*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Iron Confederacy*
Demir was entering the small dwarven village. When he turned back, he saw the wolf disappear into the woods. "Thank god," Demir thought.
When he saw Brovick forging what appeared to be a metal watering can, Demir shouted, "Now you're gonna be a farmer or is that for growing roses?"
"By the gods, Demir, yer back!" Brovick looked behind him to see if Timmy and Sin, Marco were there.
Brovick crooked his eyebrows. "Yer alone. Where's the rest o' ye?"
The passing dwarves called out, "Oh, he's back. He didn't kill himself. Congrats, kid."
"Thank you. Without you we'd all be dead," Demir said to the resident dwarves. And he returned to his master.
"Master, let me catch my breath first. There's a giant wolf that wouldn't let me alone."
"What wolf? What are ye talkin' about? Where's the rest o' ye?"
"Master, we defeated the goblins and I saved most of my friends. And sent them to another human settlement."
"By the Mountain god, I was afraid for a moment. Good job, lad. Then why are ye here?"
"Ouch. Can't I visit my master?"
"For a courtesy visit, aye. But ye want somethin'. What's that satchel? I can see from here the ingots are gonna rip it apart."
"I am hungry. What's for dinner?"
"Why are ye actin' like my kid? Capture that old rooster and we can make somethin' then."
"Fine, fine." Demir returned to their old shack which Marco made. He placed his materials and went to capture the rooster. At that moment he heard distant howling of the wolf.
At dinner, Brovick cooked the chicken to perfection and opened a new keg of beer. Demir was feeling the warm house buff and the food's invigorating effects to his bones.
"Spill the beans already. Ye here for another armor set? Ye learned it already. Don't ye have a fire at yer new place?"
"Not this good. Anyway, I tried to forge a sword as good as my armor but made this crap." Demir unsheathed the sword to give Brovick.
"Don't be hard on yerself, it's not the same profession. Let me look. Oh indeed, it's a crap."
"Can you teach me sword making, shield making?"
"Shield I can, but sword's another story. I did make swords back when I was an apprentice but later I focused on armors."
"Who can teach me then?"
"Old man Durnak was a legendary sword maker but he's too old now."
"Does it hurt to ask? I swear I will do all the heavy lifting."
"Sleep now. We'll go askin' tomorrow."
Demir left for his shack. Another master meant a new dwarf to convince. "I have to master this. Otherwise there's no way to safely travel higher zones and form alliance with high levelers."
***
*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*
The basement of Ivory Gate Academy always smelled faintly of soap, ash, and boiled cabbage. The silent workers, thin figures in gray linen, shuffled along the corridors without raising their eyes, hauling laundry or trays of food. Aris slipped past them with Fox padding at his heels.
"Unseen heroes," he thought. They washed every robe, scrubbed every plate, and carried every burden. Yet none of the students even noticed them.
At the far corner lay the sectioned-off alchemy rooms. Rumors clung to this place like mildew. One boy had supposedly died here months ago, "smoked out" by his own concoction. The Academy never encouraged students to brew potions, but neither did they forbid it. As long as it didn't interfere with the trials, nobody asked questions.
Lyra had pressed a key into his palm the night before. "If you're going to survive longer than a week, start making things to help yourself," she had whispered. "But don't get caught."
Now Aris slid the key into the lock, and the heavy oak door creaked open.
Inside, the room was cramped but purposeful. Three soot-stained cauldrons sat in iron cradles, each one with a pipe leading up to a vent in the ceiling. The walls were lined with drying racks, bunches of herbs hanging upside down like strange trophies. The air smelled of dust, honey, and burnt wood.
Fox sniffed around and sneezed. "That corner smells of dried herbs. Probably where your dead kid set up."
Aris walked to the table, laying down his fresh bundle of honeyroot. "Some say he suffocated on fumes. But look." He pointed to the vents. "All three chimneys are wide open to the sky. If he died, maybe it wasn't an accident."
Fox tilted his head. "Or maybe he brewed something so foul it cooked his insides."
Aris grinned, hunching his shoulders and puffing himself up. "Or maybe he made a GOLEM!" He stomped toward Fox, arms out like claws.
Fox yipped, backpedaling, then glared. "Not funny."
"Little funny," Aris said, chuckling. "Fine. Let's work."
He tied the honeyroot stalks over one of the cauldrons, letting the heat from its oven dry them faster. The firewood crackled as he lit it, the smell of smoke creeping into the chamber.