The Winding Road: New Boots

By Frank Gori

Zool heard the crackle and crash of lightning, which conveniently masked the sound of him kicking in the backdoor. The door crashed hard into whoever was on the other side, which was fine by Zool.

He rushed in buckler forward, with his sword held in a menacing guard across his body, pistol crossbow ready in the other hand. Magic was the wrong play against mages, hitting hard and fast was better.

Sides weren’t hard to figure, the School’s hideout was a repurposed warehouse with a second floor addition. This meant the first floor was mostly just one huge room with columns. A Half-Elf male with a bow, an Ogre female with a shield spell and a two handed axe, a Gren girl with a wand ready standing in front of an assortment of children, and a couple elderly on one side. About half a dozen crazy eyed sorcerers, all young males, still standing on the other. Another eight or so bodies littered the ground.

Three things become clear in the seconds it took Zool to cross the ground between him and his first target. First, the old folks and kids were all counter-spelling the magic-crazed sorcerers, which is why the addicts were losing. Second, bees were enveloping a couple of his targets toward the front, and finally his enemies had no idea he was behind them.

It was over in two sword strokes and a quick crossbow bolt. Bard-songs make battles sound fancy and romantic, but in Zool’s experience battle was always like this, short, brutal and bloody. The men were barely winning against the ragtag assortment of folk to begin with; flanking surprise attacks in rapid succession were all it took to turn the tide. The fellow with the bow knew how and when to shoot, so this wasn’t his first dust up. Ogre girl had some power, just lacked some sense, and singed Zool a bit with a poorly placed fireball.

Fight being over meant the hard part. The part that Zool elected to skip when he could. Lazeron could do the talking, Laz could sort out the aftermath and count the dead. Zool muttered a few words and gestured. As he suspected, a number of the dead had items that glowed a soft blue. With a smile, Zool went to work stripping them of anything of worth.

The archer kid racked up a few kills despite the baby-face. Always was hard to tell age with elf bloods. That kid could have five decades on Zool. Deadly with a bow, but he was watching Laz talk like sons watch their fathers when the father was still a god to them. Zool made sure to retrieve his arrows as he worked.

Laz was in full speech mode, explaining that the folk that wanted to follow him could but they’d be leaving everything. In Zool’s estimation there really wasn’t a choice, from what he could see about half the gang was either dead or already left to join rival schools. This neighborhood was about to get split up by neighboring schools and there’d be blood over who got what. Laz’s strays didn’t fit neat into that, they’d come with or become fresh meat in a turf war.

Zool didn’t like to go to his kills right away. He liked to build anticipation while gauging exactly who had what that he didn’t kill. Made it more exciting when he had clues but no real evidence of what he’d find. As it stood the dead here clearly raided an arsenal of gear or Laz was an overly generous leader. Fourteen dead, counting Zool’s three and a half. He was about half through, the anticipation was really building.

Sun would be up in an hour or so and Zool really wanted to be out of the mage controlled district by then. Only a fool wouldn’t take Laz’s offer, so the question and answer session was just wasting time. But now Zool was done with the others he could make claims on his three.

The two wands were obvious enough, but the wandless mage had a silver ring with a stylized rams head that soon graced Zool’s crossbow finger. Another had a pair of emerald earrings that didn’t glow blue but would fetch a nice price. A nice silken cape and shirt on one of the wand fellows along with a belt buckle and an exquisite set of boots. Zool was pleased in particular with the boots. They glowed strong and a good sunder always had to mind their feet.

A quick riffle through the purses got Zool about 2 months pay and a tiny ebony fly. Even trying on his new gear, Zool was done in just a few minutes and people were still arguing. Fuck it, there was no time for this.

Zool closed the distance with a blur his sword clearing the scabbard silent and swift as a breath. He drew a single drop of blood from the cantankerous one’s throat as everyone gasped in shock at his speed and audacity.

“Each word you speak wastes time we don’t have. If you don’t want to come then perhaps I should do you the mercy of a swift death,” Zool spoke the words calmly and softly, his gaze was hard and met all that dared. “Lazeron is kind, he cares for your well being. I, on the other hand, can care less. I’ve been paid to get him in and out safely with or without you, so choose now. We have about forty minutes before the dawn and I do not want to be anywhere near here when that happens.”

Zool withdrew his blade and turned his back on them. “I piled the useful items from the dead over to the left, I recommend you take a moment to arm yourselves better, and then fall the fuck in,” he said as he walked out the back.

Everyone was ready about five minutes later. Zool hated the talking part.

The Winding Road: Sunder Zool Swiftblade

By Frank Gori

Zool wore a tight smile as his eyes swept the room once more. Only those who spent enough time with the Geato Abira would even notice the smile, as lizardman reptilian faces were hard to read for mammals. It was his all-business smile, one his employer Malleck would recognize.

Despite being a blacksmith, Zool wasn’t very muscular. His strength was unremarkable and he was undersized, even for a Geato Abira male. Sometimes mammals assumed he was an adolescent, or simply assumed he was weak. Those who underestimated his abilities soon learned otherwise; the broken sword tattooed on his sword arm signified his skill at arms, though few recognized the meaning.

Malleck, Zool’s employer, was of mixed heritage. The blend of elvish and orchish traits seemed to work on the mammalian females. Zool was hopeless with women and occasionally liked to watch Malleck work his charms in hopes of learning something. Geato women found his mastery of steel too feminine. Being a warrior was women’s work.

The Sawhorse Tavern was a shit place for a meet. Place was crowded, and the spilt beer and scattered oyster shells would be murder on footwork if the night called for a fight. Unsurprisingly, the furniture seemed to be of solid construction, it was after all a carpenter’s bar. Zool made a mental note of every chair, table, and stool that would hold his weight, he also noted that the carved log booth corner Malleck chose was too far from the exits for a quick escape. He flexed his sword hand, if it things went south Zool and Malleck were going to have to fight their way out of this dive. Part of him hoped for a fight.

The Blacksmith Guild took him as a Sunder, accepted for his power of destruction rather than his gifts as a creator. Zool was recognized for his abilities rather then judged by his sex. His craft work on any object other than horseshoes was entirely unsuitable for sale, and so he was most commonly trusted with tool sharpening when they didn’t have sunder work. He simply wasn’t gifted with the creative power of a Smith. Dealing death was his gift.

Zool heard a song in all metal, which defied explanation and was somehow tied to his magic. Very few Magus could master the talents, but steel bent to his will in a variety of ways. Zool could sense every scrap of metal nearby, and could attract iron headed arrows to his shield. He could lighten his armor, call his sword to his hand within ten feet, and more easily part the armor of an enemy. His ability to cut steel like paper was why he wore the Sunder badge, in some ways the dedication he applied to his craft defined him.

Zool could move through various fencing maneuvers with the fluidity of quicksilver and the speed of a striking serpent. His techniques were unorthodox, no other Sunder strapped a buckler to their sword arm melding defense an offense in an intentional imbalance. He wore a tail spike that sometimes drew laughter, but only with those who didn’t witness its use.

Every Workman carried his tools and most of those tools doubled as weapons. The bar patrons were all armed, and about a third of the room carried blue hatchets of high quality. A small group of them kept glancing at Malleck, telegraphing their intent. One of them kept mindlessly stroking his axe, which was just obvious. Given the numbers, Zool didn’t like the odds. If things got dicey, he and Malleck would both have to use magic. If the Chaos Man realized that, his reaction would just make things worse.

Zool muttered to Malleck, “you always bring me to the nicest places.” It was a code, a heads up for his client to prepare for trouble. Zool shifted his weight on his stool and quietly repositioned his hand. The stool was far enough back so he could clear his scabbard on a cross draw. Zool recognized the implications of the Workman’s impatience, they were waiting for the mage.

Zool took a pull off his hip flask, and new strength coursed through him. The five grunts knew he made them and were boldly striding forward. Zool accessed the floor space and made a decision. As he hopped forward to close on the five orcs he spotted the crossbowman.

A swift act of will and a flick of his wrist and he snapped the bolt out of the air, the strike made a note that pleased Zool. Three of the group of five that were to swarm in got tangled up by a clumsy waitress, making it an uneven two against one, Zool decided on the larger one first. Killing him quickly would put the odds even more in Zool’s favor.

Just as he closed with his intended foe, something struck the orc from behind and killed him. One of the two tangled with the waitress was clutching his heart and someone yelled “Shenanigans!”

A dagger flashed past Zool and landed squarely in the throat of the crossbowman, and about a dozen calm faced killers stood up as the rest of the bar erupted into Chaos.

Zool smiled, hazard pay was triple.

Blacksmiths' Guild: An Overview

by D'Artagnon Wells

Anyone can pound a piece of iron, just as anyone can put paint on canvas or apply a chisel to marble. Going through the motions is easy enough, but becoming a Blacksmith is a path which should not be taken lightly. Being a Blacksmith is more than a grunt job, more than gates and door fittings and shoeing beasts of burden. A Blacksmith is an artist in every aspect of their life, their call requires dedication, sacrifice, education. Art is a selfish profession that takes a heavy tithe from the artist, and in a world oozing chaos one needs to be careful when they open the doors to their soul.

Desylinn is shifting constantly on the sands of chaos and Blacksmiths have elected themselves the official steady anchor of order. Their training includes mining, artistry, metallurgy, and of course, Smithing. They go through rigorous self mastery and weapon training and are not allowed to make anything they do not know how to use. Most monasteries have their adepts choose a path which allows employment in various industries like farming, construction or the military.

Five monasteries make up the Blacksmiths Quarter in Hub: the Anvil, Might, Muse, Forge, and Hammer. These monasteries are united under their banner as Smiths, but this unity is a strained peace at best.

The Anvil are children of the earth and pay homage to Ariga, the Goddess of Earth, as the earth is the original anvil. They believe they are stewards of her home and they take responsibility for her balance and care. Mining is only done as needed with as small a footprint possible. The sanctity of environmental habitats always take precedence over ore collection. Blacksmiths of the Anvil are selective in what they make, ensuring their art does no harm. They do make weapons, but as tools of peace and justice. If their art is used in the harm of life or environment, it is their responsibility to correct that imbalance.

The Might are introspective. All creation stems from the Blacksmith, therefore it is the responsibility of the Blacksmith to master Self. The anvil, hammer, and forge are all extensions of the Blacksmith and inspiration is also found within. Smiths of the Might strive to help others master themselves and embark on service missions. Staunch pacifists and philosophers, they act as mediators by the other guilds. If something they create causes imbalance, they take it personally, since the art is an extension of their self. If part of yourself is causing a disruption then you are imbalanced.

The Muse are the inspirational center of the Blacksmiths. If you have metal, heat and a hammer,  you have art. The Muse' believe the mind is a playground to be explored, messed up, taken to the limit and then beyond because it is through shattering conceived rules and laws that new boundaries can be defined and order achieved. The only governing law of the Muse is to create.

The Forge Blacksmiths seek to master life, as Daras, the Goddess of Death is the master of all life. Given this focus their main production and training is in weaponry. They are extremely focused on the end user of their product. They have no inner conflict if something they created has caused pain, since that is what it was created for. The forge is an unforgiving, yet even-handed mistress, destroying all imperfections to bring a beautiful order from chaos. The Forge, as a monastery, maintains detached neutrality from politics, but will usually lean toward the flow of gold.

The monks of the Hammer are academics first and Blacksmiths second. Knowledge is power; where and how hard the hammer is swung determines the success or failure of creation. The Hammer will sacrifice everything to attain knowledge, even their own health. They specialize in unique, hard to create items, seeking the secrets of forging and soulbinding which lead to the downfall of the Elves.

The Might and Anvil keep close ties, and the two can tolerate the Muse. While the Forge cares little of other Blacksmiths, the one thing these four monasteries agree on is their overwhelming distrust of the Hammer. As a Blacksmith loyalties lie first with the monastery, second with other Blacksmiths and third with others, including family, friends or country. The Might and Hammer will take on vows of celibacy, but others take spouses and rear families if the time permits. Those who do so early in their career rarely rise to prominence.

The Blacksmith Quarter is fiercely defensive of it's members. If someone messes with a Blacksmith, they catch heat from the entire Quarter, even if that Blacksmith is from the Hammer. They work well with the Merchant and Music guilds, oft times providing militia or weapons for caravans and events. Blacksmiths hold a strong distaste for the Mage's Guild and currently have pulled all Smiths from their District. Their relationship with the Workman's Guild is as complex as their leadership, so the Blacksmiths tolerate them on a person-by-person basis. However, during the First Shenanigan the Blacksmiths did not actively partake in the riots, but did suspend operations, holding protest in support of the Workman's Guild.

Titles vary between monasteries, but the general hierarchy starts with a Master Blacksmith as head and a Master Artisan as their second. Other titles or positions include Master Forge, usually reserved for dragon members of repute, Weapons Master, and Bosun, who is in charge of handing out work assignments to students and overseeing commercial production.

Despite their inner squabbles Blacksmiths are staunch pragmatists and understand the need for unity, if only the outward appearance of unity. A few endeavors the monasteries maintain cooperatively, namely the Master Council, Artisan Council, Militia, Bosun Council, and the Billows.

The governing body of the Guild is the Master Council, who meet when something affects the Quarter as a whole: political matters, riots, an attack on Hub, etc. They have a volunteer militia comprised of an equal number of Smiths from each monastery and governed by the monastery Weapons Masters who take turns as Watch Commanders. Any Blacksmith derelict in their duty, causing trouble in other districts, or practicing their trade without Guild permission are dealt with swiftly and severely.

Any guild needing the specialized skills of a Blacksmith must send a request, a work order, to the Quarter job bank. These orders are bid on by the Bosun Council who send bid details back to the requesting guild, parchments being void of any monastery identification. The requesting Guild chooses, and a monastery Smith is sent out to accomplish the job. The Guild operates a cooperative shop for mass production jobs, headed by the Artisan Council.

You never see a non-sanctioned shop set up. On the off chance one springs up, the upstart is replaced quietly with a legitimate Blacksmith who works the shop for a week or two while the upstart smith is away for 'personal reasons' then just as quietly closes the shop, redirecting business to the nearest sanctioned Smith.

Blacksmiths are rarely poached as they have decent working relationships with the Merchants and Musicians and are willing to work with them. Lone laborers and foremen from the Workman's will try bullying tactics, but they have little bite for all their barking. The real threat comes from the Mage's Guild since the Blacksmiths have severed ties. If a member goes missing, Mage disappearances increase until their brother or sister is returned. However, there are times when Blacksmiths will leave their order for one reason or another and voluntarily join the Mage Guild ranks, working the forge in secret. When this happens a Billows is created. The Billows is a five member team comprised of the top student from each monastery who hunt down the offending apostate and remove both forearms and punish those harboring them. They will also destroy any projects the apostate was working on.

The Blacksmiths have proven themselves as artists, shrewd capitalists, fierce fighters, and a multi-faceted Guild. Their ability to work together toward the common goal of Order and fierce inter-guild loyalty makes it possible to rebuff any attempts on their Quarter and profession. They are honorable men and women, who believe in being honor bound to their word. Even if they aren't very decent words, you can always rely on them to deliver and follow through.