The next morning was fairly slow, everyone was moaning, and groaning from muscle soreness. The Orcs didn't come down from their rooms until after lunch, sweating, and out or breath. Practicing their own form of cardio.

“We’ll be doing this every other day from now on. Though you are welcome to do this more often make sure to take care of yourself.”

I tell them.

“I have to do something today so feel free to enjoy your day of rest.”

I grab my umbrella and wave to them as I head out the door. The walk to the smithy is short and Gred sits in the same spot puffing on his pipe.

“Dragon slayer, what brings ye to my smithy again.”

He drags long on his pipe, and lets out a slow breath. The smoke diffuses throughout his beard, like it's on fire. I hold out my umbrella.

“Could you make something like this, I’m thinking a tough canvas for the fabric.”

He lifts it out of my hand with practiced scrutiny.

“Hold the handle, and point the fabric out, then push the button.”

I instruct him. He aims the umbrella, and the umbrella opens up in front of him. He drops it in surprise.

“Sorry about that,”

I rub the back of my head sheepishly.

“Should of warned you.”

I pick it up and present the opened umbrella to him. He looks at the folded bits of metal. He clicks his tongue.

“The metal is strong and sturdy, but a dwarven forge could make something four times stronger. I don’t know the material here though, some elven steel wood might be a good replacement, but finding a carpenter who can use it will be a problem. Though with the dragon gone i suppose one might come."

He pushes the top down, and to clicks back together.

“There is a problem…”

He hands the umbrella back to me.

“A dwarf ain’t got the fingers nor tools to work with something so fragile.”

Gred holds up his rough calloused hands, near blackened with soot.

“You’ll need an artificer, or tinkerer at the very least. I could provide metals but that fine work is too precise. I doubt I could figure out the inside bits as well."

I let out a sigh.

“Now hold on this ain’t the end o’ the world. Across town we got a tinkerer, Amnello , but most folks who like their digits tend to shy away from him. So you won’t get many who’ll direct ye to him. If ye don’t mind, he might have a package for me, and ye got one o’ them fancy pantsy holding bags. Would ye mind grabbing it for me?”

He asks. I smile.

“No problem at all although I might bother you some to help me forge an item, or two.”

He nods.

“Fair is fair.”

He gives me some quick directions. Out past the edge of town and a quarter mile into the woods along a narrow path. A ruined house in the middle of a large open field. The trees are tall, and thick which is disconcerting since many of them are skewered through with large pieces of metal, blackened, or missing. Large chunks of the ground are rent apart.

As I step into the field I hear a loud bang like a firework going off. A brief flash blinds me. Then the shattering of wood as a metal ball flies out of the side of the house and careens into the ground spraying dirt, it skips across the ground and then hits a tree at the edge of the clearing. With a groan and snap the large hardwood tree falls over.

A short man even shorter than a dwarf walks out of the new hole in his house he scratches his head then shrugs and walks back inside. I carefully walk through the field, making sure to watch my footing for what I assume could be live ordnance.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

The front door swings open, and the same man, I assume is a gnome, is standing in the doorway.

“Ooooooh VISITORS! er VISITOR!”

He shouts, much louder than I thought could come from such a small body.

“You’re Amnello?”

I ask. He nods his head up and down. He grabs my hand and begins tugging me inside. I am immediately assaulted by the bitter stench of coffee.

“Herehaveadrink,”

He says, and shoves a lukewarm cup of the strongest smelling coffee I've ever had, into my hand. I see him zip past me in a blur, then a loud clatter. As he knocks over a pile of empty mugs, scattering them across the messy room. Piles of sharp metal scrap are next to opened containers filled with either ash or coffee. Clothing scattered around the room. The fireplace is taken up by some large metal thing with serrated teeth, so a pile of charred wood smokes in the center of the room.

Amnello dashes back into the room knocking a pile of empty tins over. A chair lifted above his head. The head of the chair smacks straight into a large chandelier on the ceiling with a clang, and the whole house groans in protest.

“Sitsitsit. WhatcanIdoforyoutodayvisitor, no, friend.”

He sits in a gnome sized chair. Practically, no, literally vibrating in place.

“Uh well-"

“Doessomeoneelseneedquickhearts? Ihaveplentytospare. Ordoessomeoneneedsomething made. IcanputmyexperimentstothesidesoIcanmakesomething.”

He lifts a cup of coffee to his mouth, and takes a long sip. No, wait, he's chugging it. When he finishes he puts the cup down onto a metallic coaster. A cage springs up around the cup and a large metal hand drops from the ceiling. And lifts it. A moment passes and the hand drops again with a fresh cup.

“Uhm,”

I lift the umbrella and place it on the table.

“Here this is an umbrella made to protect you from the rain, although some make them out of lace, and silk to protect themselves from the sun, and keep their skin fair. I brought this to Gred, and he said that you were the guy, er gnome to take it to.”

I lift the coffee to my lips, upon it hitting my tongue I decide I would rather drink bleach, and let it pour back into the cup.

“How many cups of coff- quick hearts have you had today?”

I ask the gnome.

“26!”

He replies. I nod my head, and place the cup down onto the table.

“Thisumbrellaisfascinating, mayItakeitapart?”

I nod.

“Feel free as long as you can either repair it or replicate it. I want to make this an export a luxury good, if you will.”

He nods.

“Before I forget Gred asked me to pick up a package for him.”

I tell Amnello.

“Onemoment.”

He replies. He places the umbrella onto the table, and the dashes off he returns holding a large metal canister filled with black dust.

“ThisishisgroundQuickheartpowder.”

He places it down with a loud thump. I scratch the stubble on my chin.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your work? I know a thing, or two about engineering.”

I seemed to have turned up his settings, as the chair starts to vibrate along with him now.

“Ofcourse, Ofcourse. Onetinkerertoanother. I am Amnello the exile, formerly of the house of cogs. Whoareyou?”

He asks.

“Lord Jonathan Johnson, the dragon blooded.”

I reply casually. Amnello audibly gulps, and actually stills.

“W-well l-lord Jonathan. You wouldn’t happen to be the new Dragon slayer I heard about would you?”

I smile.

“Why yes that is me. Was it you that sold Marnie the cof-Quickhearts? The drink was wonderful, reminds me of home.”

Amnellos eyes dart around.

“You mustn’t believe the townsfolk I wasn’t the one who made that thunderous racket the other day. I prom-"

“No need to worry that was me.”

I cut him off.

“Now you were going to show me your work?”