You know what? It feels strange to me to suddenly be getting paid for work that doesn’t involve stealing from other people, or extorting money from others for the safe return of someone I’ve had a hand in capturing. Yeah, it’s still money from violence, I got blood on my hands earning it, but somehow it feels … different. It’s strange, I suspect it’s how I was brought up, but something about this money feels different. I don’t like to think about talking to anyone else about it, Kesla or Art or even Gael, because I’m really not sure I’d like the answer. Because I suspect I already know what it is.

That this money’s clean, that all the coin I’ve had to my name before has been dirty money, bloody money, earned through my sweat and effort but filthy from criminal enterprise all the same. As if this is the first time I’ve been given money for my involvement in something legitimate, as my father would no doubt have put it. I’m sure he’d be proud of me for it, but the implications don’t sit well with me.

In truth, I almost didn’t take it when it was offered. Didn’t feel right, not after what I did, what my people tried to do. Kesla insisted, and it was right in front of that important dragonhalf wizard too, Arrhetel Thermyse, serious big deal and no mistake. I suspect she could’ve cut me in half or worse for how we all took a set against the Order in this, and I could instantly tell she knew everything just by looking at me, but she simply smiled and welcomed me like the others. She echoed Kesla’s sentiment, that I was one of them now, if they were being rewarded for what they did, I should have an equal share. Seems the rest of them did too. Even Yeslee was willing enough to go with Kesla’s judgement here.

I’m bloody rich now, it feels like. Even in our most wildly successful jobs, I never got a personal stake this big before. Platinum, heavy and rich and very pretty, not quite so fancy shiny as silver or gold but so much more precious, the full split they gave me is more money than I’ve ever had in my life before. Truth is I could walk away now with what I’ve got in my purse now and start a pretty good life for myself if I was inclined to just settle down somewhere. Not that I’m alone – I got the distinct impression this was the biggest payday the Creeping Bam’s ever seen by quite a margin.

And it’s not just the money, either, even if it is very nice indeed. We’ve earned some serious perks while we’re in Bavat, too. Rooms have been secured for us in one of the nicer hotels, apparently, although given how Yeslee feels about cities Thermyse pulled some special strings and did just what Gael suggested she might like. Now she can stay in the Sanctuary of Druanna for as long as we’re here, sleeping in the gardens amongst the trees and bushes and animals if she wants. I swear I saw her smile after a long moment of surprise.

More than that, we’ve got some kind of credit with the Order while we’re here too. Apparently if we see anything in their armouries that takes our fancy, we’re welcome to it, within reason. That sounds almost outlandishly generous to me, and Kesla put her foot down immediately on that subject when she said that, sure, we could do that, but none or us are allowed to go overboard. In truth it seems a daunting prospect to me, I couldn’t think of anything I could possibly want from a place like this anyway.

But when Kesla asked if I wanted to accompany her as she joins Gael on her revisit to the Academy, I’ll admit my curiosity got the better of me. Perhaps I’m simply intrigued to learn about what made my new friend turn out the way they did, they’re like no-one else I’ve ever known, not even Garnon really, so I’m fascinated by the possibility. Or maybe I’m just wondering if there might be something cool down there that might take my fancy after all …

Getting down into the city from the Citadel was a far more straightforward process than I was expecting, but no less surprising all the same. I was expecting we might be using some kind winch-and-pulley elevator system like they must use to get the river-borne cargo down from the falls, and I was looking forward to what would likely be another adventurous experience. Certainly I had a great time on that flying platform they had us on when we first came in, it was a genuinely astonishing thing to go through indeed. I could see for miles, it felt very much like being back home in the mountains but at the same time very much not.

Instead, after we left Thermyse’s fancy office high in that weird tower through that lift – which took much less time to reach the bottom than it had on the ascent, I noticed – Wenrich guided us to the much larger circle inlaid into the centre of the floor in that overwhelming atrium. After sharing some final words with Gael and Kesla, he took his leave of us again, although I suspect that won’t be the last we’ll see of him during our time in the city, right now he’s simply bound for the Citadel’s infirmary so they can finally fix the remainder of his injuries. Gael bid us all step onto the oversized seal, worked one of the largest and most complex sigils I’ve ever seen between both their hands and ported us all in one go.

Interestingly, while we still experienced that pull and the strange moment of disconcerting weightlessness, it was far more gentle than any teleportation I’ve experienced in the past. I get the feeling this means that using a circle is a far different experience than just porting on the fly like we’ve always done in the wild, perhaps the magic’s simply more stable so it doesn’t shake us up inside like a portal spell. Whatever it may be, I already much prefer using a teleportation circle to get around, and judging from the others’ reactions I’m not alone.

Just like that, we went from that strange interior to wide open space and fresh air. As always, it still took me a breath to get over the initial disorientation of the change in location, but after taking in our surroundings it became clear where we’d landed. We were in a courtyard somewhere in the middle of that impressive if somewhat disordered jumble of fancy-looking white buildings Gael pointed out as home for most of their life, the Academy of the Silver Order. The group parted soon after, Gael handing Art, Yeslee, Krakka and Driver 8 off to one of the more simply dressed attendants who scuttled up to greet us, so they could be guided out of the campus into the city beyond. They’ll take our gear with them to the hotel after dropping Yeslee off at the Sanctuary, setting up our rooms for us while we finish up our business here.

Once again, I am very much out of my element here. As we traverse more of those echoing white stone hallways, incongruous polished dark wood doors lining the walls, I grow more and more lost, now convinced that if I tried to travel these corridors alone I’d never find my way out again. I suspect Kesla’s thinking the same thing, but at least she seems like she might’ve experienced something not too dissimilar before. Sometimes I envy her more well-travelled past.

Thankfully Gael knows exactly where to go, guiding us around twists and turns with a relaxed ease I’ll admit is surprisingly new to me. I’ve gotten to know the young wizard well in these past three weeks and I’m extremely fond of them because of it, and while they’re a very collected individual once you get to know them, they’re not the most confident person I’ve ever met. There’s a certain quiet shyness to them too, even in the company of folk they’ve clearly come to know very well indeed, that gives them a certain cautious reserve at times. It’s only now, since we arrived at the Citadel and now even more so in Bavat itself, that they’ve truly come out of their shell, almost like they’re an entirely different person here.

“Almost there.” Gael says now as we turn yet another corner and then descend a short flight of stairs to a double door set at an angle at the bottom, one of which stands a couple of inches ajar. Gael pulls it the rest of the way open and steps through, stopping just inside to usher us both after them. Kesla and I share a moment’s look before she steps in ahead of me, and I take a breath before following. I really have no idea what to expect after everything else we’ve experienced today.

The space inside is massive, far larger than it has any right to be from what we saw outside, the ceiling rising high into the air while the floor stretches for what feels like hundreds of metres around. It’s also surprisingly loud, although the sound doesn’t hit us until we’ve stepped inside, as if it’s been dampened by magic. It probably was. Most of all, though, it’s nowhere near as warm as I would’ve expected, despite the fact there are no less than three substantial forges set along the nearest wall, all lit and glowing a very hungry red indeed, although only one currently seems to be in use.

In the middle of the room, several long, wide workbenches have been set up, each laid out with various pieces of equipment and tools and components and gods know what else, and very little of it is even remotely familiar to me. I have only the most rudimentary knowledge of the manufacture of weapons, armour and machinery, mostly just what I need to care for my own blades, really. I know the uses of a hammer and a saw and a few other of the hundreds, perhaps thousands of implements that are mounted along the broad back wall of the chamber, but otherwise I’m a bumbling ignorant here.

The far end of the room seems like something I’d be far more comfortable in. Mounted on the walls and in row upon row of tall racks are what looks like thousands of weapons and pieces of armour, sometimes whole suits already arranged on dummies or hung up and waiting to be selected. To a warrior, it’s something that almost looks like paradise.

There’s very loud music playing somewhere, but I can’t place the source. From the sound of it, there should be a whole bunch of people playing instruments in here, something my father told me about called an orchestra, but for the life of me I can’t find them. It’s big, sweeping music, terribly dramatic, and two people are singing too, or at least I think that’s what they’re doing, it’s very tuneful but also very nearly the loudest thing in here. I can’t tell if they’re in pain or in the throes of immense ecstasy, both of which trouble me to think about actually having to hear them. It’s kind of beautiful, but a fierce and slightly worrying beauty.

Even though it is terribly loud, even this can’t drown out the sounds of the one forge currently in use. This is where we’re heading as we enter, Gael leading us in a straight line for it, and as we get close I can finally make out who’s working at it. There are two figures here, one tall and willow but seemingly very strong nonetheless, while the other’s squat short and very burly. I’ve met a few dwarves in my time, mostly through our visits to Hocknar, but I’ve never seen one quite like this.

For the most part he’s like any other dwarf – stocky, muscular and very hairy, his thick, long jet black beard and tied-back hair generously streaked with silver. Thanks to the beard I can’t really make out much of his face beyond a typically broad, prominent nose since his eyes are hidden behind black-lensed goggles. Even so, he seems hale and healthy, stripped to the waist so I can clearly see his taut, solid muscles as he pounds away at a sword held by his companion with a hammer. Each strike unleashes bright sparks from the near white hot metal, and now I’m watching it’s clearly in time to the music.

The thing which sets him apart from the other dwarves I’ve known is his left arm. His shoulder disappears into what I suspect is a fake limb, built from dark but richly polished metal which has clearly been crafted to closely resemble his full flesh-and-blood right, albeit without its skin. It moves just like a real arm though, which surprises me, and while I can’t imagine how, it seems to have been perfectly fused to where his living flesh ends.

His companion is … not actually a man, although they’re built somewhat like one. At first glance I thought they might be some kind of elf but no, clearly not, and while they’re made from what’s clearly a pale, polished silver metal my second thought of golem doesn’t seem right either. At least going by Driver 8, this creation seems very different, having clearly been made to look much more like a living being, although the features are stylised, the surface of the metal generously patterned with swirling, twisting filigree. The eyes are simple glass, glowing with a strong blue light, but when I look into them there doesn’t seem to be that inexplicable spark of something alive I’ve seen from the golem’s. I really have no idea what I’m looking at right now.

“Gael,” I lean close to them as we approach, having to raise my voice over both the hammering and the music. “What is … I don’t …”

“Dwarven opera. Rudec Himenigadt, I think it’s called. To be honest I’m not so familiar with this one as some, but I liked what I heard.” They give me a sidelong look. “It’s about love, duty and honour. This is one of the more romantic duets.”

Turning to Kesla, I find her stifling a chuckle. “It’s not my kinda thing, to be honest. I don’t mind opera, but I prefer something you can dance to. Preferably with lyrics in common, in case I wanna sing along.”

Frowning, I look back to Gael. “That’s not what I meant. That … what is that? It’s not a golem, is it? I thought they were supposed to be more rudimentary.”

“Oh no, that’s Rudi. It’s an automaton. Driven by magic, but not really alive. There’s no actual living mind in that head, it just follows commands. It’s like a particularly clever tool.” They shrug. “Hurrig built it, years ago. It was his final project in enchantment artificing, he graduated with honours for it. These days it helps out in the forges.”

Looking back, I see the solid, steady hold it’s maintaining on what seems to be a blazing hot length of steel with naked hands, and wince. I wonder if Driver 8 would feel any kind of discomfort doing something like that, but I doubt it. I’ve seen him shrug off damage that can destroy buildings like it’s nothing, a little white hot metal probably wouldn’t even register. But there’s something a little … off about the way this thing is just standing there, holding that hot metal like it’s nothing, that sets my skin crawling.

“Hurrig!” Gael calls out as we draw near and the heat of the forge finally starts to register on me, but still less than I would’ve expected. I wonder if this is dampened by magic too. The hammering falters as the dwarf pauses mid swing and looks up, and there’s a momentary creasing of that heavy brow above the goggles before he seems to smile, although it’s barely visible under that heavy moustache.

“Well I’ll be … Gael Foxtail, you sneaky little bugger! How’re you doing?” He sets the hammer down and turns to the automaton, simply gestures with one of his huge, thick-gloved hands, and it turns away to swing the blade over and quench it in a tall container of ice water. As steam billows out and obscures the forge for a moment I see his squat shape duck around before he steps out into the open. He snaps his fingers and the music just stops.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Gael’s grinning wide as they step forward and drop to one knee, opening their arms out as the dwarf stalks forward. “How are you?”

“I can’t complain.” He slips those thick, quilted leather gloves off and stuffs them unceremoniously under his belt, and his right hand’s as massive, thick-knuckled, roughly callused and downright intimidating as I expected it to be. The other, like the rest of the arm, is made of metal, continuing the design sensibility, although the palm and pads inside his fingers seems to have been fashioned from cross-hatched wood instead. I wonder if this is in deference to his grip, which I would imagine might be a little slippery if that was metal too. “The Order keep us busy enough for my own preference, and I’m allowed to do what I want when there’s no special projects taking up my time.”

Gael pulls him into a tight hug and he gives them a good tight squeeze, but not so much as to crush them, which surprises me with that arm. Finally he gives them a little pat on the back and they let go, and he gives them a good long look up and down as they straighten up again. Finally he whips the goggles off and blinks for a moment before focusing on Gael again as he tucks them under the belt with the gloves, another frown spreading across his brow. “You’re looking pretty good for someone who died not too long ago.”

“Oh for …” Gael throws their arms up with an irritable hiss. “All right, I died a little, but obviously I got better. It’s not like you can claim to have fared any better.”

“Aye, but I’m none too keen to see my own goddaughter follow my example. I would’ve thought your da would’ve been a better role model for you in that.”

“Yes, well I didn’t plan on it, circumstances kind of … made it necessary at the time.” They fold their arms tightly, clearly getting defensive now. We’ve largely tried to avoid discussing Gael’s brief visit to the other side, it’s clearly become a sore subject for them, and I get the feeling they feel more embarrassed about it than anything else. Even though there was nothing they could’ve done to prevent it. “I’m alive now, that’s the main thing. So we can forget about that now, yes?”

Shooting a look at Kesla and I, the corner of his mouth quirks up and he lets out a little chuckle before turning back to the forge. “Fine, fine. Just don’t expect your da to go any easier on you when you see him next.” He strolls back and digs around for a moment before pulling out a heavy quilted jacket. Untying the apron, he pulls it off and shoves it unceremoniously where he collected the garment, then tosses the gloves and goggles after. When he pulls the coat on it seems to swamp him for a moment, but once he’s got it settled his shoulders and thick, sinewy arms seem enough to fill it out.

Loosening up again, Gael brushes their hair aside and like always it just falls right back in place again. “Well, anyway … Hurrig Stormshield, this is Kesla Shoon, and Shayline Swift-kill. My friends.”

“Pleased to meet you both.” He shakes our hands one at a time with his flesh one, and I’m not particularly surprised by how powerful his handshake is. He doesn’t quite crush my own, but I can tell he holds back, fully capable of breaking every one of my fingers at once if he wanted to.

“You too, Master Stormshield.” Kesla smiles down at him. “Gael’s mentioned you a few times, I hear you were quite something in your youth.”

Stormshield shrugs as he buttons up the jacket, leaving the top one open so he can sweep his beard out over the collar. “Once upon a time, perhaps. Back when I was in public service, I was known to be quite the hellraiser, cracked plenty of skulls for the Order. Until this, at least.” He raises his left hand.

“I shouldn’t have thought that would’ve slowed you down much, though.” I admit “Not really. I hear Order healers can work miracles some other clerics can only dream of.”

“Aye, they can, but not for me. It was some awful fell magic withered this limb right to the bone, nothing could be done to fix it. So I lost it, permanently. Kind of put paid to my fighting days, least for a while.” He gives Gael a wistful look. “Your godmother pulled a few strings and set me up here. Fell back on my education, and in truth kind of found my true calling here. I’m far better use here than I ever was in the field.”

“You built that yourself, then?” I venture.

“Oh, aye. Took a fair few years to get it right, mind. Prosthetics are tricky beasts, ‘specially with the enchantment built in so I can actually use it right. But what I learned making Rudi laid plenty of groundwork for me, so now it’s good as my old one.” He grips the remade hand into a fist and I hear an intimidating creaking from the mechanism as it all tightens.

“Well it’s most impressive, master Stormshield.” Kesla’s still smiling, and I have to nod along with the sentiment. “I daresay you could be hell in the field again with a left arm like that.”

“Mayhap. I’m not sure I really belong there any more, to be frank.” He sighs, then looks up at her, cocking his head for a moment. Thoughtful now. “Shoon … you wouldn’t be related to Edhril Shoon, by any chance?”

Kesla blinks, eyes going wide, and they shoot to me for a long moment and I just look back, equally surprised. “Um … I … yes, I am. He was my father.”

Stormshield looks at her for several moments, watchful and evaluating again. Finally he nods. “Hmmm … I’ll admit, you don’t look much like him, but in truth I imagine you take more after your mother. Although you’re certainly big enough to be his wee girl.” He smiles, a rather wistful look crossing his face now. “I knew him, when he was young. Not over well, but we fought together once. Your da saved my life, in fact.”

“He did?” Kesla smile is a complicated one, almost as wistful as the dwarf’s.

“Aye, he did. Took some nasty wounds doing it, too. Put him out of commission for the rest of the battle. To be honest, there’s times I wonder if he’d still been at my side that last day, would I still have my arm today?” He looks down at the metal fist as he clenches it again. “Wasn’t his usual kind of fight, mind you, his company sort of stumbled into our business just when they were needed, to be honest, and your da was seconded to the detachment that got broke off to help us. Good man, tough as hell, amazing fighter.” He fully grins now. “Reckon you must take after him, from what I’ve heard of late.”

“Oh yes,” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, surprising Kesla and Gael both as much as myself. “She’s a proper hellion, this one. One of the best I’ve ever seen.”

She gives me a look, and once again I can’t tell what she’s thinking for the life of me. I’m not sure if I’ve flattered her or pissed her off a little without meaning to, and I’m not sure how I’d feel about either. She doesn’t say a word, though.

“You’re wearing his sword too.” Stormshield’s observation breaks the reverie.

“What?” Kesla looks down, surprised again, realising what he means as she turns to the sword on her hip. “Oh, yes. I am. Hefdred, yes.” She draws it, then flips it and catches hold of the blade one-handed in a deft move that surprises me with such a big weapon. She offers the hilt to Stormshield, who hesitates for a moment before taking it.

Despite his relatively diminutive height, the dwarf’s overlarge hand’s easily big enough to handle the bastard sword on its own as he raises it, looking up the line of the blade before swinging it down to lay across his left wrist. “Oh aye, this is it. I remember this weapon, a fine blade indeed. Dwarven forged, far finer than a man at arms would normally carry. I understand it was a gift from one of the first knights he served under, during his first tour. Saved his life too.” He holds it out now, looking down the length of the blade, turns it over and does the same again. Finally he gives it a flip very much like Kesla’s own, catching it with similar ease, and offers it back. “So he named it Hefdred?”

“After his uncle. My grandfather died when he was still a baby, and his mother died delivering him. Like mine …” She falters for a moment before she can sheathe the sword again, her breath catching, but recovers quick enough to slide it home. “Hefdred and his took ‘im in. My great-uncle was a hell of a warrior himself, so it’s small wonder he became such a strong role model. He died before da’s first deployment, so naming the sword after him was the least he could think of to honour him. I suspect if I’d been a boy he probably would’ve named me after him too.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re exactly who you ought to be, lass. Certainly you’re just who I would’ve expected to come from your da. Well, mostly.” He shrugs, looking at me now, and his eyes linger for a moment at my own sword. “Well I’ll be … is that –”

“Ashsong’s sword.” I lay my hand on the hilt for a moment, giving it a somewhat awkward caress, then sigh as I draw it too, taking great care as I turn it around to offer it up given how damnably sharp the edge is. “Careful with this, it bites.”

Gael looks at their fingers once again, like I’ve seen them doing a lot since we set out again, and Stormshield clearly takes note of this before they’re able to correct themselves again. I’ve no doubt he reads the meaning of that exactly, making the connection to Gael’s own recent brush with death, but he says nothing about it. Instead he takes hold of the hilt with all due care as he starts to examine it.

“We were hoping you might be able to tell Shay something about the weapon, none of us have any real experience with anything quite like it.” Gael informs him “It’s unbelievably sharp, cuts through armour like cloth, but not the steel in our blades.”

“Weighs like steel, but it clearly isn’t.” I sigh. “It feels … right in my hands, but I’m not sure I can trust it yet, not until I know it’s safe enough for me to use in anger.”

Nodding, Stormshield holds it out like he did with Hefdred, looking down the blade. “Oh aye, I understand perfectly. A prize like this can be curse as much as blessing ‘til you know what you’re dealing with.”

“There were a few other items Ashsong left behind wound up in our care, Mistress Thermyse reckoned you’d be best one to look at them too.” Kesla slips the strap of the satchel she’s been carrying since we left the others, containing those dreaded bracers and a few other pieces, and sets them down on the floor with less care than they’re perhaps due.

After a moment I do the same with the more substantial duffel full of the dead elf’s fancy purple armour, ruined by Kesla’s killing stroke as it might be. Stormshield eyes them for a moment. “I take it she wants us to find a home for all this after too, aye?”

“That was her general idea, yes.” Kesla admits “None of us want anything to do with any of it, the whole mess stinks of whatever it was he got mixed up in.”

Stormshield nods again, finally turning back to the sword. He raises it so the blade’s barely an inch from his nose, wisely keeping the edge facing away, and actually takes a sniff of it. He frowns. “Aye, it’s enchanted, seems the magic was put in during forging, so it’s part of the weapon itself. It is steel, after a fashion. This is elven forged, finest I ever seen, and rare indeed in this day and age.” He takes hold of the blade between his remade fingers with similar care before offering it back. “The enchantment’s designed specifically to cut through armour, not other blades. It’s a whimsical idea, really, personally I would’ve made it to do the same to other swords too. It’s strong, too, that blade’ll never break or blunt, no matter what you do to it. It’s a damn fine weapon, should serve you well indeed.”

Breathing a sigh of relief I didn’t even realise I’ve been holding onto, I take hold of the sword again and give it a little whip, safely off to the side so I don’t hurt anyone, before sliding it home in its scabbard again. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense.” Stormshield grins wide. “I could’ve made that evaluation in my sleep.” He cocks a brow as he looks us over again. “This can’t be all you’re here for, though. And I know you’re not here just to catch up, either.”

“Well no,” Gael admits, seeming sheepish now. “She gave us credit, too. Thought we might pick over the stores a little, maybe? If you don’t mind, of course.”

This time he starts laughing, and it’s a great hearty bellow, much like I’d have expected. “Why on all of Tao’s sunlit face would I mind? Why else d’you reckon me and mine make all this shite in the first place?” He gives Gael another quick, appraising look. “Well right away I know what you need. A new staff, am I right?”

“Um … yes.” Gael shrugs, still seeming uncomfortable. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I got just the thing.” He claps his hands together and the wood and metal of his new one makes it much louder. He cocks his head for us to follow as he starts towards the racks. “If you would?”

Oh really? Well this is exciting. I can’t help it, I follow him before the others can even think to move. Gael comes quick enough, but Kesla frowns down at the bags for a moment, as if reluctant to just leave them sitting here in the middle of the floor. But then, surely this man Stormshield would’ve said something if they weren’t perfectly safe, the moment I saw him it became clear enough he’s truly master of his domain here. I give her a pointed look over my shoulder and that seems enough to make her follow.

Gods … as we get close it’s just more and more wonderful, everywhere I look there are some of the most beautiful and exquisitely crafted weapons I’ve ever seen. Kesla’s own bastard sword would look at home here, but there are several other pieces which clearly surpass it. I’m beginning to see what Kesla meant about not letting anyone get too carried away here – I feel like a small child looking over shelves filled with sweet treats and a purse-full of money at my disposal.

Stormshield cuts in halfway down the line and we follow him down an aisle with various staffs and other long-shafted blunt weapons set out. He stops halfway down, and when we join him he’s already picking one of the taller staffs out of its rack, holding it out to Gael as they stop short. “Try this.”

Gael hesitates for a moment before they take it, handling it with great care as they look it over. It’s taller than they are by almost six inches, and more slender than their former staff, this one seemingly made of some kind of metal. Much of its length is embossed with a tight crosshatched pattern which must be in lieu of wrapping it in leather or cloth for grip. The tip, however, flares out into a three flanged prongs, with a cool white crystal mounted in-between, and looks capable of inflicting some potentially nasty damage if they hit someone in the face with sufficient force.

They step away from us so they can have a little space, then let the staff drop through their fingers so its base hits the cool tile of the floor. It rings out loud in the cavernous space, a sharp metallic note, but there seems to be something more to it, more substance than I would’ve expected. The subtlest smile touches their lips, and as we watch them swing the staff around a little, going through a few quarterstaff fighting drills, I see it grow. Finally they straighten up and let it drop again, then start to work a sigil while looking up at the crystal, which starts to glow as the lines take shape. Then they tap it again and the crystal flares brightly, and all at once the tip of the staff seems to explode in a dance of swirling, dancing lights that wheel beautifully through the air before slowly fading. By this point Gael’s smile’s become a full-blown grin.

“Oh, I like this.”

“Aye, I thought you would. How’s your wand? Still good?”

They don’t answer for a moment, still a little enamoured with the staff it seems. They make the connection quick enough though, blinking back at him as they make sense of the words. “Oh, yes. Sorry. It’s fine.” They lift the left side of their robe to reveal the wand still tucked away in its snug leather holster under their arm. “It served me well enough when my staff was destroyed, but I’ll be happy to have this now. Thank you.”

“Welcome.” He turns to us. “Anything in particular, or are you just browsing?”

“Myself, I’m fine with what I already got.” Kesla asmits “But our colleague needs some replacements after our recent misadventures. He’s a knife fighter, finesse sort, likes to fight two in hand. You got anything in the way of daggers?”

“I do indeed.” He cocks a thumb back the way we’ve come. “Follow me.”

We fall into step behind him, Gael catching up quick with their new staff enthusiastically tapping out a stepping rhythm behind us. I catch Kesla giving her a quick glance over her shoulder before catching my eye, and we share a smile. Stormshield leads us back around the corner and takes us two rows up before cutting down an aisle fair bristling with blades of all shapes and sizes, most still sheathed but a few blades hanging on their stands. These ones look lethally sharp enough to cut just by laying eyes on them, and I’m wary about getting close to them.

This time we stop a third of the way down and he raises his metal hand in a flourish to indicate an impressive selection of knives, from multi-purpose hunting blades to an almost baffling selection clearly intended purely for combat. “There you go, lass. Any preference in particular?”

Kesla steps forward to inspect the selection with a growing frown. I’ve seen her own collection, she’s got plenty of knives herself, but most of them are far more purely functional than Art’s largely specialised weapons, most just as good for cleaning game as killing foes. Myself, I only carry a few, purely for backup, and one that’s entirely a multi-purpose tool that gets used more for eating than anything else. I wouldn’t know where to start here, she knows him much better than me.

After a few thoughtful moments, she reaches out and slides one of a pair of sheathed knives out, turning it over in her hands for a few moments before slipping the tie loose and pulling it free of the scabbard. About thirteen inches, pommel to tip, the single-edged blade curving to a trailing point while the handle curls the other way to fit the shape of the palm. A pure fighter’s blade, sharp and wicked, offering nothing but cruel death to whoever’s on the receiving end. “This is pretty much it.”

Nodding again, Stormshield strokes his moustache for a moment, thoughtfully looking on. Eventually he reaches out and plucks the knife and scabbard both from Kesla’s fingers, closes it up and puts it back. “That’s all very nice, but I’d suggest this pair instead.” After putting it back, he moves two down and picks up another twinned pair, holding one out to her.

When Kesla unsheathes this one I really can’t tell the difference to the last. It’s the same length, essentially the same design. The only real difference is slightly darker metal, with an interesting smoky pattern in the folded steel of the blade, and the handles, which are bone-trimmed with tight-wound leather binding the grips. Kesla gives the dagger a deft little flip and catches it with an ease that I’m really not surprised by, then again so that it lands cross-wise on the back of her fingers, and she curls two of the into a fist while letting it rest on the rest. There’s a moment of wobble but the knife balances impressively well, and now what she was just doing with all that fancy flicking makes sense. As she looks down at it a smile starts to form on her face again. “Nice. Very nice. This is just the right one, yes.”

Once she’s snapped it back into its sheath Stormshield hands her the other too, and she passes them to me before loosening the strap on her satchel. When I pass them back she slips them inside, still smiling.

“Thank you, Master Stormshield, but I have to ask, why those two?”

“Well, those others are all very well, but I made those two myself. Put a little enchantment in the steel, now if your friend throws them they’ll come back when they want them.” He cocks a brow. “I take it that’s how they lost the last two?”

Kesla chuckles a little. “Actually yeah. We had to run, Art was real pissed about having to leave ‘em behind, they were his favourites.” She buckles the strap again and smiles down at him. “Thank you very much for this.”

“Again, don’t mention it.” Now he turns to me, one brow still arched, and if it were possible I suspect he’d quirk it a little higher. “How about you, Mistress Swift-Kill? Anything strike your fancy?”

Gods, I don’t know. I open my mouth to speak and nothing comes out, and I find he’s stroking his moustache again, watching me thoughtfully. “Um … I … hmmm …”

Finally he snaps the fingers of his metal hand with a great ringing crack, and points at me. “Come this way.” Turning away before I can reply, he continues down the aisle, heading toward the back of the room now, and I’m left frowning in his wake. Kesla gives me a rather amused look and nudges me with her elbow before cocking her chin after him, and I glare at her for a moment before sighing heavily. I follow, no longer caring if they do the same.

The racks lining the back wall are entirely given over to armour, and from the look of it this is the richest, fanciest work in this entire collection. There’s all kinds here, steel plate and mail and leather, all very beautiful and intimidating, although everywhere I look I recognise a certain design sensibility in common throughout. I suspect much of this is Stormshield’s own work, and I wonder if he’s showing off as much as anything else. Looking over my shoulder I see Kesla’s certainly appreciative of the bounty on display, but Gael mostly seems a little flummoxed by it. To be honest I don’t think this is really their kind of thing.

Stormshield waits for us just shy of the bottom corner where half a dozen dummies have been set up, each with a full suit of armour draped and strapped over them. Each is truly exquisite work, some of the most striking I’ve seen in the whole place, and as we arrive he waves his hand over the nearest suit in a flourish. “This one, ah reckon.”

I stop on the spot, looking it over. I start to protest, preparing to tell him I’m happy with my own leathers, but once I’ve gotten a look at it I stop myself. Finally I step forward, reaching out as I approach.

It’s dark grey, almost black scale-mail, somewhat akin to Kesla’s lamellar suit but much finer, the scales more closely interlaced, and when I touch the cuirass it gives like chainmail. The smoky metal feels somewhat like steel but somehow not, it seems softer, and yet when I draw back and ball my fist, checking at the last and just rapping on it with my knuckles, it seems to stiffen on contact, as though I’m striking a solid piece of plate. I arch my brows appreciatively at Stormshield, who’s smiling up at me. “What is it?”

“Magic, of course.” He full-on grins now. “Of a kind. Most of the weapons and armour I make I put enchantments into while I’m forging them. I know what kind of unpleasantness waits out there for the folk I send out into the field wearing it, I’m happier keeping them safe as I can.” He reaches out and gently runs his flesh-and-blood hand over the laminar bracers. “This’ll soak up a lot more punishment than it looks like it should. Arrows, blades, most of that’ll be flummoxed. It’ll hurt getting hit, but …” He shrugs. “Least you’ll survive it.”

Looking closer, I reach out again and finally lift the skirt of the cuirass, give it a little shake before dropping it. It makes much less noise than I would’ve expected too, instead of a heavy clinking it gently hisses as it falls into place again. Interesting. “It’s quiet, too.”

“That’s why I thought it might suit you, lass.” His smile’s more cocked now. “You got the look of a prowler to you, one of them Thieves Guild types. Figured you’d like something you could be sneaky in.”

Looking at him for a moment, I wonder if he’s just seen right through me, like he knows exactly what I’ve spent essentially my whole life up until three weeks ago doing. But maybe not. I haven’t changed my look all that much, so while I’ve left most of my leathers packed away since we left I probably have some of that same air about me. He strikes me as a worldly man, he’s certainly a fighter, likely he’s met his fair share of thieves and outlaws in his time.

“Well it’s very striking. Should I try it on?”

“Reckon it’ll fit you well enough, lass, no need to bother with that. It’s of a size with you, I should know. Made it myself.” The way he looks at me says it all, he really has got my measure already.

“It’s nice.” Gael’s at my side now, surprising me somewhat. “You should take it. Hurrig’s work is first class, there’s nothing better out there.”

“You ought to get yourself something too while you’re here.” I give them a little nudge. “After what happened with your armour you need to trade up.”

Gael looks at Hurrig now, a little nervous now. He just looks almost smug.

“Actually, your da put in an order about six months ago, last time he came through. Wanted to surprise you next time you turned up, either himself if he was here or just by proxy.”

They look at the other dummies, sizing all the suits up now. I’ll admit I’m looking as well, but I’m not sure any of the rest would really suit them.

“Which one?”

“Oh, it’s not one of these. I got it set aside, special. Give it to you later.” He cocks a brow, looks round at the Kesla for a moment. “None of you are in any kind of rush, I imagine. Bavat’s safest city in the land, you know that. Won’t be needing it right now, will you?”

“No, I suppose not.” Kesla agrees, although she seems thoughtful now.

Another of those strange empty voids seems to open up in the blink of an eye a few feet away, somehow missing all of us and the dummies, and when it vanishes with a final swirl of displaced air, that young dragonhalf from earlier is stood there. Tulen blinks for a moment like everyone seems to do after porting around, and by the time she’s got her bearings again Stormshield’s already rounding on her.

“Damn it, lass, what the hell are you playing at? You know my rules, no porting in the armoury.”

There’s a slight darkening to her cheeks as she makes that connection, and given her complexion it’s especially striking to look at, and quite endearing. Gael’s friend is an intriguing creature, I’ve known a few dragonhalves in my time but she’s a rare one for me, where the dragon seems to be quite subtle in her blood. In many ways she seems strikingly human in appearance, her features mostly only bearing quite subtle reptilian touches, a slight pinching of her nostrils and hints of a muzzle. Her skin is a pale, slightly silvered grey, albeit darkened in places with scatterings of shiny dark scales, particularly around her pronounced cheekbones and replacing her eyebrows, but mostly it seems soft and almost warm. It certainly goes well with her hair, which is a thick and rich mane of bouncy ringlets that could almost be mistaken for coils of spun iron.

The dragon comes through mostly in her horns, four pieces of arcing, curling glossy black bone sweeping around her head that almost seem like they’ve been purposely polished, and her eyes. They’re a beautiful dark brown, no white to them at all, but while she seems to have the same vertical slitted pupils as the rest of her kind they seem almost permanently dilated. To be honest, given what I’ve seen of her personality, it’s not much of a surprise.

Her spiny tail droops slightly along with her shoulders at the admonishment, but she throws it off quickly enough, seeming to bear his implied ire with a grace I suspect is born of a long built-up tolerance. The way Stormshield seems to fight the urge to smile too gives me the feeling he’s as fond of her as Gael. “Sorry, Master Stormshield. I just wanted to make sure I caught Gael as soon as I could, so homing right in on them seemed the quickest way.”

“Aye, well you’ll not be making a habit of it, will you?” He gives her a pointed look, but it’s softened. “There’s dangerous magics in here you got to be careful round.”

“I know.” She nods, and it’s like she never got told off in the first place. “We’re all done down there, we took the shard down to the labs in the lowest level so we can examine it before it gets locked up for good.”

“So it’s safe?” Kesla’s watching her closely, thoughtful again, maybe a little wary too.

“Oh yes. There’s no more danger of anyone stealing it from down there than if it was already in one of the vaults.” She shoots a glance to Stormshield, who’s also watching her, unreadable now. “Um … yes. We might appreciate your presence down there when we start, Master Stormshield. It looks like this one might be particularly potent.”

“Come and fetch me when you’re ready to proceed, then.” He cocks a brow at her after a moment. “But make sure you walk here like everyone else, mind. So as to avoid any more of these little slips, aye?”

“Of course, Master Stormshield.” She bows her head for a moment, and he responds with an approving nod. When she looks up again she’s smiling bright as ever, and once again I’m a little taken by how sharp it is. “Mistress Thermyse suggested I might want to come find you all while you were here. She said you had some other items from your encounter that I might want to have a look at?”

“Ah, so you’ll be joining us, then.” Stormshield turns to Kesla now. “Well then, might as well have a look at that stuff you brought, then.”

“Sure.” Kesla gestures for him to go ahead, and after regarding her for a thoughtful moment he starts back to where we left the gear before. She gives us a moment’s glance before following.

Before I can follow myself, Tulen’s swept up to me so fast that I tense for a moment, a small part of me wondering if I’m being attacked, but really I’d be more surprised if I was. Instead she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight enough to crush me a little, but I suspect she’s holding as much of her dragonhalf strength at bay as she can right now, and my own orc blood can take it easy enough. “Thank you.”

“Um … you’re welcome?” I return the hug rather awkwardly, unsure what this is even about.

“Mistress Thermyse … Gael’s godmother told me what you did.” She gives me a slightly tighter squeeze for a moment, likely to accentuate her point. “For Gael. If you hadn’t …”

“Oh, yeah. No, that was … I had to. I owed a debt, under the circumstances. So I did what I had to do.”

“Well I’m glad you did.” She finally releases me, but holds me at arm’s length as she smiles at me. I’m taller than her, but only a few inches, so she’s mostly looking me right in the eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. I mean … sure, she’s out there and I’m here, but …”

“No, I get it.” I shrug, looking over to find Gael’s watching this whole exchange with a very sheepish look on their face, really squirming now. “They’re my friend too, now.”

“Great, that’s just great.” She’s grinning wide again. “We’re happy to have you, of course. Do you have any plans tonight?”

“I … honestly, I don’t have a clue.” I look to Gael again, who simply shrugs. “I mean we just arrived, and I’m still new to the group. I have no idea what they usually do under these circumstances.”

“Well I’m taking Gael out on the town, of course, and you’re welcome to join me. The others too, if they’re interested.” She slides her arm around my shoulders, and pulls Gael in on her other side before starting to lead us both after the others. “Bavat may be the Order’s city, but that doesn’t mean we don’t know how to have fun when we want to.”

Looking past her to Gael, I see the young wizard’s clearly been taken as much by surprise by this new development as me, but they’re smiling, at least. I’ll admit, I like Tulen, she seems like a really sweet kid and clearly Gael thinks the world of her which makes me even more inclined to give her a chance.

No, it’s more the prospect of going out for a night on the town with the others. Kesla … we seem to be getting on well enough, but there are moments I can’t help wondering if that old rivalry from before might still have some bearing on our developing relationship. Art, I imagine, will likely be as fine with me as Gael is, but Krakka and, in particular, Yeslee are still both unsure prospects. They’ve all been pleasant enough on the journey here, but then we were cast together by circumstance, where civility’s much easier. Socialising here is far more dependent on them choosing to spend time with me, and I have to wonder exactly how that’s going to go.

Sure, when I chose to come with them, I knew this would likely come up sooner or later. I guess I just wasn’t expecting it quite so soon as it seems to have arrived …

Gael’s face, though … they seem so hopeful now, when they look at me. I can’t say no to that face, damn it. “Sure, why not? I’m game.”

“Brilliant!” I swear Tulen’s grin seems to get even bigger, which I didn’t think would be possible. It’s almost intimidating with all those sharp teeth. “We’ll finish up here and then you can all get settled in and then we’ll come collect you, yes?”

“We?” I have to ask, I didn’t account for there being any more newcomers in this adventure.

“Well yes. Gael will be with me, of course. Since she hasn’t got her own place in Bavat she’s staying with me.”

“I am?” Gael’s brows shoot all the way up again. “But I thought … Arrhetel … Mistress Thermyse already offered –”

“Nonsense.” Tulen’s smile doesn’t falter in the slightest. “I’ve got a lovely apartment in Warrhten Quarter with a really nice spare room, or you could easily bunk up with me like we used to back in the dorms. My bed’s definitely big enough for both of us.”

This time Gael looks at her more thoughtfully, and I think I can see what little reserve might’ve been left behind falling away. Their final smile is warm and entirely without guile. “Okay, sure. That sounds wonderful. Either one, really. I don’t mind.”

“You’re welcome to join us too, you know.” Tulen gives me a sidelong look as she squeezes my shoulders. “I have this really huge couch, and it’s very soft.”

“Oh, really?” Inside I scramble for an excuse. Tulen’s offer’s really sweet, and I like her a lot, but I’m really not sure I want to take her up on it. “That’s very generous, but I think after three weeks on the road with this lot I think my own bed in my own room is too good a change for me to pass up. A few nights with some alone time would probably do me some good.” I shrug. “Maybe later on, though, once I get bored, perhaps?”

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.” She gives me another little squeeze and I look at Gael, whose smile turns a little more cocky. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes I turn back to the path ahead.

Stormshield and Kesla have already long since returned to the spot of our original meeting, where they stand over the bags which seem to have been left unmolested since we’ve been away. Neither of them seem at all troubled by having to wait for us, but it almost feels like they disapprove all the same. We separate almost immediately, and I take a moment to check my gear over on this final stretch of the walk, a quick sidelong glance telling me the others are doing the same.

That being said, Gael’s still tapping out a gentle rhythm with their new staff as they walk, already pretty enamoured with it. I can’t blame them, it’s pretty sweet.

“Well then,” Stormshield growls amiably enough, the touch of a smile on his lips. “If it’s alright with you, why don’t we finish our business here, eh?”