7 years ago i fell into an ancient dwarven ruin, 7 years of learning to smith, 7 years of learning the legacy that I inherited culminates to this. I stand before the gate 40 feet tall and 30 wide, a massive edifice with every inch covered in the most beautiful artwork a mortal could lay eyes on crafted over a century by the deft hands of dwarven master, scrawled in between the artwork are runes and spell-work, making the door all but invisible from the outside, almost indestructible, and impossible to open without a key.

  I take a deep breath and step forward, placing my hands on the door, into the 2 hand shaped grooves with an inlay of mithril that streaks of the center of the door, pulsing my mana through it before a cacophonous crack sounds. and the door opens with a falling of dust and a sound of grinding stone against stone, I check my status as the door opens.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Satisfied that i had everything i needed, i bid farewell to the ruins that had taken such good care of me, and walked out the gate.