The party stepped out through the gate, leaving behind the raucous laughter and colorful chaos of the Circus of the Last Days. The sun hung low in the sky, its golden rays slowly fading into the deep hues of twilight.
“That was fun,” Karlach said with a wide yawn, stretching her muscular arms above her head. Her gaze lifted to the horizon, where the first hints of stars began to peek through. “So, what’s the plan now? Are we heading back to the mansion?”
Alex, now free of petals and pie, rolled his shoulders as if shaking off the last remnants of the day’s absurdities.
“If we do, I’m taking the bed,” Astarion chimed in, his tone as smooth as silk but with an edge of feigned nonchalance.
“Sure, buddy, sure,” Karlach replied with a smirk, crossing her arms. The unspoken challenge hung in the air—there was no way she’d let him win that particular battle.
Alex chuckled softly, shaking his head. “We still have some daylight left. I’d like to explore more of this district, see if we can cross Wyrm’s Crossing tonight instead of doubling back tomorrow.”
The others murmured their agreement, none objecting to the plan. As they set off down the main road, the vibrant bustle of Rivington began to unfold before them.
The streets grew busier with each step, alive with the sounds of conversation, footsteps, and the occasional bark of a street vendor hawking their wares. Groups of people clustered together in animated discussions, while others bustled about, hurrying to complete errands before nightfall. Many spoke of the refugee crisis, their voices tinged with frustration or fear as they lamented the city’s closed gates.
To the party’s right, a sturdy building caught their attention. A polished wooden sign swung gently in the breeze, hanging above the door. Etched into the sign was the image of an anvil flanked by two hammers, beneath which were the words: Angled Iron Smithy.
Alex slowed his pace and turned to the group. “Should we check it out?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of curiosity.
Shadowheart’s eyes lit up with interest. “I’m in desperate need of a new shield,” she said, resting a hand on her current one, its edges battered and worn from countless battles. “Maybe they’ll have something sturdy enough for me.”
Alex nodded thoughtfully. The idea sparked something in him—he could use this opportunity not only to browse for supplies but also to study designs. If he was ever going to craft equipment from adamantine for his companions, he needed inspiration from masterwork examples.
With their decision made, they approached the smithy. As Alex pushed the heavy wooden door open, a faint chime from a hanging bell announced their arrival.
Inside, the warm glow of lamps casted flickering shadows across the room. The air was rich with the tang of metal and oiled leather. Weapons of every kind adorned the walls—swords gleamed under polished glass displays, enchanted bows rested on racks, and rows of daggers and axes sat ready for eager hands. A collection of armor stood on mannequins, each piece meticulously crafted, from simple leather jerkins to imposing plate mail.
Behind the counter stood a dragonborn, her scales a warm brass that seemed to catch and reflect the light like molten gold. She was clad in polished armor that seemed as much a part of her as her scales, and a greatsword rested sheathed across her back. Her sharp eyes immediately fixed on the party, and her face broke into a broad, cheerful grin.
“Hiiiiiiiiii!” she exclaimed, her voice bright and inviting, the kind of cheer that seemed utterly immune to the day’s weariness. “Looking for a blade? A bow? Maybe a dagger?!”
Alex stepped forward, opening his mouth to respond, but she was faster, her words tumbling out in an excited rush. “Or a spear? You look like you’d know how to use a spear. Come on, buy a spear! What’dya say?”
Alex blinked, caught off guard by her exuberance, before managing a small smile. “Maybe. But first, I’d like to see what you have in stock.”
Her grin didn’t falter for a second. “Oh, I’ve got everything! Light armor, heavy armor, swords, clubs, maces, arrows—anything your adventuring heart desires!” She gestured grandly toward the walls and display cases, her enthusiasm infectious.
The party’s eyes followed her gesture, taking in the impressive selection. Many of the weapons and armor glimmered faintly, enchanted runes etched into their surfaces. The craftsmanship was exquisite.
Shadowheart’s gaze landed on a shield mounted on the wall, its intricate design immediately drawing her attention.
The shield had a hexagonal shape with beveled edges, exuding both sharpness and elegance. It struck a perfect balance between functionality and artistry, clearly designed to deflect even the mightiest of blows while maintaining a commanding and dignified aesthetic. The face of the shield was a deep reddish-brown, its surface reminiscent of aged leather or darkened metal. Intricate silver inlays crisscrossed the surface in angular, symmetrical patterns, each line painstakingly etched to perfection. The designs hinted at dwarven or arcane craftsmanship, the kind forged with both purpose and pride.
Shadowheart stepped closer, her hand brushing the edge of the shield before she spoke. "How much for this one?" she asked, her tone calm but laced with interest as she pointed at the display.
The brass-scaled dragonborn at the counter grinned broadly. “That beauty? 360 gold pieces,” she replied, as she leaned on the counter.
Shadowheart tilted her head, inspecting the shield more closely. “Mind if I test how it feels?”
“Suit yourself,” the dragonborn said with a shrug, waving her hand in permission.
Shadowheart reached up, carefully removing the shield from its mount. The weight was reassuring in her hands—not too heavy but solid enough to inspire confidence. She flipped it over, studying the back. The metallic surface gleamed faintly in the fading sunlight streaming through the shop's windows. A crosshatched, padded grip area ensured comfort, and two sturdy leather straps allowed for optimal maneuverability. The craftsmanship wasn’t just practical; it was built for someone who valued the art of defense.
Alex, noticing her focus, approached. Without a word, he placed a hand on the shield, closing his eyes. A faint purple glow enveloped the shield, and the air seemed to hum with energy.
“What’s he doing?” the dragonborn asked, her cheerful tone replaced by a hint of concern.
Alex didn’t open his eyes as he responded, “Checking for curses or any hidden magical properties. Sometimes, items have histories... unsavory ones.”
The glow faded, and Alex took of his hand from the shield. “No curses,” he assured her. “But it does have a story.”
Shadowheart raised a brow. “What kind of story?”
Alex smirked faintly. “It belonged to a gnome, originally. Stolen from a dwarf. At some point, the gnome used it as a makeshift sled to escape pursuers—hurling it downhill to buy time.”
Karlach burst into laughter. “A sled?! Now that’s a shield with character!”
Shadowheart shook her head but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She handed her old, battered shield to the shopkeeper. “Can I sell this here?”
The dragonborn inspected the worn shield, its surface dented and scratched from countless battles. “I’ll take it, but don’t expect much for it. This old thing’s seen better days. Gyldro, the smith, will probably melt it down and make something new.”
“That’s fine,” Shadowheart said softly. “It’s served its purpose.” She set it on the counter, a strange sense of finality in her voice.
Meanwhile, the rest of the party had scattered across the shop, examining weapons and armor mounted on the walls and displayed in glass cases. Karlach’s gaze landed on a suit of armor that looked as brutal as it was fascinating.
The armor was a terrifying sight, its surface covered in jagged spikes and knobby nodules of bone. The leather appeared to have been bitten by something ancient, the teeth marks embedded into it still visible. "What’s this one called?" Karlach asked, her voice filled with awe as she ran her fingers over the spikes.
“That,” the dragonborn said proudly, “is the Bone Spike Garb. A masterpiece! Perfect for someone who likes to get up close and personal in a fight.”
“And this?” Gale’s voice drew their attention to a glaive mounted nearby. The blade shimmered faintly, its surface etched with patterns that seemed to move in the light. Tiny specks of what looked like dried blood were fused into the metal, giving it an eerie, almost sentient feel.
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“That,” the dragonborn said, her grin widening, “is The Dancing Breeze. Beautiful, isn’t it? And deadly. Its enchantment allows its wielder to perform a devastating whirlwind attack—cutting down all enemies within range in a single, graceful sweep. A true work of art.”
“And the armor?” Wyll asked, gesturing to the Bone Spike Garb.
The dragonborn’s golden eyes gleamed. “Ah, that one’s suited for a berserker—or anyone who can channel rage in combat. Its enchantments reduce incoming damage significantly, and anyone who dares to attack you in close quarters will regret it. Those spikes don’t just look pretty; they bite back.”
“That sounds perfect for me!” Karlach exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels.
Shadowheart chuckled as she adjusted her new shield on her arm. “It does suit your style. Big, bold, and guaranteed to make someone bleed.”
Karlach grinned. “Exactly.”
As the party gathered their purchases and prepared to pay, the dragonborn leaned over the counter. “You lot have good taste. Don’t go dying out there; these beauties deserve to see some action.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Karlach said, hefting the Bone Spike Garb over her shoulder. “There’s plenty of action waiting for us.”
After paying for their new equipment, Alex turned back to the dragonborn shopkeeper, his expression calm but purposeful. “Can I speak with the smith? I have a request for him,” he asked, his voice steady yet respectful.
The shopkeeper tilted her head thoughtfully, her golden eyes narrowing for a moment before nodding. “For how much you’ve spent today, I reckon he’ll be inclined to hear you out,” she said, a sly grin creeping across her face. She stepped out from behind the counter and gestured for Alex to follow. “Come on, then. And don’t waste his time.”
She led Alex toward a staircase at the back of the shop. She glanced back over her shoulder and waved Alex forward. “You’ll like Gyldro,” she said cheerfully. “He’s grumpy as all hells, but he’s a genius.”
The stairs opened into a wide, open forge. The workspace was bathed in the glow of burning embers and shafts of sunlight streaming through its open sides. A high, slanted roof shielded the area from the elements, and the rhythmic clanging of metal on metal filled the air like a heartbeat. They had seen the forge before, from the street. For someone grumpy, the place he chose to forge was strange, as people could easily walk into his forge from the main road.
At the center of it all was Gyldro, hammering away at a glowing, half-finished sword. His movements were methodical, each strike sending sparks flying in a dazzling cascade. Sweat glistened on his shiny, bald head, while his thick, bushy brown beard was streaked with soot and grime. He didn’t look up, his focus entirely on the blade as the forge’s heat painted his skin with a faint, fiery hue.
“Gyldro!” The dragonborn called, her cheerful voice cutting through the steady rhythm of hammer blows.
The smith’s hands paused mid-strike, his shoulders tensing slightly as he turned his gaze toward them. His dark eyes flicked to the dragonborn, then to Alex. His expression shifted into a scowl, the kind that could intimidate most people into silence.
“What do you want, Exxvikyap?” Gyldro grumbled, his voice deep and gravelly, as though the forge’s smoke had seeped into his throat.
Exxvikyap ignored his tone and gestured toward Alex with a wide grin. “Brought you a customer who’s spent over 2,000 gold at the shop. He’s got a request for you. Oh, and by the way, when do I get to use the anvil?” she added, almost as an afterthought.
Gyldro didn’t even glance at her. His focus remained locked on Alex. The scowl on his face softened, replaced by a neutral expression, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.
“Over 2,000 gold, you say?” he muttered, stroking his beard. His tone carried a grudging respect. “Let’s hear it, then. What do you want?”
Alex stepped forward, meeting the smith’s gaze without hesitation. “I want to commission some weapons, armor, and shields from you—simple ones, without enchantments or any special properties. They just need to be sturdy.”
Gyldro’s eyes narrowed, his bushy brows knitting together. “Hmm. I could do that—if you’ve got the coin. But what’s your reason? If it’s for something that doesn’t sit well with me, I won’t sell. And don’t think for a second you can fool me,” he warned, his voice low and unwavering.
Alex nodded, his expression serious. “I’m a blacksmith myself—or at least, I’m learning to be. I want to study your designs and use them as inspiration for my own creations.”
This was only half the truth. Alex wasn’t a true blacksmith, but the memories he’d absorbed granted him the skills of one, albeit rusty and incomplete. He figured honesty—at least partial honesty—would earn him more respect than a lie.
Gyldro’s frown deepened, and his gaze drifted to the forge. The air between them grew heavy with tension, the crackling embers seeming to underscore the silence. Then, abruptly, the smith waved Alex forward. “Come here, lad.”
Alex approached cautiously, the heat from the forge growing more intense with each step. He stopped next to Gyldro, the anvil between them glowing faintly with residual warmth.
The smith didn’t look at him, his eyes still on the tools scattered across the workbench. “If you’re serious about this,” Gyldro said, his voice quieter now but no less commanding, “then prove it. Make me a dagger.”
Alex blinked, caught off guard by the demand. “A dagger?”
Gyldro finally turned to him, his dark eyes gleaming with challenge. “Aye. A dagger. Show me your skill—or lack thereof.” He crossed his arms, leaning back slightly as if daring Alex to back down.
The challenge hung in the air like a gauntlet thrown to the ground. Alex glanced at the tools and the glowing forge, then back at Gyldro. The smith’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of interest in his eyes, as though he was sizing Alex up, waiting to see if he’d crumble under the pressure.
Alex took a deep breath, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “I’ll make you a dagger.”
Gyldro’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “Good,” he said simply. “Then get to work.”
Alex stepped before the forge, the blistering heat washing over him like a gentle breeze rather than an inferno. He could feel the searing temperatures around him, but they held no power over his body. The immunity granted by the fire and magma elemental he had consumed rendered the flames harmless. For him, this was not a trial of endurance but one of skill and curiosity.
The forge roared in front of him, its molten glow illuminating the workshop. Tools gleamed in the firelight, their edges honed for precision. Alex took his time, studying the layout of the workspace and the equipment. The environment felt alive, the heat pulsing like a heartbeat in rhythm with the clanging metal from distant smiths.
Alex reached for a bar of raw steel, the cool and unyielding metal resting in his bare hands like a piece of clay waiting to be shaped. To him, the sensation was oddly calming, a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of his life. He knew this would soon change. Placing the steel into the forge with his bare hands, he ignored the roaring flames licking at his skin. They were nothing more than a faint tickle, their searing heat unable to harm him. Fire and magma had long since lost their power over him after he consumed the elemental essence that now burned quietly within his own soul.
Gyldro and Exxvikyap stared in stunned silence. The dragonborn shopkeeper blinked rapidly, as if doubting her own eyes. Gyldro, the hardened blacksmith, seemed less skeptical but no less bewildered.
“What in Moradin’s hammer?” Gyldro muttered under his breath, stepping closer for a better view. “How—? No gloves, no tongs, and not a damn burn. Lad, you’d better have one hell of an explanation.”
Alex didn’t respond immediately, his focus on the glowing metal in the forge. He watched as the steel softened, the heat rendering it malleable. With deliberate precision, he withdrew the glowing bar, holding it in his hands as casually as one might hold a twig.
Gyldro’s disbelief deepened. ““If someone had told me this, I’d have spat in their face for lying. But here you are…”,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Alex placed the steel on the anvil, his movements measured and deliberate. The first strike of the hammer rang out, a clean, resonant sound that reverberated through the forge. It wasn’t the strike of a master craftsman, but it held purpose and intent. He wasn’t here to impress anyone; he wasn’t here to prove anything. This was about the act of creation. For someone who had destroyed so much, the opportunity to forge something with his own hands felt strangely meaningful.
He worked with a focused intensity, shaping the dagger with each rhythmic strike. The tang was crafted to support the blade’s weight, the spine was flattened for structure, and the edge was meticulously formed. His movements were fluid, precise, and unhurried, a reflection of his control over his own body. Where gaps in his skill appeared, Alex drew from memories of metallurgy from his old world. He thought of tensile strength, tempering, and structural integrity—concepts foreign to this realm but deeply ingrained in his mind.
“Never seen anything like it,” Gyldro admitted as he watched. There was no malice in his voice now, just awe. “You work like you’ve been at the forge for years. But there’s something... off about it. ”
Alex didn’t reply, focusing on the final stages of the blade’s shape. The glow of the forge illuminated his face as he returned the blade to the flames, heating it for quenching. When the steel was ready, he plunged it into the quenching oil with an almost ceremonial precision. The flames flared around his hands, the hiss and crackle of cooling steel filling the air. The fire rose as if to consume him, but it left Alex untouched, unharmed. Gyldro and Exxvikyap could only watch in stunned silence.
Once the blade was quenched, Alex inspected it. The dagger wasn’t perfect—its surface bore minor imperfections, faint marks of his inexperience. Yet it was functional. The edge was sharp, the balance adequate, and the structure solid.
Taking the blade to the workbench, Alex crafted a simple hilt from wood and leather. His hands moved deftly, wrapping the grip tightly, ensuring it was practical and reliable. When the dagger was complete, he held it up to the light of the forge, letting the fire dance across its surface. It was no masterpiece, but it was a creation nonetheless—a small triumph.
Gyldro approached, his rough hands reaching for the blade. He tested its weight, ran his thumb across the edge, and swung it a few times experimentally. His sharp eyes scrutinized every detail, his brow furrowed in concentration. Finally, he handed it back to Alex.
“It’s not bad,” Gyldro admitted. “For someone with no formal training, it’s damn impressive. Seen worse work from so-called masters. But what you’ve got... it’s raw potential, lad. If this is what you can do now, I’d be curious to see what you’ll make after some proper time at the forge.”
Alex accepted the dagger, slipping it into his belt. “Maybe one day,” he said simply, a faint smile curling his lips. This wasn’t about achieving perfection—it was about seeing if he could. And he had.
Gyldro crossed his arms, his gaze softening as he looked at Alex. “Exxvikyap!” he barked suddenly. “Let this lad take some of my stock—no enchantments, but solid craftsmanship. And don’t you go giving it away for free, either!”
The dragonborn shopkeeper chuckled, nodding. “As you wish, Gyldro.”
Alex offered a respectful nod, about to respond when his body tensed suddenly. Through the hive mind link, he felt a sharp pang of distress—a signal from the forest to the west. It wasn’t a simple call but a cry for help, urgent and filled with desperation. His expression darkened as the connection grew stronger.
“I’ll come back tomorrow to collect them,” Alex said, his voice clipped. He turned to Exxvikyap. “Tell my friends to head back to the mansion if they’re still waiting. I need to go.”
Without waiting for a response, Alex spun on his heel and sprinted from the forge, his movements fluid and precise as he followed the pull of the hive mind link. The urgency in the signal spurred him onward