Chapter Two: Iron and Water

It was soothing; the roaring of the flames, the heat the air choked with ash and soot. The sound of metal striking against metal cut clear through the haze and it put him at ease; the shape of the handle, the strength of the blow, each action repeated and refined: this was what he loved.

“Come on I’ve heard a good rumour, you sure you don’t want to listen for once?” Aria laughed the young woman sitting atop his desk legs crossed beneath her, tossing one of his hammers repeatedly up into the air with one hand where it span in place before dropping back down into the other without the slightest sound.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“But-”

“Just go home; we both know why you’re here! Can’t you please just let me finish my work?” Greiz yelled pulling down the length of cloth wrapped about his face, glaring in her direction through thick glass goggles. His sister shot him a wide grin before letting out a hysterical laugh

“you sound just like Pops; I mean it: ‘let me finish my work’ did you lift that off the old man or are you just getting all old and crotchety now that you’re living alone?” Greiz let out a low growl slamming his hammer down onto his stone work bench jabbing a thick finger in her direction his feather gloves creaking as he moved.

“I don’t have time for your shenanigans! I need to finish my next order by tomorrow otherwise I’ll be facing a military fine.” He turned grabbing a pair of tongues before taking hold of the finished spear head, smoky tendrils rising up off of the cherry red lump of steel. He plunging it down a moment later into a vat of cooling oil, the liquid bubbling as the near molten metal touched its’ surface before slowly dying down and lying flat Greiz leaving the spearhead submerged for a moment before lifting it up, giving it a quick shake and dropping it into a large wooden crate. Now all he had to do was enchant the breast-plates, sharpen the spear heads, mount the spears on actual handles, pad the helmets, and attach leather straps to the vambraces...

Well It looked like he was going to work another all-nighter.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about that if you just came back and worked with Dad.” Aria murmured Greiz unfastening the buckle on his goggles, turning on his unwelcome intruder.

“No, I’m not going to work for the old man.”

“Then why don’t you let me help out just for today.” Aria laughed hopping down from the table and rushing in the direction of the forge.

“Like hell!” Greiz yelled grabbing his sister by the forearm hauling her up, her feet leaving the floor as he held her as high as she would go; far, far away from anything she could break. He left the nine-teen year old girl dangling nearly four-foot off the floor for a few long moments, vainly attempting to catch his breath before catching her under the armpits and holding her just a few millimetres in front of his face.

Aria was dwarf, and that didn’t mean she was just a short – it was just she wasn’t entirely human. Actually for a dwarf she was just a little taller than normal at four-foot-two-inches; dwarves were miniature humanoids well known for their physical strength and technical skill and they held the title of the greatest craftsmen on the face of Alve. Dwarves also happened to be prideful and stubborn with heads just as hard as the rocks they mined and while Greiz was human, he couldn’t say the same for his adopted family.

“We both know how you get when anyone leaves you in the forge unsupervised; ‘you know what; why don’t I add incendiary runes to this sword’ or ‘that shield looks like it could use a few extra mana cores’ or how about the time you went ‘look my brother’s been experimenting with golems again why don’t I try tinkering around with that really big one over there and cause an explosion destroying the academy workshop and several pieces of coursework’. In short there is no way in hell I will ever let you work in a forge I own, near a street I live in, and if I could help it; within the borders of this nation!” Greiz seethed dropping the girl down onto the floor, her face scrunched up into an angry little ball, her hair burning an even brighter shade of red than normal.

“You’re still angry about that? It wasn’t my fault. I had no idea you’d been using a fire based mana engine; the teachers told you not to, you were supposed to use water or earth, of course everything would go up in flames. I just tried to see if I could start the thing up and see how well you’d done.” Greiz sighed pinching the bridge of his nose and taking in a deep breath.

They’d been over this plenty of times, even if it was completely and utterly her fault arguing wouldn’t change anything now.

“If you’re not going to leave then please just hurry up and tell why did you bother coming all the way down here in the first place? doesn’t Lumia need your’ help – last I heard she took on some big project from some knight.”

Aria snorted her arms folded over her chest, “don’t call her that, she’s your’ mother too, and she said I could have the day off as a matter of fact. Besides she’s almost finished, now; all that’s left are a number of alterations to the some of the gears to make sure everything runs smoothly. I’ll never understand the nobles’ obsession with golems or yours’ for that matter.” Greiz sighed stepping past her and dropping down into a chair waiting beside his desk tossing his gloves aside and crossing off the last of the spearheads on his list. He reached out pulling the blue prints for the runes he was meant to carve on the breast-plates out from under a pile of yellowed papers before letting out a heavy groan; he had to make three four runes per breast plate and include minor elemental defences as well. His sister leaned in peering over his shoulder “I just thought it would be nice to pay you a visit and see if you’d heard this new rumour that’s been floating about the capital since yesterday.” A small grin crept its’ way up the side of his face.

“If you’re talking about that bastard Fedian Kicking the bucket I know.” Aria choked taking an overdramatic step back. “Don’t under estimate the slums information network dear sister.” Greiz let out a low laugh.

“Well that isn’t the only reason I dropped by; same as usual really. Mom wanted me to ask you to come back. You can work with pops in the forge again and-”

“I refuse” Greiz shut her down before she could go any further pouring himself a drink from a large pitcher of water before tossing his goggles aside. “I told the old man I was going to start my own workshop and that I was going to be a success.”

“You work in the slums.”

“I have contracts with several adventurer parties and the military, as well as two storefronts.”

“Sure...” Aria shook her head spinning around his chair and jumping up to perch herself atop the edge of the table; “well if you’re going to talk this place up why don’t I just join you here as well.”

“I told the old man I’d do it alone.”

“But!”

“Besides I’d like to keep all of my limbs thank you very much.” Greiz pushed back from the table rising to his feet, his spine creaking with each movement a hard wind blowing through the open workshop and striking him clean about the face. He reached over pulling his cloak from the back of his chair, substituting it for his blackened apron, affixing the rusted brass clasp about his throat before shoving his hands deep into his pockets and turning back in Aria’s direction.

“I think I’ll take a break now, please just don’t break anything while I’m gone.”

“Course I won’t I’m going to come with you.” Aria laughed leaping down from her spot atop the table.

“I’m just going to head over to the river and say hi to an old friend. You sure you want to risk getting robbed for all you’re worth? The pickpockets round here can smell outsider.”

“Ah, then perhaps I will stay here...”

“Well if that’s the case try not to blow anything up.” Aria frowned, Greiz shooting her a wide grin, her face slowly changes shades to match her hair.

“Screw you; I am one of this cities greatest artificers. Maybe I made a few mistakes, but that was eight years ago. I’m not going to blow up your workshop, although I would like to take a look at a couple of your latest blueprints... ”

Greiz scowled in her direction, the young woman holding her hands up slowly retreating back into the forge. He sighed shoving his hands deep into his pockets and making his way in the direction of the ‘garden’. “Come on at least tell me you’ll think about it!” Aria cried the young blacksmith letting out a loud snort before stepping out of the shop. His workshop was open air, one of the walls having been removed; the forge opening up directly into his yard; a dusty stretch of earth marked off by a low stone wall, Greiz turned seizing a short hooked pole leaning against the wall before swinging it up and catching the lip of the shutter dragging it down with one swift tug. “Hey tell me you’ll consider coming home; even if you just pay them a visit, I’m sure mom’d be happy. She’s worried.”

The rattle of iron slowly died, Greiz glancing back through one of the small holes in the shutters Aria standing uncertain and small in the middle of the room lit by the glow of the furnace. “If you don’t break anything than I might consider it.” He called back swinging the hook back around to rest on his shoulder taking it with him as left; he’d had more than enough of street urchin’s stealing his stuff whenever he left anything out in the open.

So he’d think about things huh?

Greiz stepped out into a narrow alleyway unhesitatingly pushing forward making his way through the random hodgepodge of ramshackle lean-tos. There really wasn’t much to think about at all, he’d made a promise with his father and he had no plan to go and break it; and of course there was the issue with his mother to which just made keeping his promise with his father all the easier. Alafort Icon was the head of the Icon family and Greiz’s father; he ran a weapons in Gelfric’s third ring. For generations the icon family had been supplying the nobles with their swords and spears, their axes and their armour and to Gelfric’s dwarven community they were the aspiration of every weapon-smith in the city and an iron pillar of support; a pillar which had just one crack, in its’ long adorned history.

Greiz paused stepping out into the main road, the path running down in the direction of the western gate; carts and carriages trundling along the busy thoroughfares, making their way upwards and outwards through the city along roughly cobbled street. The young blacksmith stood waiting for a breach in the traffic before taking off at a light jog crossing the road and moving into another back alley, slowly winding his way through a patch of lower class taverns inns and brothels.

People tended to give the slums a bad reputation, but things weren’t nearly as bad as people said so long as you steered clear of the worst parts of the ring. Yes the houses were packed tight together, yes there were pick pockets and thieves, and yes occasionally some lunatic would start running amuck in one of the poorer neighbourhoods letting slaughter and madness guide them as they went, but it was nothing you couldn’t learn to live with. For the most part neither thieves nor pickpockets bothered stealing from other slum residents, and even if it was filthy, cramped and riddled with disease it wasn’t like it would kill you; and even if it did you’d just revive in the temple anyway. What people didn’t say about the slums was that the houses were cheap, you had free and easy access to all of the town’s latest gossip, and nobody gave a damn about who you were or where you came from; in the slums mixed families made up the majority of the populace elves, dwarves, beasts, humans, even some species of monsters had managed to wrangle themselves a permit to live in the city and lead happy lives surrounded by the muck and the filth and the squalor. No matter who you were if you were looking for somewhere to belong you could find it in the slums... Maybe it was the fact he’d been away from the slums for so long which had caused him to think of the rat infested streets with such fondness.

Well that or maybe he was just going mad.

Greiz let out a weak laugh stepping out into the early afternoon sun; taking in a sharp sweet breath of fresh air looking forwards over the grassy banks of the river. The river was named Aso and it ran wide and deep, a series of large stone bridges spanning the water every kilometres or so as the river cut through the north-western quarter of the city. For the most part no one ever came to the river, if they needed water they’d draw it from underground reservoirs just beneath the city via wells and pumps or have it directly pumped into their homes, people only ever came to the river to dump their trash or in the case of some few, to fish the waters for whatever lay beneath murky surface of the fast flowing stream. Greiz liked the river, it was calming; the roar of the city falling short before the green grass. The air was cool and crisp his breath turning to steam which rose and vanished before him. The river always changed, although the course of the water ran the same, the people who sat about its’ banks, and the fish teeming in its’ waters were always different, no matter when he came; but one thing did manage to remain constant; there was one face which over the course of the many years he’d visited the water’s edge had never changed.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“You’re early Runt.” Fishman snorted glancing backwards for a moment before returning his gaze forwards towards his rod and line, the end dangling deep within the water. The old man had squat himself down just to the left of one of the large stone bridges, he used an old worn wooden crate as a seat; wrapped up tight in a thick leather coat stained with dirt and mould, his collar turned up against the wind, the waters rushing by fast below.

“What’s wrong with that you old coot? You should be glad I came to visit you” Greiz laughed dropping down to sit on the grass next to the old man, catching a glimpse of his tent set up just beneath the foot of the bridge.

“you my metal-working friend; are the kind of man who’ll never do nothing without a good reason. You saw me two-days ago, it’s two days too soon for you to pay another visit”

The old man gave a shrill piercing laugh, sallow lips pulling into a grin revealing jagged yellow teeth; his eyes open wide glaring blindly in Greiz’s direction, white as milk but for a dark ring denoting where the iris should have lain. The young man swallowed hard before giving his answer. “My younger sister’s paying me a visit, she wants me to go back and live with my family over in the third-ring; work at my father’s shop and leave the slums behind.” Greiz sighed, a sharp pain exploding in the back of his head.

“You dumbass!” Fishman cried swinging the butt of his fishing rod outwards whacking Greiz along with back with a loud crack.

“Anyone else around here get’s an offer like that they’d jump on it; you hear me. So tell me Mr Blacksmith why don’t you?”

“You’re insane.” Greiz huffed glaring at the blind old man, as he snorted recasting his line out into the water. Damn, he should have known something like this would happen – this was what he got for running away from his problem. “Things with my family are complicated; my father has a perpetual rod stuck up his arse and my mother never really liked me in the first place. Besides I’ve got a business of my own and a house too; I’m doing just fine without their help.”

“Dumbass...” Fishman snorted wiping his nose on the sleeve of his coat before returning to his fishing. “When you’re done here you go home. The stream today is fast, too fast for fish; that’s why no one else is out here except the slum brats; but I still cast my line. You can think about it all you want but home is home, and that’s where you ought to be headin’ so is that house up there in the ritz home or is it this one down here in the pits?” The old man let out another grating laugh. Greiz sighed falling back onto the river bank, resting his head amidst the grass.

It was a sad thing when the only person you could every really rely on for good advice was a homeless fisherman whose name you didn’t even know. Fishman... his mother was right he really did have terrible naming sense. Greiz let out a small laugh resting his arm atop his head shielding his gaze from the sun. It didn’t seem like he had any choice left now. It wasn’t going to be easy but maybe it really would all work out, after all there was always hope right?

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

“Runt... Hey Runt!” a sharp strike of pain exploded around Greiz’s gut the young man’s eyes bursting wide as he rocked upwards into a seated position, nestled comfortably within the red grass, his eyes staring blurrily about the river, everything burnt with shades of gold and brown, Greiz cast his gaze upwards towards the great grey wall sealing the city in and the large ball of fire setting down low just beyond the western parapets. The city stood alight, the sunset glinting off iron railings, brass chimney, glass windows, the dark roofs of the houses seeming to flow like water, rising and falling like a sea, a still silence rising up over all. And caught in this landscape one thought rushed through his head stronger and faster than any other forcing its’ way out of his lips.

“Crap... I’m late.”

He needed to get back and start working on the rest of his order damn it. Sure he wasn’t exactly in the red at the moment but that didn’t mean he want to be paying fines all because he decided to take a quick nap. He had to get back soon; if he worked through the night and into the morning then he’d be able to finish a little after noon and avoid the fine altogether!

Greiz rose up on unsteady feet, a firm hand grasping him tight about the ankle, the blacksmith turning to see Fishman glaring up in his direction. “Where do you think you’re goin’ Runt, I need help.” Greiz stopped in his tracks as the old man continued to talk

“I’ve told you before old man you can call me Greiz – what do you need help with anyway?” Fishman snorted slowly rising to his feet on ancient bones supporting himself via his fishing rod, the blind man pointing a finger out into the river.

“We’ve got a haul Runt and you’re going to help me drag it in.” The old man laughed hobbling over under the bridge Greiz letting out a sigh and following behind. “I was sat fishing same as normal, you sleeping soundly on the grass when I heard a weird blubbing coming from up this way just past the bridge. I think someone’s gone and dumped something into the river again and you’re going to help me get it out. We get something good and I might just split it with you” Fishman chortled pointing the end of his rod out into the river in the direction of a large greyish sack caught in the middle of the stream, water flowing violently about it but the bag refusing to move. “It’s probably caught on some big old rocks hiding just beneath the surface over there. Can you see it?”

Greiz sighed peering through the dying light, a sudden gust rushing up against them from their right, knocking the bag free turning the dark sack upwards into the light to float atop the surface of the water half sunk. Greiz felt stomach fall as he watched, the young man swallowing hard as he watched the figure slowly drift along caught in the stream “It’s a child...”Greiz muttered the old man turning to face him, his eyes shining with a pale light, his grin pulled taught into a severe line

“Go after it you great clump!” Fishman yelled waving a hand through the air pointing downstream.

“What? It’s probably already dead; what do you expect me to do? The body will evaporate any moment now anyway!”

“Well it hasn’t yet so maybe the little tykes’ still alive. Now go and help you great galumphing lummox!” The old man struck Greiz hard along the back of his calf with his fishing rod before slapping him forwards with an open palm. “Run Runt, you great ninny!”

Greiz blanked out for a moment setting off at a quick trot passing under the bridge and dodging by Fishman’s tent his eyes fixated on the large grey mass slowly bobbing away into the distance. He turned sharply reaching down as he passed the far end of the bridge grabbing the hooked stick from where he’d left it in the grass taking off after the child at a swifter pace.

This made no sense; even if the brat did drown they’d just revive at the temple anyway; besides even if he did get them out of the water they’d probably freeze the moment they were out in the clean air; the wind harsh and cutting. Ah what the hell was he thinking about right now, a child was drowning right in front of his eyes. So was he just going to stand by and watch as the child drowned? Walk away and ignore it all? That wasn’t the kind of person he was; that wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be; he wasn’t going to be like that – he was never going to be like them!

Greiz pushed on fuelled by a mix of righteous fury and grim resolve slowly over taking the body, the river pushing it closer and closer almost within reach of the shore. He turned hard pivoting on his heel and jumping down into the water, the current striking him hard about the chest as he sunk his fingers deep into the soil of the bank leaning out into the water the stick in his left hand trailing limply in the air, the body slowly drawing in while the cold took hold.

Nearly, he nearly had it; just a little more and...

The wind turned; his hand dropping down beneath the water and the undercurrent grasping at the pole hauling it away and out of sight; the body passing by untouched. Damn it! Greiz took a deep breath pushing off against the river bank, plunging forwards in the child’s direction clammy hands clamping down on an arm a bitter moment of triumph as the water slowly dragged him along as well, the sheer cold of the frigid depths creeping up along his skin, the wind howling above him and stealing what little warmth he had left. He was really starting to regret not learning how to swim. “Take hold Runt!” Fishman cried shoving his staff out into the water Greiz reaching up to grab the old man’s fishing rod, Fishman pulling them in with what power he could muster until they broke upon the bank Greiz throwing the child up onto the crass before crawling out himself a shivering mess.

“I did it huh?” the blacksmith muttered glancing in the old man’s direction before collapsing into the grass Fishman muttering something to himself as he knelt down over the child, placing a shaky hand down upon the boys chest.

“Alive or dead then?” Greiz murmured, the fisherman patting the child atop the head and shooting him a grin.

“Alive, but they’ve got a little water in the lungs; not enough to be lethal but enough to put them in bed for a day or two... Figures; looks like just another slum rat to me – you’re pretty familiar with those little terrors, you have any idea who he is?” Fishman queried rising to his feet clicking his tongue as he glanced down at his soaked leg. Greiz sighed looking in the child’s direction giving him a quick once over before replying with a shake of the head.

“Never seen him before in my life, he definitely isn’t part of Moon or Horley’s gang, if he came from up the river it was probably one of them lot who tossed him into the water in the first place as for the scum we get ‘round here there’s too many of them for me to tell them apart.” The blacksmith huffed his eyes falling back down to the boy.

The child was small, it was hard to judge his age but Greiz would have to say around ten, his skin was unnaturally pale and his hair short and dark the colour of oil, glossy, smooth and plastered down about his forehead.

“Well you should probably take him to that home of yours, warm him up. The water in him won’t kill him but trust me, the cold can.”

“What can’t you take him?” the young man cried Fishman snorting before marching away in the direction of his tent.

“I’m an old man, I live under a bridge in a tent; you have a house you a nice warm fire, and you have a bed to boot; who do you think should take care of him?” The old man snickered to himself giving Greiz a back handed wave.

He sat there for a long time watching the old man leave, rubbing at his arms and legs to restore some warmth before turning to face the child; it looked like he wasn’t going to be pulling an all-nighter after all.

Well there was no helping it now. The blacksmith sighed rising up from the grass to stand in the last dying rays of sunlight before grabbing the child’s hand and raising it up tracing a circle slowly over the back of his palm, a dull red light following the movement a sharp chime cutting the air a near empty window popping up in front of him.

GRIMM   AGE: 11 RACE: Human/Other AFFINITY: Death SKILL TREES: None

There was no doubt about it; he was a slum rat. Not only was he born mixed race but his affinity was death, a less than desirable trait in most children; not to mention the fact he was limited to just the one affinity. Some children were born with everything and others with nothing - it was sad but that was just the way of the world. Greiz sighed; there was no way he could leave the child out in the street now, he knelt down grasping Grimm about the shoulders before hauling him up and making his way back in the direction of the slums.

The sun had set beyond the cities walls, night slowly closing in, the temperature rapidly sinking freezing the sodden cloak atop his back as he lumbered his way through the darkened allies and onto the main road. The street lights had been lit along the large cobblestone thoroughfare, burning brightly with sickly yellow light, casting circles about the streets and shadowy figures shifted to and fro, The gates to the city had been locked down tight, no more carts clogging the road, only the occasional carriage moving through the night. He pushed on crossing the road and slipping deep into his own section of the city until before long Greiz found himself stood in silence at the entrance to his home; his teeth rattling in his skull as he marched between the low stone walls. The wood fire in his hearth would have burnt out by now but hopefully he could get the coal fire in the forge up and running hotter than the fires of hell in just a couple seconds.

He shuffled about his clothes creaking as he tossed the child up onto his shoulder and leaning in wrenched the shutter up peering forwards into the darkened forge. He really shouldn’t have left Aria alone.

Maybe this was some kind of cosmic punishment?

His floor had been scorched, the stone flags cracked in several places, shards of glass most likely from some kind of mana crystal, littering the floor alongside scraps of metal and a number of engraving tools. His blueprints and diagrams had been blown haphazard about the room a number of small holes dinged through the paper, while the forge itself lay in silence. The coal fire had died long ago and the stone cold to the touch; great he’d have to get the burner wood burner running now. What the hell was with his luck today?