A rusty bell tinkled as the door squeaked open, revealing the dim, quaint, claustrophobic interior of an old weapons shop—the air thick with the tang of oiled steel and old leather. Racks of blades inscribed with runes lined the slanted walls; sharpened axes dangled off hooks; disorganised barrels of spears, bows, and claymores cluttered the place. And an oil lamp swinging high above was the cramped space's only source of light.

A constant din of a hammer striking iron resonated from the other room, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo the slow heartbeat of the dying establishment itself. Behind the low counter sprinkled with an array of smaller tools of war—daggers with jewelled hilts, throwing knives, curious contraptions whose purpose seemed a mystery—sat a short, plump woman in a messy, auburn bun and a grease-streaked crimson apron.

Concentration glued to the sword she was polishing, she didn't bother to look up at the two people who had entered the store. "Sorry, but we're closed for the day. Come back tomorrow if you—"

"I'm here to pick up my order."

Recognising the throaty voice that spoke to her, the round-nosed dwarf craned her neck and locked gazes with the man before her. "Oh boy," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

And the clanging stopped, followed by a muffled, gruff, heavily accented voice. "Oi, Eva! Who's at the door?"

"Trouble, dear."

A broad, stocky man with a thick, braided chestnut beard burst from the curtains at the back that opened into the smithy. His arms were bulky, and his olive complexion was lathered in a light film of sweat. "Fuck are ye talkin' about, woman? Trouble ain't no person I ever heard of—!" Bushy brows knitted, he turned toward the pair of customers that stood by the entrance, only for his scowl to soften. "Ah... trouble really did walk through the door."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"And a good day to you, too, Baldwin." Garreth crossed his arms, unamused by the couple's remarks. "How has business been?"

"Terrible. Just terrible. I mean, as a workshop that dabbles in runecraft, it already was in the shitter before that mishap of yours. But that whole debacle certainly didn't help our sales," the dwarven man replied. "Honestly, the Bureau's requests are the only thing keeping this place afloat."

"Those include my requests, don't they?"

"Well... yeah... but before we get into that," Baldwin said, leaning over the counter and shifting his focus to the sheepish, pointy-eared girl keyed up in the corner beside her partner. "Is that her? That new partner of yours everyone's been harping about?"

"Oh my," his wife uttered. "I almost didn't notice her there. Ain't she a cute a one."

Flattered by her compliment, the half-elf's freckled cheeks reddened.

"Ah, right... I suppose introductions are in order. This here's my partner, Lynn." Garreth stepped aside and angled his body toward the girl. "Lynn, this is Baldwin and Eva. They serve as our branch's quartermasters. Baldwin's a smith, while his wife's a fletcher of sorts. Both dabble in enchantments like the ones you saw back at the factory."

"Aye! Heard you were pretty badly beaten in your last fight. Our job is to make sure your equipment's up to scuff!" Baldwin proudly declared.

"And I assume the two of you have finished the equipment as per the specifications provided?"

"Of course!" The man turned to his wife. "Eva, show them the goods!"