The interior of the forge is both more and less spacious than I expected. On the one hand, in terms of scale, it is definitely quite a large building, but it is nonetheless filled with tools, furnishings and all manner of miscellanea. A pile of dust, dirt and iron shavings sits between a pair of log mounted anvils, likely the result of Almecks' efforts with that broom.

It's also dreadfully dim inside, with the only illumination besides the open door coming from the narrow windows I noted from outside. The forges, a pair of brick and metal bound charcoal pits with huge bellows affixed to the base with the aid of a slightly charred wooden frame and metal chains, aren't lit, though a few gentle wisps of smoke rise from the bed of charcoal, evidently still smouldering though no flame is visible. Big barrels and a long, empty trough still slick with moisture take up space in between them.

Perhaps more pressing, however, is the smell of the place. If Maybell's home was like dunking my head in a vat of particularly pungent pickling vinegar, the smithy is almost completely opposite. Musty, stale and smokey, with sour notes of stale sweat, breathing the air in here is uncomfortably close to swallowing sand. True, they have multiple openings for ventilation, but working in here for years upon years would kill a man. It probably contributes a fair amount to the coarseness of Almecks' voice. Listening for it, I think I can hear the faint hints of a wheeze whenever he breathes out.

Almecks waves dismissively to a four-high stack of battered, three-legged stools that rise up to my knees individually, next to one of these forges and moves to place the broom in a far corner of the workshop. Taking the hint, I pull out a pair of stools for us both to sit on and place them opposite each other in the clearest space nearby.

He sits across from me, lowering himself with a discomfited grunt, clenching his knees with thick fingers - a flash of pain crosses his features before he forces himself to relax. Settled, Almecks slowly brings his arms up and together, projecting a strong front.

I follow suit, sitting down on the small seat, hunched over just a little. Almecks strikes an imposing figure, sure, but he doesn't have anything on Mam when she's particularly pissed off. I find myself on the whole unimpressed by his attempts to intimidate me. His physique, however, is something I hope to eclipse in a few years, so I guess in that regard I am still just a little bit impressed. No doubt if we were to arm wrestle I'd lose...but I can probably outrun him with a little effort just from the state of his health. I should probably tell him to go talk to Mam for some medicine or he might not last a few more summers. I'll mention it before I leave Gilmy, assuming I've earned his trust by then.

"So," He begins, "What do you know?"

"About a month ago, a farrier was too busy staring at your daughter to pay attention to what he was doing and angered a horse. The horse retaliated by kicking him hard enough to crush his ribs killing him. The horse in question was killed as a result, and not long after the incident, she started to care less and less about her surroundings. Like she's sleepwalking. Folks think she's blaming herself for that fool's death."

I pause, wet my lips and continue, "But I seen despair and guilt consume folk when monsters flooded Klennock, and that girl ain't anything like them. As I said, it's more like she's daydreaming so fervently her skull is hollow," Breathe in, swallow, continue, "Now, I don't know her, and frankly, I don't much care to get to know her all that closely. All I'm interested in doing is figuring out what the problem is and solving it. Don't need any reward and you'll like as not never see me again when I'm through here."

I need to be clear that I'm not motivated by her - admittedly good - looks or anything like that. A claim of altruism is easier to swallow than morbid curiosity over where this Quest is headed. And although I doubt he believes me either way, that's not important so long as he doesn't seriously challenge me on it.

He stares hard at me, likely looking for any trace of malicious intent. Satisfied, he relaxes marginally, opening his mouth slowly, "Alright. I'll choose to believe you for now. It's true Iffmy's behaviour is becoming worrisome. But know this - if you mean my daughter any harm, I will nail your limbs to a rock and kick you down into a Gormling's valley with a smile on my face."

Dauntless Activated!

Intimidation and Fear effects reduced by 60%!

Oh, hello Dauntless, nice to see you again. Forgot you existed.

Can't help but wonder what the exact conditions for that activating are. Hm. I'll figure it out later.

All I can really do is shrug at him, "Fine by me. I haven't anything to fear on that account, nor should you."

"Best you remember that," He says, jabbing a finger at me.

Silence follows once more; Almecks' head slowly sways left and right as he looks off into the distance, left hand behind his neck, rubbing.

"Aye. About a month ago Lester, one of my 'prentices whacked the leg of our best stud and paid for it. When she came home..."

The sun dips low on the horizon, as Almecks gazes out the window with much to think about. Today, one of his apprentices, a rakish young lad with no living family named Lester. He couldn't say he was fond of the boy, or the rapacious glances he made towards Iffmy, but for that to cause his end, the gods truly have an unusual sense of justice.

Far be it for Almecks to question their judgment, however. They are as close to beyond the logic of mortal minds as one can get, and their motives rarely clear.

Still, Almecks cannot say he wished this upon the boy, and the loss of even a marginally skilled hand is sure to be felt in the coming months. There is simply too much work to go around, and too few left to do it, to say nothing of his own advancing age. Years of work in the forge have not been kind to his body, either, and moving metal for long periods of time is becoming steadily more difficult as the seasons come and go.

But if he were to quit, who would take over? None of his apprentices are even close to his accuracy and there simply isn't enough money saved away to last for more than a couple of years. Even as expensive as the horses are, the demand doesn't mean that they have the supply.

Breeding and rearing high-quality horses takes a great deal of time and effort, as Pilt Wilcox - The ostensible owner of the ranch, though he and his family have a cushy manor in Mhin and rarely visit, save to show important clients the herd - has to keep reminding customers.

Half-heartedly considering the consequences of his approaching retirement, Almecks is interrupted mid-thought by the clomp of boots in the hallway behind him.

He turns, a sombre smile on his face, to regard his daughter, "Hey, flower."

Iffmy smiles back, a radiant image, "Hey, Da. Hell of a day, huh? Glad to be home."

Almecks looks at his daughter with open concern, "Are you doing alright? When Renth ran over he said you were there when...when Lester died."

Iffmy shrugs, still smiling, "I know you taught me not to speak ill of the dead, but I never liked the way that creep stared at me when he thought I wasn't lookin'. I'll be fine with living my life without such a gaze."

Almecks finds himself speechless, "...Are you sure about that, flower?"

Puzzled, Iffmy looks back with her head cocked sideways, "Why wouldn't I be? You're always going on about how we need to be careful and respectful when we're working with the horses, and he decided to ignore that to leer at me."

She snorts, "The idiot brought on himself. Why should I feel bad about that?"

Having said her piece, she kicks off her dirt-caked boots then heads down the hall to her room, "I'm gonna go wash up. Call me when dinner's ready, Da!"

"It really didn't bother her? At all?" I can't help but ask.

"Maybe it did, but it's like it never happened. Death don't seem to bother her any - She was still as cheerful as ever after her mother died. Not like she were bottling it up either, 'fore you ask - I'd have noticed. Iffmy always wears her thoughts on her face."

Almecks smiles fondly, reminiscing about something, before it slips from his face, "When she started withdrawing into herself a couple days later, I thought maybe it were the last keg on a rotting floorboard, same as the rest of Gilmy. But the more I thought about what she were like that day, the less I believed it. It wasn't like her to shut herself away."

He sighs, heavy with frustration, "At first, it was just her talking to folks less, and daydreaming at odd moments..." Again, he clenches his fingers, digging into his thighs, "Then she starts mumbling to herself, spacing out in the middle of a sentence, and bumping into things."

I pretty much gathered this stuff already. He's not telling me much new here, so I prod him into continuing, "And then?"

"About a couple weeks ago, I come home and hear her laughing..."

"What's unusual about that?" I ask not out of disbelief, but rather as a way to get him to elaborate. Laughing on it's own isn't odd, even in her condition.

He hesitates, avoiding my gaze.

"See ya tomorrow, boss!" Calls Renth, a young man working as an apprentice Tender betrothed to the village Seamsmith, Maybell. Around him, other Tenders and Farriers echo his farewell to the Master Farrier as he leaves them to their merriment and ale.

The hour is late, with a bright pair of moons hanging perfectly overhead, shining down on the darkened village. Esta, larger of the two, and Merstuna, the lesser, following behind in an endless, eternal hunt. Perhaps Almecks had had a little too much to drink because the story of that legendary chase through the cosmera eluded him. Or maybe it was because he had in fact, had too much ale that he was stood in the middle of the cold street staring at the moons instead of returning home to his significantly warmer bed. Not to mention that his prolonged absence may have ill-effects on Iffmy's already darkened mood.

With heavier steps, Almecks turns and begins the short walk back to the small house his family has called home since the days of King Herod himself. What manner of malicious dread has possessed Iffmy, and robbed her of her good cheer?

Nobody in the village could provide a satisfying answer, and rumours of a secret tryst between her and Lester were beginning to circulate through the local gossips. That she was with child and mourned the loss of her babe's father before he had a chance to break the news.

Naturally, Almecks didn't believe it for even a second. He trusted his daughter not to withhold such a secret from him, and her apparent disdain for his former apprentice was not, to in his opinion, a lie. The dead boy's infatuation was entirely one-sided. Almecks was confident he'd have noticed any change in their behaviour if romance was truly blossoming between the two. Neither one was all that proficient at the Bardic arts of acting and deceit. Lester being a naturally shifty-eyed sort, and Iffmy being comically incapable of affecting anything resembling a poker face.

Still, as irritating as it was to have his daughter's honour besmirched, Almecks understood that those responsible were just as perplexed by her behaviour as he himself was, and only sought to rationalise it. Undoubtedly there were some feelings of jealousy and a desire for some sort of entertainment wrapped up in it, but it only served to show how strange it was.

Almecks yawns, rubbing sore eyes with thumb and forefinger, dislodging a nugget of rheum. With his free hand, he opens the door to his home, into a dark, hazy corridor that is more becoming of the night's darkness than the night sky itself. A single blade of soft yellow cuts from beneath a door at the end of the hall, coming from Iffmy's room.

Perplexed, Almecks cocks his head to the side, shutting the front door behind him without taking his eyes off that patch of light. The hour is late, and Iffmy was never one to wait up long for her father to return home. Especially when he makes his way to Jomsy's place to make merry with the ranch hands. Alcohol - even the smell of it - makes her nauseous, supposedly.

Regardless, Almecks is exhausted by the day's activities and the night's festivities, and as such decides to disregard immediate investigation the oddity in favour of a good night's rest. If needs be, he can simply ask her about what she was doing so late at night over breakfast in the morning - assuming she even deigns to acknowledge his existence. An increasingly rare thing in recent days.

The silence of the night is cut by an unexpected sound.

Girlish laughter peals out from within the confines of Iffmy's room, making Almecks feel like his skeleton tried to jump from his skin out of surprise. A half raised foot freezes in place then settles back to the floor. He strains his ears, trying to understand what's going on. After a few breaths, laughter erupts a second time, followed by the muffled voice of Iffmy.

Is someone with her? This late at night, the only person he could think of it being would be Maybell, but Renth didn't mention anything like that. If anything, he seemed eager to join her in bed. An embarrassingly candid confession born of strong ale that his companions will rib him for admitting to for weeks to come.

Suspicious, a spark of worry ignites his fatherly instinct to learn of this trespasser in his home - in his daughter's bedroom in the dead of night.

Filled with purpose he strides confidently down the shadowed hall, Iffmy's words becoming slightly clearer in the approach.

"....-op it...not...worthy of..."

Teeth clenched, Almecks grabs the doorknob and twists, barging into her bedroom, for all the world embodying the picture of fatherly concern.

Almecks' righteous anger fizzles in the throat as he beholds his precious Iffmy, illuminated by a half melted pig tallow candle on the dresser in front of the bedroom's securely closed window. Sitting cross-legged on a woven latticed horsehair rug in the middle of the room with a dreamy smile adorning her fair face...

Entirely alone.