"Down in the gutter taverns of Nolusburg it's rather healthier to drink the liquor than the water, ‘course you might wind up blind or married to a local the next morning, I’m still not sure which is worse.

So this vacation let's try to avoid any fatalities boys, I hate having to train fresh blood."

                                     -Cautionary words from army Sergeant Peter Davies to his squad

Second Day of the Second Week of Autumn, Morning...

On a broad cobbled street in the crafters district lay a prominent smithery, it’s storefront may be small but it’s forges within burned hot and large, filling up the sizable area in the rear with steaming air that denied the early cold snap one could feel in the streets.

The many smiths within worked with vigor and energy, each passionately shaping the glowing metal before their eyes into its desired form.

From the entryway hung a prestigious sign, ‘Mithrilsmith’ it read, and that was all that was needed to proclaim its dominance in the local trade and crafting of brass, steel, and rarer metals.

Here was where raw ingots were turned into items of purpose, be it the smallest cog or the grandest blade.

Everyone knew the best parts and materials were made here before they went to the technomancers on Capitol Hill.

There they would be engraved and finished into whatever magitech article was desired.

This industry was lucrative, and politically dangerous, yet the generations of owners had survived by subscribing to a firm stance on both product quality and a firm loyalty to the crown. Neither had let them down yet.

John laid down his hammer, the tenth morning bell had come and gone and young apprentice Bright had yet to show up to work. The first time this had happened since he took the boy on.

John was worried, it was not in the boys nature to shirk work, indeed he was one of his most eager pupils, diving headfirst into learning the trade, and spending hours of intense focus as he hammered away and learnt the basics of metallic manipulation.

John had even caught him applying magic to his work recently, Tikka’s teeth, the boy was nothing short of a prodigy, it usually took smiths years to learn what seemed to come naturally to him in weeks and months.

The very metal sang as he worked it, there was no other way to describe the phenomenon.

Only John could hear the song it sang, he had initially heard it when the boy first came to his shop several years past and started stroking some metal scraps while his mother tried to thrust him into an apprenticeship under his care.

Truth be told John would have fought to take him, and having done so was determined to make him an heir to his techniques if he could stay the course.

Yet that boy, who caressed his tools so longingly at the end of each day, was absent.

This wouldn’t do, John hung his hammer and tongs in the loops made for them at his waist and bellowed out to one of his journeyman smith's.

“Marek, young Kyle is absent, go see if he ran into any trouble will you.”

Marek, whose large frame was currently bent over an anvil, finished a few last bows of his hammer and quenched the sword he was working on in a water trough beside him. He then laid it on a nearby table and turned around.

Pulling off his gloves and goggles, his broad, good natured face broke into a grin.

“Sure thing master, he probably just woke up late. I’ll be back in a jiffy.” saying this Marek strode out the door, turning sidways and ducking to fit his massive frame through, despite the larger than normal door frame.

‘That boy’s got muscles for brains’ thought John as he saw him off.

‘But only a fool would pick a fight with him.’

Indeed, as Marek’s massive figure blithely walked down the street the crowd parted for him part in respect and partly in imminent fear of being squished.

While Marek had always been big boned, years at the forge had crafted a body with bulging muscles akin to wrought steel.

Yet somehow despite his bulk and having enough strength to twist iron bars or crumple a helmet in one hand, Marek was capable of some of the finest detail work out of all of his apprentices.

One time, while Marek was deep in thought over how to best temper a breastplate he was working on, John had watched him walk through a wall without ever noticing it was there, continuing on to a nearby forge and pulling out his hammer as he decided the direction to take in the crafting process.

The wall had been wood, they rebuilt with brick and steel.

‘Well, that's that’ John decided.

‘Marek will bring young Kyle back. Now I wonder how much fine steel ingots I have left, still got that order of swords from Lord Randolph to fill by the end of the week.’

John Mithrilsmith turned back to his forge in silence and hefted his tools once more.

The ever ringing sound of hammers continued to reverberate from within the smithy. The steady sound others on the street had long grown accustomed to.

……………………………………………………

Jacques woke up in near darkness, he spotted a dim magitech globe suspended from the otherwise bland roof.

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Jacques started trying to move his fingers, hands and then his arms, gradually testing all his limbs and muscles, they were all badly bruised and complained at the movement but most surprisingly, they were all working.

He winced in pain and gingerly felt his left side, one, no two ribs broken, a few more than that were cracked no doubt, not giving way but definitely painful to his probing.

Moving would definitely be a joy for awhile, he would have to be careful until he saw a competent healer.

Finished with a cursory self examination he allowed himself to review his memories. They were a bit hazy from the knock he had taken to his skull but they were there.

He had been escorting someone to the precinct, who was it again? Galay, Gupala… a face drifted into his mind's eye.

He sat up abruptly as his memories expanded

'That’s right it was Gupalagia! Hadoom and I were bringing her in for safekeeping, we escaped the faction war, and then…'

“Guuuuhhh” he let a groan leak out between clenched teeth, moving definitely hurt.

“Aye lad, we lost her.”

Jacques turned to see Hadoom lying prone in a bed next to his.

“Don’t move too much, that bloody witch did a real number on us both, I’d heard rumors of her, whispers from the gutterfolk, but I nae did think she would be a mage of such power"

"Last thing I remember is being tossed around like a wee rag doll….”

Hadoom lapsed into a prolonged silence that Jacques shared as they both pieced together their memories and recollected recent events.

“Any idea where we are or who pulled us from the streets?” Jacques asked his partner.

“Nay lad, I woke but a few minutes before ye. I suppose we owe someone our thanks, although I do seem to be missing my gear, I half pity the fool that opened me bag, had a rather nasty protective enchantment put on it I did.”

Hadoom chuckled before stiffening in pain,

“Urrrrgg, I haven't felt like this since the time I had to jump into the thick of that food riot fifteen years ago to save yer sorry neck."

"I hope whoever dumped us here left to procure the services of a good healer, it looks like we both need a good going over.”

Jacques half smiled, his partner always got chatty when he was angry or frustrated, it was comforting to know that he was not alone in his emotions.

He hoped Gupalagia had escaped, but the chances of that happening were slim to none with such a powerful mage on her heels.

Rather, he would be more surprised to hear she had, however much he wished it was so.

Their quiet and companionable sulking was rudely interrupted when the door swung open and a man in white healer's robes entered.

A viel obscured the healers face, showing naught but a vague outline through the cloth.

He was closely followed by a figure wrapped head to toe in tight fitting black garments, a woman judging by her figure.

Without a word the healer approached and raised an emblem of the goddess Selena in his left hand, and charging the engraved array with mana he raised his right hand to Hadoom’s head and began to heal him.

“Where are we? Who are you? Why have you brought us here? Where are our belongings? ” Jacques fired off the pertinent questions first.

Yet his questions went unanswered by either of their guests, the healer shaking his head and maintained his silence while the woman flat out ignoring him.

After a few minutes of casting his healing spells the healer finished with Hadoom and made his way to Jacques to repeat the process.

Jacques felt a warmth seep into his body as he did so, targeting his injuries and soothing them quickly. Whoever this healer was he was a master of his trade, the pain receded and Jacques felt far more clear headed.

With his faculties about him he realized why Hadoom was keeping so still, he was staring at the black clad woman.

To a casual onlooker she might just appear secretive, but to the trained eye she radiated a danger and professionalism so absolute that it was disturbing to his senses, it felt like staring down a magical beast that was busy deciding if it felt hungry enough to bother turning you into a snack.

Jacques had no doubt that if they had threatened the healer or tried to escape she could take them both down with her hands tied behind her back, that was what his instincts told him, this woman was more than just merely dangerous, she was the razor edge to your throat.

No, she was not the kind of danger you messed with to prove your bravery. Crossing her was like slathering yourself in zugzug blood and throwing yourself naked into a pit of starving worgen, pure idiocy.

Even her identity was a mystery. The only characteristics he could see were the faintest ends of two black lines that reached the bottom of her grey eyes, and even those were confusing.

He could have sworn she was an elf from her lithe figure and grace of movement, yet everyone knew that elves had a range of brown, blue and green eyes, never grey. His own light grey eyes came solidly from his father's bloodline, his mother's being sapphiric blue.

She turned to meet his gaze, her chilly gaze positively arctic in its warmth, the depths of her eyes betraying not the slightest hint of friendliness as they gleamed darkly in the dim light.

'I wonder what we did to annoy her?' thought Jacques.

Finally the healer finished and Jacques stretched his muscles, enjoying the pain free movements even as he watched the white clad man exit.

“What now lass? Are we prisoners or are we free to go?” questioned Hadoom.

The woman did not reply immediately, merely turning to exit the room, as she passed the door they heard a hoarse whisper.

“Follow me, my master awaits you.” they looked at each other and Hadoom shrugged.

“We'll, what are we waiting for? It’s high time we got some answers don’t ye think?” Jacques smiled, a dwarfs curiosity even in the craziest of circumstances never failed to amaze him.

They rose as one and followed their guide out the room.

………………………………………………………………..

Guppy had brief flashes of consciousness, from them she knew she was being moved, first she woke in a wagon under a layer of hay, then in a wooden crate.

Yet she could not maintain her lucidity, despite her struggles to do so her consciousness kept fading out. Her body wracked with pain even as it struggled to adapt to the curse imprinted upon it, woven as it was around her heart and seeping its effects throughout her blood.

It hurt.

So very, very much.

The pain washed over Guppy in waves as her very blood burned with foreign and natural mana alike.

Both caused her to wake and release silent screams as her limbs strained and thrashed, before overwhelming her senses and ferrying her once more down the river of unconsciousness.

She measured time when she could by the beat of her heart.

Each beat was so pitifully slow and pain inducing, but still they were treasured, for each painful thump and throb reminded her that she yet lived.

She still had a purpose and refused to go out like this, not to some malformed curse of an insane witch.

Guppy clung to these thoughts, keeping her sanity by nursing a grudge deep within her, promising that one day, there would be a reckoning….

Eventually the pain receded and she relaxed at long last, crashing into blessed oblivion….

Guppy awoke, not unsure as to how much time had passed.

The pain was thankfully gone, and her heart was still beating so that was at least a relief, yet her surroundings were dark, there was no window, nor light to be seen.

A coldness around her neck confused her, she had never worn jewelry around her neck before, especially a piece as large and clunky as this.

In the darkness she ran her hands over it, trying to figure out what it was,

‘No’ she thought, not daring to believe what it was.

‘No! No! NO!’ she cried in her mind, growing increasingly frantic as her scrabbling intensified.

“NOOO!!” she cried out, finally acknowledging the reality of the situation.

Around her neck, attached quite firmly, was none other than a magitech slave collar.