When Fates Cross Paths

[redford]

John munched on his cigar, long-since spent as he ambled down the streets of Knife’s edge. He’d stopped a child a few moments ago, asking where this ‘Norlond Forge’ was. Apparently it was a few blocks over.

Not that I’d know, he thought, looking up to try and find his bearings. Either way it’s a few minutes walk.

Which left him with a moment to gather his thoughts. It had been nearly a year since he’d fought Artemis, and learned quite a bit from him. They had spoken about their similar trade in forging weapons and armor. Perhaps John’s skill with simple pieces was good enough, but this one was a challenge, especially with the enchantments requested for it, which were a complex series of runes and sigils engraved onto the ingots before forging, and then another set of engravings after the final cooling. It was a pain, but the coin was good and worth the trip, so here he was in Knife’s Edge, looking for a beer mug-shaped door.

Ridiculous. Who makes a-

As if to interrupt his thoughts, he rounded a corner, seeing just such a door across the way. Not only that, but it was made of solid metal.

Well, if you’re gonna do it, do it right, he mused as he walked up to it, noting that the thing was well-crafted, an advertisement unto itself of Artemis’ skill.

He hiked up his bag, which clanged with the ingots inside, and ducked his head down so he could fit through the door. He stepped through, thanking the gods (wherever they were) for Artemis’ ceiling height.

He took a step forward and smirked a little. It was impressive, how he recognized his own craft. You can practically smell the heat mixing with charcoal and hot steel as it comes out of the kiln, and the characteristic yellow-red glow of a forge is hard to miss, especially when the bellows are going full throttle.

A short-bearded dwarf sat at the counter before him, and a worker was toiling at the forge, doubtlessly apprenticed by Artemis. The dwarf, however, looked up and smiled warmly, despite his obvious surprise at the size of his newest patron.

“Come in, friend! What can we do for you?”

John took the two large steps required to cross the room, laying his bag on the counter with a clunk. The dwarf cocked an eyebrow as he looked upward, and the half-giant cast a glance around the shop, looking for his former opponent.

“I need to speak with Artemis, where is he?”

[SirArtemis]

Bazzak clicked his tongue as he noted the man before him, the gargantuan man’s head just inches below the ceiling of their establishment. The dwarf reached a hand up to fiddle with a mithril clamp set at one of the ends of his mustache. He turned his head to the side toward the forge where a dwarf and human stood side by side, the former hammering away while wearing an unconventional outfit. “Artie, you have a visitor asking for you!” The dwarf had to yell over the roar of the forge.

Artemis turned at the call, his posture changing as he recognized the behemoth. “Well I’ll be,” he said through his mask. “Nalin, mind taking over?” Artemis asked as he placed his tools down. He pulled off his gloves followed quickly by his mask – pieces of his magical undersuit that protected him from the heat. “Good to see you again, John,” Artemis said, extending a hand to his old friend to shake.

John clasped the hand firmly in return, his gauntleted grip amusing Artemis. “Good to see you again. I have a request.”

“I can see that,” Artemis said with a chuckle. “What’s in the bag? And I was once told it’s bad manners to shake hands with hands covered.”

“They don’t come off,” the behemoth replied matter-of-factly. “And the bag has the materials. The project is beyond my ability. I hoped you could help.”

Artemis smiled warmly, his ice blue eyes glowing a bit in his eagerness. “I’d be happy to offer my aid, if I can.” He lifted a hand high, patting John on the back. “Is this something we have to do here and now or can we talk over a meal? I’m due for dinner, so it was good you arrived when you did.”

John looked unsure. He wasn’t a man others would deem a conversationalist by any stretch; he preferred action over words. After all, talk is cheap. But Artemis was a good man, and his words had brought some value to the big smith before. With a curt nod, he seemed to answer the question. “I think that is fine.”

“Great,” Artemis said. “Just one question before we go, since the brothers are probably curious too. What’s with the armor? I vaguely remember this when we first met, but certainly not to this extent.”

John stood stoic for a few silent seconds before removing his shirt, revealing a fascinating picture for the trio to see. The silvery gauntlets went almost up to the elbow, and his strong muscular torso looked normal, aside from the obvious size. Just then, a silvery liquid seemed to reach out from the gauntlets, climbing the elbows and arms of the man. Artemis walked around the figure as he watched the material spread, like liquid mercury, coating the man’s flesh like paint on a canvas. Standing behind the figure, he noticed a large marking on his back of a fist within a shield. He expected the marking, tattoo if you will, to be covered as the metal from both arms converged over his back. Yet as the substance kissed and climbed to combine into a solid mass of armor, wrapped around the burly man’s torso, the marking remained visible. The man cocked an eyebrow, noting the detail for later.

“You’ll put a smith outta work, I tell ye,” Nalin chided as he walked over from the forge to witness the spectacle. “What good will me metal do ye if ye got yer own! Bahaha!” Artemis smiled at the dwarf’s mirth, noting he’d tossed the item they’d been working on into a bowl of water to cool.

“That’s a neat trick,” Bazzak commented. “What exactly could you want from us if you have the ability to forge what you need as you need it?”

“Intricate sigils and enchantments aren’t my strength,” John replied, letting the metal revert back to its liquid form and crawl back into the gauntlets. As it did, he donned his shirt once more and looked at Artemis expectantly.

“Well,” Artemis said with a sigh, “let’s go get some dinner and talk this over. I expect we have some interesting stories to share as well.” He walked back toward the large metal mug and slid the door open, letting the whip of Salvar air rush in once again and mingle with the forge’s warm and thick air. Strangely, as though by design, it didn’t affect the room’s feel overall. “Off we go then,” Artemis said, and he walked out, expecting John to follow.

[redford]

John had gotten used to slowing his pace long ago so that smaller folk could keep up. The result was a lumbering, slow swagger he quickly adopted as he and Artemis made their way down the streets of Knife's edge in the fading light of the late afternoon. The smells of heat and ozone faded as they left the industrial section of the city, ambling toward gentler fires and the smell of foodstuffs. It was a simple game of 'follow your nose' to get to the Bearded Gnome, the smells of bread and roasting meat drew them to a two-story building with gentle golden light spilling out of it onto the street.

"This is it," Artemis said, taking the few steps up to a modest porch, and entered the building ahead of the half-giant, holding the door open as he crossed the threshold.

A fireplace roared against the cold on the east wall, shedding a warm light on the entire room. The patrons were scattered, but not crowded, and though many stopped to stare at Artemis' supersized companion, it was fewer stares than he received in other places. It seemed a cozy place, with a large, burly dwarf tending the bar. He caught sight of Artemis and waved the two of them over with a smile.

"Artemis! How're ya, lad? And who's our friend?" he asked quickly, having to crane his neck slightly to see John's face.

"I'm John," the brawler responded before Artemis could introduce him, dragging two barstools together so he could sit without endangering the furniture.

"Well, John, I'm Harki, and I run the place. Nice'ta have ya. What'll ya have? I already know what he wants, of course," he said, smirking a little and jutting a thick thumb in Artemis' direction.

John responded quickly, nodding at a bottle he recognized. Nice stuff, but he didn't really worry too much about money any more. "Pint of whiskey and whatever you've got in the pot," he said, reaching into a pocket for a few of his coins, more than enough to cover his food and drink. "And a room for the night, if you've got one."

The dwarf responded with a chuckle as he reached backward toward the top shelf, pulling a kettle from a small fire with his other hand. "Normally I'd have issue with that, but I imagine it takes quite a bit to make you drunk, eh? As for your room, I can sell you one, but no promises on the length of the bed, friend. He slid two cups before them, John's with a deep brown, smoky-flavored whiskey, and Artemis' with steeping tea. He reached out to a spoon, stirring the leaves to aid the process as John took a sip, the spicy liquid smooth despite the burn.

"I'm working with John on a smithing job, that's why he's in town."

Harki talked, turning away from them to ladle stew into two bowls, one comically larger than the other. "Well ya came to the right man, John, Artemis here's the best smith in Salvar," he finished, returning to the two with filled bowls and spoons.

John looked at his stew, seeing thick chunks of meat, carrots, and potatoes, among other vegetables and thick with spice. He closed his eyes, breathing in an aroma that he hadn't savored in over a decade. Memories flooded his mind, of his wife, of his life before his banishment. A smile came, unbidden to his face as Artemis spoke.

"I was thin-"

John interrupted him, making a shush sound, and spoke slowly. "I have not had proper reindeer stew in fifteen years."

The half-giant breathed in again, closing his eyes as he turned the aroma over in his mind. It was dark, even the smell of good reindeer stew was dark and heady, and the brawler lifted a spoon to his lips, taking a chunk of meat with it.

The flavors assaulted him, the soft texture of the meat mingling with the spices of the stew perfectly, and John groaned, instinctively smacking his hand on the bartop.

"DAMN that is good!"

Harki turned at the noise, and John pointed at the stew, speaking quickly before raising his spoon again.

"I'll need another one of these in a second."

[SirArtemis]

Minutes turned to hours rather quickly, with Harki sharing gossip with the two reunited friends and Artemis sharing some of his own jokes and stories that he hadn’t recounted in some time. Laughter came easily, and even John found himself chuckling on occasion and telling a few innocent stories of his own. The pot of stew diminished greatly as the big man ate to fill his enormous frame.

“Aye, ye can definitely eat,” Harki said after at least a half dozen large bowls had been consumed. “Then again, rather it get eaten than wasted, and I thank ye for the compliment!” He laughed through his thick charcoal beard, speckled with grays and so dense that you couldn’t even tell when he spoke – only that his beard would wiggle and sound would come out. He stood polishing mugs, as he always did, and eventually decided to leave the lads alone as dinner time dwindled. “Well, I’ll clear the tables while we wait for the evenin’ scene to set in. You two can enjoy a bit of peace for a bit.” With that he sauntered off and got to work, leaving the two smiths side by side with an empty tavern.

“So,” Artemis began, turning on his barstool to face the man and leaning an arm against the countertop. He ran a hand through his short dark hair and then scratched at the scruff of his beard. “You wanted some work done. What exactly do you need made?”

John reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a small diagram, elegantly and precisely drawn with intricate detail and dimension. “A sword and shield, with unique properties.” Artemis reached for the designs, scanning them and carefully calculating in his mind, recalling the bag of materials that had been dropped on the counter back at the forge. “The issue isn’t the metalwork, but the inscription. I have a client in need of a binding that can link a sword and shield, so they share impact in a way.”

“Interesting…” Artemis said quietly. “For someone who says he doesn’t do intricate, this is quite well done. But why do you need me?”

“I tried and it didn’t work. I hoped you had some insight.”

Artemis laughed at John’s answer, but never let his eyes leave the design. He noticed a second page and gently slid it out and scanned the inscription. Suddenly he understood what he meant by intricate. The markings were fine, elegant, stylized, and overlaid. This type of work took patience and precision that a only true craftsman could do, and a steady hand at that. Given Artemis’ entire life, combat included, revolved around precision, John’s presence made all the more sense – and the compliment of trusting him sank in a bit deeper. “I think I can help with this.” He said finally with a nod. “Let me look over these for the night so I can be ready for our work tomorrow. But before I turn in and the evening crowd arrives, I did have one question.” Artemis took a look at Harki, dropping his voice so even his trusted friend wouldn’t hear. “The mark on your back – it stayed even through your armor. I didn’t expect that. What does it mean?”

John looked at Artemis, gauging what to say to man. He did not want to lie, but he also felt there were some things he could not share with anyone, no matter the relationship. He glanced down at his whiskey, swirling it before taking a large gulp.

Into the silence, Artemis continued. “The mark looks familiar in a way, though I can’t explain it. I met a man not long ago on the west side of the mountains that split Alerar from Raiaera. I think his name was Vincent. He ripped his shirt off at one point in the fight and he had a mark on his chest. A crown over the number four, but in symbolic numerals – IV I think it was.”

[redford]

As Artemis made his rather pointed inquiry, John wasted a few seconds drinking a sip of his whiskey, thinking up the words as he swallowed.

"Don't know. Queer stuff, it is," he said, holding up a hand. It looked statuesque, in the most literal way. Every tendon, every vein on his hand was there, coated in mysterious metal, mobile as quicksilver and strong as titanium. It defied logic.

Hopefully it also repelled Artemis' question.

Artemis looked the metal over as he raised his hand and furrowed his brow like John had countless times himself. But, no amount of staring would give either man the answers they sought.

"Regardless of that, we will have time for my armor later. For now let's focus on this," he said, finishing his whisky.

"Agreed," Artemis responded simply, and gave a curt nod as John stood from his twin bar stools.

Harki spoke pleasantly as John returned his cup. "Be sure'ta stop by again before you go, I'll give you some stew to go, friend!"

John smiled weakly, bowing his head a little as he thanked the kind dwarf.

A flight of stairs and two hallways later, and he was in his room. The bed was too small, but that happened all the time. John huffed, wishing he could bring his bed with him wherever he went. He smirked as the thought of buying padding for his shield crossed his mind. Either way the bed wasn't getting any longer.

He laid down, his feet hanging off the bed and resting on the floor, feeling the beams creak under his weight as he relaxed his breathing and waited until morning.

[SirArtemis]

Artemis watched John ascend the stairs, wondering what weight so heavily bowed the big man’s shoulders. The goodness in the giant’s heart could not be questioned, but a dark cloud loomed. Artemis’ thoughts lingered on the point as he sat at the bar, his finger tracing a knot in the wooden surface. He sipped at a freshly steeped cup of tea and let the comforting noise of the tavern fill his ears.

“Interesting fella, yer friend,” Harki spoke, polishing mugs behind the counter again. “John, was it? Might his surname be Cromwell?” The black-bearded dwarf’s eyes showed an equal mix of concern or compassion.

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked, why?” Artemis sat up, looking at Harki more intently.

“Heard a story, near a decade ago. Lad named John fell in love with a noble lass, Katherine Irillien, and though she felt it too, it didn’t turn out so well for the two. Another man, fella named Flint Bard, felt slighted and went after ‘em. Killed the lass and their daughter, and the achin’ husband went on a rampage. Went murderin’ the lot in their castle; killed near a hundred men they say – clean sweep. Not one left standin’ that day but John Cromwell.” Artemis’ brow furrowed at the dwarf’s story, his gaze turned back to the steps. Given what he knew of the big man, imagining him clearing a castle alone didn’t seem all that unreasonable – especially if he’d lost a wife and daughter.

“Just might be one in the same,” Artemis said softly, though loud enough for the dwarf to hear. “I’m gonna head to my room. Get some rest before our work tomorrow. Thanks for the stew and tea, as always my friend.”

“O’course lad. Whatever ye need.” They exchanged a nod and Artemis left the noise of the common room, climbing the same stairs John had and finding his own room – his home. He stepped into the small room and locked the door for the night. His bedroom was small, enough to fit a bed for one with the necessities – though finer necessities than the average room. After all, having Daros as a friend meant the wizard would create some useful niceties.

He stripped his gear and set it against the wall, then washed up at an enchanted basin, whose water was always lukewarm and clean. He sponged off the sweat and grime of his body, the magic diligently cleansing his skin and leaving a pleasant floral scent behind. He rinsed his mouth, a glowing lime-colored liquid that Daros had assured Artemis would keep his teeth and gums healthy, and refilled anew every day. He spit it out into the small commode he used as a toilet – also enchanted to stay clean, fresh, and empty. He’d truly come to appreciate the benefits of having an artificer as a friend – even if it did come with its risks.

When he finally lay within his soft comfortable bed, head resting against the firm support of his pillow, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

’Artemis, we must speak. Come to my study.’ Artemis sighed deeply as the sentient item called out to him – currently in the form as a bracer upon his wrist. He felt the gentle tug, an offering from Judicis to enter his realm, so he closed his eyes and let his consciousness travel into the artifact.

When he opened his eyes, he sat in a comfortable lush armchair facing a fireplace. Within a twin armchair sat Judicis, his groomed elderly frame donning an immaculate black suit as per usual. A small mahogany coffee table, set with a fine porcelain tea set, served as a shared space between the two. The walls were lined with bookshelves, with an endless black void reaching up endlessly in place of a sealing. Artemis wore his normal attire once again – the realm of Judicis filling in the blanks with the young man’s memories and expectations.

Artemis leaned back into his chair, looking across at Judicis expectantly. “I’m calling you in out of respect for John, and for his privacy.” He spoke with an accent of nobility, and his demeanor always exhibited class and authority. “It has to do with the mark you asked about that he pointedly avoided speaking on.”

“The fist within the shield? That I could see through the armor?”

“Precisely,” the suited man answered. “I thought it curious when we first encountered the mark of the man by the Alerar mountainside, but chose to brush it aside more as coincidence. I am familiar with the markings and their meaning to some extent, but the presence of John’s as well leads me to believe this is not mere coincidence. The two men are connected in some way.”

“Connected how? That in itself doesn’t matter too much. Do the marks mean they are part of some sort of guild?” Artemis reached down for a cup of tea, raising the porcelain cup to his lips and sipping on the rich floral brew; it was more a mental pleasantry than a physical experience, but what did that matter?

“It is a group known as the Tarot, or so I believe. I can’t be certain, as they have not operated in millennia from what I know. Their motives and behaviors cannot be defined in simple terms, but they do have operations that can fundamentally alter the world – or so that is the pattern. It is hard to anticipate how their current manifestation relates to the origins that I speak of.” Judicis leaned back, crossing his legs. “The man you met in the mountains – his symbol included a crown. If my deduction is correct, that means he is likely the leader – or the ‘Emperor’ so to speak. If I were to guess John’s role, I would guess he represents Strength.”

“What does this mean for me exactly?” Artemis asked. “How do their operations affect me? After all, John is just a friend, seeking help on a project.”

“Indeed,” Judicis conceded. “I thought you’d like to know, as their existence may come to matter more to you than it does now. In the meantime, I suppose you should get some rest. If you’d like, I’ve set aside the designs here as well for you to study in more detail without prying eyes.” He gestured to a small lectern set behind where the men sat. Artemis nodded in gratitude, moving toward the lectern across the elegant rug beneath them. He sat at the desk, reviewing the documents, observing the intricacies.

“Who is this client of yours,” Artemis thought out loud, “and is he too part of this Tarot?”

[redford]

John woke slowly, reaching up to drag a palm down his face, as if to push the dust off his head. An eye cracked open to see the light from an early morning streaming through a window, illuminating the room in soft yellow light. His hand found the edge of the bed and helped him right himself; he patted his knees, which ached from hanging off the too-small bed.

Not gonna get any easier until I move my ass, the half-giant mused as he reached down for his pack, standing in spite of his soreness. His shoes lay close to the window, and as he looked out on the now-waking city of Knife's Edge, his normally stern brow softened. He raised a silvery hand to the windows, lightly dusted with frost, and thought for a moment, his oversized shoes forgotten on the floor. Even here, a country he once called home, he felt removed from normalcy. The glass window was an adamantine sheet, separating him from a life he once knew, his gauntlets a constant reminder that a normal life was unattainable. Images of his late wife flashed in his mind.

He'd seen to his own banishment easily enough, and now paid his comeuppance every morning.

He tapped the window lightly, almost to reassure himself that it was just that, a simple piece of glass, before looking down, desperate for a distraction.


"Shoes," he said to himself as he realized he was still barefoot, and knelt down to lace up his custom-made boots, aiming to be at Artemis' forge soon, his woes nearly but not entirely forgotten by his thoughts of work.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

He ducked under the doorway of the Norlond Forge again, seeing Artemis already tending a glowing pile of embers, his shadow flickering as he pulled a rope connected to the bellows, turning the coals with a poker. He looked up and waved, stepping away from the fire and toward the counter.

"John! I think I know what's wrong with your sigils, friend," he reached over the counter to the lowered one behind it, grabbing two papers. He held them up, pointing at a pair of sigils on the sword. "These transfer the magic from the shield to the sword, right? And let me guess, the spell energy transferred blows out the sword close to the hilt, where the sigil is, yeah?"

"Yes, that was the issue," John said, scratching his stubble as he wondered where Artemis was going with it all. The sigil placement was correct, at least in theory.

"See, that works for small stuff, but what's happening is you're getting the transfer, you're containing it, and you're transferring it into usable energy by the sword, but you're not letting it GO anywhere. The sigils work if the energy is coming from the person wielding the sword, but if you're getting the source from somewhere else, it's gotta be used along the LENGTH of the blade, which means..."

Artemis pulled another paper out, this one with a few additions.

"We need to put additional transfer sigil clusters here, and here," he continued, pointing at the thing with his other hand along the length of the drawn blade, "and it'll transfer in a linear fashion, and not just on one point. See?"

John reached for the paper, examining the sigil collections more closely for errors that Artemis may have made in the transcription. They were as flawless as his theory, and certainly would help the energy transfer. The smith had even included a few well-placed containment runes that would keep the sword from exploding, as the other had done.

"It looks good, Artemis, thank you," he said, grasping his bag and pulling out a bar of Titanium. The metal was covered in runes. "We shouldn't need to change any sigils on the raw metal, so we can get right to work."

"Excellent," Artemis responded, clapping his hands together, "The forge's about up to heat, so we can start soon."

The poker Artemis left in the fire had heated up, and now glowed orange in the coals. He spoke, walking over to a wall of tools. "Damn, let me grab the tongs."

"Don't bother," John said, using a gauntleted hand to reach into the fire, grabbing the poker and pulling it out. He turned to Artemis, feeling no heat from the fire.

"Ready?"

[Cards of Fate]

Meanwhile…

Outside of town, a small train of wagons meandered their way along the cold, icy road. A small band of merchants were heading into town looking to pawn their wares onto the “wealthier” city folk. Bearing wild pelts, “freshly” caught fish, and ore from the northern mountains, these merchants had little of note in their cargo.

Aside from one thing that is.

Well, less of a thing, and more of a person. Huddled in the back of the leading wagon, sitting atop a barrel of partially frozen Raiaeran wine, was Vincent Cain. He wasn’t quite sure why he always seemed to wander into this town in a wagon, normally he could just arrive via portal to anywhere he had already been. However, with Salvars borderline fetishistic hatred of magic, such methods of travel were strictly forbidden. Somehow, he still managed to end up sneaking into the town. He could have sailed up the river, he could have taken horseback, or even an airship, but no.

Fate seemed fixated on him always entering via wagon.

“For fucks sake Jormill.” Vince muttered under his breath as he pulled his coat tighter to his body. “We need to have a fucking talk about all of your travel plans.”

“Wazzat?” A large burly man called out from the driver’s seat. “I can hardleh hear yeh under all that chatterin, city boi.”

“I was thanking you for the ride.” Vince exclaimed as he rose from his seat and worked his way up to the front, such a feat made all the more difficult by every bump sending the contents of the wagon sloshing about. “How long until we arrive in town?”

“’Bout an hour.” The merchant grunted as he cracked the reigns slightly. “Maybe two if ole’ derks is at customs. I swear that man makes everything take twice as long as it needs to.”

“Well I can take my leave at the gate.” Vincent muttered shaking his head. He withdrew from the front and found a seat next to a rather large crate, waiting for the merchant to return his eyes to the road before peeking inside. The crate was filled with a long long parcel, some sort of slender metallic object wrapped carefully in sifan silk. Carefully, he extracted his prized and pulled it into his lap, marveling how light it seemed as he unwrapped it.

Sitting in his lap was an arm. Not a human one, but some sort of metallic appendage he’d recovered after a rather fateful excursion in the twilight mountains. It’s mere existence seemed to some sort of fluke, a monstrous mix of magic and science, rivaling some sort of marvel back on earth. It was without a doubt, to some degree, robotic. That alone was a feat beyond anything Althanas should have been able to create. Golemancy was nowhere near this precise of polished, and at the end was another small miracle. In place of a hand, was a strange apparatus that when tensed managed to create some sort of shield. Neither magic, nor science, the very nature of this device eluded Vincent.

He needed to know more, but he also needed an easier way to utilize it. He couldn’t carry an arm around everywhere he went. He needed something more discrete, and John Cromwell was too busy with another order. Vincent needed to enlist the help of someone special.

…

The fact that fate had marked him for testing only made things more convenient. Two birds, one awful trip to Vincent’s least favorite nation in the world.

[SirArtemis]

The hot metal sang its tune like a well-rehearsed symphony to the talented smiths. Though they’d never worked together, their intuitive understanding of their craft allowed them to combine remarkably well. From forge to anvil and back again, the shield they had started with took on its form. Hours had passed while the two worked, giving plenty of time for Bazzak Norlond to come and open up shop. Some customers paused to admire the work before continuing on with their day, but the two men didn’t even notice.

“I have the molds,” John finally said as they entered the last stages of forming the aegis. He placed the nearly complete metal back in the forge and approached the counter where he’d left his bag of materials. He dumped its contents and clanked about, checking the various metal impressions he had brought to find the right ones. “These.” He returned to the forge, setting the marks aside and pulling out the hot metal once more. Artemis carefully positioned the rune-work upon the shield. Then John, to the surprise of Artemis and Bazzak, pressed the impression into the metal using pure strength, like he was cutting cookies out of rolled dough.

“Well, that’s certainly one way of doing it. Can’t say I’d have gone that route.” Artemis laughed at Bazzak’s comment as John carefully separated the two objects, squinting to ensure the details had properly transferred from the stamp onto the shield. “But hey, if it works, it works.”

“It works,” John answered, setting the block aside and dunking the shield to begin letting it cool. “We’ll have to make the stamps I’m missing.”

“Sure, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Artemis said with a smile. “I have some hardwood we can carve the rune-work from. I expect that’ll take some time before we can cast the molding and make the proper stamps. We may as well let the forge cool.” Artemis walked over behind the counter, collecting various blocks of unshaped wood and two sets of carving tools. “The workbench should do.” He returned to John, setting the materials down upon the empty surface set against the wall. Daylight streamed through the window that oversaw the workbench, giving the two men a clear view of their work.

John went back to the design Artemis had corrected, bringing it over to the workbench as well as the impressions that he’d already had. “It seems we’re just missing two. I’ll work on this one.” As John took a block of wood and set of tools, Artemis did the same beside him. To all observers, it would have been an almost comical sight. These two vastly different men, both in love with their work, stood side by side at a workbench in a dwarven smithy of Knife’s Edge; quietly, they carved out intricate rune-work that would impress even the most well-read scholar.

“I’ll be honest, John,” Artemis laughed, pausing from his work, “this isn’t how I was envisioning the end of my week!”

John smirked at the comment, lifting a hand to snap his fingers to conjure a cigar and pop it in his mouth. He lit the tobacco, taking a deep pull as the tip glowed orange like a small forge of its own. Just as he did, the beermug door slid open to the small smithy, and in walked a man that John immediately recognized. “Me either,” he agreed, his eyebrows raised at the unexpected arrival of a familiar face.

[redford]

“Vincent,” John quipped, looking up from his work. It honestly wasn’t surprising, his Emperor did seem to turn up at the most unexpected and inopportune times.

“John.” Vince quipped back, waving the metal arm slightly in greeting. “You should have told me you were seeing someone else…” He pantomimed a tear falling down his cheek with his free hand. “I’m always open to a good three-way every now and again.” He stopped and turned to Artemis and shot him a goofy grin. “Long time no see good sir.”

“Rush job, Vincent?”

“Well I wouldn’t have gone to anyone else otherwise, now would I?”

“Damn right,” John muttered under his breath, continuing to carve the rune into the wood. Vincent turned to Artemis and waved the robotic arm with a bit of a flourish once again.

“Remember this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I remember you tearing it off of one of those machines like a man tears a drumstick from a turkey…”

John waved the chisel he was holding between the two smaller men. “Wait, you two know each other?”

“Vaguely.” Vince responded, a grin on his lips. “We got ambushed in Alerar by a bunch of dudes with some weird tech. I stole an arm and some other materials and have been studying it ever since.” The scholar waved the hand, its robotic fingers flopping about limply. “It doesn’t look like much but when you do this…” the scholar tensed one of the loose rubber ‘tendons’ in the arm, splaying each of the fingers out as suddenly a blue wall of light shot from each digit. “It creates some sort of shield.”

John cocked an eyebrow at the strange contraption. It may not have been magic, but the effect was the same. A shimmering blue barrier appeared between Strength and Emperor. The half-giant looked down at his chisel, wondering just how strong this ‘shield’ was. Without another word, he raised his arm, throwing the tool with considerable force toward it. The barrier let out a loud CRRRRRRRACK, before the makeshift projectile bounced skyward and lodged itself in the roof.