Tel'ron turned around to look behind him, and there, for everyone to see, stood B'arthon with an apologetic-looking Lon'thul waving from behind him. The room fell silent while B'arthon stared at Angela floating over her new body.

Angela turned to Jack with a mischievous smile, speaking Basic so only a few could understand what was being said. "You don't suppose he'd believe me if I told him I was the great and powerful Oz?"

Jack shook his head while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't think he'd care, since you and I are the only ones who'd get that reference..."

As amusing as the siblings thought they were, S'haar decided it was time to take charge and stood up before addressing the now very confused lordling. "B'arthon, any particular reason you're barging into my home?"

The young noble eventually tore his eyes away from the spectacle before his eyes to address S'haar. "I'm sorry, do you not see the impossible tiny floating woman or the waste of metal of a statue in the middle of the room? Is this what you've been using your share of the metal for? Decorative pieces?"

The metal statue stood, and the projected Angela took a stance on her own shoulder, but the voice she used this time came from her metal body and spoke argu'n. "I'm afraid your assumption was flawed. This is my body, not a statue."

B'arthon's jaw could have dislocated with how fast it dropped, but Angela wasn't about to let up. "Furthermore, I don't appreciate being referred to as though I'm not present. You may call me Lady Angela, or if you prefer, just call me by my unofficial title, 'The Dragon.'"

At this, B'arthon's jaw snapped shut. He stood there silent for a moment before speaking again. This time his voice sounded dubious. "You're the dragon? Just some person in an oversized metal suit? I expected something more...impressive."

Angela stretched as if loosening up her limbs. "First of all, you aren't listening. This isn't a suit. This is my body. Second, when you say you expected something more impressive, did you mean something like this?" Angela reached up and pulled off her "helmet," revealing no head underneath. "Or this?" With that, her tiny projected form began to grow, soon filling the room with the image of a giant dragon whose roar was deafening due to directed speakers mounted on the suit.

B'arthon froze in place, though his hand reached for a sword at his side. Angela had to give the man some credit. She'd expected him to run or collapse in fear, but he did an admirable job of standing his ground, even if she could see several physical indications of panic setting in.

Her metal body walked forward, hidden by the projection. Then, as the noble drew his sword, she walked out of the illusion she'd created, causing it to dissolve behind her dramatically. His eyes were dilated with panic as he lunged forward to strike his opponent, but the sword clanged harmlessly off her body. Angela countered by shoving him gently but firmly in the chest, sending him onto his backside as she spoke, her voice projecting from the "head" she now cradled under one arm. "I won't hold that against you since it's obvious you were reacting out of misguided self-preservation, and you didn't actually cause any harm. But you might want to think twice before attacking someone so much larger, stronger, and generally more durable than yourself."

A crowd gathered as Angela put her head back on with a dramatic twist. She then reached out and offered a hand to help B'arthon to his feet. When he hesitated, Lon'thul knelt down beside him. "Sorry about that. I probably should have told ya, Lady Angela here has quite the flair for the dramatic. But, for the record, she'd never actually hurt more than your pride unless you made yourself a threat to her family."

B'arthon looked from Angela over to Lon'thul and back again. For a moment, it seemed like he'd bat Angela's offered hand aside in petulance, but then he seemed to stop and think a moment before reaching out and accepting the offered hand.

Angela was surprised by this. Based on Jack and S'haar's stories, B'arthon was nothing more than the spoiled child of a powerful man, and this kind of self-control should be outside his grasp. And yet here he was, clearly considering the eyes and ears of everyone watching, despite being terrified senseless mere moments ago. He was clearly practiced in controlling appearances and perceptions.

The noble in question visibly calmed himself before turning and addressing Lon'thul. "You knew about this?"

The hunter looked at Angela for a moment with his head tilted to the side. "Well, the large metal body is new, but yes, I'm familiar with Lady Angela."

B'arthon's eyes narrowed. "And you failed to report on her. Why?"

Lon'thul shrugged. "Well, I swore an oath that as long as she wasn't a threat to our village, I wouldn't reveal her secrets."

The noble's glare hardened. "And you don't think a flying, shape-changing witch with an impenetrable metal body potentially threatens our village?"

Lon'thul grinned. "Like I said, the metal body is new."

Angela cut in. "And like I said, it's rude to talk about me like I'm not here. Now, you can run away and give your father a superficial report, or you can come in, sit down, and actually speak with me. The choice is yours."

B'arthon looked around at the growing crowd and turned back with a defeated expression. "Fine, but someone had best go and tell my men it will be a while, maybe get them some food and a place to rest."

Lon'thul looked back and forth between everyone in the room and B'arthon before sighing. "Even though I'd love to listen in on this, I'm probably the least essential person here. I can go."

The noble couldn't resist a parting shot. "Make sure you do a better job acting as a messenger than acting as my bodyguard!"

The unflappable hunter grinned. "Of course! Leaving them waiting wouldn't be nearly as funny as watching you get knocked on your butt!"

The noble's scowl deepened, and Lon'thul's grin widened before the hunter turned and left. Then, with a defeated sigh, B'arthon turned back to Angela. "Alright, let's go in, and you can convince me why you're not a threat to the village."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Angela couldn't resist a minor jab but kept her voice low enough that none of the gathered crowd could hear. "If I was a threat, what's keeping me from making you disappear as soon as you walk through that door?"

B'arthon walked through the door without giving Angela the pleasure of reacting to her implied threat as he replied. "Simple. If I disappear here and now, that's all the warning the village, or my father, would need."

Anglea laughed as she closed the door.

*  

As everyone settled back into place around the fire in the middle of the room, B'arthon eyed the odd couch on which S'haar rejoined Jack before taking his own seat in a relatively isolated position opposite them. S'haar glared at the noble, but Jack nodded affably enough.

B'arthon eyed Jack curiously. The small man had never been particularly imposing and could now be considered less so, with the loss an eye and and a crippled leg. Still, there was something new to him. A casual confidence had replaced the false bravado he'd had before. He no longer felt quite like prey.

However, the young Lord felt his attention drawn away by the last to rejoin the circle as "Lady Angela" joined them beside the fire. B'arthon raised an eye ridge to see her settle into place on a carpet rather than in a chair. The metal woman noticed his reaction and shrugged. "My presence here was a bit...unexpected. Unfortunately, they don't have any chairs designed to support me, since I make even the largest of argu'n look lightweight in comparison."

B'arthon said nothing in response, and the room grew awkwardly quiet. He noticed that while the statuesque woman's lips moved, they were somewhat awkward, as though they didn't quite match up with the sounds coming out of them. Most of the face was frozen in an unreadable mask, totally at odds with the inflections clear in her voice.

After a few moments of what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable silence, Lady Angela spoke once more. "So tell me, Lord B'arthon, what can I do to show you I'm no threat?"

The noble eyed the metal woman dubiously a moment before replying. "That's for you to decide, not me."

The room grew quiet again, but it didn't last as long before Jack spoke up, with S'haar translating beside him. "Speaking on behalf of my sister here, she's been present for as long as I have, admittedly not in this form, yet she's been nothing but benevolent to you and your village. She's played an essential role in gathering metal and never laid so much as a finger on any argu'n, except to render them aid or comfort."

B'arthons eye ridges shot up once more at the mention of this Angela, "The Dragon," being Jack's sister. Jack had always looked deformed, but was it possible they weren't even argu'n? Lon'thul had mentioned Lady Angela's metal body was new. Would Jack grow into one as well? Looking at the two, it didn't seem likely. As small and deformed as he was, Jack seemed fully mature as far as the noble could discern. Perhaps Jack had been speaking figuratively when he spoke of the metal giant as his sister. Rather than being blood relatives, he might have simply been brought into the family and raised beside her. B'arthon was certainly more familiar than most with that sort of "family bond."

After a moment, the noble shook his head. "Any hunter can tell you the virtue of patience during the hunt. Just because your sister," B'arthon nodded to Angela, "hasn't been a threat before now is no guarantee she'll remain that way."

This time it was Angela's turn to speak. "I don't suppose my word of honor that I mean no harm would suffice?"

B'arthon shook his head again. "You can trust the word of your brother or your friend so well as you know them, but only a fool would trust a stranger bearing a sword. While you're not traditionally armed, I think your potential as a threat is clear to all."

S'haar was growing tired of the noble's continual refusal to relent. "Then how about the simple fact that at every opportunity, we've offered nothing but help, even after a snowstorm, or to save a crippled guard?"

B'arthon shook his head again. "Don't try to claim that you haven't benefited from your generosity. Many of our best craftsmen have come to your aid in payment of your efforts. Your little ‘outpost’ has more skill and muscle than most villages, at this point."

As S'haar glowered at B'arthon, Jack spoke up again. "How about the fact that we're entirely dependent on the village for the skill and muscle we now enjoy? There's an old saying where I come from, ‘Don't bite the hand that feeds you.’"

B'arthon nodded this time. "That is certainly an argument in your favor and was my father's intent when he agreed to loan you some of our labor, but I'm not entirely sure that's as binding as it once was. Stories have reached our ears about you saving other villages, and I'm sure at least one of the guards at the gate didn't come from our village."

The noble leaned back in his chair and continued. "This is all well and good, and you certainly have many arguments in your favor, even if they lack quality. But you need to remember that it's not me you need to convince. It's my father. I'll be taking all the evidence you've given me, and that which I've personally seen, and let him decide for himself."

Angela spoke up again, drawing B'arthon's attention back to herself. "But what about yourself? Do you not have any thoughts on the matter?"

B'arthon paused a moment before responding. "Despite how horrible an argu'n as my father may be, he is a great leader. When he took over the village, it was on the brink of ruin, not unlike several villages are now." He nodded pointedly at Em'brel, who'd been doing her best to escape all attention until now. "But under his leadership, we've grown to be the largest, most successful village around. So much so that other villages have begun entering agreements with us for aid." At this point, the noble was simply staring at Em'brel, who was all but cowering back into her seat.

Finally, the noble turned his attention back to Angela, freeing Em'brel from the weight of his gaze. "He did all this with a keen mind and steady resolve. He has the intelligence to see further down the road than most and the patience to properly develop his plans. So when you ask what my opinion of all this is, my answer is that it doesn't matter. Lord A'ngles will make up his own mind, whether I offer my thoughts on the matter or not."

Finally, the noble stood. "But you've delayed me long enough for today. I've got a shipment of metal to deliver, and I'd like to be home before nightfall." He looked around with a slight sneer. "Staying overnight in accommodations such as this is hardly...appealing."

Jack looked at Angela with concern. "Should we let him just up and leave like this? There's still a lot to discuss."

Angela shrugged her shoulders and replied in Basic. "What would you have me do? Grab him and hold him prisoner, while we explain why he should trust us?"

Before Jack could offer a counterpoint, the noble was gone, leaving the room in strained silence for a moment.

Shortly after, the silence was interrupted by Tel'ron, who stood by silently throughout the discussion. "Ok, now that the trivial stuff is out of the way, why was I not informed such a masterpiece had been created?"

As the smith started to walk forward, Angela held him out at arm's length. "Woh, back up there! This isn't just some machine to be dissected and scrutinized. This is my body! Slow down, or I'll slow you down!"

*  

Sare'en was walking back to the billet when she ran across B'arthon again. This time he was alone, and the girl froze in place. Perhaps sensing her fear, Grim wrapped around in front of his mom and let out a low grumble. The noble looked down at the wolgen a moment, then smirked. "Showing a little backbone now? About time. You got some good instincts there, don't lose them in this place." Then he walked away without further word or explanation.

Sare'en was left blinking, wondering what he could have meant by that. A moment later, Grim let out a quiet whuff after the departed noble. The sound jolted Sare'en back to the here and now. "Come on, boy. Let's get back. I'll cook us up a nice stew for lunch.

At the mention of food, Grim was back to his cheerful self. He happily trotted after Sare'en, the dangerous-smelling male forgotten.