“The tradition of gifting someone a present on their birthday was a concept that only presented itself amongst the short-lived, where they celebrated the person’s survival for yet another year. Those born in the long-lived races rarely paid much attention to the date they were born on, as to them, it was expected to live a long life to begin with.

As such, birthday celebrations were one of the things that had confused the longer-lived races when they first encountered people who celebrated them. Amongst their kind, even to this day, such tradition never really took hold at all.” - Wolfgang Reiner von Olvsholm, Dwarven sociologist, circa 209 FP.

A Smithy in the City of Dvergarder

South-Eastern Posuin, Duchy of Dvergarder

South-Western Alcidea

4th day of 1st week of the 4th month, year 10 VA.

“Happy birthday, Ery!”

That particular day in spring was Erycea’s twelfth birthday. Her parents had brought her over to the smithy that the Company’s blacksmiths rented that morning, and she entered only to be inundated by the cheers and well wishes of the group of people already gathered within, led by her grandfather himself, who walked right over and wrapped her up in his strong, warm embrace.

“Thanks, Grandpa!” said Ery at last as she gathered her words and returned Hogarth’s embrace with her own. It felt a touch awkward those days to hug her dwarven grandfather, as she had grown nearly as tall as her mother already, which meant that her grandfather barely came up to her shoulders. He was much wider too, which made it hard for her to hug him properly, but she gave it her best shot anyway.

As she looked behind her she noticed the slight smirk that formed on her parents’ lips, and even her little sister’s mischievous look. All of them must have known of this beforehand, leaving just her in the dark on purpose. She’d get back at them next time they had their birthdays, she thought.

“Yo, Clara, bring it over!” said her grandfather as he gesticulated with one of his burly arms at one of his assistants. The assistant in question was a half-therian woman whose features looked rather bovine, with large horns on her head and hooves instead of feet, one of the support staff that Mischka’s group had brought with them into the Company. Erycea recognized her partly because her daughter was part of the group she was usually with.

The bovine woman brought a long, tightly wrapped bundle and handed it over to Hogarth, who then in turn passed it over to Erycea with a smile on his bearded face. “It’s your birthday present from us, lass. If you’re gonna be joining your ma and pa on the field in a couple o’ years, you’ll want something your hands are used to be then, so we made these for you.”

Since a temporary peace had descended over the former Kingdom of Posuin in the past three years, the Free Lances had mostly done light duty in the Duke’s service as they recuperated from their losses with new members. The relaxed period of time also meant that Erycea’s parents could be around for her more than usual, and Elfriede in particular had intensified the girl’s training.

She and Reinhardt had agreed that their daughter looked like she would be ready by the time she turned fourteen or fifteen, and they, together with Hogarth, had planned to gift Erycea weapons to call her own, as they brought out some of the precious metals they had saved up from the bounty they earned in Theodinaz many years ago. Hogarth and his assistants then turned those metals into the gift that they now presented to Erycea.

Erycea was somewhat nervous as she unwrapped the gift her Grandpa Hogarth had given to her. From the overall size of the package, they looked roughly around the length and width of a one-handed sword, but it was far heavier in her hands, so she removed the sheet of fabric used to wrap her present swiftly and unveiled them.

What she found in her hands were a pair of weapons that looked like swords at first glance, especially since their hilts strongly resembled a sword’s handle. One look at the “blade” of the weapons would make one realize how wrong that perception was, however, as rather than any sort of sharp blade, what extended from those hilts were solid, heavy bars of metal instead.

It was a weapon that acted like a cross between a sword and a mace, since its weight distribution and shape allowed it to be used with the flexibility of a sword, but it delivered the crushing percussive blows of a mace instead. The long metal bar that served as the “blade” was as long as Erycea’s arms, ridged and shaped in a way that would easily catch a sword blade that struck it at a poor angle, and looked as if they were a stack of upside-down pyramids with pentagonal bases at a glance.

At the tip of the weapon was a sharp spike that allowed it to be used to stab and puncture with. A second, identical spike was situated at the pommel of the handle, while the handguard formed a thick and sturdy set of knuckle-like protrusions that both protected her hands and allowed her to punch people hard without having to release her weapon.

The weapons were a pair, identical in every manner, and as Erycea grabbed them by the handle she felt a hefty, but usable heft to them. Her parents and grandfather had made the weapons for her early, so she could grow used to it over the next few years. That way when the time came she would be more than ready to use them for real.

One glance at the oddly dark shine of the metal that comprised the weapons told her that her parents must have brought out some good materials they saved, as that sort of shine was something she only ever saw in the weapons of a few of the mercenaries, generally the best fighters amongst them. That her parents saved up a part of the materials for her touched the young girl quite a bit.

So she pulled over and brought her parents to an embrace as well, as she felt her father tussle up her hair like he usually did, and her mother patted her back in a reassuring gesture.

“Thanks a lot… Mom… Dad… Grandpa… I promise I’ll make good use of these.”