The two farmers stood across from each other while leaning on the fence that separated their two farms. The days work had been good. Harvest was approaching for the second fields. The firsts had gone well enough, a bumper crop even.

“Bill.” Said the first farmer.

“Eric.” Said the second.

The rustle of wind through the fields filled their ears. The soft susurration of grain upon grain was the soothing sound of future food.

“You had that Mark boy stop by lately?” Bill asked Eric.

“That I have. You?” Eric responded to Bill.

“He’s been by.” Bill looked out over the fields for anything different.

“Hard worker that boy.” Eric glanced over at his own fields.

“Knows the big chores, only needs to be told once on the small ones.” Bill focused on the town walls.

“Treats the animals with respect, never gets angry with them.” Eric looked to the woods where the goblins used to come from.

“But there’s the problem.” Bill turned his eyes back to Eric.

“Yes, the problem.” Eric focused back on Bill.

Both men held each others gaze for a minute. Each were working through in their minds about how to discuss, ‘the problem’.

“Your Eliza.” Bill raised an eyebrow.

“Your Delilah.” Eric nodded.

The problem, having been discussed, was allowed to mull between them for a moment.

“Think he would stay? If we encouraged things.” Bill put forth.

“The boy hasn’t asked to stay at the house. Always makes his way back into town.” Eric answered.

“I hear he checks in at the guild.” Bill added.

“Restless for something I think.” Eric concluded.

The day was getting on. Grain needed to be transported. Ditches were to be dug. Pens had to be cleaned out. The two farmers left to complete the chores, each with their own problems to consider.

-------------

Greta was grateful for the help these days. The small halfling with the red hair was underfoot more often than not, but still useful. Kept the patrons entertained, the floors clean, and had quiet words with the more unruly people that calmed them down quickly.

“We need two more loaves for table three, and an ale for four.” Francis whirled into the kitchen and snatched a mug from the drying spot then headed straight for the keg.

“Got it, comin’.” Greta fished out the requested loaves of bread from the hot storage next to the oven. Francis’s suggestion to keep the bread warm by moving the cabinet up to the oven was a big hit these days.

Greta put the loaves on a tray and held it out for Francis who snatched the tray with a smile. Watching the little one move out again she had a moment to relax and took in the ambience of the main room.

A low fire lay in the hearth and provided a comforting warmth. The patrons were the usual affair, workers from the town needing a spot of relaxation after their work day. There were a number of discussions about the upcoming harvest that had already started. Apparently the amount of grain was fairly well along for this early in the season. This would be good for her bread.

Someone was complaining loudly about how their usual spot for finding honey had been ransacked by some animal. This would be annoying, mostly because Greta rather enjoyed the sweet during the winter months.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Francis was over there laughing along with one of the workers. Telling some kind of story no doubt. Some fantastical tall tale that halflings were well known for. Maybe it was the one about the vampire hunter who was also a vampire, it was a good ghost story.

Yes, Greta was grateful for the help.

-------------

The ringing of metal upon metal sang out from the black smith. Hammer met anvil in the way that Smith, the black smith, decreed. Slowly the cherry red metal was taking the shape of a pointed shovel. Things were easier these days thanks to the help of the dwarf.

Returning the shovel head to the forge to be reheated, Smith told Tim. “Give it a few more pumps of the bellows, this ones almost finished.”

Tim worked the wind bag with ease thanks to their increased weight. Lifting up the wooden paddle then simply leaning over to push the air into the heated coals.

The metal quickly returned to a workable temperature and Smith pulled it back out with their tongs. Hammer blows flattened out the sides of the shovel blade and gave the tool it’s final shape.

Smith held the shovel head up for inspection and gave a singular nod. Taking the tool over to a barrel of oil, they plunged it into the liquid, causing bubbles and a hiss to come out the top. When the heat had died down, a final inspection of the shovel head revealed nothing immediately wrong.

“I’m going to give this an edge. Do some cleanup, please.” Smith turned towards the spinning grind stone and started working the pedal to get the stone up to speed.

As the stone started to rotate, Smith brought the shovel end against it and sparks started flying. Little bits of molten metal flew off as the tool was passed over and over on the grind stone. Quickly enough, a rough edge was there and ready for it’s handle.

Tim brought over wood and nails to lay on the anvil. Smith and the shovel head joined the dwarf where they worked together to fit the two pieces together. Slotting the head onto the handle, Smith hammered the nails through the wood and bent the protruding tips to lock the thing in place.

They had made a shovel. Eric would be happy.

“Thanks Tim, have your pick of whatever, and here’s a nib to boot.” Smith fished the bronze coin out of a tin on the shelf. “You still heading into the guild to check today?”

“Always do.” Tim responded as he picked up a warm piece of scrap from today’s shovel.

“Tell Julia I said hi.” Smith said.

Tim’s eyes pierced into Smith’s soul. “Could always tell her yourself.”

Smith worked his jaw for a moment. “Wouldn’t want to impose, sure she’s busy.”

Tim flashed quartz teeth in a smile. “Sure she is.”

Tim walked off with a wave. Leaving the smith alone in the warm forge.

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Business was not going well for Paul. He had figured that there would be many calls for wizard work in town. And yet the customer base had yet to materialize. Maybe this is why he never got into consulting or contracting back on Earth.

Paul had gathered a plank of wood that he was using as a signboard. He had written “Magical Solutions” in big bold glowing letters using his Prestidigitation and set up ‘shop’ in the centre of town near the well. Keeping the magic up once an hour was annoying, but the advertising had worked, at least in the beginning. People had commented on the funny writing, but needed it explained to them.

At the start people were interested in the tricks he could do. The sparks and small things he created especially interested the children of town. But that interest had waned quickly.

“Do some magic.” A fat child whined for the thousandth time it seemed.

Paul grit his teeth. “I would, for a nib.”

“I don’t have a nib.” The obese child made the words slowly, as if speaking to someone dumb.

“Then I don’t do magic.” Paul leaned back against the chair he borrowed from the adventurers guild.

“Da says you’re a mage, and that mages do magic.” the portly kid lectured.

“And I am and I can.” Paul pointed at the little gremlin’s face. “For. A. Nib.”

“But I don’t have a nib.” the pear shaped kid repeated.

The circular argument continued far longer than Paul had patience for.

In an attempt to distract himself, Paul looked around the town gathering spot. What caught his eye were the number of women doing laundry with washboards. They were rubbing their washing up and down the rough surfaces using a small amount of soap which caused the water to froth. One of the women was scrubbing furiously and often checking one particular garment.

Sensing an opportunity, Paul made his way over to ask. “Something amiss dear?”

The woman jerked her head up. “Oh, it’s you. Yeah this was my favourite dress, but now it’s ruined, see?” She held up the dress in question to reveal a large brown stain.

Paul recognized the lady Mary from when she had given them directions to the leather worker Cole’s shop. “Please, allow me miss Mary.”

Waving his hand over the garment in a slow pass, Paul spoke the magic words. “This dress shall be clean. [Prestidigitation].” The purple rune ring flowed down his arm with stinging pressure and encircled the dress. The brown stain lifted an inch off of the dress and slid to the side onto the ground.

Mary’s eyes filled with wonder as she held up the perfectly clean garment. “It’s like new! How can I possibly thank you!”

“You did us a favour the last time we met.” Paul worked the stinging sensation out of his arm. “But how about you spread the word about this?”

Other ladies eyed the dress and Paul with a discerning eye.

“Happily! This has saved me so much grief.” Mary quickly packed up her washing into her basket. “I’ll be telling everyone!”

A good deed done. Paul walked back to his signboard and considered something. He rubbed out the “Magical Solutions” and cast again, this time writing “Laundromat”

“Customer is always right.” Paul hummed to himself.