A few hours had passed since the portal closed, and the fort buzzed with activity. The newly arrived staff wasted no time and dove straight into their assigned tasks. Trees surrounding the fort were swiftly cut down to clear the area, walls were reinforced, obstacles were created, and a moat began to take shape. Supplies were carefully stored in the warehouses, while barrels of water were prepared for the upcoming days. Construction of elevated gun towers for the 6-pounders was already underway, ensuring a strong defense for the fort.

In the midst of the organized chaos, Engvyr, and Tink escorted by Sgt. Ironheart, were summoned to the Citadel. As they entered the meeting room, the captain introduced us to a dwarf named Engvyr son of Engvry son of Gunnar. He was tall and lanky for a dwarf at 1.5 meters in height. With his well-groomed light blonde beard, shoulder-length hair, and a pair of dark tinted goggles resting on his forehead, he exuded an air of calm confidence. His green apron, adorned with the crest of the Dwarven Gunsmith's Guild, caught my attention—a pistol crossed with a long-gun on top of an anvil.

Sgt. Ironheart promptly gave a sharp salute. "Welcome to the Frontier, Lord Gunnerson!" he proclaimed.

Engvyr waved his hand dismissively. "None of that now," he replied casually. Curiosity got the better of Tink, and she blurted out, "Who is this? Is he some dwarven noble?"

The captain stepped forward, ready to provide an explanation. "Lord Gunnarson here is the Scion of House Gunnarson, son of Engvyr Gunnarson, Lord Commander of Fort Gunnarson. His grandfather was the dwarf who invented the first pistol and earned the right to start his own clan, the Gunnarson clan."

Engvyr, clearly exasperated, interjected. "Yes, yes, yes, we can go with all the formalities later." He extended his hand towards me. "And who might this be?" he asked, pointing towards Tink.

Tink stepped forward, introducing herself with a smile. "Hi, I'm Engineer Tinker Gearlocke, and I'm Garrok's assistant."

Engvyr raised an eyebrow. "Assistant? Is she the one from the story? The one you singlehandedly rescued from an enemy camp?"

Garrok nodded proudly. "Yes, she is. And she has given me her life oath."

Engvyr's eyes widened with surprise. "Did she now?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "And you accept?"

Confusion washed over Garrok's face, unfamiliar with the customs of dwarves. "Yes, I do," he replied with conviction.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A shared look of amusement passed between Engvyr and the other dwarves in the room, while Tink let out a squeaky yelp, her face flushing as she covered it with her hands.

"What's going on? Was it something I said?" Garrok questioned, clearly perplexed.

Engvyr chuckled. "Well, big man, among the dwarves, when a lass swears a life oath to a lad, she's essentially asking to be a part of his life. In other words, she proposed marriage. And by admitting to accepting her oath in front of a nobleman of sufficient rank," he gestured to himself, "you two are technically married according to dwarven customs."

For the first time in his life, Garrok was stunned speechless, while Tink refused to meet anyone's gaze, her face still burning with embarrassment. The captain and Sgt. Ironheart struggled to contain their laughter, but managed to maintain a modicum of composure.

“Never thought I'd be witness to a union between a Half-orc and a Gnome girl. But then again who am I to Judge, me own mother Deandra is a Human half-elf". Engvyr had a nostalgic twinkle in his eye, then he clears his throat, shifting the focus of the conversation. "But enough about that for now. We can share a toast and delve into the pleasantries later," he suggested, pulling out an official-looking scroll from his pocket.

He handed the scroll to Garrok, who accepted it cautiously. "What's this?" Garrok asked, glancing at the intricate seal on the parchment.

Engvyr beamed with pride. "I am officially extending a formal invitation to Garrok Halforcen as a probationary member of the Dwarven Gunsmiths Guild."

Garrok's eyes widened in surprise. "Probationary? What does that mean?"

Engvyr nodded, explaining the guild's decision. "Normally, to become an official member, you would have to present your work in front of a panel of senior members. However, given the urgent circumstances we face with the goblins, the guild masters have decided to grant you a probationary membership. This will allow us to provide you with patent rights for your paper cartridges."

"Patent rights?" Garrok asked, his confusion evident.

Tink cleared her throat, regaining her composure. "Yes, it means that the guild will officially acknowledge and register you as the inventor of the paper cartridge," she clarified. "Every gunsmith and workshop will be required to have a certificate to produce and sell your cartridges. The guild will oversee the process, ensuring that you receive your fair share of the proceeds."

Garrok's skepticism was palpable. "Wouldn't this arrangement create a monopoly and be unfair to other gunsmiths?"

Tink chimed in, her voice steady. "It's only for a period of 20 years, after which the patent rights become public domain. This opportunity will give you the recognition and support you deserve. Not to mention all the gold we’ll get"

Garrok pondered their words, weighing the pros and cons. After a moment of contemplation, he looked up and nodded resolutely. "Very well, I accept."

Engvyr grinned, clearly pleased with the outcome. "Good! Now we need you to show the other gunsmiths I've brought in the art of crafting the cartridges. We need to ensure that we have enough ammunition for the entire force," he declares.

Garrok nodded in agreement. " Together, we will equip our forces and give them the firepower they need."

Engvyr clapped Garrok on the back, a smile lighting up his face. "That's the spirit! Let's get to work big man. We have a battle to win."