In the early morning hours, Dawnhaven was bathed in the pale glow of the waning gibbous moon. The moonlight cast long, eerie shadows across the cobblestone streets and the quaint, thatched-roof cottages, giving the town an almost otherworldly appearance. The air was crisp and still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the silence. Inside a modest, dimly lit room, Orion sat at his wooden desk, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the walls. His eyes were fixed on the flyer in his hand, its edges slightly worn from being read and re-read. The royal summons was unmistakable, its bold, ornate lettering commanding attention: a grand town meeting at 10 am.
Orion sighed deeply, the weight of the impending day already pressing heavily on his shoulders. The royal summons, an event that did not occur often, had set the tone for what was to come, and there was no turning back now. But first, there was the matter of his blightborn visitor. With a deliberate motion, he folded the flyer carefully, the crisp paper making a soft rustling sound. He tucked it securely into the inner pocket of his well-worn coat, feeling the familiar fabric against his fingertips.
“Willis,” Orion called out, his voice steady and commanding. The name echoed slightly in the quiet room, breaking the stillness. “It’s time to go.”
The silhouette of a bat stirred, slowly swaying on the ceiling. It groaned. “One second!” Unhooking a talon from the rafter above, bat Willis dived down behind Orion, his body expanding into a puff of smoke as it hit the wooden floor. The smoke spread, snuffing the candles before dissipating, leaving Orion’s home in darkness. Willis stood before Orion with a smug expression, striking a cool pose. “How do I look?”
Willis looked like he’d been dead for a week.
A wave of irritation washed over Orion as the room plunged into darkness. The sudden shift from light to dark was jarring, making his senses tingle with heightened awareness. He could feel the dark energy within him stirring, responding to the abrupt change in his environment, eager to be unleashed. He clenched his fist, reining it in, moving the hand that instinctively moved to the hilt of his dagger away.
Orion let out a slow breath as his eyes began to adjust to the dark, giving the figure of Willis before him an honest look over.
“Like hell.”
“Orion sometimes you don’t have to be so truthful y’know?” Willis mimed crying, stopping abruptly as his belly made a loud rumbling, vibrating the floating motes of dust around him. “Uh… do you happen to have a spare bottle of blood lying around?” He asked..
Orion raised an eyebrow, his expression softening slightly. Then, sighing, he shook his head. “‘Fraid I’m not really one to keep spare bottles lying around,” he replied, “But you’ll probably have a chance to hunt after dropping off your things. After all, it will take the blacksmith some time to return them.”
A sense of urgency began to creep in as Orion considered the daunting list of tasks ahead. He glanced at the clock, its hands moving relentlessly forward. They had less than three hours to complete everything before the crucial meeting.
“Let’s not waste any more time,” the blightborn said, his voice firm and resolute. “Gather your things, and we’ll head out immediately.” He turned towards the door out of his study, his mind already planning their route through the town.
And so the pair briskly paced down the winding streets of Dawnhaven, kicking up a cloud of dust as they blew past the scant morning traffic. Then, from above, they scaled a nearby house and jumped from rooftop to rooftop as they entered the tightly-packed commercial districts where all the shops were, making a beeline toward Wenyr’s forge by following the thickest, sootiest pillar of smoke in the sky.
They marched so fast that the heat from their bodies caused the drifting snow to melt before even touching their head.
Soon Willis smelled the odor of hot steel carried by the wind and heard the rhythmic clank clank clank of a hammer against an anvil. They stopped in front of the entrance, and Willis cupped his hands into a megaphone: “HELLO? ANYONE HERE? I NEED YOUR HELP!”
Orion glanced at Willis, noting the new blightborn’s barely contained enthusiasm and impatience. “There’s no need to yell, Willis,” he deadpanned, pushing the entrance door open and leading the way inside.
Wenyr had slept surprisingly well after the unintentional encounter with a certain blightborn's mobile drug storage, but that, unfortunately, didn't mean that his duties just magically vanished early the next morning. Flynn's request had been quite clear and so, he had set fire to the heap of charcoal in the forge over an hour ago already. Orion and Willis would be greeted by a wall of very warm air rushing out the now-open door. Wenyr would have been able to notice the disturbance even if it hadn't been for the blightborn's overly loud way of announcing himself.
The blacksmith turned his head away from the forge, tiny beads of sweat now clearly visible on his skin as they refracted and reflected the orange light of the glowing embers. The handle for the bellows still in his hand, Wenyr couldn't help but meet the situation with a bit of sarcasm: "I got a magical hammer that moves on its own and a phoenix pooped a fireball down the chimney this morning which ignited the forge. Of course, nobody’s here!" His words were directed towards Willis more than Orion for he was already a bit familiar with the latter's voice and thus knew that Willis had been the one yelling around.
Wenyr now turned towards his visitors properly and grinned at them in a friendly manner. "Good morning! What can I do for you ?" He tried not to take too much of an inquisitive look at Willis but noticed that he was a blightborn, too. Was he a newcomer who had just arrived?
The warmth of the forge enveloped Orion as he stepped inside, the heat from the roaring fire seeping into his bones, chasing away the lingering chill. The blacksmith, a bulky man with a kind face and a twinkle in his eye, greeted them both with a broad smile. His friendly demeanour and easygoing nature immediately helped to put Orion at ease.
“Good morning,” Orion replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “We need your help with some repairs. Willis here has some equipment that took quite a beating.” He gestured to Willis, allowing the young blightborn to step forward and present his gear.
Nodding, Willis began to shed various articles of clothing, stripping in front of Orion and Wenyr. He flexes his hands and ruptures the seams on his leather gloves, crumbling into 4 strips of leather. With his freed hands Willis began to grope around his body like a flea-infested peasant, unbuckling a dozen straps holding his steel breastplate, mangled with pock-marks like the moon’s surface. Lifting the breastplate Willis reveals a dirty gambeson worn underneath with large lacerations criss-crossing across his torso, as if a bear got to it. The ripped fabric exposes a hidden layer of chainmail woven inside the gambeson, whose ring links are pierced through a dozen points on his back and falling apart. Willis sets his breastplate down next to his feet, untying his damaged chaps and worn boots in the process, before kicking them off. With a moan, Willis wiggles out of his gambeson and lets it flutter to the ash-covered ground.
Willis is now standing half-naked in the forge.
“What do you think? How long would it take to repair all them?” Willis asks Wenyr. “I also have some weapons that I’d like you to take a look at.”
As the blightborn removed the multiple layers of armor from his body, Wenyr slowly, but surely transitioned into the state of a stone statue. The only movement he still performed was the steady widening of his eyes as his mind realized what the calamity of metal, leather and cloth he saw could only mean. There had been people coming to him with equipment showing extensive damage similar to this before, but these had all been mere deliveries while the actual users of said items had died. By the time Willis' had finished his procedure and thereby exposed all the old injuries as well, the blacksmith's lips parted only sluggishly. It was a movement that could easily be confused with just his jaw dropping -- an interpretation not far away from the truth.
"Erm..." he started his sentence and stepped closer to pick up the first couple of items. Each of them was turned and twisted in his calloused hands a few times and words spilled out one by one only as Wenyr's mind kept processing what he saw. "I don't see any significant corrosion here which is a very good thing, but the structural defects are... Let me put it this way: I have no reason to wonder what your blightborn trait might be anymore, just where the hell you've been through is located." Wenyr tried to ignore the fact he was standing right in front of an almost naked man the best he could, but both Orion and Willis would be able to see his eyes switching focus for a few brief moments still. He was no expert on how a human looked from the inside, but supposed at least half of the holes he saw in the chainmail and gambeson would have killed an adult fairly rapidly.
When he was done with the other items, Wenyr patted on the worn out gambeson: "That one will be the big problem, because it needs to be cut out, fixed and re-inserted in a new gambeson. Might have to contact somebody who works with cloth a lot for this. Cloth usually doesn't respond well to being put into a fire and then hammered down upon." That was a very, very rough simplification of what he considered his art to be, but it hopefully got the important point across.
"I'd say I can fix the breastplate within the next day, assuming this town meeting won't take forever. The gambeson will take longer, three days at least." Was there even a tailor in Dawnhaven ? Otherwise he'd have to either improvise or count on Sunni having something in store. "I can't tell yet about the boots. If they aren't deformed too badly I can reconstruct the shape fitting your feet without taking detailed measurements of your body."
Did this man even have some ordinary clothes? Willis was the very first customer to undress himself instead of just carrying things over in his hands while wearing other stuff. How could he package this into a sentence that wouldn't put him in the danger of insulting the man, however? Also… why was this Willis guy in the company of the town’s guard? Wasn’t he grown up enough to find the forge for himself or was there anything else that required Orion’s presence as well? Another question the blacksmith would have liked to ask, but couldn’t reasonably do just now.
"If you're willing to wait, I might have something in my quarters that would... erm... prevent you from having to walk around like this for the next days." Wenyr's hand gestured towards the obvious before he turned to pick up the boots and various leather strips. Some of these were a clear case for disposal.
For his part, Orion felt an immediate surge of respect for Wenyr’s professionalism. The blacksmith’s initial shock at the sudden naked state of the wild blightborn and deplorable condition of his equipment mirrored Orion’s own shock and dismay. However, Wenyr’s swift transition to a focused, problem-solving mindset was profoundly reassuring. His eyes, which had widened in surprise, quickly narrowed with determination as he assessed the damage, his hands moving with practiced precision, examining each piece with a critical eye. It all instilled a sense of confidence in Orion. It was clear that the man before him was not only skilled but also deeply committed to his craft, and this dedication was exactly what was needed to restore Willis’s equipment to its former glory.
“Thank you, Wenyr,” Orion said, his voice filled with gratitude. “As you can see, Willis here has endured quite an ordeal. He’s new to our community and is still in the process of finding his footing.”
Orion paused, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding.“Which…we both know can be harder to do given his…nature.” He gestured subtly between himself and Willis, emphasizing their shared struggle. “Ournature.”
“Whoa whoa whoa- Orion don’t scare him! If he knows what I do for a living he’s gonna hike up the price!” Willis hip-checks Orion, making little effort to hide his rather loud whisper. “Or… give me a discount? Since I’ll be a repeat customer?” Willis pauses and mutters to himself, directing his gaze to Wenyr.
Meanwhile his hands work in a frenzy flitting in and out of his pants, plucking out 8 daggers from inside his waistband. Held in-between each finger, Willis spreads the daggers into hand-fans before thrusting them outward to Wenyr expectantly. “Wenyr, right? Can you melt these down and make as many metal darts as you can? I need them pointy on both ends and to fit inside my belt.” As if on cue, his pants comes loose and flops down his knees, revealing a pair of hairy legs and his nether region. A heavily damaged sword, its blade bent into a V-shape, clatters to the floor behind him. “Oops! Can you repair that too?”
Wenyr had just picked up a piece of cloth and was idly cleaning his hands from any dirt when things happened: Obviously flabbergasted, he helplessly watched how Willis' last layer of protection virtually disintegrated all of a sudden. He looked at the pants now piling up uselessly around the blightborn's legs, then at the distorted piece of metal that supposedly had once been a sword, then returned his gaze towards Willis' face. Not as much as a bat of an eyelid, no blushing, no sweat... 'fascinating' would have been an infernal understatement for this.
Orion, on the other hand, felt a surge of embarrassment on Willis’s behalf, coupled with a hint of frustration at the young blightborn’s lack of decorum. The awkwardness of the situation was palpable, and Orion’s cheeks flushed slightly as he stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Willis to shield him from further scrutiny. As he stood there, his eyes met Wenyr’s, silently pleading for patience and understanding.
It took a few noticeable moments for Wenyr to respond to the actual inquiry: "What shall I fix ? This, this or this ?" One after another, he let his index finger point towards the sword, the pants, and finally Willis' underpants that still were holding up to their job but who knew for how long. "I can only help with the sword and maybe give you something against the prying eye until you've found somebody for the other two." Wenyr didn't know whether he should smile to cheer the man up, smirk to make clear that not all of his previous statements had been meant entirely seriously, or let his words go out coldly to chastise Willis for his unusual entrance, so his tone ended up being the normal one.
The blacksmith stepped forward and tried to maintain some distance out of respect as he picked up the ruined weapon. That thing was not only bent but also more dull than Sya's rolling pin. Maybe that would also have been a better choice for the kind of fighting style the damage suggested. Wenyr's other hand reached for a bucket to hold beneath Willis’ outstretched hand. "Put the daggers in, please." Couldn't have the man try to 'walk' to a table with his pants still caged in between his crotch and his feet, could he?
As he waited for the tiny blades to find their new resting place, Wenyr darted a bit more than just a brief glance toward Orion. The fact that the other blightborn was hearing everything, but did not say anything gave the whole set of requests sort of his consent so far. Still, he felt a bit helpless and unsure at this point – the words 'repeat customer' made more and more of an uneasy impression in spite of the fact that repeat customers usually were the best.
"The Prince has organized this workshop and my current supplies. I have to talk to him first about pricing."
Willis pokes his head out from behind Orion, glancing curiously at Wenyr and says: “Oh, there’s no need to repair my dagger down here. Even small, it is quite deadly!” He performs a hip-thrust that is blocked by Orion’s body, hidden from Wenyr’s view. “Just the broken sword, please! But I’ll take your offer for a change of clothes!”
Orion felt a wave of exasperation wash over him at Willis’s antics. The young Blight-Born’s playful nature, while somewhat endearing, was slightly frustrating in such a serious context. Nonetheless, he stood firm, his broad shoulders and determined stance effectively shielding Wenyr from the crude display of Willis’s hip thrust. His eyes locked onto the blacksmith’s, silently pleading for understanding and forgiveness for Willis’s inappropriate behaviour.
Clutching the daggers in hand and holding the blades out like they are his fingers, Willis awkwardly waddles around Orion to drop them in the bucket held by Wenyr. On every dagger a unique name is inscribed on the blade, and each handle bears the military insignia of the Lunarian armed forces; a crescent moon. “There’s a lot more where that came from.” Willis winks at Wenyr as he pulls up his pants. “As for payment… I don’t have cash on me, but I just got a job as a courier in town, and right now I can offer you an alternative.” Willis glances back at Orion, wetting his lips before continuing. “I have a reliable means to acquire high quality equipment. I’m talking about war-grade steel helmets, armor sets, heavy weapons, all that good stuff you can use. Even a full armored suit from a knight! Would you accept a trade-in as payment?” He looks at Wenyr and asks.
“Who am I? An arms deal…” Wenyr stopped his words dead in their tracks. Yes, since the prince had put the manufacturing of weapons on the very high priority list, he effectively was in the lethal devices business. Quite the change to how things had been back in the Aurelian countryside. “I apologize. Forget what I just said,” he added more humbly as he reached down into the bucket to pull out one of the daggers.
High quality it was indeed, even so at the verge of him going to feel miserable for melting this down in order to make something else out of it. That insignia on all of them though, just where had he seen that before already? For a brief moment, he considered it to be sort of a family sigil, but that made no sense if one considered Willis’ mentioning of ‘reliable means’, unless the man had an extremely large family and no hesitation to get them rid of their heirlooms.
The blacksmith confronted both blightborn with a somewhat skeptical expression and put the dagger back in before placing the whole bucket on a workbench. Something felt quite fishy about this proposal, but he couldn’t pinpoint it yet. With his back turned towards them, he replied: “As already mentioned, the prince has sponsored most of this so far. Let me talk and think about this deal, alright ?” Not a clear ‘no’, but it would buy him the time he would need anyway. Maybe the whole issue of payment would resolve itself over time as Willis would certainly find a job for himself and start earning coins in Dawnhaven, wouldn’t he?
“Let me get you some clothes. You can return them later when you no longer need them.” While his actual house was not part of the workshop, Wenyr tended to have some clothes for changing around in the latter still. He went upstairs and the two men might easily have picked up his heavy steps from above.
“Alright!” Willis pumps his fist in the air, turning to Orion with a smug look. “See that, Orion? I just almost struck my first deal in Dawnhaven! Soon I’ll become the biggest deal in town! And I never forget the people who helped me when I’m at my lowest.” He winks at Orion and double taps his temple. “Or the people who wronged me, for that matter. Like that guy with the shovel.” A red light flares up in his eyes. “Don’t worry I’m not going to do anything to him or his family here.”
Willis’s comment about “never forgetting” those who wronged him concerned Orion. The man appeared to possess a huge capacity for vengeance. That was not good. It needed to be snuffed out, as it had been around when he’d first turned. He knew that look all too well—this was not just a fleeting anger but a deep-seated grudge that could ignite at any moment. He would have to address it promptly, but not here.
Instead, Orion decided to defuse the situation with a more neutral topic, hoping to divert Willis's focus away from any lingering thoughts of revenge.
“It’s good to show gratitude for those who’ve helped you. Perhaps, in the future, you could return that favour to me,” Orion said, his brow arching slightly.
About two or three minutes passed before Wenyr’s return. “Here. I think it might be quite a bit too large for you, but Dawnhaven will still respond better to this than the alternative.” He still could only shake his head internally.
Willis slips into Wenyr’s old clothes, stuffing the large tunic inside his pants so they don’t sag. “Thank you Wenyr!” He smiles at Wenyr and opens his arms wide to catch Wenyr with a quick hug. “I really don’t want to take advantage of your and the prince’s kindness, so I must insist on paying you back somehow.” He looks around the forge. “Hmm… How about I come in during my spare time and help you out with stuff? It’s not like I need to sleep. Besides, blacksmithing can’t be too hard, right?”
That man was giving him a slight migraine already, how could he ever possibly have a chance of long-term survival with this Willis guy as his apprentice? Having one would definitely have been nice given the amount of work ahead of him, but Wenyr nonetheless felt as if he’d be much better off searching for potential alternatives in Dawnhaven first before just accepting. He hardly knew anybody in the settlement so far.
Also, the feeling of something being not just odd, but actually dangerous about this man had anything but stopped. Orion’s way of emphasizing certain words in his speech had just given that another boost. Wenyr scribbled something onto his mental scratchpad: ‘Talk to Orion later, in private.’
The blacksmith put up his hands apologetically and tried to maintain a bit more of a separation between his words so as to make clear that he would easily accept further discussion about this at this point: “I really appreciate your offer, but please give me some time to think about it. Taking an apprentice is a time-consuming task in itself and paying for one is so, too. I have hardly settled in myself yet, so please be patient. Would that be alright for you ?” Did this guy even have the slightest idea about forging delicate stuff? Judging by the shape of the sword, Willis was probably excellent at just smashing at things, but this was not the point of the art!
“Is there anything else I can do for you, or you Orion?”
“Oh dang, alright.” Willis says to Wenyr. “Let me know if you want another pair of hands. You won’t have to pay me much, and not before I’ve paid off my debt to you. Oh, and think about our deal, okay? I’ll give you the first batch for free to offset the cost of my repair, then give you a steep discount afterward.” With that said, Willis got ready to leave with Orion.
Orion registered Wenyr’s polite but firm hesitation, a subtle yet telling gesture that stirred a mix of relief and concern within him. Relief, because Wenyr’s caution appeared to mirror his own deep-seated doubts about Willis’s stability, affirming that he was not alone in his apprehensions. Yet, concern gnawed at him as well, as this hesitation underscored the formidable challenge of integrating Willis into Dawnhaven society without sparking conflict. Every decision the advisor made here would surely ripple through their society.
What a daunting task this was.
“Wenyr raises a good point, Willis,” Orion said, his tone measured and steady. “Becoming an apprentice isn’t something that happens overnight. It’s a significant commitment, both for you and for the master. Let’s give Wenyr the time he needs to decide what’s best for his forge. Meanwhile, there are other ways you can start contributing to Dawnhaven, perhaps in a capacity that better suits your current skills.” His eyes remained fixed on Willis, gauging his reaction. Hadn’t he mentioned the possibility of a courier role? Was that not enough to appease the man?
Willis’ eyes light up. “Orion my man you are so right. I can’t wait to ‘contribute’ using my unique ‘skills’.” He grins and cracks his knuckles.
Then, turning back to Wenyr, Orion nodded appreciatively, his stern expression softening slightly. “There’s nothing else on my side of things. Thanks for your help today, Wenyr.”
“Thanks for the clothes Wenyr! By the way, now we know each other better, you can call me Willy. I’ll come pick up my chest plate tomorrow, so keep an eye out in the sky! Bye!”
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