Exill groaned and slid out of his bunk the next morning. If the World had a Will, it surely took perverse pleasure in punishing him so. He really wasn’t looking forward to meeting the dwarf. Ham had swindled him on multiple occasions, but the dwarf probably saved his life by transferring Exill to Camp B.
‘His motives may not be pure, but he has always been looking out for me.’ Exill felt a mixture of shame and guilt as he exited the camp. He didn’t know how he would be able to look Ham in the eye and pretend he knew nothing of what caused the fire.
He hugged the Inner-City wall until the East Gate came into view. This was his first time out and about during the day and even the side streets were crowded as people went about their day. Exill followed the throng of people as he was pushed and shouted at, the smell of stale sweat and cooked food overwhelming his senses. It was with great relief that he reached the market square and caught his breath at the fountain.
Standing up on the stone rim of the water feature, he gained a better grasp his bearings and spotted an anvil sign adorning a small shop front painted in green in the distance. He worked his way through the crowd, tightly gripping his coin purse to avoid cutpurses.
He stumbled into the store with a sigh of relief, his earlier trepidation of facing Ham all but forgotten.
“Exill me boy! You’re late and them arrows won’t make ‘emselves.” The dwarf greeted Exill with his customary stinginess, but he could tell Ham’s heart wasn’t in it. The Master Blacksmith was still recovering from the massive loss of his investment.
“Now, I know we formerly agreed you would be paid one Denar for every three arrowheads… but with the end of the war looming and what not, the best I can do is five arrowheads per Denar.” The greedy dwarf held up five fingers to emphasize this point, his eyes pleading.
Exill glanced at an unfinished arrowhead on the workbench and activated his [Price Range] skill. It showed 0.8~1.2 Denars a piece. Suddenly he didn’t feel so guilty burning down that workshop!
Exill smothered his flaring anger and wove his next words carefully, “I can appreciate your situation Master Ham and my condolences for your loss. I overheard from the other apprentices this morning that they will get paid a Denar for every two arrowheads…”
The dwarf sputtered as his blood pressure spiked, “Who told you that! Those blasted liars don’t know a thing! Pfft, ‘half a Denar’ my hairy ass, I might as well pay me customers to take ‘em off my cold dead hands!”
“If you say so Master, I’m just glad to be here. You know the camp official tried to assign me to the smithy in the southern market? I told him no, I owe Master Ham everything and would only work for him!” Exill continued to lie through his teeth after a brief pause to swallow his rising nervousness, “He said I could change my mind at any time, but I would rather die than let my Master down. I will make sure to thoroughly chasten the other apprentices for lying to me about the amount they earn.”
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Ham racked his brains as sweat rolled down the back of his neck. He was sure he had bribed the official to get Exill assigned to him! The lad was a gullible gold mine. The only thing that made him hesitate was he knew 0.5 Denar per head was on the low end of the pay scale. He knew some that paid up to 0.7 due to the shortage of workers! “Erhem! You chose well apprentice, Blacksmith Markor is a sleazy scumbag, and you would have suffered at his smithy for sure… I would make a bit of a loss but perhaps I can pay you, my most loyal apprentice half a Denar per arrowhead.”
Exill bowed to Ham in fake gratitude, and some of his earlier guilt was slightly assuaged.
***
The following days were hectic as Ham sought to squeeze every inch of production capacity from his singular workforce - Exill. It was an intense period of iron, sweat and fire as the young apprentice earned eleven Denars a day, not including the cost of lunch.
‘Does this world not have meal allowances for workers?’ The stingy dwarf charged him a Denar for half a bowl of vegetable soup each day. The only redeeming factor being that Ham was a surprisingly good cook, and that it was preferable to the weak gruel they would be served at camp each day.
“Exill me boy… do the other apprentices ever mention me?” Ham asked one mid-afternoon, staring morosely at his flat tankard of ale.
“Why do you ask?” Exill asked, as he waited for the spearhead to heat up again in the forge.
“No reason… just thinkin’ is all.” He played with his beard for a while before continuing, “you don’t know how good yer have it until it’s long gone. Why are dreams so easily crushed?” the dwarf lamented.
Exill awkwardly hammered away at spearhead as it slowly took shape, unable, and in some ways unwilling to respond to the dwarf’s philosophy.
“Which spearhead are you on boy?” he asked, watching the sparks collide with dull eyes.
“This will be my fourth for the day.”
“That should do it then, go home when yer finished… the quota’s been halved.” Ham raised a hand of farewell, before climbing up the stairs to his living quarters.
‘Dammit!’ Exill thought angrily as he quenched the spearhead in hissing oil. He returned it to the forge afterwards to temper the piece, reducing some of its brittleness, ‘Halving my quota means halving my income.’
Wrapping up for the day, Exill poked his head upstairs to bid farewell, only to hear Ham snoring from his room. The young man stepped out into the busy market square.
‘What do I do now?’ Exill was at a loss. For the first time in six months, he had free time to himself. The streets were visibly less congested and Exill took his time to familiarize with the bustling metropolis, carefully avoiding the uninviting side streets that were narrow, dark, and unpaved.
There were stalls at every corner, selling food, common household goods, and even some pets. That last one caught his eye. Crouching down, he examined a blue iridescent larvae trapped in a glass jar.
“You have good eye my friend, that is dream moth. Pray everyday and release on twin moon – bam – dream come true! Only 49 Denars.” The stall vendor avidly said.
Exill tried [Price-Range] and [Appraise] on the larvae to check how much the vendor was ripping him off, but was surprised to find the skill yielding no results. ‘Does it not work on living beings?’ he wondered, shaking his head softly at the Vendor’s offer before turning away.
Reluctantly, Exill returned to Camp B, finding most of the grounds deserted. A woman hurried past him towards the mess hall, and he followed suit, curious what this was all about.
When he arrived, it was packed with softly whispering refugees. The sheer number of people gathered here raised the ambient temperature by several degrees. Shortly, a camp official stood up on a crate to address the crowd.
“As some of you may be aware, the Kingdom of Fayth signed an armistice agreement with the Tribal Federation this morning-” The Administrator continued on, detailing a revised schedule but Exill was no longer listening.
The war was over.