Garrus takes a slow deep breath and a long look around. Roth’s home is, to his utter surprise, cleaned up. He remembers this building. It was used to temporarily house the wounded [Guards] and [Soldiers]. It was ugly and barely taken care of, especially the front garden leading up to the manner. That had been covered in so many weeds and shrubs that Garrus’s short stature of a dwarf made it difficult for him to even see the manor.

But today, as he passes by the open gates, all he finds are cut grass, organized hedges, blooming flowers, even the ground seems to have been recently paved with small stones creating a rather nice walkway.

A week. A week since the manor was attacked by [Thieves] and [Rogues], most of which had been killed off, all at the same time when their hideout in the slums had been burned to the ground.

Of course, Garrus knows that such a thing is temporary. The slums will always exist in any city and that the [Viceroys] dream of a perfect city is just that, a dream. The only reason there is peace is because the leadership consists of only [Lady] Rose. But for how long, Garrus cannot tell.

What he can tell is that he is walking towards Roth’s home to conclude the deal he is now regretting taking, unfortunately, a dwarven [Blacksmith] never backs down from his word…

...At least not again.

As Garrus reaches the door of the manor, he lifts his hand to knock but stops as the door is opened by a man.

Tall, gaunt, clearly a rabbit demihuman, the man wears a black and white suit accompanied with white gloves. The man smiles and does a small bow.

“Greetings [Blacksmith] Garrus, my master has been expecting you.”

Garrus looks at the man, specifically at the enchanted collar on the man's neck. A collar which depicts the man a [Slave] but Garrus keen eyes sees that the collar lacks any enchants which would punish the wearer. On the contrary, it seems to Garrus that the collar improves fatigue and nothing else.

The [Butler] moves to the side, extending his hand, “Come inside,” he says, turning away from Garrus, his eyes landing on a fox demihuman who looks to be searching for something, “Kasandra.”

The fox demihuman slightly jumps, her tail moving under her leg as she turns towards the [Butler]. And then, noticing who it was, her tail relaxes.

“Please take Garrus here to master Ra-Roths’ study. I will inform the master that he is here.”

“Ye-yes Alfred,” Kasandra stutters, turning towards Garrus. She does a poor curtsy, “Garrus, uh, sir dwarf, please follow me.”

Garrus looks at the girl before turning towards the [Butler] still holding the door open and raises an eyebrow.

The [Butler] shrugs, “She is new and still learning.”

Garrus shakes his head before entering and following the rather nervous fox girl.

As he walks, he takes note of how many of the [maids] are cleaning with smiles on their faces, many of them chatting while working quickly and accurately. Fast enough for Garrus to realize that these [Maids] aren't actually low level, which makes Garrus wonder if they even have the [slave] class.

After walking a bit longer, Garrus is directed towards a door in which the fox girl slowly opens, revealing a room with tables, chairs, desks, and an impressive amount of books.

Garrus steps inside the room.

“Ok. Just take a seat anywhere,” Kasandra exclaims before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her.

Garrus looks on, confused, “Very new,” he whispers, thinking of his time with his clan. A proper [Maid] should have directed Garrus towards a place to sit and asked if he would like refreshments.

Fortunately, Garrus doesn't mind. Special treatment reminds him too much of his past, a past he would prefer to forget.

Taking a breath, Garrus finds a nice comfy chair and sits himself down. He looks forward and stops, making eye contact with a young lady who looks to be hiding under the table in front of him.

“Ahhh… hi,” she whispers.

Garrus lifts an eyebrow.

“Are you the only one in this room?” she asks.

Garrus looks at her, the clear face, long hair, curious eyes.

“I am… who are you?”

The girl smiles before crawling out from under the table. She stands up and brushes down her dress. She turns to Garrus and lifts the sides of her dress before performing a perfect curtsey, “I am Izabelle, daughter of Rathos,” she stops, eyes widening, “Roth. Not Rathos, Roth. Yea,” she says, smiling as though she was successful in covering up her blunder.

Garrus smiles at her blunder, though he already had a feeling that Roth wasn't actually a [Trader] or [Merchant]. He lacks negotiation skills and the man's posture screams of professional military. But Rathos, that name doesn't ring a bell, but Garrus is sure that he had heard of it before.

“Soooo, you are a dwarf, right?” Izabelle asks, taking a seat right next to him, a big smile on her face.

“I am a dwarf. A dwarf [Blacksmith] actually.”

Izabelle eyes widen, “Really? So you make… um... adamantine weapons? I heard dwarves use that metal and nobody else can use it. Is that true? Can you make one for me? How strong are they? Do they take long to make?”

Garrus can do nothing but smile at the young girl bombardment of questions.

Garrus leans back, “Adamantine is a metal that requires very powerful classes to even be able to use. We dwarves are known to use that metal because our kingdom has the largest veins of adamantine metal in the world. It is the sole reason we have so many smiths in their tier two classes,” he holds up two fingers, “ and to get smiths to those levels, they must practice with either Mithril or Adamantine metal.”

Izabelle seemingly deflates, pouting, “That's boring. Can you tell me a story? I heard dwarves have the best stories. Do you know any.”

Garrus can only chuckle louder. A dwarf child would be utterly happy to listen to him talk about metals and smiths, but apparently, a young human girl finds it rather boring.

“Well then, have you heard the stories of the seven divine items?”

Izabelle nods, “I have, but those are boring. I heard a looooot of stories about named people and stories about [Hero’s], “ she exclaims while moving her dangling legs back and forth, a sure sign of restlessness and boredom.

Garrus takes a moment, thinking, before stopping on a rather recent story.

“Have you heard the story about [Lord Admiral] Rraune Spectator, captain of the Haven?”

Izabelle stops moving her legs. Her hands go to her lips as she slowly speaks, “Maybe… I don't remember. Can you tell me the story?”

Garrus, figuring he has a bit of time before Roth, or better yet Rathos, shows up to talk, decides he may as well entertain the man's daughter.

Garrus lifts his hand,” Well, first off, Rraune Spectator is a dwarf [Lord] with a slight obsession with ships. Well, slight is an understatement, the man was outright obsessed. Now, the dwarf kingdom does have a naval force, but a very limited one. They only have it to protect the waters around the kingdom and nothing else. Most dwarves dislike water, preferring the ground. But Rraune was different, he preferred the seas, so much so that he sold practically everything he owned to build a ship.”

Izabelle tilts her head, “The Haven?”

Garrus nods, “Yes. Rraune was easily one of the wealthiest [Lords] in the kingdom, and he sold everything to build the ship known as ‘The Haven’, a ship built with enough Adamantine to buy a kingdom,” Garrus exclaims, raising his arms in the air.

Izabelle leans towards the dwarf, clearly interested now.

“Now the ship, it actually took several years to make, mostly because the dwarves have very few [shipwrights]. So Rraune was forced to import foreign [shipwrights] into the kingdom to work on the ship. On top of that, the ship he was making was massive, several times larger than any ship ever made,” Garrus explains, taking a moment to adjust his seat on the couch while his legs dangle over like Izabelles.

“Normally, making a ship so large would be impossible, mostly because the metal would bend on its weight. But the amount of adamantine metal used in its construction not only allowed it to be large, but it also made it near indestructible.”

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Izabelle shuffles closer, “It can't be destroyed?”

Garrus chuckles, “Oh, it can be destroyed alright, but only after an enemy is able to get close enough without getting shot down by the ships hundreds of mage cannons. But even then, the ship has several defensive enchantments that would need to be depleted before the adamantine metal would be allowed to sustain damage, if it even could.”

“Wow,” Izabelle says, sitting back, imagining such a huge ship. She had never actually seen a ship before, but she had seen pictures.

“Rraune called his creation The Haven, because that is what it was for him. A home, a safe place for him to live the rest of his life.”

“I bet people were jealous. They probably tried to take his ship,” Izabelle exclaims.

“Ha,” Garrus starts, “You’re a rather smart girl, aren't ya,” he says, reaching over and ruffling her head, Izabelle giggling happily at the praise.

“Rraune went anywhere and everywhere he pleased. From the west to the east even to the north, he saw it all and found himself having to always deal with [Pirates] and the occasional country navy. Yes, an entire navy had tried to subdue the Haven and had failed spectacularly. By the time Rraune obtained his [Lord Admiral] class, people had completely and utterly stopped fighting him. Many wanted him dead, but they could do nothing about it while he lived on his ship. Even named people wouldn't take the risk.”

“Soooo, what happened? Is he still alive?”

Garrus frowns, scratching his head. “Well, the story goes that Rraune had traveled the west, north, and east oceans, but not fully the south. I’m sure you know what is in the south, right?”

Izabelle nods and lifts her hand. She starts extending fingers as she says the various names.

“The Screeching Fog, Gods Graveyard, Land of Devouring Smoke, Demons Hole,” she pauses, pouting,” I think there were a couple more.

“The Southern Fog is actually a more common one, but the correct name is Vetiti Spiritus.”

“Vetiti Spiritus?”

“Yes, that is the first and oldest name. It was the name of the continent in which the fog now resides.”

Izabelle scrunches her eyebrows in confusion, “The fog wasn't there always?”

Garrus shakes his head, “if the stories are to be believed, then the answer is no. But then again, the stories are older than most of the human kingdoms, so we really aren't sure.”

Izabelle takes a long look at the dwarf, and frowns.

“Rraune died.”

Garrus lets out a long breath, one he doesn't remember ever holding, “Rraune was overconfident and he believed that his ship would protect him from the fog, but it seems as though the fog took him and his ship with it.”

Izabelle sags, “Awww, I would have liked to see the ship.”

But Garrus, undeterred by her quickly changing mood, can only chuckle. Every child, either dwarf or human, would find themselves pouting by the end of the story. Thankfully, Garrus knows how to change that.

“Want to know something interesting?”

Izabelle looks up, “hm?”

Garrus smiles, showing his teeth, “My name is Garrus Spectator and Rraune was my grandfather.”

Izabelles eyes widen, “your grampa was Rrau-”

“Izabelle,”

A yell is heard and Izabelles spins quickly towards the door, gazing at a frowning Henrieta and a rather confused Rathos behind her.

“Young Lady, playtime ended an hour ago,” Henrietta yells before noticing the dwarf sitting next to her, “and why are you bothering Roths’ guest?”

“He was telling me a story,” Izabelle says, pointing at the dwarf as though it was Garrus’s idea.

Henrietta rolls her eyes, ”Oh, and I can only imagine who asked him to tell a story.”

Henrietta shakes her head and points up, “Get up and go to your room. No dinner until you finish your studies.”

“But-”

Henrietta squints, “[Head Maids Charge], To your room now!”

Garrus watches as Izabelle jumps off the couch and silently walks after Henrietta without saying another word. Compulsion type skills are strong but are usually restricted to being used on certain classes. Of course, children can still be affected if the child already considers the person an authority figure.

Rathos watches his daughter and [Head Maid] walk down the hall before entering his study and closing the door.

“I hope my daughter wasn't too much of a bother,” Rathos says, walking towards a seat right across Garrus.

“She was hiding under the table, apparently from her lectures. She was delightful to talk to, though I do think you should keep better track of her, for safety's sake.”

Rathos smiles politely before lifting his leg and putting it over his other, “If you had any intention of causing harm to anyone in my household, then my [Butler] would have noticed it and you would not be allowed in my home,” Rathos says confidently.

Garrus nods, both towards the explanation and the hidden threat laced in those words.

“That is understandable, but I was referring to children's tendency to slip their tongues Rathos.”

From Garrus’s first experience with Rathos, he had found the man to be very good at keeping his feelings hidden. The man’s expression barely changes, but this time, Garrus was able to notice the slightest flicker of annoyance. Though it only lasts for a fraction of a second.

“Interesting, I do hope you will keep quiet about my name and who I actually are.”

Garrus nods, “I promised to keep your secrets and that promise still stands. Though, I don't actually know who you are. I may have heard the name Rathos, but I am not sure where.”

Rathos sits back, thinking silently, and all Garrus can do is let the man do so. He had promised to work with Rathos, and a smith does not go against his word.

“I am a [General].”

The timing, or the stony expression, or even the idea, causes Garrus to burst into laughter, only stopping when he realizes that Rathos is not laughing along.

Garrus frowns, “You, a [General]? Rathos, I have met [Generals] before. Being around them is like being under water. It is suffocating and not at all pleasant.”

Rathos stony expression changes, one showing a smile.

“What you had felt,” Rathos starts speaking, his words become crisp, clear, seeming gaining clarity, “Is the [Generals] rampant,” and then it hits Garrus, his mind seemingly warping, the air becoming thick to breathe, a trickle of fear entering his conscious, ”usage of aura. Those [Generals] you met do not know how to control their aura, their emotions, and thus, compared to me, they are utterly weak.”

And then it hits Garrus, like a wave of heavy ice cold water, his mind trying to make sense of things, but fear is taking over. He starts to shake.

“Hm.”

And just as quickly as it had come, the pressure just disappears. A pressure several times worse than those [Generals] Garrus had met.

Garrus starts breathing hard, looking at Rathos who patiently waits for Garrus to come to his senses.

It doesn't take long, but Garrus is now quite rather rattled.

“That,” Garrus starts, unsure what to so.

“That, Garrus, was aura, an ability that all leadership utilize. [Lords], [Kings], [Emperors], [Generals], [Sultans], are classes that naturally begin to utilize aura, though every person of any class can use it to an extent if they train it right.”

Garrus gulps and slowly nods, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Rathos smiles and nods back, “Thank you. I have great respect for Dwarf smiths, both for their skills and for their honor. It is a rare thing these days and is something I cherish a great deal.”

Garrus, hearing those words, from a [General] nonetheless, seems to sit up straighter.

Rathos leans forward, “On that note, let us get down to business. I have a great deal of wealth which includes an enormous amount of weapons and armor that is in various forms of disrepair. I would like to hire you to repair them, and if possible, improve them.”

“Fixing armor and weapons of lower Rare, Uncommon, Common, and Poor is within my ability, but improving armor and weapons beyond the rank of common is most likely impossible, especially if they require metals or a more powerful forge.”

Rathos moves his hand and glides it down his well trimmed short beard,” Very few of my stock is of poor quality with most being in the common and Uncommon rarity. I can pay you a decent wage per armor or weapon you fix and a bonus for any weapons or armor you improve.”

Listening in, Garrus can only nod in silent excitement. As a [Blacksmith] over level 80, working with poor or just common items is actually quite a bore. Most [Blacksmiths] exceeding level fifty, and especially sixty, prefer working on Uncommon rarity items.

“Then it is a deal.” Garrus says, extending his hand.

Rathos extends his own hand and the two shake on it.

A human [General] and a dwarf [Blacksmith] come to an agreement, a simple trade of services.

Unfortunately, the human had forgotten something very important, a tradition of sorts whenever a large deal is struck with a dwarf smith.

Garrus smiles, “Smiths Oath and the Drunkards rum.”

And now, the human [General] stops shaking the dwarves hand, slowly realizing that he had made a slight mistake as he hears those words.

Rathos sighs in annoyance. He retracts his hand and moves it to rub his head.

“Where?” he asks in defeat.

Garrus smiles, “The Drunken [King].”

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Rathos watches in annoyance as Garrus, the dwarf he is, chugs a mug of beer, and not just any beer, one of the more expensive ones.

The saying a ‘Smiths Oath and the Drunkards Rum’ is an old dwarf tradition that when a deal is struck with a dwarf smith, then the deal is only truly finalised if the dealer can make the smith pass out via alcohol.

Which, to Rathos’ annoyance, is costing a great deal of coin considering how watered down the alcohol in this tavern is.

“Wench! I require another one… one of these,” Garrus waves his empty mug towards an older man that is clearly a patron of the tavern they are in.

The older man, also excessively drunk, looks to the dwarf who is waving his empty mug.

“Who you calling, *Burp*, wench, shorty,” the man, a level 27 off duty [Guard] yells back with a snarl.

Garrus, confused, blinks quickly. His expression turning angry before he throws his empty mug across the tavern. The man, drunk as he is, attempts to dodge by moving backwards, unfortunately, Garrus has surprising good aim while intoxicated.

“What da fuck you do to da pretty wench you tall shit!”

The [Guard] which had been struck in the face, snarls back. He gets up, grabs his chair and throws it towards the dwarf, but misses completely and hits another drunk patron which falls and slams into another group of drunks.

Rathos watches in annoyance as the tavern comes alive and the drunks begin to all get up. Cursing, yelling, and finally a full on brawl begins. Chairs go flying, tables get broken, [Guards] are fighting [Farmers], [Soldiers] fighting each other, [Drunkards] striking anyone close to them, [Traders] getting in the crossfire and forced to join the fight. Garrus is waving a table leg, the [Tavernkeeper] is already passed out.

Rathos, sighing, drinks his beer and gets up.

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