“Two-hundred steel axes?” asks Rhine.

“Uh, check,” replies Hineni, not bothering to count them all. It's probably fine.

Rhine flips a page in the ledger. “Thirty-seven steel cudgels?”

Hineni shrugs, looking at a heap of blunt weapons. “Uh… you mean clubs?” he asks. “Because we have thirty-seven clubs.”

“– Cudgels,” repeats Rhine. “A cudgel is a specific type of club,” explains the boy. “They’re usually very short and have a heavy load at the end.”

“So… a mace?” asks Hineni, looking over to a pile of maces at the side of the room.

Rhine shakes his head. “No. Maces are also clubs, but they have a longer handle.” The boy lifts a finger. “Think of maces and cudgels as the same thing, but maces have longer handles and cudgels have shorter handles. But both of them are clubbing weapons.”

“I see,” replies Hineni. “Glad to have you here, Rhine,” he says. “We got ‘em.”

Rhine nods, checking something off in the ledger.

“Fifty halberds?”

“Halberds or pikes?” asks Hineni, looking at a collection of long, staved weapons against the wall.

“Oh, no. Those there are pole-axes,” replies Rhine. “They’re different.”

Hineni sighs.

Weapons sure are complicated.

“One… Oh, hey,” says Rhine. “One cobalt scythe?” he asks.

Hineni looks to the side. “Oh, hey, damn,” says the man, picking up an old, ratty farmer’s scythe that is leaning against the wall. “We made this one, Rhine. Remember?”

Rhine rubs the back of his head. “It sure is weird, how many of our own weapons we keep finding down here.”

“Is it?” asks Hineni, looking back at the familiar scythe. “I suppose it’s just the nature of the beast, or?” he asks. “We make weapons, and then we move to a place where weapons are used. It seems normal that they’d be here.”

“I mean… I guess,” replies Rhine. “But still. The universe is weird. Still, that’s a scythe. It’s a farmer’s tool, not a weapon.”

“Sure is,” replies Hineni. “But let’s not worry about that. – Halberds,” says the man.

“Pole-axes,” repeats Rhine, checking off the box in the ledger.

Hineni looks down at the odd, gangly monster bit laid out over the table. He tilts his head, turning to Sockel. “Sockel, what the hell is this?” he asks, picking it up with a gloved finger. It’s a long, soft, squishy mass with round ridges.

Sockel points at him with her pen. “That there is an intestine,” replies the elf.

Hineni lifts an eyebrow, looking at her and then at it. “Okay. And, let me ask, what the hell do I want with an intestine?”

“It’s a giant centipede’s,” replies Sockel. Hineni lets out a disgusted noise, dropping it. “What? Don’t you like centipedes?”

“I can’t say that I do,” replies Hineni. “Too many legs.”

“That’s discriminatory against spiders,” says Sockel.

Hineni shakes his head. “I don’t mind spiders. But centipedes are wobbly-woo.” He narrows his eyes. “Why do they need so many legs?” asks Hineni. “How can having a hundred legs be more efficient than just having two, or three, or eight?” he asks. “What are they hiding?” Hineni crosses his arms. “There better not be a centipede-god.”

Something hoots next to him. “Fear not,” says the owl-god, flying down low. “Between the beautiful owls and the disgusting frogs, there was not enough space in the big-big forest for so many legs,” she explains. “The skitterer with too many feet was destroyed by a hero’s light, many, many generations ago.”

“Oh. Great,” says Hineni, relieved. “So…”

“– It’s poisonous,” explains Sockel, making her point.

Hineni looks at the slimy heap of gray meat. “I bet.”

“You want to make weapons,” starts Sockel. “So I figured you could branch out into weapons that aren’t so… stabby.”

Hineni looks at her. “Go on…”

“Poison.” Sockel shrugs.

“...Poison?” asks Hineni. “I don’t know…” He looks down at the centipede intestines. “This sounds like more of an alchemy thing. I’ve never gone near squishy ingredients.” He shakes his head. “I’m a weaponsmith, not an alchemist.”

Sockel waves him off. “Sure, sure. But, hear me out,” says the elf, sitting down on her chair, which is standing out in the middle of the hill. “What if you make poison for your weapons?” she asks. “Like a chef, making his own seasonings.”

Obscura hoots. “The sock-elf is a wise fool,” says the owl-god. “Poison is readily made, but it does not last long.” She shakes her head. “But perhaps an enchanting brew for weapons?” The owl-god clicks, hissing greedily with her mouth. “Obscura’s talons are deadly, but many will long for them when they drip with power.”

“Enchantments?” asks Hineni. He rubs the back of his head. “I dunno, this all seems like a lot of new stuff,” he explains. “I was just getting into trying out monster-weapons.”

“Hey, why not go hard while you’re already at it, right?” she asks, leaning back on her chair with her hands behind her head. “The south is resource rich. We’ll be able to get gems or reagents or whatever else we need super easily here.” Sockel points over her shoulder to the burning forest. “Do you need living people to experiment on? I can go snatch you some.”

Hineni lifts an eyebrow. “Thank you, Sockel. That won’t be necessary.”

She shrugs. “Dead people?”

“Thank you, Sockel,” says Hineni again. “That won’t be necessary.”

She rolls her eyes. “So we moved all the way down here, just so you could be the old you longer?”

Hineni prods the centipede-intestine with a finger.

— It squirms and moves. He shakes his hand off in disgust, looking back her way. “Maybe you’re the one who should take the chance to change,” says Hineni. “We’ll make you a new contract and everything. You’ll love it.”

She shrugs. “Sorry. My hands are tied. My contract says I’m not allowed to make a new contract.”

“What an oddly specific clause,” replies Hineni dryly, knowing full well that Sockel is the one who wrote the contract herself.

“Beurocracy. You know how it is,” she replies. “So?”

Hineni looks down at the squirming organ and then towards the owl-god and Sockel. He shrugs. “Sure. Why not?” replies Hineni.

After all, he’s making weapons out of metal and out of organic material. So why not add in an extra step at the end, to enchant them with some sort of bonus? There could be something here. It’s likely a cheap addition that could greatly boost the potential and value of a weapon. “Tell Seltsam to get some books on enchanting from the crates,” orders Hineni. “But no centipedes.”

“Spoil sport,” says Sockel. “– So what’s your limit on legs?”

Hineni thinks for a moment, considering the many different kinds of monsters and animals out there.

“Five,” he replies. Obscura hoots next to him. "Except for spiders."

“So is this the one?” asks Hineni, looking at Obscura’s cupped hands.

She nods, holding it up to him. “This is the one,” replies the owl-god. Hineni looks at the seed in her palms, cupped in a bed of dirt. “It will grow strong and proud.”

Rhine looks over. “So… are you sure that this will work?” he asks, rubbing his lip with the back of his thumb. “This all feels a little fever-dreamy to me, honestly.” He looks around. “Is anyone else getting that vibe? Or just me?”

“Just you,” replies a sharp voice from the side. Eilig. “Some of us are glad to be out in the world, doing new things.” Rhine looks over towards the fairy, sitting on the front porch of her doll-house in a tiny chair.

He tilts his head. “Aren’t you just doing what you’ve always been doing?” he asks.

Eilig spins a finger in the air, a trail of ice-crystals following it as she points at him with her other hand. “But now I’m doing it somewhere else!”

Hineni looks down at the seed. “I feel like I just had this conversation before,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head. “Let’s plant it then,” he says.

“FOOL!” hoots Obscura at him. “We can not simply plant it. The moon is not right.”

“Yup! Moon’s super important!” calls Rhine from the side.

“- And the sun is not in the correct position to have warmed the soil,” she explains.

Rhine nods. “Gotta have warm soil!”

“And this seed has not yet absorbed all of Obscura’s bountiful grace!”

Rhine crosses his arms. “Can’t have a tree without tha- ow!”

“Shut your yap!” snaps Eilig, having hit Rhine over the ear. “You used to be great,” says Eilig. “Where did it all go wrong? You’re just like a sad puppy now.”

“...Huh?” asks Rhine, rubbing his ear. “What do you mean?”

“Eilig, don’t hit Rhine,” warns Hineni. He looks back down at the seed. “So…”

“So,” hoots Obscura. “I must hold this seed with me for many days, to nurture it and tend to it. It must absorb my magic.”

“You could just plant it and sit on it, like it was an egg,” suggests Sockel from the side.

Obscura lifts her nose. “The blessing of nesting is something the loveless creature that you are will never know.”

“Oof,” replies Sockel. “Harsh. I’m married to my work.”

“Let’s rein it back in, people,” says Hineni. “Don’t be mean.” Obscura hoots, lowering her head.

He rubs the back of his head, looking around. There are so many small changes in life to keep up with down here. He supposes that everyone is still adapting.

Hineni lifts his gaze, looking over to Rhine and Eilig, who are talking. Sockel wanders off, heading to chat with Seltsam instead.

He shrugs, looking at Obscura, who is looking at the seed.

Hineni lays on his sleeping mat at night, watching the fires in the sky instead of sleeping.

He turns his head, looking at the owl-god, who is laying there too. But her hands are cupped on her chest, and the seed is held in them.

He turns his gaze back up towards the sky, watching a screaming dragon tear through the clouds.

It’s a new neighborhood and lifestyle. There’s just a lot to adjust to.