“You and Greg are cute.”

Bonnie stopped briefly to glare at Fiona, through a protective pair of goggles. “Stop distracting me, you elven fiend. The Kitsune runesmith is busy at work. Now, pay attention, yeah?”

“All eyes, dear.” There was one thing that Fiona was starting to enjoy: authentic craftsmanship, in her emporium. Today’s exercise: rune crafting with Bonnie, who was working a custom job for someone.

She quickly pulled an item out of an oven that she used to heat the gel, used to pour the molds for the runes. She grabbed the mold with a pair of heavy tongs, before bringing it to a stone workbench. She pressed the negative for the rune shape on the adjacent mold on top very carefully, then sealed and locked the small mold, to keep it from distorting while it set.

“You make it look easy,” Fiona breathed.

“I’ve been doing this for a while. Runes on metal are tougher, and certain other materials present unique challenges. Threading and embroidery are a bit of an art, more than an actual science. There are classed seamstresses who are master experts on this kind of thing; they can charge a pretty copper for their service!” Bonnie finally pulled off the oversized heat mask, with the fur on her face and head a little matted, and she shook her ears vigorously. “Sheesh. No ergonomics at all for us furred folks,” she grumbled.

“I thought you were fire-resistant,” Fiona pointed out.

“Not at these temperatures, unless you’re a dragon,” Bonnie stated calmly. She pulled out her wand and put an icy crystal on the tip, and the entire device instantly coated in a layer of rime frost. Her gloved hands protected against the instant chill, and she slowly cooled the mold, using seemingly random motions to blast the crucible at varying angles.

“How are you doing that?”

“With my runecraft, I can get a feel for the shape of the rune. A flawless rune? It can go for platinum coins. The skill required to go from one noted grade to the next is exponential.” Bonnie licked her muzzle gently while using the frost to cool the item, occasionally venting the vapors away, using the hood above the station. “It gets easier with practice. Same with your monster slaying, you know?”

“I wonder if I could do that with my gold telekinesis. You saw it, I could melt the metal down at room temperature, and my Bahn Hammer now has a gold plating on it. And strangely, it won’t come off.”

“Hang on. Since we’ve got time to cool this thing and set it properly…can I see the hammer? I don’t think I’ve examined it since the tournament.” Bonnie glanced up, eying the compact weapon with curiosity.

“Sure.” She pulled the haft of her hammer, brought the weapon into existence, and set it down on a bench. Bonnie pulled out a jeweler's lens and examined the hammer. “It also feels lighter.”

“You’re just buff, girl. Where do you hide that muscle?”

“Are you jealous, Bon-bon?” she asked with a grin, and she growled playfully in response.

“I’ll still run circles around you, long legs. I’ll make you a lean, mean, Fiona machine yet! And work off all those sweets,” Bonnie laughed while examining the weapon head with low murmurings. “Fiona, can you show me your magic?”

“Huh?”

“I want to see you melt a coin down,” Bonnie explained. Fiona fished a single Cepalune Standard Gold out of her pocket. “I mean, it’s magic of some kind, isn’t it? It’s almost like a metallomancer, but for gold. It was unique, when I witnessed it. And this is on top of your ability to acquire a magical shield, a teleport, and a blinding flash.”

“Hang on. I was in a hurry on this one last time.” She focused her gaze on the small coin and felt it heat in her hands–like the warming touch of a cozy campfire. The gold brightened slightly, and the small features of the dragon head dissolved–and the coin dissolved into a single tense blob in her hand! But, even stranger, was a small, grey disc in the middle that was untouched. That hadn’t happened before. Bonnie peered at this spectacle with amazement and gently poked one claw at the liquid gold. It resisted her touch for a second, and her claw broke the tension surface.

“Fascinating. It’s liquid at room temperature. This is extraordinary. But, this disk is steel. It's a solid core for the gold to give it some rigidity. Gold’s pretty malleable, so…”

“How do they make coins?” she asked. Bonnie shook her head.

“The Unified Kingdoms keep it pretty well under lockdown, and I think it’s to prevent counterfeiting. It’s also why you can’t just melt down gold bars. I think the intent is to make sure people aren’t swindled. Gold is power around here.”

“Literally, in my case.” Bonnie prodded the gold blob gently, retracted her hand, and jotted something down. “Want me to add it to the layer?”

“Sure thing.” Fiona smeared the gold against the hammerhead, and it flowed to make a smooth, even layer before seemingly hardening instantly Bonnie poked at the new layer with a pick and frowned.

“It’s even harder than it was before. Hang on. Gold should be soft. But this isn’t. It’s as strong as mage steel. Mind if I test something? I can take a few hardness samples for my runes–you need to for some enchantments, they can be stressful on the material.”

Fiona nodded. “Sure thing! this item has seen a lot of service–”

She paused as she looked at Greg making a demonstration on one of the pieces. It was a new feature to make the days more interesting. Mostly, to add a little flash and glamor to showing the items, when they demonstrated a few safe samplea to show their potential. Greg seemed to have a keen handle on all the items.

That nagging feeling was coming back, like he’d chilled as an adventurer, to get away from his criminal father, and put as much distance between them as possible. It was one explanation, at any rate. He was demonstrating a scepter that she’d seen Douglas waving around–not the super evil one, just one of the regular ones he’d used to try and make his lair a skating rink, and then blasted it with fire to make a steam cloud. That had been particularly dangerous.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

She kept getting this weird feeling and glanced at the totem she’d gotten at the fair, where she kept it at the counter in the back. Almost like it was attracting her eyes magnetically. Just why was she keeping an eye out for strange kobolds? Would I date one? I mean, I could, they’re adorable when they’re not trying to turn your face into a knife rack. She glanced back to Greg, showing the scepter on a prepared spot near the back, with mage steel reinforcement and stone flooring in place to prevent messes.

She glanced toward the entry as a group of onlookers walked in to tune into the demonstration. Darla handed out free coffees and got generous tips from the passersby, and she gave them a hearty wave. She smelled elf berry notes–her favorite–along with hints of hazelnut.

But something else was there. Something mossy, earthy almost. Like…something that reminded her of a swamp. That is a rather weird scent, she thought. Bonnie picked up on it her creased expression and frowned.

“What, you smell that too?” Bonnie asked her. Fiona nodded while wrinkling her nose.

“Smells like rotting vegetation, something from a bog. Don’t you have a good sense of smell?” Bonnie glanced at her skeptically.

“I better, Fiona. I’m a kitsune. It’s like an extra special sense for us, and super helpful for potion-making. Getting hit in the muzzle hurts,” she added, and tested the air. “Has anyone taken a swim in the swamp lately? Sheesh. New shop rule, shower before you arrive, please.”

Fiona took note of the arrivals. Folks of all sorts were gathered–some humans, a few elves and dwarves, and a family of wolven with extra fluffy kids were bouncing for joy. Moreso, after Greg sprayed ice particles into the air like a snow machine. That's when she spotted what was off.

A cloaked figure, no more than four feet tall, in a dark cowl and dark clothes, was standing there, wearing gauntlets. She couldn’t tell what species they were until they turned. She saw a hint of red scales on their face and golden eyes that scanned the room warily–but not looking at her.

A kobold? Maybe he's a refugee from the skirmish with Douglas? She pondered on that; tensions were a little high, but kobolds had also made residence in the city before all this and vehemently defended against their swampy kin.

Fiona walked over to the little totem and peered at it closely, eyes narrowed. Then she looked back at the newcomer, still watching the display with a tightly pressed snout, and their fingers curled. He stood there silently and adjusted a pair of glasses by the bridge of his snout.

Fiona froze. She glanced at the totem again, then at the kobold. Calculus started playing in her head, and then she remembered something. Didn’t Douglas wear a pair of glasses just like that, before she’d started venting some frustration on him?

It can’t be. There’s no way!

But it could. This was Cepalune. Anything was possible. Her eyes widened at the implication and finally came to a tumultuous, train wreck inside her brain. She walked over to the visitor, her footsteps sounding like a march of doom.

You better not be who I think you are. Because, if you are, I’m making you into boots. Greg knew something was up when he peered at her out of curiosity, and she snagged her grappling hook from her bench. She always had it ready to grab snacks and thieves.

“Ah, yes, this device is quite serviceable as an offensive weapon, or for keeping your party cool during the heat of summer. It’s versatile, light…” Greg was giving an expert sales pitch while Fiona strolled over to the cowled figure, the rest of the crowd ignored her, and she took a standing position beside him, pretending to listen to the demonstration

She cleared her throat to get the male kobold’s attention. He glanced at her, a scowl on his face. He must have recognized her because his eyes widened slightly a second later. “Hi, you must be, miss…Swiftheart, right?” he asked with a chatter of sharp but pointy teeth. “I love the demonstration.”

“I know, it’s fun, isn’t it?” she asked, fighting the urge to do something dramatic. “I mean I knew this particular item well. Douglas the Red was trying to use it with his fire to steam blast me to death.”

“Sounds ineffective,” he grunted while trying to keep his eyes on the demonstration. “Sounds like that dragon didn’t know how to fight. As if an elf smashed into his home and wrecked it, and he had to improvise.”

“Quite right, he did! So, whatcha think of the store?” she pressed, and he glanced at her, annoyed.

“It’s…an attractor for a certain clientele. I’m just visiting through town. I heard that you opened up the place, and I wanted to see what kinds of items you sell, and it…looks like it’s well thought out,” he conceded.

“We have items of all kinds! Today is our Fiersday demonstration. The kids love it, and always when we demonstrate anything with fire. They love pyrotechnic demonstrations a little too much!” She replied, confident that this guy couldn’t be the guy. It must be a coincidence.

Except she could smell the peat bog scent off of him like it was baked into his clothes. “Say, you said you’re a traveler. Where from?”

“Bar’dathi Plains, down south. My tribe asked me to make an errand run,” he answered, sounding distinctly disinterested.

“Really?” she leaned in and nudged him. “Funny. Did you pass through any swamps on the way? Say, the Renslas Fens?”

He froze, if only for a split second. “It’s…sort of on the way. I had to detour.”

“Smells like you took a swim in it,” she observed. He turned to glare at her.

“Do you always talk this much?” he asked, his snout pressed tight and his eyes narrowed. They were brighter than Darla’s eyes, with a reptilian slit, but still possessed that dash of cunning of the rest of the sentient Folk.

“Only to people I’m familiar with. And you look familiar.” He huffed at that.

“Not all kobolds look the same, with all due respect.”

“Nah. See, I knew a guy! He had these cute little horns like yours!” She tapped one for emphasis, and he suddenly got very anxious. “And he also had this cute little snout, like yours!”

“I heard you were a flirt, but sheesh, someone was grossly underselling it.” That anxious smile of his, and the look of fear in her eyes, told her one interesting thing.

“And ya know what else that guy had in common? Well, there were two things, but the glasses were cute! I always wondered why dragons needed glasses–I guess anyone could use an optometrist! Know anyone like that?” she asked with an evil smile. She spotted Bonnie out of the corner of her eye, wide-eyed and bottlebrush-tailed, and was shaking her head, like she’d made the connection.

“I, uh…well, I need them for reading,” the kobold stammered.

“Or, to take a closer look at all your treasure on display for the masses,” she whispered and leaned down to his level, and he huffed indignantly, teeth on edge.

“Treasure that you stole from–”

Everyone stopped talking to look at the Kobold trying to stand up on his clawtips to leer at Fiona. But the sudden motion rattled something loose from his pocket–a small magical ring dropped out of his cloak, and rattled to the ground with a metallic whirring sound, before coming to a halt. He realized the massive error he’d made, and his irises had constricted to tiny slits. “I mean, um, it’s my, uh–my desire to buy all this treasure–”

Fiona put out a hand, and her massive Bahn hammer flew through the space to her outstretched hand and landed in her palm with the softest of tucks, and she grinned evilly at this would-be troublemaker.

“Did you read the sign as you came in?” She said with all the tenderness of a shark about to go in for the kill.

“No shirt, no shoes, no service?” he asked meekly.

“No, the other rule.”

“Payment in gold coins only?”

“No, keep going.”

“Uh…no greedy dragons allowed?” his eyes went wide as he read the last line on the board behind her.

“Close, but not quite. No dragons with pretentious names.” She wound back her hammer while motioning everyone away, and wore a murderous smile.

“Oh, no.” He realized he was about to get a dose of serious karma.

“Oh, yes. Hi, Doug! I’m gonna make you into a pair of boots, now!”