As the sun outside reached its zenith, casting a warm glow through the stained glass of the bustling guild market, the duo concluded their lunch and returned to their tent. Cedez revealed more of her mercantile prowess as the workday resumed.
Her fingers dancing like nimble shadows, she twirled several silver coins in the air just as a group of adventurers happened to saunter by. The glint of the coins was but a fleeting lure; Cedez quickly transformed the moment into a demonstration of the armor's lightweight design, by tossing a Bakelite glove high into the air and snatching it out of its descent, the coins vanished as if by magic.
Whenever she recognized a passerby, she would call out their name with the familiarity of an old friend, tossing them a glove to catch. Once holding the glove and ensnared in a conversation about the armor's unique qualities, the adventurer was powerless to resist her.
In another clever ruse, she enlisted Dave to engage in a mock duel with an adventurer who wielded a large, luminescent, rune-covered sword. As they sparred, the Bakelite armor proved its mettle, withstanding a barrage of blows while affording Dave agile movement. The onlookers, duly awed, flocked to the tent to inquire about the remarkable armor.
As the waning sun dipped towards the horizon of the black hole overhead, the guild market emptied and the day drew to its inevitable close. With a warmth that belied her cunning persona, Cedez enveloped Dave in a heartfelt embrace that lasted about half a second.
Dave made his way back to the lighthouse smithy. Once inside, he let the door fall shut with a solid, reassuring thud, sealing himself away from the outside world. With a flourish that bordered on the theatrical, Dave slapped a heavy bag onto the table, the silver within gleaming like the spoils of a hard-won victory.
"Ta-da! Three hundred and ten silver!" he announced triumphantly.
"What?" The dragoness asked.
"Our money!" Dave clarified.
Remicra stared at the bulging bag, her eyes wide and her draconic visage momentarily overcome by an expression of stunned stupefaction.
"Our... money?" she queried, her slitted pupils blinking in disbelief.
"Yes," Dave asserted with confidence. "You've crafted the first Bakelite set, and you're going to help me create a hundred more! We have the molds for it, so it shouldn't be too hard."
The dragoness nodded, her talons trembling ever so slightly, betraying her emotions.
"Like before, if you desire anything from town, I'll gladly purchase it for you," Dave smiled warmly. "I reckon we have the budget for it now."
The dragoness, for a moment, seemed to be at a loss for words. Her expression silently screamed, "Why?"
"Remy," Dave began, his smile unwavering. "You're my partner. I couldn't have achieved any of this without your unparalleled smithing skills. I could split this in half and let you keep your share, but truthfully, your contribution to our enterprise is way above mine."
"Keep it in your possession," the dragoness finally spoke. "If Princess discovers any silver on me or in the smithy, she is legally obligated to confiscate it all. The damned geocrys can smell money from afar. “I… just don’t understand why you wish to stay here with that much silver on hand.”
“Because you’re my friend,” Dave insisted.
The "why" expression of mistrust on her face intensified when she looked at Dave, again seeking some undiscovered, dark reason behind his generosity.
"I understand your situation," Dave said softly. "I, too, have lost someone I loved. You killed a Shadow officer, and for that, I am not judging you. Regardless of the label assigned to you in the Book of the Bondsmen Guild, I will always treat you as a person."
"Thank you," Remicra exhaled, her entire body flickering with vibrant, violet-pink hue tones. "I... I'll miss you when they kill you."
"Nobody is going to kill me," Dave declared, crossing his arms.
"If my owner doesn't, then the Guild surely will," the dragoness countered, shaking her head with a despondent look.
"Doesn't matter," Dave replied. "This is my lighthouse, and you're my partner."
"There's seriously something wrong with you," the dragoness rumbled.
"Yes," Dave spread his hands. "It's called having human decency."
"What a preposterous notion," Remicra huffed. "You're an idiot is what you are."
"You call me names because you care," Dave laughed.
"I do not," Remicra bristled, her scales turning an even deeper shade of pink.
Dave raised an eyebrow, his expression playfully inquisitive.
The dragoness glanced down at her flushed scales and huffed louder, then fixed Dave with a snarl that was more embarrassed than fierce.
"Stop growling at me and tell me what you'd like to do to relax," Dave said gently.
"I enjoy blacksmithing," the dragoness admitted, her voice quiet but resolute.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
"I enjoy crafting weapons and armor with you as well," Dave nodded. "But that can't be the entirety of what we do here."
"What?" Remicra blinked.
"Back where I come from, we have this concept," Dave began, a hint of excitement in his voice. "It's called 'Netflix and chill.' I'm considering implementing something similar in our lighthouse."
"That's a ridiculous name," the dragoness scoffed.
"Don't dismiss it until you've tried it," Dave countered with a congenial smile.
"What does it even entail?" the blacksmith inquired.
"Picture this: gazing at a picture-show, reclining on a comfortable couch, indulging in snacks, and allowing your body and mind to truly unwind," Dave elaborated, attempting to convey the essence of the Netflix experience. "You could definitely use it. You're so snappy because all you do is work, work, work."
"I am not snappy!" Remicra retorted with a deep growl, inadvertently proving his point.
"I stand corrected," Dave grinned.
Dave suspected that magical televisions existed in the realm of Arx, as he had noted overpriced illusion-projection orbs on display at the market a week ago. From the description written on the glass case these spheres boasted the ability to peer across vast distances, granting their users a window into events transpiring in far-flung corners of the world.
As night fell, the incandescent dance of the forge's flames gave way to the soft, hushed glow of the red, triangular runes. Their radiance bathed the smithy and the upstairs loft in the even, shadowless red light.
The two companions ascended the creaking wooden staircase. Dave balked slightly when he noticed Remicra's nervousness, expressed in orange and emerald tones playing on her scales like some ethereal performance of light and shadow.
"You seem... worried?" he said.
"We've been very lucky so far," she admitted after a pause, her gaze drifting over to the dim light of the black hole's corona that filtered into the loft via the rose stained glass window. "If we increase the production of Bakelite armor to the hundreds, my Overseer might suspect that something is afoot. If she does, even if I were to lie through the pain, she would bring hunters to tear this place apart. They would find the glass beakers and, with that, your profitable enterprise would be over."
"You mentioned that she's a geocrys, right?" Dave said. "What exactly are geocrys?”
"Geocrys are also known as Gemkin. Princess, possesses the innate ability to sense the presence of valuable minerals and metals. It's virtually impossible for slaves and workers of Lord Burgundy to conceal metal weapons or anything precious from her. Thus far, we've been fortunate that Bakelite production relies solely on sand, glass, bamboo, and coal - materials abundant in the smithy and not considered valuable enough to arouse her suspicions."
"Does Princess have any weaknesses?" Dave inquired.
"Why would she reveal her weaknesses to me?" Remicra retorted with an exasperated growl.
"Smelling metal is a weakness," the ex-programmer mused.
"What?" Remicra blinked in surprise.
"Tell me who the other hunters are," Dave implored, the foundations of a vague plan beginning to take shape in his mind like a lighthouse illuminating a treacherous stretch of shoreline.
"Lord Burgundy possesses many skilled hunters at his disposal," Remicra sighed. "However, a team of five is summoned whenever I try to escape from here."
"Who are they?" Dave inquired.
Remicra's countenance grew somber as she began to describe the hunters. "There's the Faemonger. He's a tall wizard with a bushy beard. He has cages full of small fairies that he controls. He’s good at getting runaways tangled in vine ropes or confusing them with fairy magic.
Next, we have the Corrosionist. A thin, gray ratkin. He has a unique power to rust metal, so even the strongest armor or sharpest sword is useless against him.
Third, there's the Enthraller. She's a blue octokin with a very persuasive voice. It’s impossible to disobey her orders.
Fourth one’s the Chameleon. He or she can change their appearance at will and vanish into empty air.
And lastly, there's the geocrys, Princess. She's strong and fast. Her skin is as hard as rock."
She paused for a moment, her dragon claws flexing involuntarily. "And then there's Faray, a mage who opens gates for them so that they may traverse vast distances in the blink of an eye. Each of them can speak to Faray via a voicecast ring, who then conjures a gateway to their location, allowing them to step through it and disappear, only to reappear elsewhere, courtesy of another gate."
The five of them work so well together, they can't be stopped," Remicra insisted, her voice tense from past failures. "Take your money and everything you need, and go hide elsewhere - maybe rent a warehouse - where you can work on making plenty of Bakelite sets."
Dave crossed his arms.
"You're not fast or strong enough to fight the five. Princess alone could snap your fragile neck with the merest flick of her wrist, faster than you can blink! Do you really think you can live here safely forever? The Chameleon could easily follow you from the busy market back to the lighthouse, and end your life quickly with a knife in your side," she stared at him.
"And if I try to go off by myself, how long could I avoid them?" Dave asked.
"If you manage to avoid stirring the waters or drawing undue attention," Remicra mused, "you may yet live for a month or two, perhaps even longer. The Crafters Guild and Lord Burgundy always keep an eye out for competition. If you start making enough Bakelite armor to hurt their profits, they might target you."
"And when that happens, will I wake up to the Chameleon's blade in my heart?" Dave asked.
With a solemn nod, Remicra confirmed Dave's concerns, her eyes betraying a hint of sorrow.
"So, I have no hope for a nice life here in Shandria?" Dave asked, his voice tinged with a wistful longing for stability and inner peace that he felt the lighthouse smithy provided him.
“When did I ever imply that your days would be suffused with the gentle warmth of sunshine and rainbows?” Remicra spread her iridescent hands. “It is as if my words fall upon your ears like rain upon a stone—heard but not truly absorbed. Your unexpected success with Bakelite signifies a shift in the established order, and the Guilds of Shandria are loath to embrace such change.”
Dave frowned.
“I recommend that you do not return to the Adventurers Guild to attempt further sales, or you might draw the wrathful gaze of those who hold sway over this city,” the blacksmith said. “Instead, embrace the simple life of an adventurer, occasionally make a few armor sets and focus on vanquishing smaller beasts that plague the wilds. Carrying a purse full with silver as yours is now, will only serve to mark you as a target. By doing so much business in just one day, you might have already caught someone's attention!”
At her words, Dave's face became paler.
"As much as I like having you around," Remicra said, her voice tinged with regret, "I'm afraid your days are numbered. In Shandria, if you start to make a lot of coins without having the backing of nobles, gangs, or Guilds, you’ll likely end up injured or left bound... outside the Ward's protection at night."
"I... erm," Dave searched for some fragment of positivity to cling to.
"Goodnight, Dave," Remicra interjected, not allowing him the opportunity to grasp at straws. With a flick of her wrist, she drew a curtain that separated the modest living quarters from her secluded bed.
Dave retreated to his floor bedroll. Sleep proved elusive.
In the stillness of the night, he lay there, his eyes wide open, staring into the darkness as it pressed in upon him, a tangible reminder of the threats that now lurked at the periphery of his future.