizes hung from every available surface, some covered in dust, others gleaming with recent use. The centerpiece of the forge was a massive anvil, scarred and pitted from countless blows, standing on a foundation of solid rock. Around it, the floor was strewn with shards of metal, discarded prototypes, and heaps of coal.

The heat was oppressive, radiating from the roaring forge at the far end of the workshop. Flames danced hungrily, their light casting eerie shadows on the rough stone walls. Despite the clutter, there was a certain order to the chaos, a testament to Hef’s obviously meticulous nature and his intimate familiarity with every inch of his domain.

Entering his workshop in secret, I didn’t reveal myself to the smith at first. Initially I just wanted to observe him. After all, up till now I’d seen his work, but I’d never seen the man before, therefore I wanted to assure myself that he really was capable of doing what I needed him to do. 

Immediately I received a surprise — for the supposedly legendary Hef Fastuz was in fact a cripple! Have I made a mistake? I wondered. How could a man with such handicaps be a master arms-maker? 

I studied the Drokka before me — Hef Fastuz was grossly deformed (one arm had apparently never grown since birth), obviously crippled (his legs looked like they were mangled in an accident long past), and unlike his vain Drokka brethren this man clearly didn’t care how he looked: his face was pock-marked, his ratty black hair and beard were grimy, his only clothing (a seemingly never washed leather loincloth) reeked worse than he did from sweat, and his skin and body hair were permanently stained from layers of smoke that constantly spewed from his nearby smithy. 

One look at him and I understood why the rest of his family had abandoned him. And for a moment I was on the verge of leaving too.

But then my intelligence kicked in – for my wisdom is such that I can see past a book’s cover. Give him a moment to reveal his true nature, I cautioned. Don’t judge too soon. Look…deeper. Maintaining my invisibility, I moved closer, peering past Hef’s beat-up beak of a nose and into his eyes. 

What I saw astounded me! 

To begin with, I saw the man’s pain — it was clear that Hef had been rejected by his clan very early in life (although this was not surprising given his deformities). What was surprising though, was that in spite of multiple crushed fingers and a maimed hand, somehow the man had found a way to not just use them but to create works of art. [Although such is the case with true masters – they succeed in spite of the odds — I should know for I am one too]. Despite his physical limitations, this dwarf moved with a purpose and focus that spoke of years of practice and determination. 

I saw how his maimed hand, though awkward and painful-looking, manipulated the tools with surprising dexterity, and how his good arm, muscular and scarred, worked with a precision and strength that belied his crippled appearance. With each hammer strike, sparks flew, illuminating Hef’s grimy face and the sweat that dripped from his brow. 

Yet while he’d found a way to use his hands, the same could not be said for Hef’s legs — it was apparent they were mangled beyond use and I could instantly see that even walking a short distance must have been painful. Luckily for the man, he had a companion – in the form of a wolfdog. I could sense that the canine was more than a mere companion; he was an essential part of Hef’s life. The dog’s presence provided a stark contrast to the harsh environment of the forge, and it was evident that, because of his friend, although Hef Fastuz was a hermetic Drokka, he was not a lonely one. 

As I watched Hef work, my doubts about the crippled smith’s abilities began to fade. I saw the care with which Hef treated each piece of metal, the almost reverent attention to detail. Every movement, every strike of the hammer, was deliberate and infused with a deep understanding of his craft. He seemed to lose himself in the rhythm of his work, the forge’s inferno reflecting in his eyes— as I looked into Hef’s eyes, I could see there was <mastery> inside (Hef oozed that ‘something special’), and this gave me the confidence to proceed. 

I moved back a few steps, preparing to reveal myself — although with a bit of a twist. 

As I got into position, Hef continued working – completely unaware of my presence. Taking a hunk of hissing metal out of a water pot, Hef laid it on the workbench before him. Pausing to push back his scraggly hair and wiping the dripping perspiration from his brow, the man then turned to his friend and, with much effort, he managed to instruct the dog, “G-g-garf, th-there now…ga-ga-go n’ grab that ch-ch-chisel f-f-for me,” and he pointed to the tool he wanted his partner to fetch for him. [Oh great, the man’s a stutterer too. This is going to be so much fun…]

Garf, with one ear apparently always perched to hear his master’s commands, happily made ready to obey the request of his handicapped master. 

Garf, bringing a touch of warmth and companionship to Hef’s solitary existence.

Yet as soon as the wolfdog stood up on all fours and moved towards the location of the toolbox, a most unexpected event occurred — then it was that I unleashed my surprise — gracing Hef and Garf with the presence of the gods!

Yes I said godS, for I didn’t appear to Hef Fastuz in my own form, but instead in the guise of two of the Gods of Mittengarten – and not just any divinities mind you but, but two of the most powerful names in Drokka lore – the gods Rhokki and Myndoz.