Do No Harm

[Otto]

Open to Tobias


Otto watched the little figure tug laboriously at the bellows, which wheezed and groaned in reply. The embers in the hearth swelled to sun-gold for a moment and a distinct heat-haze flickered above the forge. As well-ventilated as it was, the cellar was a mite stifling. Otto made a note to add fans to the air-shafts somehow, once the bare basics had been installed in the rest of the old warehouse.

"That's good, Tristan," he said to the leather-swaddled form. "Ration the coal, and don't burn more than you need."

"Can I take it out, then?" the answering voice was young and reedy; a child's.

Otto stepped back to give Tristan room to move. "Aye. To the anvil, quick now."

Tristan moved a brace of long, thin, rash-red iron bars away from the coals. An onlooker might be aghast at how the child seemed to have forgone the blacksmith's tongs and instead had stuck his hand right over the hearth - but then the eye took in the pincer-like appendage in place of his hand, made of soot-encrusted steel. In fact the long prosthetic reached all the way up to his elbow, but you couldn't see that through the thick protective layers which covered him. A few of the other children here were like him - a prosthetic hand here, a leg or two there. A few others were less fortunate, and had been stripped of things that iron and wood could not replace.

A vice had been slotted into the anvil's hardie hole, into which Tristan hastily secured the rods. Otto pincered the other end with a set of short-handled tongs and twisted, winding them around each other and bowing them a little as he did so, to produce a single arched bar. The orc freed it from the vice and, now with his hammer, gently tapped the ends against the anvil to forge-weld them together.

"Done," he stated. "Catch all that?"

Tristan nodded. "Yup, think so."

"Alright - I'll help you do the next one."

The two of them ambled around the dimly-lit forge, searching, measuring, heating, cutting, twisting, welding. A run of high, narrow, west- and east-facing windows studded two opposite walls, which allowed for a comfortable amount of sunlight to pervade the space during day. Right now, Sol was rising, and second-hand light reflected in off the pale buildings and flagstones outside. There would be no need to light the assorted lamps about the forge until it had begun to set, many hours from now.

He guided Tristan as the boy wrangled with the second rib, helping him twist and bend it just so to match it with the one before. Hopefully they'd have a fully-formed fire grate by tonight - hopefully more than that - and could put it to immediate use. There was a lot of that sort of work to do around the half-finished building, but Otto and Resolve had easily seen it as a blessing. Just as Tristan was now, the other children were all involved in fixing the place up. Down here, they learned how to make useful things from the black metal, how to shape leather, and how to take care of their tools. Resolve had them out in the plot, nurturing a young garden bed which should grant its first yields in the coming weeks. And the few contractors needed to complete the work that the two of them simply could not do, well, those tradesmen would find no shortage of eager helping hands and enquiring minds hoping to pick up a few useful titbits.

Tristan gingerly hit the second rib with his own hammer, and gave Otto a beseeching look. The orc inspected the goods: the bend was a little wonky and off-centre, the twining could be tighter, and Tristan had used kid gloves when welding the ends together, although it should still hold.

Otto grinned at the lad. "Not bad," he said. "Want to keep going with the others?"

Tristan beamed, and darted off to the measure more dowels out for cutting. Otto quenched the cast-iron rib and laid it down with the other, while the boy struggled to maneuver the measuring cord along the rods, then shuffled over to help.

[Tobias Stalt]

Echoes of the vainglorious Empire still lingered in the streets of Radasanth. Her fractured economy left behind worthless stacks of gold, though the people happily deluded themselves over its value. On Fish street near the harbor, at around quarter til noon, the cock still garbled its throaty caw and business went on as usual. While regimes rise and fall, the habits of people seldom change.

Fresh hot bread spilled vigor into the air and Tobias inhaled the scent greedily. It was his favorite time of day in Radasanth, when the people put aside their duties and the bakers served their faithful patrons. "I'll have a mince pie," a throaty voice rasped from behind him, and the Mercenary turned to see an elderly man with arm outstretched. "What? You snooze, you lose, sonny! I ordered first!"

"Nay, nay," Tobias held both hands up to signify his harmlessness, "as you were, friend. I'll wait my turn."

A smile crept across his hardened face, one of the marked few times that Tobias ever did it anymore. Radasanth remained the sole place he went to escape from the drudgery of routine. It was happy coincidence that the city held a soft spot in his heart. "Here, Stalt," a girl named Eileen with golden hair and gray eyes called to him, one of the bakers, "your sweet bun, fresh from the oven. Just how you like, eh?"

His expression softened as he accepted the roll. "As alluring an aroma as ever, my lady Eileen," he commented. Her cheeks reddened. "Your skill is second to none."

"It's still 5 gold," she wagged a finger in his face, though Tobias ignored her to indulge in a bite. His eyes rolled back as the flavor struck. A low moan rippled through his throat, and he wiped his mouth across his sleeve. "Don't you go thinkin' you'll get free bread from me, or find your way into my knickers!"

Drool cascaded from his lips as he savored the flavorful food. High noon battered them with overhead sunlight, but the breeze off of the sea rendered the day comfortably mild. Tobias let the bread hang in his mouth with an expression of euphoria on his face as he loosened his cloak and let the sea air beat against his bare chest. Eileen gawked at the sight of bared muscle, but she managed the refrain from comment.

With a soft chuckle, he let a few coins trickle from his hand to hers. "Wouldn't dream of it," he replied honestly. For the first time ever in the city of Radasanth, Tobias Stalt genuinely had no interest in the women or the booze. Her gaze brimmed with amazement at the maturity of his response. "'Scuse me, Miss Eileen," Tobias pardoned himself, and an open-mouthed baker watching him leave.

"Dear god," she murmured, "I've got to get the word out. Many's the lady who has been waiting for the day Tobias Stalt finally became husband material."

As he traveled west through the market, Tobias nibbled more at his delicious treat and considered the reason for his visit. The Orc was a man he had only met once, but the mercenary held him in high regard. Otto Bastum of the former City Guard, and recipient of a most curious trinket from Stalt himself. "Fool's errand at best," Tobias muttered to himself, "there's precious few as can work chitin from a wyrm left in the world."

Exotic spices and the putrid smell of fish caused Tobias to scrunch up his face as he stalked past. Vendors from across the seas and even from lands on Keribas frequented the markets of Radasanth, eager to trade with Althanian merchants from Fallien to Salvar. Radasanth was where it all converged. Silks and glass from the desert country glistened faintly in the midday light, and strange mechanisms from Alerar chugged faintly across tablecloths. Tobias pushed past a collective of gasping consumers and finally found the part of the city that truly mattered.

Beyond the hustle and bustle of Fish street and the market, burnt out skeletons of homes stood silent testament to tragedy. Tobias took three steps toward the ashen ruin and fell to a knee, the prayer on his lips jumbled with a string of curses. "So it was true," he managed to say, "a Dragon really did come here."

"Thought you'd never show up, Stalt. Otto's been waiting for you." Orlannes was a familiar face to Tobias, as the youth served alongside Bastum in the City Guard. "Caused quite a fuss you did, sending such a thing in the wake of... this." Tight lipped and with a shred of disdain, Orlannes gestured toward the charred remnants of the Poor Man's Wharf. It felt like a lifetime ago that Tobias had disembarked the Axios here.

"Beg pardon," Tobias responded solemnly, "I believed the claims of Dragonfire in Radasanth to be a bit unrealistic." Tobias surveyed the brutal display of devastation and bit his lip. "I have been wrong before, so this is far from new to me. I apologize for my hastiness."

"Don't apologize to me," came the quick reply. Tobias merely shrugged. "Otto will be delighted to see you. He's been chomping at the bit for a chance to work something so rare with his hammer." They walked down the dusty lane toward the Minstrel's way, a decimated block of the quarter.

"Well, I have every bit of confidence in his abilities," Tobias grunted. Hammerblows on iron and steel rang loudly over his voice. He cleared his own throat. "Has Otto any idea how to approach Dragonscale from an specimen that large?"

"You'll have to ask him," Orlannes replied, "follow me."

[Otto]

Minstrel Way was a large, broad avenue. Although what was left of the buildings appeared quite residential, the flagstones bore tell-tale grooves from along history of wheeled traffic. This was part of the Old City, with its stout white stone walls and graceful, arching roofs. Many of the latter had been reduced to blackened ribs as spreading fire had gutted them, and turned the stones from uniformly pearlescent to mosaic patinas of charcoal grey. And those were just the houses destroyed by normal, everyday fire.

After a minute, Tobias saw where it must have originated from. A mess of half-melted rock had flowed partway onto the street, its sharp features turned to formless lumps like so much soggy mud. It looked surprisingly clean and white compared to the crusted structures on either side. Even the soot had been evaporated.

At last, Tobias saw a newly-erected postsign on the street corner. It read 'Via Cantorae'.

"Just a little further," Orlannes said.

He brought them to a large block, dominated by a huge, plain building in a similar style to the others of this area. A trench had been dug across the soil parallel to the road, probably with the intent to sink the base of a fence. Just beyond that a few strips of turf had been panted randomly around a front yard; in a few months, it should have spread into a nice, even lawn. There were even some fledgeling sprouts in garden beds alongside the trench, and at the base of the wide stone warehouse. The sound of hammering came from somewhere on the roof, where a fresh pine frame was being erected by unseen tradesmen. Orlannes climbed a short flight of stairs and hauled on a varnished mahogany door, revealing a bare foyer beyond.

"What is this place?" Tobias asked, stepping through and peering around. The room was about ten metres square, quite clean of both rubbish and furnishings, with pale flagstones criss-crossed by shadows cast from the golden yellow beams far overhead. It looked to have been thoroughly scrubbed recently, and there was a faint smell of soap.

Orlannes shut the wood in the hole behind them. "An old warehouse. As I understand, the owner and beneficiaries all died in the attack, so it passed to the state. Otto got a pretty good price, I think."

"I see. And that?"

Orlannes followed the other man's gaze to a doorway opposite the main entrance, where a small child stared back at them. It had a finger up its nose, and as they watched, it extracted a perfect plaster-cast in snot of the inside of one nostril. This important discovery now superseding its curiousity in the strangers, the mop-haired moppet ambled off out of sight.

"He - well, he and Rez, they're turning this place into some sort of school. Lots of demand, too. As you might've guessed."

A distant scream indicated that the child had found someone who was less than impressed by the nasal haul discovery. Orlannes turned away from shrieks of terror and gestured at an open doorway, beyond which ran a flight of steps below ground.

"Anyway, Otto should be down there. Let's go have a look-see..."

[Tobias Stalt]

Wood creaked beneath his steps as Tobias began his descent. He ran a hand along the wall for balance, though it would do him little good if the stairs decided to give. Dim candlelight lit the pathway in braziers that coiled ahead of them, right down to their destination. The clean scent from before slowly gave way to soot and the distinct flavor of coals, one the mercenary was vaguely familiar with. "A smithy?" he asked hoarsely, "in this broken half of town?"

"Surprising, isn't it?" Orlannes called back over his shoulder, "despite the damage to the upper levels, those buildings with basement levels were largely unscathed in the attack. This particular gem was an abandoned warehouse, if you can believe it. Though the upper level was burnt out and ruined by a fire breather, we were able to salvage most of the space. Took some cleaning, a good effort, and a few harsh words between friends, but..."

Tobias stopped at where the forge door stood open a crack, and Orlannes took a step back toward the staircase. "You're not coming in?" the Witch Hunter asked with a raised eyebrow. "I thought we'd all have a drink, reminisce about old times, you know, the whole shebang."

"Afraid not, sadly. I promised I'd hang back long enough to lead you here. I actually have some business to attend across the way-"

"Skipping out on me to go whoring, are you?" Tobias feigned shock, "Orlannes, I thought what we had was special."

"You're hardly pretty enough to be my type, Stalt," the Elf retorted, "and what we have will never be nearly as special as what Renee from the Buxom Beauty can do after you get two beers in her, that's for damn sure."

"Renee," Tobias repeated, "Renee... I feel like I know that name. Ah, hells, I'd never remember her by name. Or by face. I don't think I ever saw her face. Was she the one with the dimples on her ars-"

"Tobias Stalt," rumbled a deep, powerful voice from beyond the threshold. The steel door swung open to reveal a sweat drenched Orc in saturated cloth fatigues and a leather smock, all of his face plagued by soot. Otto peeled the goggles away from his eyes almost comically to reveal a golden glow that almost mirrored Tobias' own. "Do think of the children when you're speaking, even with poor Orlannes."

"I was hardly offended," the High Elf shot sorely, but Otto silenced him with a stare. "Erm, right," he recanted, "the children."

"Otto Bastum," Tobias returned the greeting cheerfully and with a warm smile. "It has been far too long. I am sorry to hear about the state of your sweet city." He held out a tiny hand- tiny when compared with an orc's- and offered to shake.

[Otto]

Otto put a hand on Tristan's shoulder. "That's it for now," he said, brushing past the boy. "I'll sam up here missen. Thou get on and bring us down some scran, then have some thissen."

While Tristan struggled with his thick leather guards, Otto shook Tobias' hand. "Ayup, Stalt. Radasanth ha' addled more'n its share of trouble."

"It seems most places have, as of late," Tobias replied.

They stepped aside to let Tristan dart through and out the door, then Otto gestured to a couple of stools at a table by the wall. There was a pitcher of water and a stack of mugs, two of which the orc filled as they took their seats. Although it was far away from the hearth, Tobias could still feel the heat washing over his side, and the water - although clean - had gone tepid. Tobias tried some, and made a slight face.

"We did well enough last time," he went on. "I don't suppose you remember?"

"It may be I'll never forget," Otto said with a smile. 'Last time' had been a titanic fight against an out-of-control ice demon in the heart of Radasanth, where they brought to bear an Alerian airship and a hastily-animated iron golem. Otto recalled well piloting the clunking behemoth, and the frigid wrath of that summoned horror.

Otto sighed. "But yon dragons... they just came too quick. And there were nowt we could use against them. It's a miracle there's owt left of Radasanth - but I don't doubt they'll be back again, some day. Mayhap once we've forgot what they're capable of..."

A door opened, and Tristan ambled back in bearing a large wooden platter. The two men fell silent as he set down a bottle, two shallow bowls, a basket of bread, and a steaming tureen. He darted away again while Otto uncorked the amber bottle and poured out two more mugs of chilled ale. Tobias lifted the lid off the porcelain pot and was met with the scent of rich, tender beef in a spiced onion and carrot sauce. They ladled out a couple of serves and tore off some bread, grabbed their spoon and tucked in. Otto went at his food with the no-nonsense gusto of a seasoned infantryman; one would expect half the food to end up across the room at the rate he sucked down broth, but that would be an unforgivable waste of nourishment. It was like someone had stuck an industrial pipeline into a bathtub.

Tobias watched in fascination for a moment. "It's sort of on that subject why I came to you, actually," he said at last. "Did you get my delivery?"

The orc's eyes flickered to a hessian-draped rectangle in the corner. "Aye. Thee sent it to the garrison?"

Tobias nodded.

"Good thing I still have friends in yon CAF," Otto continued. "Orlannes sent it here afore anyone else could get their hands on it."

"Have you had a look inside?"

"Not yet."

Tobias pushed his bowl away and stood up. He had already crossed over to the corner while Otto was still disentangling himself from his chair, and pulled the rough fabric down to reveal a tall crate. Tobias looked around for something to pry it open, and was momentarily disoriented by the sheer number of options.

"Here," Otto called, and lobbed a chisel over. Tobias caught it with ease, as he did the mallet which quickly followed.

The sound of staccato hammer strikes and splintering wood filled the room. Then came a telltale creak, rustle of air, and dull thud as the front of the crate fell forward onto the ground. Otto peered around the other man's frame at the contents.

"Ee bah gum, lad. Thee ne'er got that off a live 'un, did thee?"