Every dwarf worth his salt knows that to stay tough in the face of lurking danger and insidious magic, one must not only sharpen his mind but also toughen his body. I’ll be gruff about it—softness leads to an early grave. So here I lay out my daily grind, not for the faint-hearted but for those who dare to carve their strength from stone and tempest.
At the break of dawn, before the sun dares to peek over the mountains, my day begins with a hearty swing of the warlock’s staff. This isn’t your nana’s morning stretch. It’s a full-on assault against the unseen enemies of the air. Each swing, infused with arcane energy, not only hones my physical precision but also aligns my magical prowess with the elemental forces.
Following the staff work, I engage in what I call the “Molten Core March.” This involves strapping on a pair of iron boots—forged in the deepest fires of Mount Doom itself—and marching up the hills behind my encampment. Each step is a battle against gravity, the weight, and my own screaming muscles. It’s a perfect metaphor for the uphill battle against the dark forces we warlocks face.
Mid-morning calls for what the elves daintily refer to as “meditation.” Bah! For me, it’s sitting atop a craggy peak, eyes closed, feeling the raw energies of the world buffet against my senses. This is not about peace or tranquility; it’s about enduring the chaos of the storm and bending it to your will.
Post meditation, I engage in the “Boulder Heft and Toss.” Exactly as it sounds, I find the largest boulder that I can lift and heave it skyward. It’s a fine way to build the explosive power needed for casting the most potent of spells. If you can’t throw a rock, how can you expect to hurl a curse?
As the sun sets, I conclude with what I’ve affectionately dubbed the “Anvil Chorus.” This involves hammering away at an anvil as if I’m forging the fate of the world with each strike. The rhythm of the hammer serves as a call to the spirits, a reminder of the work done and the battles yet to come.
To all would-be challengers and magical scholars, this is my routine. It’s not for the delicate or the daydreamers but for those who seek to carve their destinies with sweat, iron, and arcane fire. May it serve you well in your quest for power and protection.
To visualize my fierce form, behold an image of me, Thadeus the Angry Dwarf, in the throes of my morning staff training. Note the grim determination on my visage and the unstoppable power in my stance, a clear warning to all creatures dark and dire.