The saltsmith entered the guildmaster’s tent slowly, not out of caution but respect.

They pulled up their scimitar legs underneath them, smoothly switching to another set of arms instead. The floor was covered with wood and upon that, a beautiful rug; Yianna the Guildmaster did not need the saltsmith poking holes in her flooring.

Without the swords, the saltsmith moved in a more insect-like way, all joints and abnormal angles. They had no flesh or tendons to limit their range of movement, so their arms folded so the bones could be completely parallel and their elbows were non-existent, arms twisting and flipping every direction as needed.

Yianna took a seat at her desk, watching the strange being move about.

The saltsmith took the opportunity to be nosy. They had low charisma and low awareness after all; even with an added awareness point from this night’s panic-induced observation, their social cognition was dismal.

It didn’t occur to them how queer they were being as they examined everything in the wide tent with great interest.

The tent itself was the size of a large room. In this one, Yianna had a sizeable bed and a desk for work, boxes piled high on one side with her belongings, a bright light hanging above.

Without a second thought, the saltsmith used one of the support poles to climb closer to the hanging light. It looked like a small chandelier, but each of the candles had a magical flame.

Yianna moved to pull a cord underneath the fixture – all the lights went out. Intrigued, the saltsmith watched as a sphere in the center released a circular burst of magic when the guildmaster pulled the cord once more, “turning on” the candles.

The saltsmith wondered if this world knew of electricity as a power source, or was magic almost always a better option?

They watched Yianna the Guildmaster sit before remembering why they were here. Right, to make peace and investigate. Or something similar.

They scaled down a post of the bed, nearly getting an arm tangled in the curtains, and paused in front of woman.

Perhaps the saltsmith’s emotions were hampered by their current state of inhumanity, but even they couldn’t resist the immediate understanding that washed over them.

The lady was very attractive.

So attractive that the saltsmith didn’t have their thoughts in order, merely stopping and staring at her. The Jack O’ Lantern prevented them from coming off as leering or perverse, yet they felt no shame for looking.

She had such a lovely gaze, cow-eyed with thick lashes; her lips were stained a red-purple like her fingernails, the burgundy of snapdragons or wine.

They looked away from her eyes, to her earrings and jewelry. The saltsmith pulled themselves up to look at the bell-shaped gold earrings with their tiny iron clappers, then to the various bangles the woman wore on her wrists. They were all intricately made and engraved with floral patterns. Several braided cuffs had beast-heads on the ends – rams, dragons, cows.

The saltsmith was so fascinated by the details that they failed to consider what they were doing.

To Yianna, the smith approached in their silently creeping manner, its head hovering very close to hers as it touched her earrings. Before the woman could react, more hands reached out to hold her wrists – gently! – and position the bracelets there to be examined.

She was delicately held captive by a creature, a thing. Several hands holding each wrist to see the jewelry better. More arms braced on the chair, functionally containing her in one place. Swords near her legs, not touching but Yianna was very aware that the blades were there.

Yianna felt threatened, and yet…

The smith was so gentle and curious. Its fingers were cold; it did not clamp down on her like a set of shackles, but instead pressed softly into her flesh, no more of a nuisance than her bracelets were.

“What are you?” she mused aloud.

The saltsmith was a functioning being, capable of asking for help and making objects that required precision and knowledge. It could learn; it would show no interest in Yianna’s jewelry – and now clothing – if it couldn’t. Vocalized communication was not available, but it could communicate, through gestures or rough drawings.

Yet it seemed to interact with the world in a manner that suggested all these things were foreign to it, as if newly created.

Yianna knew it was not recently made by another mage, as it sat in her lair for years without moving.

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So what was it?

She sat up. The saltsmith’s grip fell away as they moved backward, letting the woman pull open their faux ribcage like it was a puzzle. Once all their arms were displayed, she poked at the rough ball of scraps in their center until the saltsmith pulled it open wide to show her there was nothing to see.

Yianna was disappointed that it wasn’t a heart, but it did confirm to her that all the entity’s existence lay in the lantern, not the body.

She examined their hands and tested the stability of some of their joints for a few minutes, leaving the saltsmith bewildered. They could sense the contact but not feel the touch. It was a strange set of sensations, emotionless and logical, but confusing all the same.

Their mind told them there was pressure on their joint but the familiar sensation of fingertips against flesh was gone. It was a hollow feeling.

After Yianna the Guildmaster finished examining their metal parts, she made more attempts at complex communication.

“Do you know what you are?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? A metal shell with a human soul – their purpose to serve others or be of use. That was what kept the saltsmith going, at the moment. Maybe their answer would change in time.

“Do you know how to nod or shake your head for yes and no?”

Whoops. Ah, the saltsmith was so ill-accustomed to human interaction that they forgot responses were required. They nodded; the woman seemed surprised.

“Oh! That will improve our conversations, certainly. But, I wonder if you’re merely doing it because I told you? Answer yes by shaking your head.”

The order confused the saltsmith, as yes was a nod and no was a shake, and neither answered the question which required a detailed response. They tilted their head, trying to convey this feeling.

To Yianna, the head-tilt was amusingly inhuman, as if a helmet on a display set of armor accidentally shifted. It did affirm that the saltsmith was not merely following the last given instructions, however.

“I intend to treat you as part of the guild, even if you are revealed to be a spirit or something whose behavior is conditional. Would you like that?”

Was… was she offering the saltsmith a position in the guild? They did not know what exactly that entailed but it was an opportunity not to be turned down. Not that they wanted for anything – not food, shelter, or clothing – but a guild career was guaranteed employment for a blacksmith who didn’t even have a forge yet.

They nodded enthusiastically.

“Do you require a tent? … do you sleep?”

The woman’s curiosity was evident, but the saltsmith shook their head no to both. They pointed outside of the tent, in the direction of the dilapidated cottage across the lake.

“You want to stay at the old house?”

Yes.

They saltsmith mimed hammering then covered the sides of their head as if they had ears.

“Your work is loud, so you want to remain across the lake.”

Another nod. Admittedly, the saltsmith liked having the distance at this time. They were growing rapidly more comfortable with Yianna the Guildmaster, but it was difficult to imagine being the center of so many people’s attention.

“That will be fine. You have made requests before, but do you know how to write or read?”

She raised her hand and concentrated magic at her fingertip, drawing a line of light through the air. The saltsmith reached out to touch the magic as she wrote the word for their language in a flowing, interconnected script.

To the saltsmith, the glowing letters were fascinating up until they concentrated on reading them. A syllable or two might pop out, but the symbols shifted incoherently in the air, rolling and transforming until no words could be discerned.

Ah, it seemed their illiteracy traveled with their consciousness into this lantern. It was a pity, really, as writing would have greatly benefited them. Perhaps in time they could learn to work with it, as they did in their prior world.

The saltsmith would try out of politeness, however. They gestured for a pen and paper, intrigued by the glass pen whose ink seemed to be contained in the swirls within the shaft.

They hunkered down on the floor, paper laid on the rug as they attempted to write, internally sounding out letters of a mystery word.

PAT. PD. BET. BEET. PPED. PA. BA. BAA. PPAD. PPAD. BBAD.

If the saltsmith could squint in frustration, they would have. They pointed to the list, written in a script they could hardly understand, and hoped it made sense.

“Bad? You’re bad at reading and writing.”

Yes, correct. It was the saltsmith’s luck in life to be incapable of speech and illiterate, while also being a body-less object.

“We can help with that.”

They shrugged with their hands, unsure how the guild would fix a mind problem when there was no brain to affect. It was simply an inability of theirs, one of the reasons they went into a job heavy on physical labor instead of one requiring deskwork.

“I have many questions, but I think it is best that I attempt to sleep as it is late and I need rest. If you want for anything, let us know. You are welcome to visit me whenever you like.”

The guildmaster began ending the conversation, but even as she stood to see the creature out, she thought of a final gesture of good will.

“I know you do not need this,” Yianna began as she sorted through a trunk of clothing. “But it may help others acclimate to you.”

She found a woolen cloak in a dark, dusty blue with brass clasps shaped like leaves. Yianna placed it below the smith’s neck, as if the being had shoulders, securing the clasps and dusting it off.

The saltsmith moved beneath the cloak, adjusting their arms to act like the ribs of an umbrella, although in a more relaxed manner. They wanted to prevent the fabric from tangling among the various floating bits, not billow out like a pompous thing.

They almost clasped the guildmaster’s hands in gratitude but decided that was not an appropriate response. Instead, the saltsmith gave a little bow, entirely inhuman as they bent at the wrong height for a human waist. The gesture made them look taller as they elongated downward.

Yianna found it horrifying yet charming, still; it was difficult to make a dragon feel true fear.

She watched as the smith took their leave, disappearing off into the night to do who knows what.

As she took off her jewelry for the night, changing into a sleeping gown, Yianna thought about how light and graceful the smith’s touch was, how carefully the metal-creature interacted with her.

It was curious. A being with no concept of the world, no concept of humanity and its social graces would not be so polite in its touch. Yianna imagined such a being would forget that human flesh was soft and easily torn compared to metal.

Yet, the smith was different. Cautious and careful.

And kind.