“You’re looking for a blacksmith?” Dave asked.

He sat back at the tavern’s counter while drying a plate while Raylas ate his lunch next to him. They were about to set out but Darling caught them before they departed, insisting they ate the delayed lunch. She gasped at the shirt Sapphire was wearing and vehemently berated Raylas only to take the girl to find something ‘appropriate to wear’. Raylas shrugged since he planned to get her new clothes anyway.

The girl refused to leave him at first until Raylas insisted that getting something new to wear would please him. She skipped away happily after that, making him promise to wait for her so she can show it off.

Not like he had any intention of doing that. There were far more important things.

“I need someone to repair my armor,” Raylas sighed as he pulled out one of his scrapped pieces. Dave whistled as he examined the dents and scratches.

“Indeed you do,” he laughed. “That looks like it took quite a number.”

“A pile of zombies each aiming for your throat,” Raylas deadpanned.

Dave’s laughed slowed and he gave a deep sigh.

“You really need to work on your storytelling, Mr. Warrior. You probably could impress a lot of ladies with your tales, though you already have quite the pretty catch with you.”

Raylas groaned and took a drink of his water. He scrunched his face at the refreshing taste. He could go for the bitter bite of ale, not this stuff.

“My stories are not entertaining,” Raylas replied. “We saw shadows moving in the forest, then before we knew it we were surrounded by zombies. Goodwill had the sky view while I helped guard one of the gaps between the carriages. Unfortunately that was an impossible task since the dead kept exiting the woods, pushing us back into the fortifications…” He looked at Dave who was staring at him with a strange expression. “What?”

“I take back what I said,” he chuckled. “You don’t need to work on your storytelling. You need to stop grumbling and just talk.”

“There is nothing to discuss.”

“Fine, fine,” Dave gave up. “You need a blacksmith, right?”

Raylas nodded, his plate cleaned and his belly feeling full for the first time in ages.

“The man you’re looking for is on the North side, only brick building around. Follow the main road here and take a left straight to the gate. You’ll hear him before you see him.”

Raylas nodded and packed his armor and swung the pack over his shoulder. He started to the door when he heard a cough behind him.

“Shouldn’t you wait for the lady?” Dave asked.

“Tell her to find something impressive,” Raylas waved him off. “Tell her to take her time and that I’ll be back in a little bit. I’d like to be impressed.”

He groaned at his own excuse. Who was she trying to impress? Him? Why would she even want to? It was her idea to be some kind of submissive woman. If she wanted Raylas doubted he could last against her in a fight, so why she acted so meek around him was both infuriating and exhausting.

Yet he also couldn’t stop her from doing it. So he had to bear with it and play up the part of some kind of master. How did noble’s act toward their servants? Aloof? So he was going to do the same until she got sick of him and left.

Raylas ignored whatever Dave said after his impromptu acting scene. The man was far too chatty to keep sitting with, but he at least knew where the important things were.

He turned to look around the streets. Despite the crowd they gave him a wide berth. Raylas was curious if it was due to his smell but he didn’t smell any worse than usual. So he shrugged his shoulders and started off following Dave’s directions.

Townsfolk were moving everywhere in a chaotic mess, but none of them bumped into each other. There was a method to their madness as well as a familiarity with each other. Multiple times people would stop to gossip with each other, and even in the distance there was a group of people that appeared to be arguing about something trivial.

It was peaceful. A very strange feeling to Raylas who always had to live his life being alert to his surroundings as death could pop out at any time. The lax attitude of the villagers was… discomforting.

He couldn’t help but feel an itch, like someone was watching him. He peered back and forth but the buildings were a decent distance apart. There were no spots for a person to truly hide to ambush him, and with so many people around attacking him would cause a huge scene. No idiot would attack in broad daylight without having some extremely strong backing.

Even if Raylas was a nobody there were rules and laws which dictated a person's life. The baker would make food, the weaver would make clothes, and the blacksmith would make steel. Raylas was a mercenary, so his job in the cycle was to kill the same way a guard was to protect.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

To attack him would be to ask to be killed. So Raylas decided to dismiss that feeling of being watched as paranoia, though he didn’t completely forget about it.

He popped out of his musings as he heard the steel strike steel. The familiar hammering of a good tradesman echoed down the street. The stone building was easily seen from the top of the roofs, the black smoke of burning coal like a beckon calling for him.

Raylas quickened his pace and soon arrived just outside the building. There was an overhanging porch with a short man hammering what appeared to be the head of an axe. He had a short stature but he was bulging with muscles like the Captain. His beard was braided and tied with multiple strips of cloth and his bald head was glistening in sweat.

Raylas stared. There was a dwarf here?

“Ya gonna buy somethin’ or stare at me like a halflin’ caught pickpockin’?” the dwarf called out without looking up.

Raylas jumped and headed under into the forge area. The dwarf held up his hand for a moment to stop Raylas and continued to hammer. Half a minute later he dipped the axe head into a bucket of water in a hiss of steam, pulling it out and examining. Satisfied he tossed it onto a pile of also completed axeheads.

“So what can I do ya for?” he growled. Raylas felt his chest vibrate from the deep rumbles of the dwarf’s voice.

“I need some armor repaired, and a new polearm,” Raylas said as he took off his pack and unwrapped the blade of his weapon.

The dwarf looked between them all and whistled. He took a piece of the armor and tapped it with a small hammer, listening intently to the ring of the metal. He nodded and peered at the blade, a frown crossing his face.

“The metal is trash and won’ do squat to protect ya even if I repair it,” he declared. “Weapon is also better left melted and remade into something more useful, like a door stop.”

“Be that as it may, I need it fixed before I leave town,” Raylas sighed. “I am meeting my group in Gloomcrest, so I need to protect myself for the journey. My armor has done well so far and I’ve not seen much need to buy new until now. As for my weapon, you might call it trash but I’ll call it my companion. Even if it can’t be fixed onto a polearm I’d like you to at least reforge it into a proper blade.”

The dwarf gave him a curt look before breaking into a smile. “Spoken like someone who respects his equipment. I’ll see what I can do, though it migh’ cost a pretty copper due to the damage. Wha’ did ya kill to damage it this badly withou’ taking ya out as well?”

“Undead,” Raylas said. He was getting annoyed at the same questions. Can’t people just do the job without trying to learn his entire history?

The dwarf gave the armor another examination, then chucked it into a pile near the corner. Raylas glared but he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Junks already bent so it can’t get any worse now.”

“It's still my ‘junk’,” Raylas countered.

“Fair point,” he laughed. “Names Tarrok, by the way. Please to meet you Mr. Raylas.” He started to laugh harder when Raylas reflexively reached for his weapon, but his hand caught only air.

“Relax, Dead-killer,” Tarrok chortled, “Town’s talkin’ about ya and the pretty lady who came with ya. It's not everyday we see two beauties wander in, much less ones which caugh’ the Sir’s eyes.” He winked.

“You seem strangely informed,” Raylas said.

“Good ears with loud talkers.” The dwarf tapped his ear and then pointed to the wandering townsfolk, a number of them giving the two of them quick glances while badly pretending to not be interested.

“So how much are ya forkin’ up to pay for this job?” The dwarf turned serious and slipped his small hammer onto his belt.

“I don’t have much copper–”

“This job is big, Stranger,” The dwarf warned.

“But I believe I should be able to afford the job with this,” Raylas continued, ignoring the warning. He pulled out a ruby and flicked it at the dwarf.

He caught it and whistled, greed in his eyes. Raylas didn’t even see where he got it but a strange eyeglass appeared on the dwarf’s face as he examined the ruby.

“Not bad,” Tarrok concluded as the gem disappeared along with the eyeglass. “But not enough. This’ll cover the armor but the weapon is another story. Getting logs is easy ‘round here but a proper polearm fit for fighting is tough. I ain’t an elf who can sneeze and pull up a proper stick.”

Raylas smiled. Dwarves were known for their greed and the ruby should have been more than enough for everything, but haggling was a thing with these tradesmen. Goodwill was great at pestering them down in price, but at the end of the bartering you had to throw just a little more. Usually something nice, like the cost for a meal or drink to symbolize the customer's thankfulness for the work. It was an old tradition which the Captain taught him, and one which built good will between the customer and the tradesman.

A stab of lonely bitterness rushed him as he remembered his old companions. Raylas took a breath.

Both Captain and Goodwill weren't here so he would have to deal with it.

He placed his hand in the pouch and took out a coin and flicked it to the dwarf. A glint of silver flashed as the coin flew through the air and into the Dwarf’s open hands.

“How about doing a bit more than just a repair?” Raylas said confidently, his eyes fixed on the coin.

The dwarf stared at the silver before bursting out laughing.

“Aye, I can do tha’. I’ll make ya the best money can buy, Mr. Raylas.” He flicked the coin into the air and caught it. It was gone when he opened his hand. Did he use magic of some kind? How did it disappear so fast?

“Give me a week and I should have everything perfect,” the dwarf chuckled. “If in a rush I can have it done in two days, but don’t expect a masterpiece.”

Raylas nodded and left the forge. Hammering started again along with deep chuckles of the happy dwarf.

As for Raylas, he was calling himself every name he had ever learned during his time as a mercenary, plus some. The undead should have treated him and been over with it. He should have just thrown himself at the goblins and saved himself from this humiliation.

Out of all the coins in the damn pouch, he just had to grab one of the silvers. A copper would have been more than enough, so why did he have to pull a silver?

Goodwill would pee himself laughing if he saw this.