The rest of the trip to Gun Tarum proceeded without any incidents. Fizzy spent most of the trip in a pseudo-meditative state. After she learned all she could from observing the mag-rail’s inner workings, she started thinking of ways to adapt and apply the technology to some of her own designs. When she did that, she finally realized where she had seen these designs before. In fact, she was carrying around the schematics they were based on - the ones she inherited from her father, Rory Fizzlesprocket. Boxxy had grabbed those by accident when it ransacked the family’s shop prior to its attempt to flee from Erosa. As such, those blueprints were one of the few things the former gnome still had of the man. She hadn’t kept them for sentimental reasons, though. Fizzy had long ago renounced her previous life, including any feelings of familial attachment. If anything, she had grown to somewhat resent her father. That said, there was no denying the man used to be a brilliant Artificer whose designs were worth keeping around.

That didn’t explain how and why they wound up in the mag-rail, however. If anything, the fact that Rory Fizzlesprocket was exiled would imply the rest of the clan wanted nothing to do with him. Alternatively, they could have seen it as an excuse to claim ownership of his work without dispute. Or maybe he was involved in the mag-rail system’s early development stages when the excommunication happened. From what Fizzy had learned it had been only about two decades since construction on it started publicly, which was around the time that her father, her mother, and her toddler self left the Kingdom. Regardless, the golem got rather cross when she figured out this state of affairs. Yes, she had come to despise her father’s naive pacifist ideology, but she still considered his intellectual properties to be hers. How dare these meatbags use those designs without her say-so?

Of course, this was all just an egomaniac’s hypocritical hissy-fit. As far as the law was concerned, she had given up any rights to Rory Fizzlesprocket’s designs when she abandoned the family name. She’d lose the instant she actually tried to ‘sue their asses off,’ as she told Tony during a long-winded rant. The golem then proceeded to complain that they had also ‘butchered’ the technology in question by cutting corners on construction costs. By her entirely unbiased estimate, the mag-rail would be able to travel nearly twice as fast if she was the one to make it. In truth, the cheaper parts were put into place because the whole thing would be unsustainable otherwise. It just wasn’t cost-effective to go for maximum performance, not to mention impractical. The mag-rail would never have a chance to reach its theoretical top speed in practice. Even ignoring all the bends and turns in the track, it had to stop at 27 different settlements during its 900 kilometer journey from Steelhead to Gun Tarum. A mag-rail on an ideal straight-line express route could make that journey in as little as five hours, but the reality of the situation was that it took ten times longer.

One upshot of this perceived delay was that Fizzy had cooled off significantly by the time she arrived at the Kingdom’s capital. Conversely, her shield-serf looked like he wanted to smash his skull open with a rock. He’d been forced to listen to the self-absorbed golem’s complaints and accusations for nearly 20 hours straight. At one point she went completely off the rails and started spewing wild conspiracy theories about secret government organizations plotting to bring her down and interfere with her plans. How was one tiny woman capable of so much bitching, he wondered? Regardless, he hadn’t gotten much sleep, and as such wasn’t fully aware of his surroundings when he was offloaded that fine afternoon.

That changed very quickly as his nostrils, throat, and lungs were suddenly set aflame by the smog that loomed over this part of Gun Tarum. The dwarven capital was built inside, around, and on top of Blackthroat Mountain. This area in particular was the inner city built within the long-dead volcano’s mouth, and as such was shaped like a massive bowl surrounded by enormous walls of blackened stone and rock. This natural barrier no doubt helped defend the city from any would-be invaders, but also offered little escape for the heavy smoke that belched out of the opposite end of the crater. The locals seemed more or less used to the pollution, but the stink of it all was so offensive to the hobgoblin Shaman that he couldn’t bear it. Thankfully, his Job gave him access to the Air Bubble Spell. It was a simple incantation that served to filter out airborne toxins and facilitate underwater exploration. Or, in this case, to let a greenskin savage take a deep breath without coughing up a lung.

“Bleh. Civilization,” he spat on the filthy sidewalk. “Dis place be a crime against nature.”

“Not a fan of it either. Look,” Fizzy raised her palm. “Not even ten minutes and I’m already collecting a layer of soot.”

The hobgoblin held back a groan. This was sure to result in a lot more golem-scrubbing on his part. He could only hope that wherever his new boss was ultimately headed would have cleaner air, though he realized he knew very little about her destination.

“So, we goin’ anywhere, or just takin’ in the sights and smells?”

The two of them were still loitering around the mag-rail station platform even though they’d already collected all their luggage and loaded it into a small pull-cart.

“Just wait for it. It’ll be any second now.”

Indeed, a few moments later there was a thundering boom that rattled the benches and light posts around them. Fizzy strained her hearing and smiled broadly when she identified a certain spoiled brat’s screams amidst the ensuing panic. Tony picked up on it as well, resulting in a low chuckle. Just as the golem expected, Maxie got inside his flashy machine and started it up as soon as he was off the train. This caused the mechanized armor’s internal power generator to overload and explode within seconds as a result of Fizzy’s sabotage. She only wished she could’ve seen it, but judging by the guy’s screams, his hair had caught fire. The mental image alone was enough to put the golem in a really, really good mood.

“Okay. Now we can go.”

That matter settled, Fizzy set out into the city proper with her servant in tow. Almost immediately they were met with grand feats of traditional dwarven architecture, including a cathedral, an opera house, and a public plaza with a tall statue of someone important. It was a welcome change of pace after spending so long boxed up in that cargo car, not to mention the sea of rectangles known as Steelhead. There was no question that Gun Tarum was a lot more interesting to look at than the gnomish settlement. The downside was that it was also harder to navigate. Gun Tarum had been around for almost a millennium, and its streets reflected its age. They were a tangled mess of tiny roads and alleys with the occasional underground tunnel. The near total lack of street signs wasn’t exactly helpful, either. Thankfully, there was a very useful landmark in the shape of the Obsidian Palace that stood at the center of the inner city. Its sheer height compared to the other structures, combined with the bowl-shaped terrain, made it so the imposing castle’s spires were almost always visible while outdoors.

Fizzy took full advantage of that as she searched the inner city for the Mercenary Guild’s local offices. Judging from what she’d heard, Gun Tarum was a place where profit was always the first thing on people’s minds, which meant the guild in question would have a strong presence here. She quickly learned she wasn’t wrong, but she had underestimated just how deep-rooted it was. The Kingdom’s capital was the birthplace of the vast international organization known simply as The Mercenary Guild, and consequently its roots were burrowed deep. The guild owned several properties around Gun Tarum, including a fully fledged headquarters that rivaled Azurvale’s Central Consortium in size and workforce.

The golem wasn’t going there, though. She just needed to buy some information on local artisans, and the inner city’s relatively humble branch office would suffice. The building was much as she expected it - a two-story rest stop that offered food and shelter for any drifters passing through, no questions asked. Fizzy confidently strode through the entrance, slamming the door open as she went. There were several shady characters seated around the restaurant portion of the establishment that only offered the golem and her hooded companion a fleeting glance before they resumed minding their own business. As for why Tony had followed her in, he wasn’t sure himself. It just seemed like the most natural thing to do and his boss hadn’t told him otherwise, so there he was.

Regardless, Fizzy approached the bar in the back, her heavy footsteps making the floorboard creak under her weight. This naturally attracted the attention of the person tending said bar. He was a wrinkled old dwarf in a black vest pulled over a long-sleeved off white tunic. He had a thick brown beard with streaks of gray in it and his scalp was almost completely bare. The barman/receptionist put away the glass he was pretending to clean and turned his attention to the newcomers.

“Good morning, and welcome to the Mercenary Guild,” he said in a strictly professional manner. “How can I…”

His words trailed off a bit when he got a really good look at Fizzy. At first glance he thought he was looking at a weird armored helmet and mask, but a second take revealed this wasn’t the case. There was just too much detail and movement on the metal face for it to belong to anything but a golem, and certainly not a manufactured one. It was just too lifelike to have been sculpted by mortal hands, not to mention it was oddly familiar. The construct returned his surprised stare, her eyes blinking repeatedly as she racked her memory.

“Old man Grog? It’s you, isn’t it?”

Indeed, the dwarf behind the counter was the same one she knew from her time in Erosa.

“Yeah? Wait… You’re actually her! You’re Rory’s kid!”

He never forgot a face, and as bizarre as it was, that one definitely belonged to Cornie Fizzlesprocket.

“Ah, yeah. I guess I am.”

“How in the bloody hell… ?”

It was painfully obvious he was having trouble wrapping his head around the whole thing, but who could blame him?

“Look, a lot of things happened over the past six months, okay?”

“That’s a bloody understatement, girl!” he smiled broadly. “I thought you were dead!”

“Oy Grog!” shouted one of the patrons. “Keep it down, will ya?! We don’t need any more damned storms!”

There was a quick bout of mocking laughter and giggles from the other patrons.

“Right, look,” the balding dwarf lowered his tone, “I’m happy you’re still kicking and we can catch up later if you want, but I’m sure you didn’t come all this way just to chat up an old bag of bones like me. What can I help you with?”

Business first, just as Fizzy remembered him. She preferred this to him being sentimental, so she had no complaints. Without further delay, the golem reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a pouch of coin she had prepared, dropping it on the counter with a metallic thud.

“I need information.”

Grog grabbed the bag and peeked inside to confirm it was indeed gold, 150 GP worth judging by the weight.

“This should cover a question or two,” he nodded. “Let’s hear it.”

“I need you to point me to someone who can fix this.”

She wiggled the stump of her left arm for emphasis.

“I’ll provide blueprints and materials, so I only need skilled labor. Discretion is appreciated, but not required.”

“Golem forger, eh? I imagine this is somewhat urgent?”

“I’d rather get it done as soon as possible. I hate feeling incomplete.”

“I hear ya. Thing is, that’s mithril. Right?”

“Damn right, it is. Best mithril you’ll find on this side of the Oculus Sea.”

“If you say so. Here’s the problem though - you won’t find a single dwarf who can work the stuff, is a golem forger, and also doesn’t have at least a month-long waiting list. There’s just no chance.”

“… But?” she asked expectantly.

“But,” he cracked a wry smile, “I know a human who fits. His name’s Malcolm, and he’s one of the hardest workers you’ll ever see. Talented, too, and likes a good challenge. He’ll fix your arm up, no doubt about it. He has a lot of experience with prosthetics, too.”

The bartender nodded at the hooded figure behind Fizzy. Of course he noticed the missing limb. Tony’s obedience collar and goblin features didn’t escape his notice, either. Grog just knew better than to carelessly call attention to something a customer of his was trying to hide.

“Bit of a cunt, though,” the dwarf added, “so you can kiss the ‘discretion’ part goodbye.”

“Hm. Worth a shot. Where can I find him?”

“Just a moment.”

Grog ripped a page out of a notebook he had on hand and hastily scribbled something on it.

“Here’s his address,” he handed it over. “It’s over in the Anvil District. Big place, lots of smoke - can’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks. Mind if I look your bounties over before I go?”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed a bit at that request.

“You sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’d have to log your name if you took any of those. Someone’s going to notice it and come around asking questions. Are you prepared for that kind of attention?”

The bartender knew very little about the circumstances surrounding Rory Fizzlesprocket’s exile, but he knew enough to tell his kid showing up in his ledger would cause nothing but trouble. Not just for him, but for the girl as well. Admittedly he and Cornie were acquaintances at best, but she was a good kid, and he’d hate to see her suffer through clan politics. She already had plenty of crap on her plate if her bizarre circumstances were any indication. Yet his friendly concern was met with a roll of the eyes and a scoff.

“I got rid of that burden already.”

“I see... Well, if you have no regrets, then I won’t say anything,” he backed off. “Quest Board’s right around the corner there. Go ahead and take your pick.”

“Will do. Tony, any preference.”

“Ah? For what? I wasn’t listenin’,” the hobgoblin claimed.

“What kind of things do you wanna fight?”

“Oh, somethin’ big and tough for sure. Like a cyclops. Always wanted to kill one.”

The golem lightly shook her head in response before she stepped over to review her options, leaving the hob at the bar.

“Tony, is it?” Grog called out to the greenskin. “What about you?”

“Hm? Chu talkin’ to me?”

“I don’t see anyone else, so I guess so.”

The Shaman looked the bartender up and down. There was no malice or mockery in his voice, at least as far as he could tell. That was odd, because the guy surely knew who and what Tony was. If he was alert enough to notice his missing arm, he probably noticed everything else. Most notably his monstrous features and the heavy collar around his neck. That much wasn’t difficult though. The hooded cloak get-up would only hide those things from fleeting glances. Any closer inspection would instantly reveal the truth. Yet this guy didn’t seem all that bothered by having a hobgoblin shield-serf in his establishment. So, Tony figured he might as well chew the air a bit.

It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do anyway.

“Uh, alright. What about me?”

“Do you want anything or are you just gonna stand there like a constipated bush?”

“… Actually, yeah. Dis a bar, right? You pink-skins come here to get de good stuff?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“You have any mojo?”

“Any what?”

“Mojo. Don’t know your word for it. It’s a drink. Gray. Tastes like troll sweat and burns like viper venom. Makes your piss brown sometimes.”

“Hmm, sounds like rotgut. This stuff?”

He pulled a bottle of said beverage from under the bar, half-empty. This swill was so vile and potent that it was basically poison. The only people who drank it were idiots who didn’t know any better and sorry sacks of shit that hated their life.

“Ye, dat,” the hob pointed at the murky liquid. “Gimme dat.”

“Can you pay for it?”

“Not with coin, but I see you value information. I can give you some of dat.”

“That right? What kind of information are we talking about?”

The hobgoblin smiled through crooked, yellow teeth.

“You wanna know what de good Lord Garen Steelhead been up to?”

“Oh,” Grog narrowed his eyes. “I would absolutely love to hear it.”

The hob quickly took a seat at the bar and leaned forward, over the low countertop.

“He and his brat, Joinman,” he spoke in a near-whisper. “You know em?”

“I’ve heard things,” Grog narrowed his eyes.

“Dey been bringin’ in fake gold. Not mined, but made, seen? Got dis little lab where some fools be churnin’ it out. ‘Bout an hour north o’ de town, behind dis lil’ waterfall. Look for de white square stone and press it. Dat be your way in.”

“Hmm…”

The dwarf wasn’t sure what to make of this. Transmuted precious metals were illegal everywhere, but especially so in the Kingdom. Goroth was the primary deity of worship around these parts, and producing the aforementioned goods was his Taboo. Hearing that Steelhead’s governing noble house was involved in a large-scale transmutation operation was big news. Sensational, even. Granted, Grog wasn’t familiar with the nobles in question beyond recognizing the name, but something like this would be devastating if it got out. Assuming it was true, of course. For all he knew this greenskin was talking out his arse in a desperate attempt to get shit-faced for free. On the other hand, how often did one come across a hobgoblin capable of civilized speech? Not very, Grog imagined. Frankly, he’d have a lot more questions about Tony’s situation if he hadn’t seen his old acquaintance turned into a mithril ornament just now.

Ultimately he judged that this was worth investigating. Worst case scenario, he was out half a bottle of the most vile liquor known to dwarfkind and some poor sap up north would have wasted a few hours on a wild goose change. But if this wasn’t a pile of shit, then the Guild would have some serious political leverage should they need it, and the one who brought it to their attention would earn a hefty bonus. It was a low-risk high-return investment that Grog would be more than happy to make.

“Alright,” he nodded. “You can have it.”

“Ah-hah!” Tony snatched the bottle with a quick cheer. “Very nice. You - you one o’ da good ones!”

“If you say so.”

“Just keep dis between us, yeah?” he whispered as he stowed the goods under his cloak. “Don’t want de boss takin’ it away.”

“‘Course not. I’m a professional.”

Fizzy returned from her trip to the Quest Board about a minute after that, seemingly none the wiser about the transaction. She walked up to Grog and placed one of the parchments she’d peeled off the wall on his counter along with another coin pouch. The old dwarf needed to only look at the Quest’s title to tell which one it was.

“You sure about this, lass?” he eyed the golem up and down.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked the obvious.

“You only got one arm on you, and these things don’t care if you have blood or not.”

“I know. I’ve fought them before. Those stupid lizards won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Admittedly she’d only faced about three of them in total, back when she was still doing pit fights in Azurvale. They weren’t all that tough back then, and she was much stronger now, even with the handicap.

“Besides, I’m not going alone. This guy’s coming too,” she casually pointed at Tony, “and I still have Plus to watch my back.”

“… Plus?”

“Long story. Look, just give me the dumb Quest so I can get started.”

“Alright, if you insist.”

Grog quickly counted up the offered coin and confirmed it was the required deposit. As was guild policy with freelancers, the entire sum would be returned to her upon the successful completion of the Quest along with the offered reward. Since everything appeared to be in order, the dwarf took out a crystal-ball-looking item and placed it on top of the parchment. Fizzy then put a hand on the aforementioned Quest Log and Grog placed his own palm on top of hers. The magic item reacted and projected the relevant information into the golem’s mind, including a set of directions that told her how to get to where she needed to go.

Reverb Mine Basilisk Bounty (Repeatable)

Difficulty: ★★★

Time Limit: Indefinite

Deposit: 200 GP

Reward: 500 GP

Progress: 0/20

Description: Reverb Mine has constant issues with basilisks attacking the workers, and the owner is offering a standing bounty for every batch of lizards gutted. Additional compensation will be provided for delivering intact basilisk claws and fangs, which are needed to prepare petrification antidotes for the injured workers.

“Accept quest,” she chanted.

Both the crystal and the parchment glowed with a soft yellow light for several seconds. The tracking-type magic then enveloped Fizzy and a message confirming this appeared for both her and the receptionist.

“Does he need to take it, too?” she pointed at Tony.

“He can’t. That necklace he has makes it so any Quests you take on will treat him like a familiar.”

“Oh. Handy. I’m headed out then, later.”

“Later.”

It wasn’t until the golem was gone that Grog realized something. How come she seemed to instantly understand what he meant by ‘like a familiar.’ Surely she’d have some questions about it. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge how things worked in regards to a Warlock’s bound demonic servants when it came to administrative stuff like this. Did she have a familiar of her own, perhaps? No. She wouldn’t need a shield-serf if that was the case, not to mention it didn’t make a lot of sense for a golem to be flinging Spells when they can just crush their enemies with their bare hands. There was no way she was a Warlock herself. It was far more likely she simply worked alongside one and picked up a few things.

Come to think of it, wasn’t that Morningwood fellow a Warlock? Grog had no way of knowing for sure, but his gut told him this was the case. It was possible he’s the one that taugh Cornie- Fizzy about that stuff. After all, the big guy was clearly a student of hers. He kept pawning off basic Artificer-made goodies he’d made himself, and there was only one person in town who could’ve trained him in the Job. There was no reason why he couldn’t have taught her a few things of his own in return. But why would he share something so niche as how Quests treated familiars? There were unquestionably more interesting things he could have talked about in the short time he was around.

Wait… Didn’t those two disappear around the same time? On the same day, even. Yeah, it was just after that weird mimic-like monster rampaged through town and wrecked the place. Grog didn’t think about it too hard before since a lot of people left town after that incident, but maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence with those two. What if they left together? Maybe their relationship was something more intimate than just Mentor and student? On one hand, Mr. Morningwood had that tall, dark, and mysterious vibe going for him, and Rory’s girl was always a cutie. Grog could definitely see them falling for each other. But that size difference! Gnomish women were surprisingly flexible, but that was an impossible fit no matter how he stretched her.

It was at that moment that Grog really wished he hadn’t given away that bottle of rotgut, as he suddenly found himself with an intense need for some mind bleach.