IoK Session 7

An anvil is a heavy thing.  Not too big, but dense and unforgiving.  It resists motion, time, heat and cold.  It does not bend to the smith's hammer.  It doesn't care about politics.  Left alone, it will outlive them all.  The birth of an anvil requires crucible conditions of fire and will.  Despite all the good that an anvil can bring to a village, it is birthed in hell. 

"Set that over there you two.  Careful, we only have the one."

"What do you mean 'careful'?  It's not like you can hurt the damn thing!" 

Orgren's arms strained under the load of Ironsbane's anvil.  Despite Norgart's assistance, he was rather sure that all of the real weight was on his end cart.

"You can hurt an anvil... I've seen them crack when dropped.  Just like anything else, they break when under enough strain."

Ironsbane was only half paying attention to the two sweating dwarves.  Relighting his pipe, he puffed and perused the reports from Remenik.  The parchment was small and filled to the edges with near perfect lines of geonomic script.  Even at his advanced age, the keymeister kept a steady hand. 

"Master Ironsbane... Will this work?"

Orgren made a face that hid none of his disdain for Norgart's obedience.  A young dwarf from a good family, Norgart was loyal to a fault to his teacher.  Orgren chalked it up to inexperience... he'd worked with Ironsbane for years and knew the old dwarf cared little for titles.  Much like the anvil, Ironsbane was a singular being. 

"That will do Norgart.  Orgren, why don't the two of you take a break.  Grab some food and meet me back here in an hour." 

Ironsbane turned to head back to the camp.  He didn't wait for a reply, which was his usual manner.  The order had been given.  No further discussion was necessary. 

"Come on, Norgart.  Eland has some bread cooking and I could use a drink."

Norgart dutifully followed... seemed the boy would listen to any authority.  Would get him in trouble one day.

As they approached the mess tent, Orgren extended a meaty hand to halt Norgart's path.

"Hold up boy... It looks like the tent is occupied." 

Three dwarves and a darian sat at the table.  Laughter could be heard from the group, but it was not the company Orgren wished to keep.

"So they should be just about done clearing the mining site."

His Covalian accent was easy to recognize in the camp.  Benjamin Shipworth spoke with the heavy tongue of a dockworker.  Hardy people, but difficult to find an honest one.  Comes with being lied to most of your life... you learn to lie in return.

"They are.  The keymeister's contacts suggest that the scouts took one of those Golyn alive.  This one seemed smart enough to understand his fate, and provided a little info for a clean death.  Good thing too... seemed the hynn was intent on feeding the creature its own entrails.  His own had to hold him off while the merchant guard ended it.  That's the right thing to do... the damn man-beast would have gone and got himself sick had he manhandled the golyn."

Drauk Northwind took a long draft of his cup and paused to lock eyes with Orgren.

"You gonna stand there eye-balling me, miner?  Make yourself useful and fetch another pitcher from the kitchen bitch, would ya?"

Drauk shook his empty cup in the air... waiting for his refill.

"Ignore him, Norgart.  They're just talk.  Wouldn't dare try anything as long as Ironsbane holds their coin."

The two dwarves approached the tables at the opposite end of the tent.  Orgren grabbed a pitcher of water and filled two cups.  They sat in silence and drank, waiting for the others to continue their conversation.

After a long moment, Drauk laughed.  He tossed his empty cup to Culnen, who took it and his own back to the kitchen for a refill.

"So as I was saying... they are nearly done.  Sounds like The Northwinds will continue to grow fat and bored here.  I hope this sorry excuse for beer holds out."

Benjamin eyed his own cup for a moment, then looked east to the mountains.

"They're not out of their yet.  I have a silver says they come back missing one of their own."

Reaching into his belt, his tossed a tarnished raven to the table.  It rolled for a moment before landing, the two headed symbol for the Twin Raven bank locking gaze with Drauk.

"I'll take that wager.  I believe they can handle a few golyn.  Beside, they have the right balance for a squad of scouts."

He drew his own coin and showed it to Benjamin.

"They have a local flatlander with them.  We traveled down the river with the odd fellow.  Seemed to know his way around these parts, so that's to their advantage.  Plus they got themselves a hynid.  Those little vermin might not seem like much, but I tell you they're good luck."

To prove his point, Drauk drew his pistol.  A well crafted piece with a notable accessory... hanging from a brass chain was a shriveled paw, clasping a ruby genik. 

"This little fellow tried to steal from me... many years back.  So I taught him a lesson about thieves.  Before I could take his other hand, he managed to escape his cage and dart into the woods.  Mad as I was, I couldn't find the little rascal.  Figure I would keep the souvenir... some day I may need to escape something and could use the same fortune."

Holstering the pistol, Drauk laid the coin on the table.

"The forest won't kill the flatlander.  If they get hurt, they have the srylian witch doctor with them.  Old Rememik is pumping tap into the ether to aid his young apprentice, so they have Rikus watching over them.  The others know how to fight.  They've already fought off a band of golyn, so what else is out there to kill them?"

"Well... they got wolves out there.  And bear... Nutcatcher has seen bear tracks.  Why, they could get eaten by wyverns.  What if there was a glass cat following them... or what about a plains tunneler?  They eat flatlanders all the time.  Or it could be a..."

Drauk shot Volimak a look, the same one that always instructed the big dwarf to stop talking.  He did, but Drauk could tell he was still listing off the hundred possible predators, lips still moving.  The next couple months would be rough for Volimak.  He'd never really liked the forest.

"No, Volimak.  They'll live.  They'll come back with a wyvern stinger just to prove how well they can handle the forest.  Don't you worry your ridiculous oversized head about such things."

Volimak looked back to his cup, holding it with both hands.

"Nutcatcher said there was bear out here"... he mumbled into his beer.

Orgren had been listening and thought about the anvil.  No matter how tough you thought something was, sometimes bad things happened.  It was true and he had seen it... anvils break, sometimes from just hitting it the wrong way.