<font size="3">Alright so I've sat on this one for long enough and it's time for it to rear it's head (whether it's an ugly head or not is entirely subjective). Questions, comments, concerns, always welcome; happy reading.<br>John Burman aka Fox Marine<br>-------------------------------------------------<br><br><br></font> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>My name is Gordon Argentarge, Master Smith of Metamor Keep and … well OK that’s all but it still sounds like a good start.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>It started like just about every other day had since I came to Metamor last summer.<span style=""> </span>It was still cool out but the sun was shining and promised spring was not far in
coming, though it did not yet reach into the valley.<span style=""> </span>Crawling out from under the coarse sheets on my pallet, I glared up the board supported above me.<span style=""> </span>Giving it a sharp kick I was rewarded for my efforts with a groan and the sound of someone rolling over.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Standing up and yawning, I said, “Get up, ya lazy lump, we’ve got work to do.<span style=""> </span>The timber crews came in last night and I’ll be damned if they don’t have something that needs fixing or sharpening.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>All I got was a moan and my
apprentice pulling his sheet tighter around his head.<span style=""> </span>Glaring at the lump under the sheet I walked over to the end of the pallets and gave my ultimatum, “If you don’t get out of there yourself you will regret it.”<span style=""> </span>Again another groan.<span style=""> </span>Grabbing the backside of the board and keeping the front down I unceremoniously dumped the contents of the bed out onto the floor.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Clawing his way out from the tangled knot that had served as his haven in bed, my son glared at me.<span style=""> </span>“What did ya do that for?”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>“Cause you didn’t get up.<span style=""> </span>Now git going, before I have to force you to do that too.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Following my son cum apprentice into the smithy, I watched as he began to get things ready for the day, mentally noting his actions for future instruction.<span style=""> </span>Thankfully he was a good student and I didn’t have to reprimand anything.<span style=""> </span>Once he had piled the coal into the forge I ambled over to get the fires lit.<span style=""> </span>Reaching in to activate the various runes on the inner walls I was careful to get them all just right.<span style=""> </span>Now, just because I can work these spells, by no means am
I a mage.<span style=""> </span>If someone wanted to fry off all my fur with some fire spell there is next to nothing I could do about it ‘cept to run away screaming like a little girl.<span style=""> </span>Yeah, I said fur.<span style=""> </span>Of the curses here both Daniel and I were hit with the animal one.<span style=""> </span>At one time after I changed Daniel told me I was a genet, not that that tells me much.<span style=""> </span>He on the other hand, is, according to some traveling merchant, a corsac fox.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>For those of you who, like me, get out about as much as a vampire in daylight, a genet looks a lot like a common cat but with a longer tail.<span style=""> </span>My ears are somewhat larger than most of the cats I
know and more rounded as well.<span style=""> </span>I have large white patches under both eyes and black spots in rows down my back.<span style=""> </span>My tail is stripped like a raccoons but like I said, much longer.<span style=""> </span>It is, in fact, longer than I am tall – a great bother when trying to close a door.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Daniel however, looks like a fox with a coyote’s fur, only a little lighter.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Finishing the magic shtick, I got around to actually lighting the fire.<span style=""> </span>This in itself is a kind of art as
sometimes the fire takes a lot of coxing and at other times it decides to light all at once.<span style=""> </span>More than once I’ve singed the hairs halfway up my arm and trust me, burning fur does not smell good.<span style=""> </span>This time the coal and magic combined nicely and it did neither, lighting clean and evenly.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Kicking at my apprentice’s tail to open the shop I began to get the little things ready for the day, checking hammerheads, wiping the anvil, mindlessly working on nothing.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>As I had expected the timber crews came by early
and dropped off some axes and other lumber stuff I could make but not name, among them a few hooks and levers of one kind or another.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Working loose the wedge holding the handle into an axe head I tossed the blade in the forge and flipped some red embers around it.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Daniel, git back on the bellows, and heat this.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Bending his back over the lever, Daniel
began to inflate the great bellows and fell into a rhythm that gave a steady flow of air to the fire.<span style=""> </span>Listening to the gentle wheezing of the old leather, I pulled a hammerhead tongs from my belt and reached for the axe.<span style=""> </span>Now if you don’t know much about metal work, a hammerhead tongs is shaped kind of like an ice tongs, the picks fitting into the handle eye of whatever you’re working with.<span style=""> </span>Pulling the now evenly glowing head from the fires I began to roughly resharpen the blade by beating out a new edge.<span style=""> </span></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><font size="3">Now, if you’ve ever watched a blacksmith work you know that not every stroke strikes the piece.<span style=""> </span>Lots of folk will tell you about magic and superstitions around the smith and his hammers
but it’s really just a matter of energy conservation.<span style=""> </span>When you spend all day swinging a two pound hammer your arm will eventually get tired.<span style=""> </span>To help with this problem every third stroke strikes flat on the anvil face.<span style=""> </span>The hardened face of both the hammer and the anvil bounce the hammer back up much easier than the softened metal of the work piece.<span style=""> </span></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Satisfied with the new edge I threw the cooling metal in the slack tub and was rewarded with a hiss and cloud of steam.<span style=""> </span>Pulling the dull gray metal from the water, Daniel carried it over to the grindstone with me following close behind.<span style=""> </span>Sitting at the
wheel, he began to treadle the foot pedal, spinning the stone faster until he could begin to grind the edge.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Once Daniel had finished with his work at the wheel he handed me the head and went back to the bellows.<span style=""> </span>Setting the axe on the anvil I reached down next to the forge and seized a large, heavy iron bar.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Placing the bar in the forge I waited while Daniel worked it almost white hot.<span style=""> </span>Taking the bar in a heavy tongs and the axe in another, I laid the bar across the back side of the head and
watched.<span style=""> </span>Now, the curse gave me some things that are very useful like sharp eyesight and reflexes like I had never dreamed, unfortunately it also took its tolls too.<span style=""> </span>I gained excellent hearing but that also means that now I can’t even hope to work without a cap over my ears, holding them folded back over my head and covered in cloth.<span style=""> </span>I also lost my color vision.<span style=""> </span>I have found though that if I concentrate as hard as I can that I can just start to see some colors.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Focusing, I watched the bright bar and the cool axe head where they touched.<span style=""> </span>Slowly I could see some of the red in the bar and watched as a veritable rainbow of colors
began to flow down the axe to the edge as the heat transferred from the bar.<span style=""> </span>First a straw yellow, then bronze, next was a clear purple, and last a cold blue.<span style=""> </span>Once the yellow had faded of the end off the point and been entirely replaced by bronze I quickly dunked the head in oil and began to move it beneath the surface in lazy circles.<span style=""> </span>I wish I could keep the kind of concentration to see colors all the time but it gives me a terrible headache, so I let thoughts of color fade and with them watched the room return to gray. Drawing the ax back from the oil I could still see some of the different shading that was the colors.<span style=""> </span>Taking a piece of cloth I began to polish the blade removing excess oil and slowly obliterating some of the color.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>Thankfully I have an agreement with the carpenter’s guild that I can put handles back into axes and other sundry items without violating Guild laws so long as I give them a commission from all such acts.<span style=""> </span>Also I can only return old handles to the socket, never a new one.<span style=""> </span>Placing the completed ax against the wall I reached for the next one in line.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Before I had a chance to remove the wedge however, someone knocked on the front sill of the smithy.<span style=""> </span>Now this in itself nothing unusual as customers are always coming around to talk, but this knock sounded different.<span style=""> </span>It was more sure
of itself and knew that it was important, the knocker did not want to have to wait and didn’t expect to be kept waiting.<span style=""> </span>Heaving a sigh to myself I nodded to Daniel and dropped the axe back against the wall.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Hurrying forward, wagging his tail behind him, Daniel quickly inquired as to the unknown’s identity and purpose.<span style=""> </span>Turning to me he said, “It’s a royal messenger and he says he has a message for you from the patrol master.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Signaling Daniel back into the shop I made my way forward, not too quickly
though.<span style=""> </span>No sense giving the impression that I had nothing better to do than run to messengers.<span style=""> </span>Besides, I’m a freeman, not some villein or serf who has to grovel and scrape everywhere he goes.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Stepping to the door, I beheld a coyote prancing from one foot to the next as if anxious to be off again, either that or he didn’t like the muddy slush that had formed in front of the door from the melting snows.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Gordon Argentarge, I have a message for you from Patrol Master George.”<span style=""> </span>He
practically barked the message at me as he extended a sealed parchment.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Glancing at the paper, I looked back at the messenger without taking it.<span style=""> </span>Ok, so freeman I may be but educated I ain’t.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span>“Right,” He said, coughing quietly to himself and withdrawing the envelope, opening it as he did.<span style=""> </span>“Gordon Argentarge, Keep Smith, as a resident of the keep you are hereby required to perform occasional patrol duties in service to and defense of Metamor Keep.<span style=""> </span>For your
patrol you are to meet Elena’s squad at the main gate at midday prepared for a two day patrol.<span style=""> </span>Patrol Master.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Patrol duties?<span style=""> </span>Do I look like a soldier to you?”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“You came to the keep wearing armor and bearing weaponry.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“That doesn’t mean I’m a soldier!”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font
size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“I just deliver the messages.<span style=""> </span>Midday is in two hours.”<span style=""> </span>And with that he left.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>I watched the coyote until he rounded another corner before turning back into the shop.<span style=""> </span>“Daniel, apparently I am to leave for patrol at midday.<span style=""> </span>You are not to do anything in the smithy until I return.<span style=""> </span>Is that clear?”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>“Yes, sir,” replied Daniel.<span style=""> </span>His voice sounded a bit shaky, but then again the last smith was killed on patrol so he had just cause to be worried.<span style=""> </span>Closing down the shop with a huff, I extinguished the forge and went into our living quarters.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>The coyote had been right; I had come with armor and weaponry, but more because of the fact that they were mine than from excelling in their use.<span style=""> </span>Looking at my arbalest I knew it would be useless for a patrol.<span style=""> </span>It was slow to load and weighed a ton, fine for sitting behind a wall or some other defended position and picking targets but
useless in the field where quick action would be necessary.<span style=""> </span>Moving my eyes across the rack I donned my scale shirt, it was light, relatively speaking, and plenty flexible to match my lithe form.<span style=""> </span>Extending below my waist and halfway to my elbows, each of the scales was a little shorter than my thumb, about twice as wide and was attached to the leather backing by three small riveted rings.<span style=""> </span>Laying over each other like the thatch on a roof, they provided good protection from slashes and jabs but would do little for an upward stroke.<span style=""> </span>That was fine by me, I had no intention of giving that kind of easy opening and I wasn’t going to be riding above my opponents either.<span style=""> </span>Besides scale is cheaper to buy and maintain than mail, even if I did make it.<span style=""> </span>Each of the scales was also slightly darkened so as not to be
reflective.<span style=""> </span>Shining armor was fine if you were going to be parading around on a noisy charger, but would blow your cover anywhere else.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Moving across the room I buckled on a wide belt, sliding a knife and some other sundry tools onto it as I put it on.<span style=""> </span>As an after thought I also grabbed a long handled hammer with a back pick and slid it into place.<span style=""> </span>Hey, I’m a blacksmith; it’s what I do.<span style=""> </span>Turning around I smoothed the scales where they tucked behind the belt and reached for my sword.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>Hanging on its own bandoleer, it rests over my back with the hilt extending over my shoulder.<span style=""> </span>A full sized long sword, it’s the piece I made before coming to Metamor to attain the title of Master Smith.<span style=""> </span>A near twin to it hangs on the wall; the sword I made last spring to prove I was a master and stay at Metamor.<span style=""> </span>I have yet to find a buyer for it and so it waits, no crest yet emblazoned on the pommel.<span style=""> </span>My sword however bares the inlaid silver shield of my family at the intersection of the hilt and crosstrees.<span style=""> </span>It is, needless to say, the most valuable thing I own.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>Looking my self over I felt fairly ready for a patrol; I had my scale shirt, hammer, sword, and a pair of coarse homespun pants.<span style=""> </span>Looking down at my paws I figured I had gone this long without shoes, why bother now.<span style=""> </span>Strapping on a pair of leather bracers, I grabbed a light pack and threw in the necessities for an overnight stay.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Giving some last minute instructions to Daniel, I turned out of the shop and headed for the main gate.<span style=""> </span>Even after living here for half a year, I still marvel at the diversity of Metamor, then again, that may just be because I don’t get out enough.</font></div> <div
class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Arriving at the front gates, I looked around for someone who might be waiting to go on patrol.<span style=""> </span>Scanning over the profusion of people moving in and out of the gates I noticed a small group waiting just outside the gates.<span style=""> </span>Moving through the crowd I approached them and, feeling rather foolish, asked, “Are you with Elena?”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Yes,” a hyena responded, looking me from head to paw, “and you would be Gordon.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font
size="3"><span style=""> </span>“I am.” I replied, still feeling like a complete fool.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Good, we’ve been waiting for you.<span style=""> </span>Now then, let’s get going, the more ground we can cover today the better, means less we have to do tomorrow.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Numbly falling in behind her, I followed down the slope of the plateau Metamor sits on.<span style=""> </span>There was still a good deal of snow piled alone the edges of the road but travelers had worn the main track down to the
dirt and small rivulets of water ran down the edges seeking anywhere it could to puddle.<span style=""> </span>Reaching the bottom, Elena turned into the forest on the right and began to move silently through the undergrowth, by comparison I sounded like a cavalry battalion on the move.<span style=""> </span>This, no doubt, was the cause of several pointed looks from the other members of our group.<span style=""> </span></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><font size="3">Actually looking at them for the first time I noticed several things I had previously missed.<span style=""> </span>The smaller of the two, indeed the smallest of all present appeared to be a young girl no more than 14 years of age.<span style=""> </span>She was, presumably, an age regressed keeper, and judging by the lack of visible weaponry besides a slender dirk, a spell
slinger to boot.<span style=""> </span>The other I had taken to be a catamount but now looking closer he had two distinguishing features that proved otherwise.<span style=""> </span>The first was his tail, or lack there of, which was at most a few hands long.<span style=""> </span>The other and much more definitive feature was his front teeth, extending nearly half a cubit in length past his lips; strapped to his hip was a long saber. </font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Stopping a short ways into the wood, Elena pulled a simple map from her tunic and explained the route we were going to be patrolling.<span style=""> </span>I nodded my head and tried to make it look like I knew what she was talking about, but from the look she gave me I don’t think I was very successful.<span
style=""> </span>Shaking her head at what I can only assume was my pure stupidity, Elena just told me to follow what the others did, be silent and watch for anything unusual.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Unusual I figured must be a relative term coming from a hyena leading a genet, long toothed cat, and a child through the woods, all dressed for battle.<span style=""> </span>Spreading her arms in an upside-down V, Elena began to move forward.<span style=""> </span>The spell slinger fell a few paces behind us, while the cat began to move off to the left of our formation.<span style=""> </span>However noting my utterly confused expression and lack of movement in any coherent direction he returned to my side and asked, “You haven’t done this before have ya?”</font></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Glancing ahead to where Elena had dropped into a crouch and was looking back at us, I quietly said, “Never.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Ok, patrolling basics, the signal Elena just gave is the wedge, it means we are moving forward and we need to be ready on all sides; it also protects Lyra so she can throw out her nasty juju stuff.<span style=""> </span>We take the flanks while Elena takes point, and we follow where she leads.<span style=""> </span>If she holds up an open hand it means halt, a closed fist means freeze.<span style=""> </span>In other words don’t even finish your
last step.<span style=""> </span>If she makes little circles over her head it’s get together.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Trying to remember everything, I said, “Thanks” and began to move to the right.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Hey, no problem, we cats need to stick together after all.<span style=""> </span>By the by, call me Ivan.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><font size="3">As the day progressed, I began to wish I still had sweat glands, even in the early spring air.<span style="">
</span>I eventually learned how to walk quietly through the woods too, well, quieter anyways.<span style=""> </span>Most of the things Elena pointed out I had a feeling she would have let the rest of the team find on their own if not for me. It was like she was trying to teach me how to read the woods without actually showing it.<span style=""> </span>That was fine by me, I needed all the help out here I could get.<span style=""> </span>I’m a city boy and I know it.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>At the end of the day as we made camp, I almost felt as though I could find my way back to the keep myself from what the others had taught me; almost.<span style=""> </span>Curling up on my bedroll I tried to get some sleep as Elena took the first watch.<span style="">
</span>Boy was I going to feel this little jaunt in the morning.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Some time in the night Lyra woke me for what I presumed was my turn for the watch, her face however showed something else entirely.<span style=""> </span>Her shoulders were tense and her eyes were bright and watchful.<span style=""> </span>Holding a finger to her lips she motioned for me to stay silent she explained she had heard noises and moved off to check them about ten minutes ago.<span style=""> </span>Turned out that about a dozen or more Lutins were camping less than twenty rods from our own site.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>“Just one question,” I said as quietly as I could, “What’s a lutin?”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Short, ugly, stupid, and green.<span style=""> </span>Just kill them, they’re mean as heck and don’t like us terribly much and will do the same to you given the chance.<span style=""> </span>We’re going to hit them just before first light so that we have most or hopefully all of them asleep.” Was the curt reply I got; I like a woman who gets to the point.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Hit them?” I asked; en guard, feel the
sting of my rapier wit.<span style=""> </span>Not.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Yes, hit them, as in attack.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Shouldn’t we get reinforcements or something?<span style=""> </span>I’m no expert, but four of us against over a dozen of them don’t sound like that good of odds to me.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Relax, I’ll take care of most of them before they know it, you’ll only need to get one
or two.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Right…” So much for men protecting the women and children and all that other great chivalrous stuff.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Moving along behind Lyra I noticed Ivan and Elena were already waiting; I felt like the fool all over again.<span style=""> </span>After covering what was probably most of the distance to their camp we crouched and waited.<span style=""> </span>And waited.<span style=""> </span>And then just for a change of pace we waited a little more.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div
class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>It wasn’t until the first faint streaks of gray dawn painted the night sky that anyone moved again.<span style=""> </span>Leaning down to my ear, Ivan whispered, “Lyra only has one good shot in her, so after that it’s up to us.”<span style=""> </span>Nodding slightly I wondered exactly what a good shot was.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>It turns out that Lyra’s one good shot was actually a bolt of lightning that practically vaporized three of the lutin’s makeshift tents and blew the rest across the clearing with a concussion that rolled through the valley.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div
class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Before the thunder had even died away Ivan and Elena were on the move into the clearing, unsheathing their weapons as they went.<span style=""> </span>With a roar nearly as loud as the receding thunder, Ivan descended on the nearest knot rising of lutins, cutting great arcs through the air with his saber.<span style=""> </span>Off to his left Elena was cutting a similar, if smaller, pattern with her sword.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>I figured this was probably a good time to jump into the fray as I had yet to move and the lutins were still oblivious to me.<span style=""> </span>Loosing my sword and running toward the lutins I made a sweep at the head of
the first one I came to.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Now I did mention that I’m a smith and not a soldier right?<span style=""> </span>Because that swing went clear over the green things head, sunk halfway through the trunk of a tree, and gained the immediate attention of every.<span style=""> </span>Single.<span style=""> </span>Lutin.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>As I said earlier, the curse happened to give me reflexes that I could never have dreamed of; unfortunately I don’t know where they came from either.<span style=""> </span>Being faced by half a dozen or so things with every intent
to kill you when you don’t have a weapon is one of those times when reflexes kick in.<span style=""> </span>So what did I do with my vast and unknowable powers?<span style=""> </span>I raised my hackles and hissed.<span style=""> </span>Yeah I know, it sounds stupid even to me, but like I said, reflexes.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>It did however make them stop to think for a second, which I suppose served its purpose as Elena and Ivan used it to make a few more body parts fall off and I pulled the hammer from my belt.<span style=""> </span>I’ve never checked exactly what the difference is, but I do know that lutin heads are considerably softer than iron and as such are also much squishier when hit.<span style=""> </span>I may have terrible aim with a sword and be
the world’s greatest klutz around more sophisticated stuff, but never get in the way of a smith with a hammer.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>All in all I thought we cleaned up pretty good, I generally flailed around and hit whatever was in range; the others, however, were much more graceful and smooth, slicing in sweeping curves and arcs.<span style=""> </span>Even Lyra came up from the back and wet her blade.<span style=""> </span>The confrontation was over in a minute or two and we stood surveying the destruction we had wrought.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Wiping her sword on the grass, Elena walked
over to me and with a look around said, “Not bad for a new boot.<span style=""> </span>What I want to know is why there were Lutins this close to the keep, we’ll need to report this.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>Looking around at what had been the camp, with it’s charred cloth tents, mangled bodies and rivulets of blood, I nearly threw up right there.<span style=""> </span>Normally I would invent some cock and bull story about manly control but the only reason I didn’t was because I hadn’t eaten yet.<span style=""> </span>The smell of burning meat and hair, coupled with the coppery tang of blood and bowels putrefied the air and made it hard to breath.<span style=""> </span>Walking on slightly weak knees over to the tree my sword was stuck in I attempted to wrench it
free.<span style=""> </span>Rather predictably it wouldn’t budge.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>After watching me pull, push and otherwise strain against the tree’s grip for a few minutes, Ivan walked over, shooed me aside, and with one twist pulled the blade free.<span style=""> </span>Now maybe it’s just me, but I think he was enjoying showing me up in every conceivable way, but that’s just me.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>After our fight the walk back to the keep was uneventful, if not uncomfortable.<span style=""> </span>Something about trekking through the woods, crouching still for who knows
how long, and suddenly springing into action just doesn’t agree with my muscles.<span style=""> </span>Elena poked a few leaves and sniffed this or that while I tried to keep from tripping on logs or other miscellaneous forest stuff.<span style=""> </span>I was more interested in keeping upright than what the woods were saying at his point.<span style=""> </span>For the most part we kept to a loose square formation and covered ground at a fair pace.<span style=""> </span>It was sometime in mid afternoon when we got back to Metamor and we went our ways.<span style=""> </span>Ivan offered a round at the Deaf Mule but Elena made an excuse for reporting in and Lyra simply declined, leaving just myself and the large cat.<span style=""> </span>Seeing as I still hadn’t eaten yet I accepted the offer and we made our way toward the keep.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div
class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“You know, I think she likes you.” Ivan said as we settled around a table in the back of the Mule.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“What are you talking about?” I asked.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Elena, of course.<span style=""> </span>The whole way back she kept looking back at you like there was nothing else on her mind.”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div
class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Sure she wasn’t just making sure I was still there and not lost in some corner of the woods?”</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span style=""> </span>“Yeah, she was on to you all right.<span style=""> </span>Just don’t let her know I told you so.”<span style=""> </span>The cat said with a chuckle that sounded more like a growl. </font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3">Grabbing a pair of mazers from a serving girl, Ivan took a long pull while I sat over mine and pondered.</font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><o:p> </o:p></font></div> <div class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><span
style=""> </span>My name is Gordon Argentarge, Master Smith of Metamor Keep, Patrolman, and, just perhaps, a beau.</font></div> <br><p> 
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