Rovik had been hesitant to leave the camp, even after deciding to do it himself. Seeing the other dwarves hard at work repairing the damage that had been dealt by the errant pudding had eased his nerves some. But even with the remains of the beast loaded onto the cart and everything ready to go, the dwarf still looked hesitant to Flip.

“Let’s get going, Sommar. I don’t want to be away from camp for too long.”

“It’s still quite a ways till Norwen, Rovik.” Dovhran sighed. “I can do the bartering for you and have a cart sent back with materials. Bronson knows me.”

“Bronson knows you’re a cad. And Tope can handle repairs just fine without me. It’s still ooze season though, and the camp isn’t well prepared to deal with another direct encounter.”

“Fair enough.” Dovhran snapped the reins and the cart lurched into motion. The two crates packed with glass jugs and straw stuffing clanked at the sudden motion.

The cart was much more packed now, which made Flip moderately more uncomfortable. The two crates took up about half the cart bed, and Flip split the remaining half with Rovik. The dwarf seemed content with his half of the space, but Flip had his legs folded up and his skirt tucked tightly under and around his legs. With the limited space, the wizard only had room to pull out one book at a time to write in. And even as he did his note taking and writing, Rovik watched Flip closely. The dwarf didn’t lean or leer to read or see what Flip was doing, but it was an unpleasant level of being watched.

“That’s a fine piece or jewelry, Faengil.” Rovik finally spoke up after perhaps an hour or so of relative silence. The dwarf was transfixed by the sight of gold and twisting crystal that encircled Flip’s wrist.

“It is deeply cursed.” Dovhran interjected. “We killed a demon in Builend and it was bestowed upon him after a priestess forged it from the remains.”

“Oh…” Rovik looked more disturbed than anything else. “That’s an unholy piece of gold then.”

“It is not unholy. Nor is it cursed.” Flip growled, stowing his book to address the conversation that had arisen. “A protective talisman forged by a hearth priestess or a hearth priest cannot be unholy unless they craft it with evil intent.”

“I know... well before my time,” Rovik hummed, still uncomfortable but somewhat reassured, “that there were smiths that set out to replicate the works of the demon king. They sought out demons for their imbued cores and made weapons of war from them. They were all dwarves of Vestan. They were all hunted and killed by the zealots of the fell court. The weapons were hidden away. I worry that showing that bracelet so openly would send whispers to the south…”

“Don’t try and scare the man, Rovik.” Dovhran turned slightly to look back at Flip. “He’s telling you a myth, Faengil. He wants to scare you like a grandfather scares his grandchildren, telling stories around a campfire.”

“My grandchildren do know that story.” Rovik huffed. “And it’s a true story. The fell court has been erasing mention of methods and examples of crafting with demon core material for over well over two centuries. Nilant wants to prevent others from ascending in the same ways he did.”

“This was made following visuals from Nilant’s codex and inspiration from Haemer. Or so the priestess claimed.” Flip said, sternly. “Very rarely does inspiration that direct guide a hammer.”

“Aye, I’ll concede to that. I’ve never met a hearth priest who said they were instructed directly. Maybe, following the guidance of the iron they work or the heat of their forge.” Rovik hummed and nodded, reassured that he was speaking the truth. “Those dwarves… the dwarves of Vestan claimed to be following the patterns and oaths of Paleth. They even called their work the mourning blades. But they were still called heretics.”

“The order of irons called my family heretic as well.” Flip frowned. “I trust you to think better and from a more informed perspective, Rovik.”

“I wouldn’t have said anything otherwise.” Dovhran muttered from the front of the cart.

“It would be unfortunate if someone were to see this bracelet and jump to a conclusion. That being the case, I have begun working on a spell to conceal it.” Flip pulled his spell book back out and tapped it gently with one finger. “And I would like to complete my theoreticals on that arcane effect.”

“So, how would that work?” Rovik asked. Flip gathered the dwarf knew very little if anything about magic. Dwarves seldom did.

“He’s saying he wants you to be quiet, but he isn’t confident enough to be blunt about it.” Dovhran chuckled. “He likes you too much to piss you off.”

Flip went flush as he brought his book close to his face and began writing out prototypal incantations. The gesture, combined with Dovhran’s explanation, got a good laugh out of Rovik but the dwarf seemed to respect the wizard’s wishes and remained silent otherwise. In fact, Rovik was making a clear effort to avoid looking too long in Flip’s direction at all. For lack of a better past time, the dwarf turned to watch the road around them and occasionally put a hand on the packed crates when a bump in the road was unavoidable.

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The better part of the rest of the day passed in that sort of silence. Dovhran was visibly uncomfortable with the situation, and Rovik didn’t present himself as all that content either, yet both the changeling and the dwarf respected the wizard. And when Flip finally put away his spell book with a loud snap, there was an almost universal sigh of relief. The twilight hours of the evening had begun to approach and the horse that pulled the card had grown progressively weaker as the evening carried on.

“How much further to Norwen?” Dovhran asked aloud.

Flip retrieved his map of the area, but Rovik answered before the wizard could glean any information from the parchment.

“About two hours at the pace we’ve been carrying on. But I think you already know that poor beast can’t muster anything else till it’s had a good rest.”

“I guess we stop for the night then.” Dovhran pulled back on the reins and the horse gladly pulled to a stop at the roadside.

“I’ve still got a bit of sunlight left…” Rovik hummed. “If you don’t mind, I might have a run to town and see if I can’t gather a team from the temple to come back with a fresh beast of burden and hasten the work along. You’re both free to camp here though.”

“I won’t stop you, Rovik.” Dovhran gave the dwarf a nod as both jumped down from the cart and onto solid ground.

“Aye, I’ll stretch my legs and be off then. I don’t normally spend so much time sitting idly on my arse and I’d like to correct that.” Rovik grunted as he began a series of stretches.

With a last check of the items on his person, Rovik gave Flip and Dovhran a nod and began a surprisingly fast jog further up the road. Before long, the dwarf was gone from sight; enveloped in the fading sunlight and beyond the swaying turns of the road.

“The man can barely sit alone with his thoughts. I’m amazed he sat through the ride here so quietly and still.” Dovhran sighed. “He respects you, Faengil. And I do not understand why.”

“I don’t understand either.”

“Regardless. I’d rest outside your hatch tonight. If I know Rovik, he’ll be demanding a team rush back as soon as possible to refresh us and make us finish our way into town before the sun is up. “

“That may be, but I don’t have a tent or bedroll on my person, so I’ll have to open the hatch regardless.” Flip hefted his trapdoor off the cart and placed it on a level patch of ground as he spoke.

“I can take the ground then. You can sleep next to the crates full of acidic salts.” Dovrhan laid out a bedroll on the ground just far enough away from where he’d tied the horse so that it couldn’t reach him. “I may even spend the whole night here instead of traveling into town.”

Flip had no desire to have a conversation with Dovhran and so he let the changeling begin his rest. With little else to do, Flip set up his hatch and began to slowly retrieve anything he might need to rest outside in the bed of the cart. As night set, and the stars began to shine, Flip released the enchantment of the hatch and slipped it under the top of his bedroll to prop up his head.

Sleep came surprisingly easy as the night came and went. Flip woke just before dawn, and the first thing he saw was a team of two massive goats harnessed to a larger covered wagon rumbling down the road. Flip couldn’t see a driver behind the large beasts of burden, but the wagon was approaching fast. The wizard had only barely managed to get himself into presentable shape when the goats ground to a halt by the side of the cart and the wagon skittered to a stop behind them.

Flip remembered at the last minute to cover his wrist, and pulled his cuff over the bracelet; he tied it off with a string from his bedroll so that it would stay in place. It would be uncomfortable and strange looking, but it would do for the time being.

“Ay, you the wizard Faengil?” A stocky dwarf woman called from the front of the wagon. Flip could just barely see her among the masses of fur and goat horns.

“Yes. Did Rovik send you?”

“This is it boys, load up the back!” The woman shouted and three grubby looking dwarves leapt out from the back of the wagon and began to rummage around the cart where Flip was still huddled amid his things.

“What’s all this?”

“I’m Mae, these are my boys, and they’re loading up the salts Rovik said you had for us.”

Flip gave the three dwarves a concerned glare, but he was ignored as they carefully hefted the first crate off the cart and made their way to the back of the wagon.

“Where is Rovik?” Flip asked, attempting to get a more succinct answer from the woman.

“Rovik’s getting some rest. He came into the temple last night, late, winded as a bellows and nearly passed out at our doorstep. Poor old fool. When he came to, he told us what you had arranged and we set off as soon as we could.”

“So you are…”

“The temple matron.” Mae spoke slowly. “These are my sons… Bronson is my husband.”

“Right.” Flip muttered. “Dovhran. Are you awake?”

“Yeah.” Dovhran grumbled as he propped himself up against the cart to see the party that had just arrived. “Morning, Mae.”

“Good morning, Sommar.” Mae called back, blatantly unenthusiastic. “Will you be joining us as well?”

“No, but please. Take the wizard. I could use some alone time.”

The three younger dwarf boys came back around to the cart as Dovhran said this, and for a moment the three of them looked at Flip as though debating whether or not they were actually supposed to carry him to the wagon instead of the other box. But with a narrow glare from the wizard, the boys opted to take the other crate.

“That was our intention. If Rovik hasn’t steered us wrong, your friend has a few things to show us in regards to this supposedly miraculous salt.”

“I wouldn’t call it a miracle…”

“You should. Or you’ll be selling us slag.” Mae peered over the top of the goats to stare at Flip. “Now get in the wagon. You’ve got plenty of explanation to start with the four of us.”

“I take it you all work the forge…?” Flip asked nervously as he stepped down from the cart with his possessions in hand.

“Yes. We all work the forge. So I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”

Flip made his way over to the front of the wagon where Mae was sitting. The dwarf woman patted the bench next to her and Flip obliged.

“What do you know about etching finishes and Durgothian folding techniques?”