The forges of the Shardtooth never slept.
Deep within the Heartforge mountain, rivers of magma pulsed through blackened stone like veins of living fire. The heat never faded; it pressed down like the breath of a god. Goblins of red skin and ash-colored eyes moved through the smoke hammering, chanting, shaping. Each strike of metal on stone was a hymn to the Red Goddess, each hiss of quenching steam a whispered prayer to Vris the Fanglord.
The world below the volcano had become a living engine of war.
Vris stood on a high platform overlooking the chaos, Skara curled beside him, her single blue eye reflecting the molten glow. Below, Maz the Lasher barked orders to her smiths, obsidian whip snapping with every failure. Dunzok’s orcs hauled iron and bone to the smith-pits while Maggra infused them with her foul magics, the violet glow of her staff coiling around new weapons like living snakes. Vris’s goblin kin were all huddled close around forges watching the melting of metal with curiosity. They knew little of metallurgy so the craft was like sorcery to them.
Even the Webmother’s brood had found purpose here. Her lesser children spun webs through the forge tunnels, weaving silk sacks that hardened with heat to form armor as flexible as flesh yet strong as plate. Each strand shimmered faintly with silver venom an, armor born from nightmare.
The Fanglord watched it all with quiet satisfaction. The firelight danced across his ashen skin, catching on the dark tattoos that coiled down his left arm. He could feel the necromantic hum of Maggra’s gift, the raw pulse of Shardtooth flame beneath his feet, the restless hunger of the wargs waiting outside the mountain.
His army had shape now. Discipline. Identity.
“Ash and iron,” he murmured. “My empire’s bones.”
Maz approached the dais, a long iron case in her arms. “The first of the Red Goddess’s blessings,” she said, kneeling. “Forged in blood and cooled in magma. We call it the Heartfang.”
When she opened the case, a blade of black glass lay within. The edge shimmered faintly red, as though molten veins ran beneath the surface. The hilt was bound in spider-silk, runes carved deep into its length.
“Cut with it,” Maz said, eyes burning. “If it drinks, it will serve you.”
Vris drew the weapon. The air around it rippled, the metal singing softly a voice that seemed to whisper his name. He slashed through the air once, and the motion left a faint streak of glowing embers.
The sword was alive. Hungry. Beautiful.
“The Red Goddess smiles on you, Fanglord,” Maz said softly. “Perhaps she sees herself in your flame.”
“Then let her watch,” he replied. “I’ll burn the world bright enough for her to remember her own name.”
Far beyond the smoking slopes of the Heartforge, across the grasslands and marshes that bordered the human realms, a trio of riders crested a ridge. They were scouts from Fairehaven, dispatched by the Radiant Church to verify the rumors that had haunted the city walls for months tales of beasts gathering, of orcs uniting, of banners with a red fang gleaming in the dark.
They saw the truth that night.
The valley below burned with forges.
Lines of troops marched in rhythm goblins, orcs, undead, and worse.
Wargs prowled the slopes in organized packs.
And at the mountain’s mouth stood a figure too tall for any goblin, too monstrous for any man. Cloaked in black silk, sword glowing faintly red.
The scouts didn’t breathe. One whispered, “Gods preserve us.”
The Fanglord turned his head as if hearing them.
The Heartfang’s blade pulsed once, red veins flaring along its length.
Then the scouts fled into the night, their horses foaming with panic.
Days later, Vris gathered his council in the cooling chamber beneath the Heartforge. Maps lay scattered across a basalt table tunnels, rivers, trade routes, and the fortified edges of human territory. Dunzok’s scarred hand rested on the western paths; Maggra traced necrotic runes over the marshlands; Maz drew circles around the mountain passes with fingers still warm from fire.
“They know,” Vris said simply. “The humans have seen.”
Dunzok grinned, tusks gleaming. “Good. Let them shake in their iron towers.”
“They won’t shake,” Maggra’s left head murmured. “They’ll march.”
The Webmother’s voice drifted from the shadows of the ceiling, her many eyes glinting. “Then the web is spun already. Let them walk willingly into it.”
Vris tapped a claw against the map, eyes narrowing.
“They’re massing at the coast,” he said. “They’ll come by ship. They mean to strike before the mountain finishes birthing my army.”
Maz leaned on the table, smile sharp. “Then we strike first.”
The Fanglord looked around at them spider, witch, orc, and red goblin of the forge. His monsters. His family.
“Not yet,” he said softly. “Let them believe we’re still building. Let them think they can burn what’s already turned to ash.”
He sheathed the Heartfang, the red light dying away.
“When their ships make landfall, when their boots touch our soil… then the plains will open. And the Red Maw will feed.”
Outside, the forges roared, the wind carrying the sound down across the plains like the heartbeat of something colossal.
In the distance, the humans’ ships cut across the horizon tiny silver specks against a rising red dawn.
Vris watched them from the mouth of the Heartforge, Skara crouched beside him, Maggra, Maz and Dunzok at his back. Skara let out a derisive snort. “We are no strangers to such things.. Men that bring such contraptions..”
Vris reached out petting her muzzle with his goblin hand affectionately. “They come with faith,” he said. “We’ll teach them fear.”
The Fanglord raised the Heartfang to the light, its red gleam answering the dawn’s.
“Ash and Iron..”
Maggra’s heads in unison echoed the sentiment. “Ash and Iron..”
Skara let out a warning rumble. “Ash and Iron..”
Maz smirked. “Okay, Fanglord.. Ash and Iron..”
Dunzok hammered his fist against his plated chest. “ASH AND IRON!” Howling it down towards the other gathered warriors.
It simmered at first, but slowly drums carried a clarion call of those two simple words now deafening to be subjected to. Ushering in what Vris hoped would be a new age for kin, and allies.