The dagger was perfectly repaired. Rycher passed it over to Makatai, whose gaze travelled back and forth between the weapon and its saviour. “Steel manipulation?” He finally managed to choke out the question that had been on his mind since the act took place. And suddenly it all clicked into place. “Would be tough to run this place by myself otherwise. But I mean, when you work with something all your life… It’s almost impossible to be out of tune with it. And it’s more like metal manipulation, really. I’ve tried my hand at all the others, and no luck whatsoever. Although I did manage to move a rock an inch or so before.” He chuckled to himself. “Impressive, right?” “Very.” Indeed, the dagger looked good as new. Even the most minute of damages it had sustained were now immaculately repaired. He looked over at the ingot, and it had shrunk slightly but otherwise looked entirely normal.

“Now, about payment. Thanks to the bitch queen and her ever-rising taxes, that job will cost you almost double what it did about a year ago. 2 Aurum, since I’m such a nice guy. Shaman, right?” Makatai passed Rycher the money. “Yeah, I am.” “Do not tell a single soul else. The queen has a hefty reward out for anyone willing to provide information about Shamans in the country leading to their arrest. They don’t usually bother with evidence, it’s about the message.” “Damn. We had heard it was bad, but…” “Yeah. And what with those fucking pirates in the Reef, the price of leviathan bone is at an all time high. What a shit nation this is. If only...” He looked at Makatai for a moment from the corner of his eye, as if considering him. “No, never you mind.” He looked to the ceiling vacantly. Then he looked back and opened his mouth as though to ask a question but just as he did so a resonating crash came from the ceiling above and all three heads snapped up in alarm. Rycher looked at the other two, raising his hands. “Wait here.” He got up and ran up the stairs, taking them two by two and unlocking the door just in time for the others to hear a muffled “Rycher!” before he slammed it shut again and they were left in silence.

After about thirty seconds of listening carefully and hearing what sounded like shouting coming from above them, they moved in unison to the door and opened it slowly, the muffled noises clearing into voices. “...none of your business! You fucking slime! This is my bloody shop, and I’m letting you stay here! Drunk bastard! Maybe I’ll crush your one good hand, and then you’ll be of no service to the queen you spend your life bowing and scraping to. Stay out of it!” Rycher’s voice, filled with rage, was audible from where they stood. A raspy, older voice came rattling back. “I should never have slept with that whore, damn you!” Rycher was now in view, with his back to them. “He roared in anger, jumping forward and slamming the other speaker against the wall. He raised a brawny fist and slugged him once in the jaw, then threw him to the side and turned his back.

“Come on.” He muttered, looking at Makatai and Ahanu with a filthy scowl. “Let’s get out of here.” The front door exploded open and he stalked out, grabbing a cloak from a peg on the door and followed closely by the other two. They looked at the figure slumped in the corner as they left, a hunched old man with a venomous expression staring back at them. His cheek was swelling and lip was split, a trickle of blood oozing down from where the blacksmith had hit him. But what stood out most about the figure was his ruined left hand, mangled and crushed, the wounds having since closed but all of them having healed wrong. It resembled more of a ball of flesh than a human hand and Makatai couldn’t help but turn his head and suppress a dry retch. “Fucking shaman-kin…” he curled his lip at them and spat. As he did so a string of saliva stretched from his lip, mixing with the blood and forming a viscous stream. A pair of pale blue eyes, just as icy as Rychers, regarded them in disgust as they left.

The trio entered the courtyard again, and Rycher spoke as they walked. “Sorry about that. That was my… father.” His lip curled as he said the word, as though it tasted sour passing his lips. Makatai felt a twinge of sympathy. He could see the physical similarities between them in their electrifyingly blue eyes and proud expressions. But where Rycher’s pride resembled that of a ruler, majestic and benevolent, his father’s pride resembled that of a fat and wealthy baron looking down on his subjects in disgust.

They stalked through the cold Avalonian square and back up the alley they had come down. “So. I still haven’t caught your names.” Once they were a fair distance away from the shop, he slowed and turned to them. “I’m Makatai Plainstrider, and this is Ahanu Preybane.” “Soon to be Ahanu Tigerbonded!” Ahanu was quick to remind Makatai, a bright grin across his face. “Yes, alright. I get it.” Makatai smirked back. “Good to meet you two. Now, let me apologise for earlier and buy you two a drink.” “Oh, there’s no need-” “I insist, it’s no trouble.” Rycher interjected adamantly. “You’ll be needing a place to stay too, won’t you? Come on, it’s not far.” The cobbles clicked beneath their boots as they walked the streets, passing many Avalonians in varying states of sobriety. Despite all the gloomy realities that life in Avalon bore , the Avalonians seemed stalwart in keeping their spirits high. Yet as Makatai and Ahanu passed they could feel dry and wary stares all over them, knowing them by the colour of their skin and the unusual nature of their clothing to be cut from the same cloth as the shamans that were so despised.

“Just round here.” As they walked down the streets, somehow the noise of human life grew ever louder and more rich. Rycher led the two around a corner, and a sight unlike any they had seen in their lives greeted them. The wide street they had previously walked spilled onto a vast cobbled road, with masses of people on either side. As it was night few carriages moved, and so they had a clear view down the road. It was about 15 meters wide, and in the distance at the end stood a magnificent castle with water cascading down from pipes into ducts below, one on each cardinal position. The Navahoans stood agape. Before this they had never even imagined a structure so large could even exist, let alone sit right before them in all its glory. “It’s a sight to behold, isn’t it? Rycher gave them a bemused look. “New Camelot’s castle town, High Holden. Made by the Nation’s greatest earth manipulators. Just like the walls too, actually.” Now that he mentioned it, Makatai recalled not being able to make out any clear brickwork on the walls surrounding the capital. But still, that was an overwhelmingly impressive display of manipulation. The castle stood tall against the deep night sky, lights just barely visible roaming the walls and coming from the tall glass windows.

“Just over here.” They crossed the street and moved up the road, approaching a tall building with a sign depicting the head and horns of a ram hung outside. Laughter and chatter was audible from within, and a warm light flickered from the windows and lamps hanging outside. Rycher crossed to open the door and pulled it open, revealing the merry scene of dancing, drinking and otherwise revelrous activity, with waitresses swaying between the mass of bodies and delivering drinks to every table. As they entered, various cries of “Rycher!” and “Come have a drink, lad!” rose from the assembled crowd. Rycher smiled and exchanged words with most of the people they passed, until they had pushed through the mob and reached the bar, where they took a seat.

“Welcome to the Battering Ram!” Rycher had to raise his voice to speak over the crowd. “The best place for a drink in the steam yard!” Just as he said this, a wall of muscle came through a door behind the bar and stood there, polishing a glass held in one mighty fist. “And this is Dachs, the owner and bartender.” Dachs looked at the two newcomers, nodding along with what Rycher said, and shook hands with the both of them. “Now, let’s have a drink!”

A few hours and a few more drinks later, the inn was considerably emptier and quieter. Only a few patrons still remained, including Rycher, Makatai and Ahanu. However, something that had been disturbing Makatai since a few minutes after they had arrived was a group of men, probably in their late 40’s or early 50’s, drinking at a table in the corner. He had felt their eyes on them for a while now, but had chosen to ignore it since nothing had come of it. However, as they all sat with their backs to them they saw the giant Dachs’ eyes widen and he lunged forward, launching a hand past Rycher's head and grabbing something out of the air. The other three whipped around to see a tankard in the proprietor’s hand, and beyond that one of the men grinding his teeth, staring at Rycher with a blazing fury in his eyes. To their surprise Rycher started to laugh, and hard. “Jac! I thought I smelt you as we stepped in. So, what is it this time?”

“You keep poor company, Forgeborn! You can’t trust those vile shaman-kin.”

“By whose measure? That of our royal highness? Our ever-gracious queen? Of course a slime like you would be under her thumb, Jac. You’re just the same as Willet. In fact, all of you Battlesmiths are. How far you have fallen, all of you.” His words slurred slightly and he stood, swaying a little drunkenly. “Wills of steel? As just as the hammer? Don’t make me laugh!” He raised a finger accusingly at Jac, who also stood up with a roar. “There’s nothing that remains of the glorious Battlesmiths anymore. And if there’s anyone you should be angry at, it’s yourself! Your customers wouldn’t have come to me in the first place if your work wasn’t so fucking worthless!”

“You little shit!” Jac bellowed, barging one of his companions aside and stepping out into the middle of the room. “I’ll show you what it means to be a Battlesmith!” With that he swept aside his cloak to reveal a hammer that hung at his side. He drew it and stepped towards Rycher, a murderous look in his eye. Makatai, who had drunk the least of the three, stood as well and moved to unsling his spear. But as he did so, he felt a large hand on his, stopping him from reaching his weapon. He turned to see Dachs, with a stern look in his eye, holding his hand back. Reading the situation he dropped his hand again, and Dachs walked out from behind the bar just in time to catch Jac’s hammer, which was blazing towards Rycher’s head at full force, in one hand. Simultaneously Makatai felt him send a burst of spiritual energy through the hammer, which disappeared as quickly as he had emitted it. “Dachs! Stay out of it, or I’ll hurt you too!” Jac clearly had not noticed what had happened, and as he raised the hammer again to strike at Dachs the head slid straight off the wooden handle and hit the floor with a crash.

The patrons stared at the handle of the broken hammer in confusion, none more than Jac. “What... did you do? What did you DO?” Drunk and even more furious at the loss of his weapon, his self control shattered entirely. “Dammit, Dachs… GET OUT OF MY WAY!” He flung the handle towards the towering man and rushed in after it, hoping for a cheap blow in the midst of confusion. Calm and silent, Dachs held forth his hand and pushed his spiritual energy out towards the handle flying towards him. Rather than stop or change its course it sped it, whipping through the air towards Dachs’ hand. But as wood and flesh met the handle changed shape on contact, wrapping itself around his fingers and knuckles and forming a small spiked wooden knuckle duster, much to Makatai’s shock.

Too blinded by rage and alcohol to even notice, Jac launched himself at the man. But true to his stature Dachs stood firm against the assault, catching Jac by the arm and holding him in place as he spat and struggled. “LET GO, YOU BASTARD!” throwing a fist wildly he caught Dachs with a glancing blow to the jaw, guffawing in triumph. Dachs however grunted, wiping his chin with his free hand. “Had your chance.” came a low grumble from deep in the giant's throat, before he raised his wood-covered fist and drew it back.

Passers-by gasped and jumped to the side as a lump vaguely resembling Jac Copperplate came flying through the front door of the Battering Ram with an ear-splitting crack, planks splintering and shards of glass exploding out in all directions. With a crash and a groan he hit the floor in the middle of the street, causing a horse to rear up in panic. His shattered jaw was not a pretty sight to behold as he lay in a crumpled heap, his breath shaky and quite unconscious. His companions streamed out after him and swarmed him like insects, and within a few moments had picked up the body of their friend and cleared the area.