Ralph awakens in a cold sweat, trembling, breathing heavily. The dream he has just escaped from was incredibly disturbing, mostly because of how real it felt. He can’t imagine why he dreamt of such terrible things. Looking around, he finds that it is still pitch-dark outside, only dull candlelight offering any illumination. He looks to the couch where his master was lying, but he does not see her, a faint indentation in the cushions proving her recent presence.
“I know she gets up early… but this early? Is she just using the bathroom or something?” he asks himself, trying not to let his imagination run wild. Not believing he’ll be able to return to sleep any time soon, despite his body’s fatigue, he rises from the chair and heads toward the bathroom, which he finds empty. After taking the opportunity to use it, he looks around the apartment again, but he finds no trace of Nyx.
“Could she be in Sylva’s room for some reason?” he thinks as he peeks into the she-elf’s room, finding the elf soldier deep in sleep, cuddling one of her pillows, mumbling something. Now curious as to where his master could have gone, he makes his way downstairs to the shop level, still not seeing her. Looking through the glass panes of the front door, however, he thinks he can make out a small figure sitting out on the porch, so he starts heading toward the door. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh3Ge9rGB85
Neither night after being strongly reminded of her fall from grace by Sylva has Nyx been able to garner a restful sleep, both nights being addled by thoughts and dreams of the past. Restless, she sought the cool night air to contemplate these troubles and so came out to the shop’s porch. After about an hour of pondering, she senses Ralph’s approach, his soul filled with curiosity, confusion and distress. She’s grateful for this development, happy that she’ll no longer be alone with her thoughts, and a mild smile graces her lips as the door behind her opens.212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZO6yLP452c
“Master, is that you?” Ralph asks, still not entirely sure of the identity of the figure.
“Yes, Ralphio, it is,” she says without looking back at him, trying to hide her relief. “You’re up quite early, especially considering the severity of my training.”
“I could say the same to you, but yeah, I couldn’t sleep… I had a really strange dream,” he responds, walking a bit closer to her.
“Ha! You had a nightmare and would like me to console you? Have I been upgraded from teacher to surrogate mother?” she chides, slipping into banter.
“Ah… no, that’s not what I meant,” he denies. “I was just wondering where you went when I didn’t see you on the couch when I woke up. Could you not sleep either?”
“You’re correct. I’ve been given much to think about as of late, so my mind, overstimulated as it is, prevents me from sleeping deeply. I retreated here, into the cool forest breeze, when I found myself unable to return to sleep,” she responds. “Tell me, of what did you dream, and why does it trouble you so?” she asks, rhetorically, already knowing the general answer.
“It was so weird… I was myself, but I wasn’t myself, if that makes sense. I was in a place I’d never been, speaking to people and… creatures… I’ve never seen in a language I don’t know yet could understand and doing things I’d never dream of doing with abilities I don’t have,” Ralph explains, his body mildly trembling.
“Elaborate,” Nyx commands.
“Well… at first I was in a throne room, and some creatures – orcs, I think – brought prisoners to me. I think they were… looking for something? It’s a bit hazy now… They were to be tortured, and when my subordinates couldn’t get any information, I…” he pauses, remembering the imagery of the beaten, starved, dismembered bodies of the prisoners, becoming nauseous. “I… finished the job myself. I tried to stop myself, but it was as if I was just a spectator of a play, despite experiencing it in the first person. And… I could feel things. Emotions, thoughts, power, presence… it was… surreal.”
“Curious,” Nyx says, remembering that exact scenario, every excruciating detail, which occurred over 4600 years ago. The kingdoms of men, dwarves, elves, halflings, gnomes and dragonborn, the premier races of her world, began to unite to free the world of the scourge she, her master and his other minions had wrought. So, they sent scouting parties to take inventory of the dark lord’s power. Most of them never returned alive. Nox made sure of that.
“I imagine that it is likely a result of your body and mind attempting to reconcile with the magic that now pervades you,” she lies. “If it continues, notify me, and I will try to rectify it.”
“Thank you, master. I think what really creeps me out is how… familiar the voice that came from “my” mouth sounded,” he adds. “I don’t know… anyway, what have you been up to out here? Just thinking?”
“Yes… just thinking,” she responds, pensively, not wanting to reveal why it sounded so familiar. Not yet, anyway. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNblUNiCnUJ
Sylva’s eyes slowly open, her blue irises lazily beholding the side of one of her pillows, the light of the sun eking through the window and running across her face. She is tightly holding the pillow, some saliva escaping from her mouth, her face still tightly pressed against it. Letting go of it and rising from the deprecating position, she stretches, observing that, while she still feels like garbage, she feels much better than she has been feeling. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoMR3coAbhb
“I might even be able to open the shop today!” she thinks, smiling brightly. Optimistic, her mood improves further when she smells a heavenly odor emanating through her door from the main room. Resolved to not be coddled by her new proprietor, she stands up and sorely makes her way to the door. Opening it, she finds her two houseguests sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, a meal consisting of pancakes and breakfast potatoes no doubt made by Nyx. “How did she even make that with what I had in my pantry?” she asks herself before surrendering to her morning hunger.
“Well, look who it is…” Nyx teases. “Finally able to get your own breakfast, I see.”
“Good morning, Sylva,” Ralph greets.
“Good morning to you, too…” she responds, slightly irked at the teasing. “Yes, I feel much better today. Thank you very much for the meal! From now on, I should be perfectly capable of cooking and being a proper host.”
“Completely unnecessary!” Nyx interjects. “As I said before, cooking soothes me. It keeps my body and mind occupied. But, if you insist, may I suggest splitting the duty? I’ll continue to make breakfast while you take over dinner. It was quite nice of you to do that for us last night in your condition. I greatly appreciate it.”
“Same here! You really didn’t have to do that, especially since we had leftovers,” Ralph adds.
“It’s really no problem at all!” she replies, blushing slightly. “And that sounds like a good compromise, Miss Nyx. Did you two have a productive day yesterday?”
“I would say so. We were able to register at the adventurer’s guild and receive counsel from the mage’s guild,” Nyx explains. “And, it turns out that Ralphie here might be a martial savant.”
“Pfft… Ralphie?” Sylva chuckles.
“Master, you said you wouldn’t call me a nickname around other people!” Ralph complains, embarrassed and betrayed.
“Well, technically, she’s a possession of mine… so she’s not technically another person,” Nyx deflects.
“Pfft… possession,” Ralph snorts.
“Alright, I guess I deserved that…” Sylva concedes, wincing. “What ranks did you earn? Based on the criteria, I probably would’ve been given Rank 4 if I had signed up.”
“Rank 9, Goblin,” says Ralph as he pulls out his green medallion.
“Rank 2, Bitch,” says Nyx, lazily pulling out her silver medallion.
“Lich, master, lich…” Ralph corrects.
“Sounds about right…” Sylva jokes, earning a playful glare from Nyx. “Although you deserve it, I’m surprised they awarded that rank to you so easily. Normally adventurers need to earn the trust of the guild to rise above “Vampire”, from what I understand.”
“I think the branch head covets me. He even blackmailed me to be his escort for a night,” Nyx says trivially.
“E-escort?” Sylva asks, blushing as she envisions the cute yet powerful warlock being used and abused in some alleyway by a corrupt city official.
“Just what are you thinking?” asks Nyx, oblivious of the misunderstanding.
“She means date, Sylva, for the king’s gala,” corrects Ralph, who suffers visions similar to those of Sylva’s in his mind. “He offered to remove my bounty in exchange for her accompanying him.”
“Apparently all his friends think he’s gay, and he’s insecure about it to the point he was willing to extort me, of all people,” Nyx adds. “How that man retains his status as a paladin is beyond me… Lumen must be quite the lax deity…”
“Branch head… paladin… you must mean Lucas Strahlend, don’t you?” Sylva connects.
“You know him?” asks Ralph.
“He’s a very famous fighter. Even a decade ago, tales of that genius young Munditorian paladin spread to our capital city. When I went to inquire about registering as an adventurer – before I knew about the ridiculous tax rates, that is – he was the physical examiner, and the skill with which he dispatched the recruits was quite impressive. Today, he stands as one of the principal reasons why the Munditorian military is respected across this part of the world,” she explains.
“He’s also quite the pervert,” Nyx interjects. “His soul was riddled with twitterpation. He soul-ogled me!” Nyx jokes, a mild blush coming over her face, still hating the attraction she now garners from other men.
“I’m afraid I can’t corroborate that particular part of his personality… I’ve heard that he’s an incredibly private and devout individual, not many close friends, but that’s all I really know,” the she-elf continues. “When is the gala supposed to take place? Although I’ve heard of it, our kingdom rarely participated, as our king still holds a grudge against Munditor.”
“He didn’t specify. He simply said that he would send me more details later,” Nyx responds.
“He could’ve at least given you a time frame,” Ralph says.
“How unfortunate…” Sylva laments. “What do you two intend to do today? I think I might open the shop today.”
“I intend on checking out the merchant’s guild. Then, Ralph here must go complete a quest he acquiesced at the guild. Goblin slaying, correct?” Nyx asks.
“Goblin slaying, yeah. I was also told to keep an eye out for a few missing people who might’ve been kidnapped a few days ago. They’re afraid that the goblins might’ve taken them to their nest,” Ralph expounds, shuddering.
“Dreadful… if we weren’t completely shut in by the contagion, we wouldn’t allow such debauchery to pollute our forest,” Sylva bemoans.
“You’ll get the chance to rectify that situation in not too long, my chattel. For now, focus on collecting yourself for the coming days, and let us worry about the wickedness in your wood,” Nyx commands.
“Ch-chattel?!” Sylva asks, somewhat offended.
“You get used to it…” Ralph assures. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5jAyTSN92A
Two elves, one male and one female, brazenly walk into an opulent-looking building on the west side of the city. Upon entry, they’re met with countless dirty looks from bystanders and businessmen alike. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡk9f7LjlJVP
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Master Nyx?” asks the male elf.
“It’s a plan that I came up with, isn’t it?” the female responds, half seriously, half self-deprecatingly. “If we came in our normal human selves, we’d be treated far too warmly. I need to root out the corruption of the merchants, not their ability to kiss ass to earn a profit.”
They quickly make their way to the front desk, behind which a young green-haired woman resides, anxiously watching their approach.
“Good morning, and welcome to the Vaxi Merchant’s Guild. May I help you?” she asks, attempting to hide how uncomfortable she is.
“My name is Concela, and this is Adseclo. We have an appointment with the head. Do you not remember?” the disguised Nyx coldly states, enchanting her words to convince the receptionist.
“Of… course. We’ve been expecting you, Miss Concela,” the girl says, pausing before becoming convinced. “Mr. Premo should be in his office now. Allow me to show you the way,” she says, stepping out from behind the counter and heading deeper into the building.
As the pair are led through the building, the faces of antipathy turn into faces of shock, the bystanders obviously not expecting the unknown elven visitors to be allowed so easily into the bowels of the guild. Eventually, the girl stops at a corner office and knocks on the door.
“Sir Premo, your morning appointment has arrived! May they come in?” she says, matter-of-factly.
“Morning appointment? Strange, I suppose it must have slipped my mind… Very well, it’s no trouble. I’m currently free as it is. Please, enter!” a voice from within the room bellows.
After the response, the girl gently opens the door and waves the duo into the room. As they enter the room, Nyx probes the soul of the expensively dressed man sitting at an equally extravagant desk in the well-decorated room. He’s around 60 years old, 5’10” and somewhat heavyset. His mental attributes seem to be above average, which certainly lend themselves towards a good business acumen, but they’re not particularly remarkable. And, his physical attributes are average at best. He’s certainly not an ideal specimen. His soul telegraphs his analytic nature. He’s deeply curious about his unexpected visitors, and once he notices their elven nature, Nyx feels antipathy and skepticism creep into his previously pure curiosity.
“Please forgive me for my poor memory, my guests. I’m afraid I must have forgotten of our engagement,” he says as he annoyedly shoos away the secretary, who exits and closes the door behind her. “Make yourselves comfortable, and if you would, could you please introduce yourselves? I don’t believe I’ve ever made your acquaintances. My name, as you may know, is Sir Premo Avaritus, the head of this fair city’s merchant’s guild.”
“Well met,” Nyx begins. “My name is Concela Asina, and this is my apprentice, Adseclo Inferus. We are potion sellers from Aurora, the eastern continent. A bit of trifling business, which has resulted in need for an extended stay, has come up in this part of the world, so we were hoping to inquire about obtaining a proper, guild-sanctioned space to sell our wares.”
“Elven potion sellers from Aurora waltzing into my guild… I wouldn’t believe it if it were not happening before my eyes. Bohoho! We do have a couple open kiosks and store fronts at current, and having guild potion sellers would behoove us greatly, as normally we must suffer the bureaucracy of the mage’s guild to obtain potions… But I would very much like to sample your merchandise before I proceed with further negotiations.”
“Understandable, sir,” Nyx says as she begins rooting through her bag, soon producing a potion containing transparent liquid and what appears to be a purple fingernail. “Please, examine this, or drink it, if you so desire. It will certainly prove our worth to your guild,” she affirms, handing the concoction she produced to the man.
“I’ve never seen the like… let’s see what we have here…” he says, slightly perturbed at the contents of the vial he’s been given as he pulls a tattered scroll from one of the drawers in his desk. When he opens it, Nyx immediately recognizes it as an Identify scroll. “Identify!” he shouts, causing information on the potion to flood his mind. “Giant strength?! Well, blow me down! This is quite the potion! Do you have more of such high-quality wares?”
“Ha! What do you take me for?” Nyx asks, producing several more of the same type of potion, as well as other potions, from her bag.
“Splendid! Splendid!” the guild master shouts, his soul radiating satisfaction. “I think we just might have a deal! When would you like to discuss the… particulars?” he asks, a more sinister undertone entering his being, greed slithering from the creases of his joy.
“I’m afraid we will be unable to stay this morning or the next couple days, as we must take care of other urgent business… Would an appointment in three days’ time suffice?” Nyx asks.
“Certainly! Certainly, my friends! Please, inform my secretary on your way out so you have no problems seeing me at that time, the same time as today, if that is acceptable.”
“It would be. Come, Adseclo,” she says, slightly bowing her head to the guild master before beginning to depart.
“It was a pleasure, sir,” Ralph adds, following his teacher.212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu0qi93oLOu
“So, he felt as sleazy as Sylva implied?” Ralph asks, now bereft of his disguise. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzSHWRsNgdc
“As soon as he thought of how he might stand to profit off my potions, his soul started to ooze avarice and malintent. I’m looking forward to our… conversation in three days,” Nyx states, grinning wickedly.
“Why am I afraid that conversation isn’t exactly the right word choice?” Ralph worries aloud.
“Don’t worry. Your fears are completely valid,” Nyx confirms. “At any rate, we are now free to pursue your first quest as my student. First, though, we should procure you a proper blade and armor. Your current set is less than stellar. The guild seemed to have a suitable array, and they just might give me a discount for being so highly ranked…”
“Are you really the same person who paid Sylva in platinum bars?” Ralph asks. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQCiELCinFc
Winona is hard at work in the guild’s smithy, where she has developed great physical strength from years of passionate labor. Tempering a blade she had previously annealed in the forge, she muses over a proper handle to attach to it. Being in the smithy soothes her immensely, sears away her normal sheepishness. Her reading glasses, useless for now, currently lie on a workbench. The scorching heat of the forge emboldens her and reminds her of her beloved father, an elvish smith from whom she inherited the trade. She’s an interesting breed of cleric, her domain being that of knowledge yet pledging herself to the service of Fornax, god of smiths. Her love of knowledge stems from her mother’s influence, as she was a renowned scholar, specializing in minerology. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu6j4UGua6T
Eventually finishing the tempering and cooling the blade, she puts it aside and begins searching for a suitable handle upon which to fix it. Before she’s able to finish, however, she hears the bell of the sales counter ringing.
“Ah! Coming!” she yells, flinching as she’s broken out of her contemplation. Exiting her forge and entering the guild hall proper, she reflexively begins greeting her customer, still emboldened by her time in the smithy. “Welcome to the guild armory! How may I help you to-,” she pauses as she recognizes the familiar face of Ralph, his indiscriminate hazel eyes instantly obliterating all of her courage.
“Oh, hey there, Miss Winona! I didn’t expect to find you at the weapon’s shop,” he says, pleasantly surprised.
“Ah… y-yes, I’m a c-c-cleric of Fo-Fornax, so…” she responds, internally screeching, a blush beginning to come over her face.
“Fornax?! This adorable half-elf is a blacksmith?!” Ralph thinks, astounded. “Smart and tough, eh? That’s really amazing!” he blurts out.
“Ah… don’t say something like that. I’ll die…” she thinks, becoming more flushed and flustered. “Th-thank y-you, but… it’s r-really not th-that…” she stutters, avoiding eye contact.
“Alright, love birds, let’s hurry along now. Mating season has already come to pass,” interjects Nyx, hidden behind Ralph.
“Ah! M-miss Nyx, hel-hello…” Winona greets, surprised. “L-l-love birds?”
“Master, please don’t say things like that,” he replies, the unpleasant thought of Ashley the wizard’s “couple” misunderstanding yesterday still fresh in his mind. “But yeah, Miss Winona, we’d like to buy a longsword today.”
“O-oh, in that case… I’ve just fin-finished one in the f-forge, so you c-c-could pick a handle for it, if y-you’d like…” Winona offers, nervously twiddling her fingers.
“That would be great! Thank you!” Ralph exclaims, eager to customize his own weapon, causing Winona to timidly smile.
“N-no problem… P-please, c-come in,” she says, waving them into her forge. “It wasn’t just a fluke… he really doesn’t seem to be bothered about me being a half-elf,” she thinks as his honest gaze, words, and actions, of both today and yesterday, fill her mind.
“By the way… how much will it cost?” asks Nyx, intent on divining a discount, as she follows Ralph.
“W-well, since you are p-proper guild members… there’s a 10% d-discount, so it would be about 13 gold pieces and 5 s-silver pieces,” Winona responds, allowing Nyx to enter before her. Noticing the blade affixed to the warlock’s back, Winona starts to internally geek out, staring at the sword intently.
“Not terrible,” Nyx accepts, feeling curiosity bubble up in the half-elf behind her. Peering back as they walk into the forge, the warlock inquires about the smith’s interest. “Is there something the matter?”
“O-oh… it’s just… your sword… it’s beautifully made,” Winona answers. “I can tell that whoever forged it poured immense time and effort into its creation. The sheen of the blade, the unique temper pattern, even the cross-guard and hilt are all marks of both a masterfully made and maintained blade,” she continues, her speech losing its stutter.
“Ha! Forsooth, you have a good eye, the mark of a great smith. Would you like to take a closer look? You’re practically salivating,” Nyx both compliments and teases, beginning to unstrap it from her back.
“Y-yes! Very much, please… Thank you, miss,” Winona says as she takes the sword from Nyx. When it enters her grasp, Winona immediately notices the magic power overflowing in the blade. The magic seems to flow through her, as if she is a conduit, causing her to feel a strange array of emotions: malice, rage, terror, ecstasy, confusion, love, and a deep melancholy, which almost brings her to tears. Pushing past those feelings, she continues to admire the masterful craftsmanship, and upon perusing its form, she eventually finds a small inscription, in an unknown language, on its cross-guard. This is strange to her, as she is familiar with an extensive number of languages, being of the cleric domain of knowledge.
“What does this inscription read? I’ve never seen such a language…”
“In the common tongue, it reads thus: Evitonex, Eater and Render of Souls, First Son and Glutton of Dolus, Bane of Angdor, Hunter of the Mighty,” Nyx responds, her intonation darkening. “It’s written in a foul, ancient tongue, which I shall neither utter nor name here,” she states, her thoughts involuntarily drifting to an age long past, much to her chagrin.
“Dolus… I’ve never heard that name. Are they the smith? And Angdor… is that not the land from which you said you hail, miss? Why would this be considered the bane of an entire country?” asks Winny, who wants to know everything about the masterpiece she holds.
“Dolus is indeed the name of the maker of this blade, but he has been dead for millennia, so don’t expect to be able to ask him for pointers,” Nyx begins. “And, yes, Angdor is my native land, though it had fallen long before even Dolus’ death, with the root cause of its fall being this sword. Now, if you’d please…” she says, snapping her fingers, causing the blade to disappear from Winona’s hands and re-appear in Nyx’s hands.
“Ah… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” apologizes the half-elf, not meaning to offend. “I just get so excited when I see a good sword… especially one of Evitonex’s caliber.”
“Don’t worry yourself. You haven’t bothered me,” she lies.
In truth, her mind is now plagued with bitter memories that she had long been suppressing, which were triggered at the utterance of the name “Dolus”, straining her psyche.
“You should be more worried about what havoc Ralph might be wreaking upon your forge while we idly chat,” she deflects, trying to change the subject. At that, they both look deeper into the room and find Ralph holding a cross-guard and handle, staring longingly at it. Nyx can sense a deep sadness within his soul.
“O-oh! H-have you f-f-found one you l-like?” Winona asks as she heads toward him, her stutter returning. Upon getting closer, she sees that he seems to be inspecting a silver guard with two well-cut aquamarines embossed within its ends, their beautiful teal sheen glimmering dully from the flickering flames of the forge. Ralph had been drawn to it, since the gemstones were the exact color of his mother’s eyes.
“Yeah…” he whispers, a pensive smile coming over his face.
Although he is saddened by such a poignant reminder of his mother, he finds himself feeling oddly consoled at the same time. He thinks about all the times he had returned home, dirty and with his clothes torn, after playing with the other village boys. She would always chastise him, lament over the extra work he was causing her. But, without fail, she would always ask him if he had fun as she collected his clothes to repair. The look of pure, unconditional love in her beautiful teal eyes as she skillfully, happily sewed his clothes back together while she waited for her husband, Ralph’s father, to come home so she could relate the day’s occurrences to him had stayed with Ralph, the memory of that look being part of what kept Ralph going.
“I think I have,” he says, turning to look at Winona, whose disheveled hair and avoidant gaze block her own teal eyes.
“G-great…” she says, happy she will be able to use that particular handle, aquamarines being among her favorite gemstones. “If you c-could just take it over to th-that work bench o-over th-there, I’ll attach it in a j-jiffy,” she says, pointing to a nearby table.
As she begins working, her inhibitions seem to melt away, her body and mind visibly relaxing as her sheepishness is singed away, replaced with a cool confidence, a small yet confident smile appearing on her face. Adjusting her auburn hair away from her face, she reveals her teal eyes, which shimmer from the flickering forge fires, much like the aquamarines. That sight, coupled with both her obvious enjoyment of her work and the skill of her labor, makes Ralph’s heart skip a beat. Before, he had thought her adorable, but now… she was stunning. That look of joy in her work reminded him so much of his parents, who, despite not having the most glamorous of jobs, never seemed to despair in their toil.
His father would always come home with a smile on his face, even after a day of backbreaking labor. Sometimes, he’d show Ralph around a construction site, lifting him along with a heavy wooden beam, swinging him around on it, and laughing as much as his child. His mother always looked so at peace when she was sewing. Her fingers flit about the fabric with the needle, the fibers coalescing as if by magic into the most beautiful of items, despite the cheap nature of the textiles available to her. The twinkle in her eyes is a sight he could never forget, and he was seeing it again, right here, right now, ten years later. Before he knows it, he starts shamelessly gawking at the half-elf. Nyx, noticing and feeling Ralph’s blatant attraction, simply snickers to herself and continues watching the impressive handiwork of Winona.
Soon finished affixing the blade to the guard and handle, Winona smiles with pride, pleased by the fruit of her labor. Turning toward her customers, she’s met by the sight of the handsome Ralph, mouth ajar and eyes glazed over, shamelessly staring at her, causing her to snap back to reality.
“I-Is there s-s-something wrong, R-Ralph?” she asks, her face turning crimson.
“Yes, Ralph, whatever is the matter?” adds Nyx.
“Ah! Nothing! I wasn’t staring at anything!” he claims, jarred from his trance. “Th-thank you so much, Miss Winona! You look great – I mean, it looks great!” he stumbles.
“N-no problem at all! I’m hap… happy you like it…” Winona replies, smiling cutely as she presents him with his new sword, not registering Ralph’s Freudian slip. Heading to a large cabinet, she pulls out a scabbard for the sword from one of its many drawers.
“Th-this should be a good f-fit,” she says, handing it to him. Ralph holds his new blade high, admiring its shine and the glow of the gems on the guard, before hilting it into the scabbard, content beyond measure.
“How much did you say we owe you?” he asks.
“Ah… 13 gold and 5 silver,” she responds. “I-if you don’t have the five s-silver, I’d be willing to… overlook it…”
“Nonsense!” Ralph yells, digging into his satchel and pulling out the required money to hand to her. “I couldn’t take advantage of you like that.”
“Ha! I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to pay for it,” interjects Nyx, enjoying watching the flustered pair, eliciting a quick glare from Ralph.
“Th-thank you kindly…” says Winona, giggling from Nyx’s interjection. “I-Is there anything else I can d-do for you today?”
“He would also like a set of studded leather,” responds Nyx.
“O-of course. That would c-cost about 40 g-gold pieces.”
“F-forty gold?” croaks Ralph, his coffers already nearly empty from buying the sword, weakly turning his head to his teacher in a desperate plea for help.
“Oh? Have I finally been reduced to a bank?” asks Nyx, thoroughly enjoying the sight. “Very well, but you will pay me back,” she says, handing Winona the funds after a quick reach into her pockets.
“Thank you, master…” Ralph sighs.
“L-let’s get you f-fitted, then, Ralph,” Winona says, grabbing a measure from a table. “P-please, hold your arms out at your s-sides,” she asks, taking measurements of his chest, waist and shoulders, the crimson hue on her face deepening. Once done, she heads to a large rack of light armor and finds a suitable sized piece for Ralph, handing it to him. Once he puts it on and fixes his sword and sheath to his hip, he poses heroically.
“How do I look?” he asks, feigned hubris radiating from him.
“Like a knobhead…” Nyx coldly states, causing Ralph to recoil.
“Haha… you look quite d-dashing, R-Ralph,” comforts Winona. “I-Is there anything else I c-can help you with?”
“No, I think that should suffice,” Nyx states. “Thank you for your time and effort.”
“Yeah, thank you so much, Miss Winona! I’m ready for anything now!” Ralph assures.
“I-It was n-nothing… p-please, come back anytime. Anytime at all,” she says, smiling.
Once they say their goodbyes and the warlock duo depart, Winona heads back into her forge, where she promptly loses her cool over touching Ralph during the measuring.
“Ah… I touched him… And he was staring… I must’ve looked like such a dork…” she thinks. 212Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoh86aWfy9W
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