“Welcome to Dwarven Hold.” Molucca waves his arms towards a castle half embedded into the cavern walls. “It is the pride of our city and one of the most defensible areas in all of Orbis.”

I stare at the castle, my eyes aglow as I assess the rather sparse number of enchantments on the walls. There are no barrier enchantments nor counterspells, no vibration detection, illumination, or even basic graffiti removal. There’s nothing really, except for the art. Now, the art is pretty awesome. Sculptures of griffins line the battlements, all smothered by intricate art on every piece of the castle's currently visible surface.

“I must be missing something, but this doesn't look that amazing. Even the entrance isn’t that impressive, though I do like the art piece on the gates.”

Molucca just grins in reply, which sets my mind whirling. I refocus on the walls and ping them with mana to see what I’m missing. From the ground, I feel a density of mana born of a dead dungeon, but from the walls? Nothing… oh.

“It's not stone, it’s pure adamantium.” I exclaim

Molucca chuckles. “Ay, it is. Since we can't change the metal without heating it in our volcanic forge, the only thing we can do is paint over it. Every year, the crown hires a budding artist to design the castle's exterior.”

I perk up, “Right, Volcanic forge. I actually want to see it. I read that the heat coming off the forge is directly connected to the leyline, so the mana potency and temperature are high enough to actually melt pure adamantium.”

Molucca stops walking. The group halts a second later and everyone stares at the gaping dwarf.

“How do you know this?” he asks in surprise. “Forging adamantium is one of the most closely guarded secrets of my nation.” as he finishes, a thought pops into his head, “Camelot! You learned the secret from Camelot, didn’t you? Damn, that city and their damned [Prime Minister].”

Actually, Mimir had figured it out a very long time ago. He’d even built his own forge in his tower. Hell, I bet other countries have figured it out a long time ago too.

“I don't see why another country knowing how to smelt adamantium is such a problem. They still wouldn't be able to compete with your prices since they wouldn't have a naturally occurring magical volcano to greatly lower costs.”

Molucca huffs, “The problem is that this will still dig into Svartalfheim’s profits.”

Testudo chuckles loudly. “Svartalfheim has been selling adamantium weapons at crazily marked-up prices. Now that they have some competition, they'll be forced to lower them.”

I frown, “Even so, Svartalfheims can produce it far cheaper than anywhere else since they have the volcanic forge. They would have to have been selling their weapons and armors at insane premium prices for a single nation to steal profits.”

Testudo and Quasi turn to look at the [Admiral] who quickly avoids eye contact.

Jessica steps forward. She points at the castle's entrance, “There's a line forming. Shouldn’t we enter before it gets too long?”

“Yes, yes, we should. Come, follow.” Molucca starts walking again, with a faster than usual gait.

They follow, though Testudo makes a point to look into adamantium weapon and armor trading. If prices are going to drop dramatically, he could very much make a killer profit in the short term.

________________________________________________________________

A dwarven soiree is not much different from what one would find in any other kingdom. The dwarves mingle and sometimes dance in a large hall, a chamber orchestra plays in one corner, chairs and tables are discreetly placed around the periphery, and against walls are the buffet tables. The buffet itself is the most dwarfish feature of the fete, an impressive array of hors d’oeuvres compliments a truly improbable selection of booze.

Yes, the main dish to a dwarven party is alcohol, with a side of food. seventy nine different kinds of wine, eight hundred and thirty different kinds of beer, and two thousand three hundred and fifty-seven varieties of distilled spirits, all of the highest quality available. It is said that a dwarven [Nobles] worth is directly related to the variety of alcoholic beverages they supply at their parties.

As a host, [Mountain Archking] Hreidmar has no equal. Like a man who has done this charade innumerable times before, he moseys between the notable [Nobles], exchanging pleasantries and insults as he sees them, and avoiding the those [Nobles] who are most unpleasant. As he flows through the room, he keeps his ears open. He overhears talks of trade, wars, and even one notable [Merchant] speculating on the future price of Adamantium equipment. The [King’s] interest piqued, he slowly moves towards the target of said conversation, only for it to get interrupted as the doorman announces the guest of honor. A hush falls over the hall. All eyes stare at the ballroom entrance. He follows their gazes and sees the main guest has appeared… and the guest seems to have brought with him quite a beauty.

A human woman blushes as hungry eyes gaze at her in her form fitting dress. Thin waist, adequate chest, and long legs that are all covered by a dress that leaves little to the imagination. The woman's face turns a scarlet red, which only arouses many of the men.

Thankfully, the man next to her knows how to suppress a crowd. Wearing a suit and top-hat as only a [Gentlemen] can, the man steps forward, removes his hat with one hand and slicks back his hair with the other. He smiles warmly at the gathered [Nobles] and all the young [Ladies] swoon.

Hreidmar grins as the man single-handedly just became the most hated and liked man in the ballroom. He can already see the jealous and angry looks turning his way.

With a flick of his wrist, and a small spike of aura, the musicians start up again and the party resumes, albeit with many eyes now on the couple. So distracted was everyone that he completely missed Moluccas and Testudo’s entrance.

“My [King],” Molucca arrives at his side, “I apologize for being a bit late. They took longer to change than I’d expected.”

“It’s fine, Molucca. The party has only just begun. There are still many hours to go.”

Molucca releases a sigh. He looks at the guest [Emperor] and grins as the man is already surrounded by many women, with the men glaring at him from a distance. Even his fellow greybeards are left to wait and watch.

“Go, Enjoy the party. I’ll get my chance in a bit.”

Molucca grins and beelines to the drinks.

With the distractions gone, Hreidmar resumes his rounds, speaking with various [Nobles]. With proper words and nudges, the party shifts throughout the room. Conversations start and end as he dictates the conversations that are happening and will happen. Eventually his nudges distract the people interested in the young man… or old. He can’t tell. Though the man looks young, his posture speaks of decades of practice.

With the numbers lowered, Hreidmar marches towards the young man with his usual kingly smile. Since the numbers have dwindled, his presence alone is now adequate enough to shift the rest away.

“Well, if it isn’t the most popular man of the hour.” Hreidmar extends his hand, “it is always a pleasure to meet another ruler.”

The man grins and takes his arm, “Ahh, so you’re the [Mountain Archking]. Now it makes sense why you were manipulating people for an hour.”

Hreidmars smile strains, “Kid, how about you keep your mouth shut.”

“That's not an insult, you old fart. I was just complimenting your ability to manipulate the shit out of people.”

Hreidmar squeezes the young man's hand, “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

The man doesn't react to the grip that could bend metal. “I disagree. I could go several rounds more, unfortunately I’ve grown a bit bored at the limited display available.”

At the young man's roast, the crowd OOH’s and chuckles. Hreidmar's face turns red.

The two rulers stare at one another for long moments, sizing each other up.

Then, out of nowhere, they both start laughing. They unclasp and Hreidmar strokes his beard. “Well lad, I see you’re not just the average pompous [Noble] jackass. Always a pleasure to meet one as remarkable as yourself.” He puts his hand around Quasi’s shoulder. “Come come, let me show you some of the better beverages you’ve probably missed.”

With arm around Quasi, Hreidmar leads the man away from the crowd. Once they’re out of earshot, Hreidmar stops smiling.

“Fucking piss stain. How did you figure out I was manipulating people?” he asks the cheeky young man.

Quasi rolls his eyes, “It's pretty simple. You’d go around the ball, talk to people, and then the people you talked to would find themselves walking directly to those surrounding me. A conversation would start up and the mob would lessen.”

Hreidmar sighs. They reach the buffet table. He grabs a bottle and hands it to the lad. “This is a new, sweeter mead. It’s not as strong as dwarven stuff, but It does prepare the palette for it.”

Quasi grabs the bottle, uncorks it, and downs the bottle all at once. Hreidmar nods approvingly.

“So,” Quasi begins, “is this the part where we jump into the major reason I was invited, or do we spend the next hour getting all the compliments and calumny out of our system?”

“Hreidmar, is this the young [Emperor] everyones been talking about?”

Forad arrives with a goblet in hand.

Hreidmar turns to him. “Aye, and he’s already a mighty pain in the balls.”

Forad perks up at the clearly annoyed but relaxed tone of the king.

“Sounds like you’ve got this old geezer's respect.”

“Grudging respect,” Quasi corrects, “and that's mostly because I called him out on him manipulating people.”

Forad grins, “So you noticed him walking around, talking to people, and then tricking them into conversations with others?”

Quasi nods while Hreidmar goes cross eyed.

“Forad, you knew?”

“Every goddamn Greybeard knows. We also know how you read people based on how much they drink. We’ve been around you for over a century. Your tricks are old, just like all of us.”

Hreidmar grabs the strongest bottle of alcohol he can, rips off the cap, and downs the whole thing. “Fuck,” he curses in annoyance. “This is a lot to take in.”

Quasi lays a hand on the [King’s] shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, your liver still functions at your ripe old age, so you’ve got that going for you.”

Hreidmar raises the bottle as he glares at the kid's forehead, but decides it would be wasteful.

“Bah.” he grumbles, “now why did you come here? You’re exactly the kind of blowhard who only shows up when you want something.”

“Maybe he wants one of your granddaughters,” Forad says.

“Then he can fucking take her. Hell, he can take them all. Fuck princesses. That’s what they’re there for. Get them out of my castle so they stop drinking me out of house and home!”

Quasi raises an eyebrow. “Why are their drinking habits a problem?”

Hreidmar shakes his head, “The problem is that no woman wants a man they can outdrink, and my granddaughters all seem to have my constitution.”

The dwarven king looks at Quasi with a slight bit of hope, but the [Emperor] shakes his head, “Nope. No more. I already have more wives and women than I can ever handle. Heck, I’ve left my empire to fend for itself just to get away from all of them.” He gulps down the drink in his right hand.

Hreidmar nods slowly as he remembers his youth. The constant adoration of women as he’d won drinking competition after drinking competition with such ease. It was only when he’d become [King] that the restrictions became a problem. “You are lucky to have an empire that doesn’t need your constant supervision.”

“You just need to delegate your work to people who will excel at it. Leave them some good long term guidance and then you can go on vacation for a year or two.”

Hreidmar strokes his beard. “I may look into that,” he glances at his good friend. A friend who has been with him the longest out of all the other greybeards, “I may indeed.”

Forad rolls his eyes at his king. The [Smith Lord] looks to Quasi. “So, young man, if you don't mind me being a bit blunt, why’d you come to this party?”

Quasi reaches up and scratches his perfectly smooth chin. “Honestly, it was initially because I was curious, but now I actually want to see the Uaithine.”

Forad perks up, “Johnson’s Harp?” What would you want with that old thing?”

“On top of being a [Emperor], I am also a [Bard]. Playing the legendary harp would be a dream for me.”

The [Smith Lord] grins. “Really now? Hreidmar, how about we let the [Emperor] [Bard] test out his skills.”

Hreidmar shakes his head, “My predecessor told me that the harp must not be touched. It is an artifact of the kingdom and it should always be preserved.”

“Bah. It's an instrument to be played, even if it is a legendary one. I say you let the lad test it to make sure it still functions. My senses already tell me that Quasi here has the levels to use it well.”

The [Dwarven Archking] glares at Forad, who grins back with a pleading look. Clearly, the [Smith Lord] just wants to look at the impressive artistic construction of the Harp.

“Fine, but only for a test. I do not want the instrument damaged.”

Quasi grins, “Don't worry, I’ll be gentle with it.”