“You can’t quit,” General Pol stammered, chasing My‑re across the Broken Sword tavern.
“This isn’t up for debate. This is for notification purposes only,” My‑re replied and continued walking.
“The arena fights are ending. This is the busiest time of the day,” Pol added. “You can’t leave me empty-handed.”
My‑re glanced around the sparsely occupied tavern and noticed Anusha sitting nearby. “Hey, do you need a job?”
Pol scoffed, then grilled, “What about her training?”
“Anusha, can you listen to and remember what customers ordered and provide it to Pol?”
“Yes, and I can even write it down.”
“See, she’s a better employee than me already,” My‑re said.
The Shagornan Elf, Vomarian Fae, and captain of the Unsinkable III entered the tavern with a wide grin at seeing her. His step quickened as he approached, “My‑re, are we all ready to-”
Interrupting, My‑re snapped, “No, we are not.”
“No?”
“Nope. There are a few things I need. Who is the best smith on the Isle of the Eye?” My‑re asked.
“I think I know someone,” Vomarian said, running his hand through his long, black hair. “Why?”
***
My‑re heard the chorus of metal-striking metal long before the workshop appeared.
A rectangular sign hung over the opening read, “Kildo Hammerhand’s Forge.”
The air around the shop wavered, visible from the heat. Four dwarven youths hovered around an oversized anvil. Despite the temperature, each apprentice wore padded clothing with a thick leather apron across the front and bulky padded gloves reaching to their forearms. Two held massive, long tongs, holding a large sheet of thick, red-hot metal, while the remaining two pounded on the material with hand hammers. The smiths’ arm and leg muscles were taut and bulging as they battled against the stubborn metal. As they drummed, the tong holders twisted the piece, rapidly forming an armored breastplate.
A mighty roar rolled over the hammer’s din. “Quicker lads! There be no reheating it, and that metal be cooling off faster than a dwarven gala where the ale be running dry!”
A dwarf, almost wider than tall, emerged wearing thick leather with a dingy apron. A massive tome with a thin, grey stone cover hung from his back and attached to his belt. He sported a fire-red beard braided in three thick strands. The outer two were longer than the middle, and brass clasps held the weaves in place. The sides of his head were shaven, with blue tattoos around his eyes and forehead. His muscles radiated power with every step, and My‑re half expected him to leave indentations in the dirt as he strode toward the four youths.
Two drummed the metal with hammers, one after the other, in a rhythm that held music of its own. The lead dwarf folded his arms across his thick chest and grunted with satisfaction. “Almost done. Get the bucket lads. It’s going for a swim.”
“Master Hammerhand, the right corner is starting to warp.”
“Is it now?” the massive dwarf said, motioning them away. “On second thought, get the big bucket.”
The two hammerers disengaged. The lead dwarf grabbed a nearby sledgehammer, which most men could only hope to wield with both hands. The two remaining smiths held the tongs, cringed in anticipation, and enhanced their grip. The dwarf raised the hammer, and it came down ‘whooshing.’ The impact seemed to cause the entire area to jump while the dwarf remained stationary. A second strike caused a similar effect. Snorting in satisfaction at the shape of the breastplate’s right corner, he dropped the hammer. The tong bearers relaxed their grip.
The former hammerers returned with two buckets sloshing with water.
The dwarf roared, “Are ye daft? I told ya ye’d need the big bucket!”
“Master Hammerhand, it seems a cinder burned a hole through it. Water is everywhere.”
“To the nine hells. It must be those fairies again,” the dwarf said, then looked up and grumbled. “Speaking of fairies.”
“Kildo Hammerhand, I see you’re still beating your own metal,” Vomarian snorted.
Kildo asked with eagerness, “Are ye coming to pay off yer debt?” He then looked around Vomarian to My‑re. His face soured. “Or are ye coming to add another?”
Realizing these two had a history, My‑re said, “They say you’re the best and smartest smith on the Isle of the Eye.”
“They be right.”
Pointing to Kildo’s back, My‑re questioned, “A tome filled with parchment in a smithy?”
Snorting, Kildo unlatched it and dropped it on a nearby bench. It made a heavy thud. Opening it, the written pages comprised of thin stone. He explained, “Maybe in an elven smithy, but we dwarves be smart. Parchment rips easily. Ink be fading. Paper be crumbling with age. It be rotting when wet. It burns. Now, stone. That be a good medium indeed to be writing important things down.”
“Then I’m in the right place. I need something that can resist fire,” My‑re said, adding, “A lot of fire.”
“There be different kinds of fire lass. Are ye talking torch fire or wildfire?”
“Dragon fire,” My‑re stated.
The pounding in the forge stopped. The four dwarven youths and Kildo regarded her. Scratching his beard, Kildo said, “Ye’d be unlucky enough indeed if ye be messing with dragon fire.”
“Luck favors the prepared,” My‑re said.
Grunting in agreement, Kildo asked, “Can ye pay?”
My‑re opened a small pouch filled with perfectly cut gemstones. Kildo’s and Vomarian’s eyes lit up in wonder.
Snorting in amusement, Kildo turned and walked deep into his workshop. They could hear him rummaging in the back. Metal clanged against one another, and a few curse words were heard after a loud ‘bang!’ A minute later, Kildo re-emerged with what appeared to be a rectangular, gladiator large shield that would conceal half of a person’s body. Dense leather or hide of some animal covered the outside. Thick metal with a curved dome extension at the top would envelop the user's head. Slamming it into the ground made a large indention, and its massive weight kept it in place. Kildo motioned My‑re toward the large shield and smiled with enjoyment.
“It’s me own invention.”
Reinforced leather straps with thick cloth padding and more leather lining were bolted into the inner shield’s frame for the user. My‑re put an arm through it and lifted it. She guessed it weighed over thirty pounds. Substantial for a shield.
“What is this leather on the outside? Is it actual dragon hide?”
“Nah, it be mere dragon.”
“This will resist dragon fire?”
“Aye.”
Dropping the shield’s bottom back into the indention on the ground, My‑re exhaled and asked, “It’s so heavy. You expect me to carry one of these things?”
“No lass. I expect ye to carry two.”