Rai Half-head hummed lightly as he made his wat behind Big-man through the crowded streets of Goldstern’s Merchant’s Quarter. Due to Goldstern being one of the largest trade cities not just in the country of Whoid Stria, but on the continent of Fleigula, it was perpetually busy. Men and women with the swarthy complexions and odd, clipped accent of Elfor shouted their wares from the streetside, just a half a silver crown for some home-cooked Elforian food, or some other such nonsense. Beside their stall might be merchants from Anacsot, lauding their elegant wine, or their amazingly fine glasswork, both of which might be veritable art. All the while, people hustled and bustled through the streets, urchins rubbing shoulders with wealthy merchants, and all of them pushing their way past each other with little concern or strife. Big-man strode purposefully through the streets, obviously knowing where he was going. Rai followed behind with little strife, it really wasn’t that difficult. Most people took one look at his face, and wanted to run to the nearest ship and get as far away from whatever monster had suddenly decided to haunt them. He chuckled darkly at the thought. One thing his face was good for at least. He wouldn’t be the best choice for a diplomat, and lord knew that his ugly mug wasn’t likely to land him in the bed of even the most drunk of tavern wenches, but hell, if there was one thing he could do all day long, it was scare small children and random passerby’s.

He grinned somewhat bitterly at the thought. He was used to how he looked, and wasn’t insecure about it, not really, but he still wished that it wasn’t quite the hinderance that it was. He would never be able to go anywhere other than the worst of slums without getting gawked at. The priests of the Reaper preached that each person had burdens in this current life that they had to carry due to failings in some previous life. When you died, they said, the Reaper would weigh you in the balance, and decide if you should be seeded again on the earth, to grow more and learn further lessons, or if you ought to be harvested, moving on into some plain of higher existence. If the Reaper had trouble determining where you belonged, you would be Threshed upon His Threshing Floor. If you were found to still have potential to better yourself, and other potential members of the Harvest, you were cast back to earth. This cycle could be repeated three times before a soul was damned and sent to the Chaff, to burn forever in the pits of hell. Some people skipped the whole, ‘thrice-threshed’ part entirely, some priests said, going straight to the Chaff. Honestly, Rai didn’t much care about the whole tangled mess that was destiny, fate, and death. He was a simple fellow, and so focused on what he could understand. Infirmities, pain, and tragedies in this life stemmed from some sin in a past life.

I must have been a right arse in me last life. Rai thought, Threshing idiot. Nae thought tae the future. That sounds like something I’d be doing, now don’t it, running around like tae a headless chicken with nae idea just how badly off I be.

Rai’s attention was pulled from his rueful thoughts as he ran headlong into Big-man’s back. He let out a grunt of surprise and backed up hurriedly. Big-man looked over his shoulder, eyeing Rai dubiously.

“You do realize that I pay you, right?” he asked laconically, “You don’t have to try and pick my pocket.”

Rai glared at his employer. It was easier to think of him that way when they were on business together. Just another client, rather than Rai’s Guardian or friend. It made for a better display of professionality. It also reminded him that while telling Big-man seven different ways to shove his sarcasm up his arse might be acceptable, telling his employer, The Undertaker, to do so would be impolite and show the current passerby’s that he and Big-man weren’t unified. It was the same way when he was in ‘The Orphanage’. Mother Jamia was ‘Boss-lady’ in private, a cold and calculating woman, shrewd in the ways of life. In public, however, she was ‘Mother’ or ‘Mother Jamia’, a kind and matronly old whore, but one who was fiercely defensive of her ‘children’. Neither persona was necessarily a lie, but they were instead the two sides of the same person. Big-man didn’t understand that concept, Rai reckoned, because he didn’t grow up on the streets. Rai pulled himself away from his musings.

“I be right well aware, Big-man, thank ye very much.” He grunted out, making a show of dusting his tan leather vest and blue shirt off. “Besides, I’d nae be choosing this particular spot tae be making a go fer yer purse. It’d be unwise-like, what with the number o’ guardsmen in the Merchant Quarter. I’d be like tae loose me other hand if I tried pullin’ a job like that. Or me head fer that matter.”

“Hmm… yes,” Big-man said as he turned back forward, looking at the entry to a small, walled off space that held a smithy. “That would be unfortunate. You’d not be a very effective manservant without any hands. Burning Chaff, you’re already only barely passable… As for the second possibility… well, I don’t think they make prosthetics for that particular type of injury.”

Rai snorted at that. Oh, aye, they’d not be making prosthetics for a head for quite a while, Rai was certain, and he’d not be too keen on being a test subject in any case. Rai chose to ignore Big-man’s words in favor of examining the bustling forge yard they had entered. Rai recognized the space from his time in the ‘Orphanage’, though it had been near on five years since the last time he had been here. It was Twinkle-eyes’s place. As if his thought had summoned the lumbering smith, Rai saw the burly, hairy figure of Twinkle-eyes making his way out of his forge, wiping at his forehead with an old-looking cloth. After wiping his sweat away, the hairy Elforian smith spoke in a booming voice, true joy in his smile, and happiness putting the spark into his eyes that Rai had so named him for.

“Ayyyy Ser Caj!” The smith exclaimed as his clasped forearms with Big-man, who was also grinning, not bothering to hold back his smile like he normally would.

Rai wasn’t particularly surprised by Big-man’s lack of restraint. Twinkle-eyes was also known as ‘Uncle Rashan’, the younger brother of Mother Jamia. He had probably seen worse than the smile Big-man was currently showing him. Rai was pulled back to conversation by Big-man’s next words.

“Forgemaster Potiphar,” Caj said warmly, “It’s been too long since I last visited. How are you?” Twinkle-eyes snorted.

“How many times must I tell you Ser Caj,” he said with laughter in his voice, “My name is Rashan. Please feel free to use it.”

“I imagine you’ll have to tell me about as many times as we meet like this, Forgemaster.” Big-man said, stressing the last word with a small, subtle smile that made him look like he was contemplating murder. Rai of course knew this just meant that he was relaxed. Twinkle-eyes also seemed well enough aware of this as he chuckled wryly.

“Still all business then I see, eh Ser Caj?” The hairy smith asked with a knowing look. Rai had been right in his assertion about Big-man’s shift in character earlier: he currently was in what Rai had dubbed, ‘employer mode’. This meant that while he would be relaxed and cordial even, he would always maintain an unfailingly politely professional attitude towards individuals he engaged in. Big-man shrugged at the Forgemaster’s observation.

“What can I say, Forgemaster, I am a busy man, I have time for little else.” The smith snorted again, knowingly.

“Oh, I’m sure.” He drawled in his Elforian accent, rolling his eyes. The eye-roll brought his eyes to rest on Rai, and a momentary look of surprise crossed his features, faked Rai was certain, since the man had nodded subtly to him before shaking Big-man’s hand. Rai played along though, guessing that Twinkle-eyes was planning to admit that they knew each-other, but not the mode of their association. The best lies always had a fair bit of the truth in them, Rai figured. Rai wasn’t offended by Twinkle-eyes trying to hide their previous association.

Sayin’ that ye be al tight-like with a known thief and scoundrel ain’t exactly somethin’ that any respectable merchy would be wanting, now would it. Rai thought wryly. That’d be bad fer business, aye it would.

“Half-head?” Twinkle-eyes said gently, “Is that you? Reaper’s Scythe, I thought you were dead!”

“Hello, Twinkle-eyes,” Rai said with a smirk, “I can nae be lying tae ye, that last part’s nae fer lack o’ tryin’ on my end.”

Twinkle-eyes let out a deep chuckle, right on cue with Rai’s subtle hand signal, three scratches to the base of his skull. Rai smiled to himself. He might have only been ten when he ran ‘errands’ for ‘Uncle Rashan’, and delivered ‘packages’ for ‘Mother Jamia’, but he had been a damn good errand-boy, and a better postman. It had been four years since he left the trade, but it was nice to see that he could still play the game, that he still remembered the moves to this particular dance.

“As it be, the only reason I be here is that I been in the employ of Ser Caj here.” Rai continued, making a natural looking gesture towards Big-man, then calmly bring his hand to his face, and scratching the right side of his nose with his middle and ring fingers. Twinkle-eyes immediately took up speaking at this point.

“That’s a blasted good thing of you to do Ser Caj. I’ve known Half-head since he was little more than a boy begging for bread on my doorstep. He’s a good boy, even if life did deal him a rough hand. It’s nice to see someone recognizing his worth and potential.”

Big-man looked between the two of them, guileless surprise in his eyes. He obviously had no idea that he was being played like a lute. Rai almost felt bad for his employer. Almost. Any regrets that he had about tricking Big-man evaporated a moment later, when a familiar light entered into Big-man’s eyes.

Ah shite… I’m like tae know what that means…

“Potential for mischief maybe.” he said snidely. “His first day in my employ, he tried to draw swords on two city guardsmen just outside the magistrate’s office. In front of the youngest daughter of Lord Noblis, no less. Luckily, I intervened in time to stop things from falling apart. Can you imagine? Two guardsmen kill the manservant of the bodyguard of the commander of the guard, in front of the magistrate’s office, and said commander’s daughter. Just thinking about the mountain of paperwork gives me a headache. Knowing Lord Noblis, he’d likely start a civil war over it.”

Rai sighed, but kept his mouth shut. Big-man loved to hassle him about that particular event, and many of the other silly mistakes that Rai might have made. Especially if there was in another person in their presence who would find it amusing. Rai sighed. Ah well, such was life. The smith guffawed, overdoing his performance a bit, in Rai’s opinion. Slapping his knee was a bit much. After a moment of laughter, Twinkle-eyes wiped a tear from the corner of one of his sparkling orbs, and let out a deep sigh.

“Wooiii,” the Forgemaster gasped, his relatively light Elforian accent having deepened with his laughter. He sniffed deeply, composing himself. “Onto business then, I suppose. How can I be of service today, Ser Caj?”

Big-man grinned, and reached into the satchel he had slung over his shoulder, pulling out a leather folder, not dissimilar to the ones Rai would often store monthly reports regarding finances in, to be reviewed by Lady Natalia, or ‘Wise-woman’ as Rai liked to think of her. Not that he would ever call her such aloud; even he, being half-blind as he was, could see that wasn’t the best of ideas. Wise-woman was all business, yes, she was. Big-man held out the leather folder to Twinkle-eyes.

“Tell me Forgemaster,” Big-man said seriously, “how soon do you think you could have me these items?”

Twinkle-eyes spent a long moment looking over the papers inside the folder. Carefully going down the list and tapping out equations with his fingers, using a series of taps to keep track of his calculations. When he finally looked up, he had a somewhat exasperated expression written over his features.

“Boxcova!” Twinkle-eyess said, “tell me, how many times must I say that I am not an armorer? Eh?”

“How many times must I reply that I doubt there are any armorers in the city that could do as fine of work as you do? Besides, I see plenty of swords just in that barrel over there… seems like quite a lot of sharpened metal coming out of your forge for you not to be an armorer.” Big-man replied. Twinkle-eyes snorted at that, and waved his large hand dismissively.

“Nothing but scrap metal.” He said airily, “A way for my apprentices to practice selling some of their own work. The last sword that I personally made was for your grandfather, Narm, and that only because he called me Forgemaster. I service weapons and armor occasionally, but I don’t make them. Haven’t in a long time.” Rai was listening intently, he didn’t know what Big-man had asked for, but he was very interested in finding out exactly what was going on here. He noted that Big-man didn’t correct the man’s assumption that One-eye was his grandfather. Probably for the best.

“Forgemaster Potiphar,” Caj said, a certain firmness creeping into his tone. “I am willing to pay you one-and-a-half times the normal price for these items, primarily because you and I both know that I would still be underpaying. I could pay three times what you ask for, and still not be close to the mark.”

He slowly drew his longsword from his side, making it clear that he meant no harm. Normally, Big-man wore his short-sword there, but he was without it today.

“This is not a sword.” Caj said quietly, but with utter assurance.

Rai looked at the blade dubiously. There was a pommel, a hilt, a cross guard, and most importantly, a very long, sharp, and… well, and a swordlike blade.

“Uh, Big-man…” Rai said, “I can nae speak fer Twinkle-eyes, but, that,” he nodded meaningfully at the weapon meaningfully. “Well, that be looking an awful lot like a sword now, don’t it be?”

Big-man completely ignored him, opting to retain his focus on the burly Forgemaster.

“It’s a masterwork. This is not just an amalgamation of steel, and crossbar, of metal and a whetstone; it is a piece of art.” Rai looked at the sweat stained handle, and the dully steel grey of the cross guard and pommel.

Ugliest piece of art I ever laid me eyes on. Rai thought. Twinkle-eyes apparently agreed with him, and voiced his thoughts.

“Ha, you’ve an odd taste in art, Ser Caj.” He said, crossing his arms. Big-man grinned wickedly.

“Oh aye, you’re right in thinking that it’s not much look at.” Big-man agreed, looking at the sword with an apparently objective eye, before returning his gaze, sharp as a razor, to the middle-aged smith. “However, we both know that the beauty of a sword has more to do with how it feels in your hands. This sword is perfect. You made it that way.” There was a moment of surprisingly profound silence, before Twinkle-eyes broke it with a huff.

“Fine. You may have the right of it, eh Ser Caj? You may have the right of it, but that was a sword. You are asking for an intricately made brigandine, on very short notice.”

He waved the papers in the air, showing the diagram of what did indeed look like a complex diagram of a chest plate, broken into many smaller overlapping pieces of metal. Rai was pulled from fascinated inspection of this page of information as it was flipped over in favor of displaying another page, this one too full of diagrams and pointing arrows for Rai to follow.

“Not to mention that you want it made so that it can be easily repaired by even a country bumkin blacksmith, which actually makes my job harder, I now have to fit the joints together in such a way that they are sturdy, but can still be easily removed if necessary. And then, then, you have the gall to ask for pauldrons and greaves of the same material? Do you realize how much work this is? In such a short time?” The blacksmith sounded incredulous.

“So, you will do it then?” Big-man said, a mischievous smirk lurking at the corner of his mouth that made him look like he was considering the most decorative arrangement for hanging gibbets to display tormented prisoners and criminals.

Twinkle-eyes swore loudly, and Big-man’s face broke into a full smile that made him look like he was now considering putting small children and cute fuzzy animals into those gibbets… a disturbing image, and one that Rai was certain would be stuck in his mind for the rest of the day.

Ugh, ye’ve a twisted mind Half-head… yuck. Big-man’s next words and actions pulled Rai from his mild bout of self-loathing.

“Excellent. Superb even. Here is your payment, approximately one-and-a-half times the normal amount, as stated, due to the project being rather complex, and a rush job…” He dug in his satchel once more and produced a bulging purse that was filled with gold royals and silver crowns. He plunked them into the dumbfounded smith’s hands before turning on his heel, and marching away, with not so much as a goodbye. Rai stood, just as confused as Twinkle-eyes for a moment, before Big-man’s voice split the air like a hot knife slicing butter.

“Come along Rai. We don’t have all day.”

Rai looked up and swore under his breath, before taking off after his employer, waving a hasty goodbye to a very nonplussed Twinkle-eyes. When he finally caught up to Big-man, after pushing and shoving his way through the crowds, he let out a deep sigh, and took a swig from his waterskin.

“So, where do we be headin’ tae next, eh Big-man?” Rai asked before bringing the waterskin back to his lips for a long draw. Big-man’s answer was in the same vein as his walking pace; brisk.

“The Torn Bodice.” He said, never breaking stride, or even so much as smiling slightly. Rai abruptly stopped drinking, but forgot to pull the waterskin from his lips, leaving him with bulging cheeks full of water. Not being a wasteful individual, he did the only sensible thing; he swallowed all of it before capping his waterskin, wiping his mouth, and asking, in a deadly serious tone,

“The uh, The Torn Bodice ye said, Big-man?” he asked hesitantly.

“Indeed.” Big-man replied. Rai grinned wide.

“That does be an excellent sounding name, now doesn’t it. The Torn Bodice. Sounds like my kind of place, it does.”