"Ello, ‘ello. What we ‘ave ‘ere then?” Asked a gruff voice.

“Can I help you good sir?” Apple replied the man who had just jumped out some bushes in front of him.

The man beamed, “‘elp? Why yes, I think you can be a ‘elp – ya can.” The man replied with a crooked grin. Crooked in both design and the stained shards of what were once teeth the smile exposed.

“Marvellous.” Apples declared, “always happy to assist a fellow traveller. Tell me, good sir, what is the particular thing in question, that is of your request?”

“Erm, what?” He replied with the cock of his head and a blank stare. “Ya see, me leg don’t be too good these days, ya see.” He Gestured to his right leg that now suddenly seemed to be unable to support his weight of his evident pot-belly. “I know a healer that can mend it all good, but I don’t ‘ave the coin ,ya see.”

“Oh, I see, I see. You need not the aid of labour or good humour, but instead require of me my very own precious coins. “Apple hummed, stroking his chin in thought. “How much to fix that poor leg of yours, good sir?”

“Erm, I’d say thirty irons should suffice - they would.”

“Oh my. That is a hefty request, good sir. Why, I would be delighted to sacrifice my own wealth for some strange unkempt lout, who can’t seem to let go of the hilt of the sword strapped to his side, but alas I do not possess the amount you so desperately need. A thousand apologies, good sir.” He bowed his head slightly as a sign of apology.

The man stared at Apple in silence for several seconds. His eyebrow scrunched together and his eyes squinted in deep concentration. “Well., gimme what ya got then!” He barked.

“He’s not very good at this. It’s kind of cute in a strange way. Like watching a dirt-stained child happily dine from the rump of an ant hill.” Apple thought.

“Oh, but good sir. The coins I own are not enough for your leg, the leg that seems to have miraculously healed, by the way.” Apple gestured with a nod of his head at the man’s right leg that was now once again easily accepting his girth.

The man’s face began to flush bright red. His smirk was now replaced with sunken lips that vibrated ever so softly. “Enough of this horse shit!” He yelled. “Gimme ya money, or I’ll gut ya like a pig – I will!” The man drew his sword. An iron spatha with nicks so large Apple could see them from the distance of ten paces that separated them.

Apple wondered how to proceed. The bandit seemed in no rush to attack him. Perhaps Apple’s confident demeanour had made him wary. If only he knew that Apple’s behaviour was a result of becoming desensitised to being mugged and not because of his martial prowess. The first months of the reign of the Circle was certainly a tough time for him, wandering the open roads in his tattered noble garb; like a beacon to the unsavoury folk that stalked the roads.

In a way Apple was flattered by this confrontation. Not a single person had even attempted to even pickpocket him in the past few months. It was quite amazing what a fresh pair of study clothes, a shave, and no longer smelling like an excitable mongrel will do for a man.

“Well, you gonna give men ya coins, or what?” The bandit yelled, freeing Apple from his pondering.

“Tell me, are you alone?” He asked the bandit with a calmness that did not suite the situation.

“Huh?”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes I’m - Wait! No, I’m not alone. All me mates are hidin’ in the trees, just waitin’ to fire an arrow up ya arse.” He boldly claimed. Enhancing his threat with a few jabs at the air with his sword.

“My word, he is bad at this. I almost feel sorry for him. So stupid that not even other low-lives don’t want to team up with him.”

“Last chance! Gimme the coin, or me ‘n’ the boys are gonna fill ya full of ‘oles!”

Apple cursed himself. He was acting too much like a smug arse, even though the possibility of being slain by this man was very real. All he had on his person was a hatchet and the foggy memories of swordplay. “Sorry, good sir, but I can’t do that.” He replied almost sadly. He yanked his small axe from the leather hole it rested in at his waist. “Have at thee!” He bellowed, immediately feeling like a pompous fool after the words left his lips

The bandit surprised Apple; he charged immediately. He gripped his sword in both hands and raised it tilted above his left shoulder. The bandit’s sudden boldness startled Apple. He failed to regain his composer until the sword had almost met his flesh. Just before the sharp iron kissed him, his instincts managed to place his hatchet in the blades path. The collision numbed his arm and slammed it down to his waist. Sadly, the hastily formed block was no match for the two-handed swing from the bandit.

Apple wrist began to burn. He insulted himself immensely with a barrage of witty remarks. He had also mostly likely already nicked his new axe with that poor move.

The bandit was on him again, swinging his damaged spatha from his hip upwards. Apple managed to dodge this time, returning a quick jab of his fist at the bandit’s nose. The blow was weak but it appeared to be enough to stun his opponent for a moment. Apple took advantage of the moment and swung his hatchet at the man’s chest. The blade met its target, breaking skin and creating beads of crimson liquid.

Unfortunately, skin was all the blow managed to sever. Apple withdrew the axe and quickly placed it in his other hand. The growing fire in his once hatchet-wielding wrist told him it would not be much use in this fight anymore.

The bandit composed himself, swinging his sword wildly with savage intent, forcing Apple to retreat.

“Swing thy sword! Swing thy sword!” Cried an old voice in Apple’s mind. “Swing thy sword! Swing thy sword!” It repeated. Apple wanted to ignore the voice’s mocking advice. His vision became impeded by streams of sweat and the numbness of rage.

“Swing boy! Swing!”

“I am!” He roared. His hatchet became a blur, only becoming visible once again when It crashed into the bandit’s blade and came to a grinding halt.

Their weapons continued to stop one another. Again, and again. Sparks flew, warming their bare skin. A frenzied clash of little grace or technique, the condition of their blades mattered little to them while they fought to survive.

Apple’s sudden rage made him unaware of the screaming of his arm muscles. He had long stopped seeing the scruffy bandit, the cobblestone path, and the scattered birch trees. Now Apple was in a world long gone. In front of him now was a youth, a tall handsome lad in fitted chainmail wielding a spatha of an elegant design. Besides them both from a large stable, with a tower of stone looming in the corner of his vision – all surrounded by lush grass planes.

“Stop running, boy! Stop using just your shield! Remember your footwork! Swing! Pathetic! Swing! Disgraceful! Swing! Are you really The Red Bison’s grandson! SWING!”

Apple stopped swinging.

He wasn’t sure for how long, but he regained composer he realised he was swinging at nothing but the air. He looked down on the ground and found his foe. An ill carved mess of deep gauges and bloody pulps riddled his body. Beside him was the shattered remains of his iron spatha.

“Shit... I didn’t mean to kill the sorry bastard.” He whimpered, staring hard at the bandit’s corpse and burning every detail into his mind, less he may ever forget the butchery he committed today.

Apple said a prayer, to no deity in particular, for his fallen advisory. He felt shame for what he had done. This bandit was stupid and pitiful, but that was not a reason for such a torturous execution.

He decided the least he could do was bury the sod or at least cremate him. It was not like he had a shovel and he was awfully busy. A stranger that tried to rob you was not really worth at least six hours of manual labour. So, instead Apple began to slowly gather the volatile dwimmer his palms for the cremation.

“Welp, might as well loot him first. Wouldn’t want his stuff to go to waste, after all.”

Once Apple had retrieved ten iron coins, seven woods, and a couple of dried biscuits, he got to work on the cremation.

He placed one hand on the man’s forehead, the other on his stomach. The dwimmer that had been nestling in his hands was sent forth into his corpse.

“Brinro... Brinro...” He whispered, “Brinro... Brinro...”

Slowly, the spell began to take effect. Apple’s hands were now glued to the bandit’s corpse like a leech, that was exactly what he was, a leech. Brinro was the old word for water and that was what his hands were feasting upon.

The bandit’s body began to collapse in on itself, quickly becoming crinklier than an old man who enjoyed a masochistic relationship with the sun’s rays.

After around ten minutes had passed, all of the corpses moisture now resided within Apple. Apple felt disgusting. His whole body swelled and pruned. Water leaked from him in every direction and he no choice but to urinate as soon as he let go of the man. He tried to express his revulsion by speaking but as soon as he waggled his tongue and spread his lips, water burst forth from his mouth. He then frantically pulled down his trousers and let loose a torrent of crystal-clear urine.

After another of ten minutes of chaotic urinating, vomiting, and flailing his body in an attempt to flick the moisture that leaked through his pores of him, Apple got to work on the second part of the cremation process.

“Bloody shit biscuits! I forgot to give the water an exit!” He cried, in between sloshing burps. “Oh, my gods! This feels awful. Water’s my specialty, how the bloody hell did I mess this one up?”

After a couple more minutes of yelling and burping, Apple finally calmed down enough to proceed with the next stage.

This part was a lot easier than the previous one. All that was needed now was to ignite the human raisin, that lied upon the cobblestone floor.

Once Apple’s hands were completely dry, he again placed them upon the dead bandit. This time it only took a minute for the spell to be cast.

The dried flesh immediately became consumed in fire, spreading from head to toe, engulfing everything.

Once Apple was confident the fire would not go out until there were nothing but ashes, he took off, not bothering to see his work in motion.

As he walked away from the crackling of bone and the smell of roasting flesh. He shook his hands lightly; they ached and burned horribly. “I’m never doing that again.” He promised to himself.

**********

Once again Apple had found himself in a market. He was beginning to grow tired of the same sights. Same formation of stalls, selling the same merchandise, same buyers, and sellers, all infected by the Circle. He was not entirely sure what his next course of action would be after he had completed his staff, all he knew so far was that it hopefully no longer involved crowds.

Pushing his introverted grumblings to the back of his mind, Apple took off through the borough’s square. A smith of some sort was his target for today’s outing, or more specifically: copper. Glorious, conductive copper.

Tom had told him that there was most certainly a blacksmith somewhere in this borough called Westin. Unfortunately, he had not mentioned that this borough was on the larger side and the locals all wore sour unwelcoming faces.

After an hour or so of searching Apple finally stumbled upon a little smithy called: Jim’s Nail. He entered the grey stone building and was welcomed to the sight of metal workings. Scattered around the room were horseshoes, iron chains, nails, and the occasional sword, axe, and warhammer. It seemed this blacksmith specialised in the more mundane forging, though Apple expected as much. It would be quite queer to find a weapon specialist in an ordinary old town.

“Copper you be wantin’ lad?” Asked a gruff voice.

Apple looked forward. About ten paces in front of him was a large burly man clad in nothing but a giant apron and bushy black beard. “Yes I’m – huh?” Apple halted his answer. How did this person know what he wanted at a mere glance?

“Don’t look so nervous, lad. Didn’t mean to spook ya. I’ve had nothin’ but strange folk comin’ to my shop buyin’ all me copper, thought you’d be lookin’ for the same - ‘tis all.” He explained in a tone a slight warmer and friendlier than the tone he used a moment ago.

This information allowed Apple to breathe again, but not release the tension in his muscles. Strangers were buying this man’s copper, why? It couldn’t be the Circle’s agent. They would just take the copper and be off again. So, either bronze is making an unexpected comeback, or there were other sorcerers afoot.

“Yes... Copper. I would like to purchase some copper, if you please.” Apple replied. He decided it was best to get the precious metal and figure the rest out later.

“It pleases me just fine. How much you be wantin’, lad?”

“A single ingot should suffice.”

“Strange, all the others asked for the same amount.” The blacksmith walked away into another room.

“Well that doesn’t bode well,” he thought.

As Apple stood contemplating what all this could mean, the blacksmith returned. In his hand was the clear sight of a metallic block, the colour of polished rust.

“That’ll be ten irons, if ya please.” The blacksmith informed.

For the third time during this encounter, Apple was disturbed. Ten irons for a whole ingot of copper. Even before the existence of the Circle copper was still worth a lot more than that. He also found it oddly coincidental how it was the exact amount of iron coins he looted from that bandit earlier.

“Yeah, that pleases me greatly. Here’s ten irons.” Apple said, as he reached into his coin pouch and retrieved the money.

“Pleasure doing business with ya.” The blacksmith replied, as he took the money and in turn gave Apple his new copper ingot.

Apple did not utter another word. No small talk or courtesy browsing. He should have been ecstatic but the whole scenario had straightened the hairs on his body. He originally planned to ask to use the smith’s forge once he got the copper but right now, he had the uncontrollable desire to leave this borough immediately.

So that was exactly what he did. He left Jim’s Nail without a word and walked as fast as one could for it to still be considered walking, right out of the borough, until he found somewhere that can loosen the frightened hairs on his body.

**********

Once again Apple had found himself in a forest. He was not entirely sure why he kept finding himself hiding in a in a maze of trees when he was troubled. Perhaps it because he felt hidden in the dense trees and bracken. Maybe it was something to do with his magical affinities although he possessed the most talent for water out of the four elements, although that reasoning would mean he should be finding himself knee-deep in puddles when life got the better of him. Apple eventually decided that it was the first reason, no need to get all philosophical about why someone hides in certain places.

He looked at the ingot of copper in his hand, all that was left was to melt it into fine wires and craft a wooden shell for the staff. Apple was certainly no expert on the ways of metals but he did at least know that it required a lot less heat to melt copper than iron. Unfortunately, he doubted his hands devoid of a catalyst would be able to produce enough heat to do the job. Perhaps if he gathered enough wood and dry leaves to feed his flames that would suffice. With no better alternative than to risk finding another forge, Apple got to work.