A heavy gauntlet clamped down on Ragnar's shoulder, dragging him from the abyss of unconsciousness. His body ached, his wounds pulsed, his limbs felt leaden, and the world spun as he cracked open his eyes. A gruff voice, thick with irritation but laced with something resembling concern, rumbled through the morning air.
"Oi, you still breathing, lad?"
The face looming above him was bald and scarred, a thick brow furrowing over sharp eyes that had likely seen more battlefields than Ragnar had warm meals. The metal gauntlets the man wore gleamed faintly in the sunlight, the intricate engraving catching the light. Ragnar groaned trying to sit up, only to feel his body protest.
"Ugh… where…?"
"In a gods-damned field, where I found you half-buried in your own drool," the man grunted, hauling Ragnar upright with ease. "Name's Garik, in case you've forgotten. Receptionist of the hunters guild. And, apparently, babysitter for rookies who don't know how to find their way back to town."
Ragnar blinked the gaze from his vision, the events of the previous day flooding back in pieces. He turned around to see the barn, now a crumbling ashen pile of charred wood and dust. The exhaustion had overtaken him just before reaching the forest.
"I found the monster, there was a pack of them, some sort of shape shifting thing, they laid eggs in the barn so I burnt it down" He sluggishly put his hands into the sack he prepared last night and threw out some chunks of black meat and bones that had bent and melted.
"Well good job lad, I didn't expect something like this. But passing out like a sack of potatoes in the middle of nowhere? Not exactly a shining moment." He picks up the remains of the beasts and examined them, his eyes widening as he realises what it is.
"It seems like you found a pack of Ichorborns, they are crazy intelligent so they can mimic a persons fighting style just after seeing one fight. Their bodies are composed of a pluripotent biomass, hyper-adaptive cells that can instantly differentiate, allowing them to change shape so easily. In other words, there tough to beat and you cleared them all out"
He offered an arm to help Ragnar stand. Ragnar grasped it wincing as he got to his feet. His muscles felt like they had been wrung dry, and every step sent a dull throb through his legs. He sighed.
"Why did you come look for me?"
"When you didn't show up yesterday like you said you would I just wanted to know you were alive, I would feel terrible knowing I sent you to your death"
With Garik half-dragging him forward, they made their way into the forest, the towering trees offering shade from the morning sun. The path was uneven, the undergrowth thick, but Garik moved through it with the ease of a man who had walked these lands a hundred times over. Ragnar stumbled beside him, forcing himself to keep pace.
"So" Garik said after a moment "Where are you from? I don't think I've seen you around Galdor much"
"Akletosia, I was raised in Gorma but I just wanted to get away from it, make a living somewhere else"
"Ahh so can you do magic then?"
"Probably but I'd rather not find out, I'm not the biggest fan of magic" Ragnar began to put a bit of distance between him and Garik.
"I understand lad, we all want to be somewhere else, say did you get any black ooze on you during your fight?"
Ragnar quickly glanced at his hand, the one that had been attacked before. But instead of a gouge there he saw only a small scar on his hand.
"Uhh I did but it seems to be gone now, as well as the wound there."
"An Ichorborns replacement for blood is a black ooze, it's very mineral rich and has good regenerative properties, that's what makes them able to hold forms so well. If you got some on or in a wound it should have healed overnight, there might be some tenderness but other than that it should be all good"
"Wow you know a lot about monsters"
"It's kind of my job you know." Ragnar seemed to shut up after that statement. They walked in silence for a while, the sounds of the forest filling the gaps in their conversation. Birds flitted between the branches, and the distant rustling of leaves hinted at unseen creatures slinking through the underbrush. The air smelled of damp earth and oak, the scent grounding Ragnar as he pushed through his exhaustion. As the trees began to thin and the dirt path became cobbled road, the towering walls of Galdor came into view, their stone battlements standing tall against the morning sky. Ragnar had let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was back at least for now.
"Right" Garik said, slapping a heavy hand against Ragnar's back, nearly sending him stumbling forward.
"Let's get you to the guild. And then, maybe, you can take a break before you go off trying to get yourself killed again."
Back into the Hunters guild Garik slid behind the desk, flinging his gauntlets back under the it. He put on some thin glasses only one side actually having a lens as one of his eyes had been gouged out. He pulled out a dense book filled with markers organised alphabetically.
"So, four Ichorborns, that would score you a challenge rating of…" his finger trailed off the page his mind lost in thought. "A rating of 11, not bad, if it was only one you would have only scored about a 6, but the higher the better. Now lets talk payment, as we didn't know what we were sending you into you get a guaranteed 5 gold for insurance, and for four Ichorborns I'd say you've earned an extra 50 gold. So in total 55 gold pieces" He put his hand under the desk and fished out a little pouch before going to the back and filling it with gold. When he came back he placed the full pouch on the desk slid it towards Ragnar. "Happy Hunting"
And with that Ragnar took his leave. He had finally made enough money to pay off his debts. He began to saunter over to the blacksmiths where he purchased his equipment. As he approached a man hammering away at a slab of metal turned to him and began to approach, his arms outstretched.
"Well if it isn't Forge-master Ragnar" The man said it in a joking manner, punching insults at Ragnar. "You better have my money Mr I'll do it myself" The man's tone became more serious when money was involved, but that seriousness quickly dissipated when Ragnar pulled out a sack full of gold coins.
"There's an extra 5 gold in there, give me as much metal as I can get for that."
"Right away Ragnar, I knew you wouldn't have left me dissatisfied" The man tossed the sack into his pocket and guided Ragnar to a back room of the Blacksmith, they were now behind the forge, billows continuously pumped air into the forge fuelling its ever hungry flame. The air was hot and sweat had already started to drip from Ragnar's face.
"Take all you want from that pile over there, you'd be doing me a favour taking that too" The man chuckled, he was obviously making fun of Ragnar. He didn't mind though, he was used to people thinking his armour designs were strange or the fact that he always repaired his axe instead of getting a new one. So Ragnar plunged his hands deep into the pile of scrap metals and scooped as much as he could before hauling himself out of the forge. He scuttled his way across town before making it to the home he had been sharing with some lovely dwarves, they had been fine with him living in their humble cottage, it was their way of being charitable. In the side garden he dumped all of his scrap to one side and brought his attention to his axe. It had been splintered into two pieces last night. He lined the handles up and began to nail rivets and bolts into the wood which over years had become more metal than wood. After a while of struggling he a had tied some copper around it and clamped it into place, arguably it should hold for a while longer, just to make sure he put a few more nails into it for safe measures.
Ragnar wiped the sweat from his brow, staring at the haphazard collection of scrap metal piled beside his makeshift forge. The town blacksmith had finally let him off the hook for his debt, and in return for some extra coin, he'd been allowed as much scrap metal as he wanted. The iron before him had definitely seen better days. Bent plates, shattered horseshoes, twisted chain links, nothing that screamed "high-quality material", but Ragnar wasn't about to let that stop him. He rubbed his hands together. His plan was ambitious, a metal vambrace with a built-in sword-breaker, a design no blacksmith had been willing to forge for him. If he could pull it off it would give him quite an edge in combat, catching and snapping enemy blades mid fight. The only problem? He wasn't exactly a master smith.
His first attempt ended in disaster. The scrap iron he'd chosen was too brittle, cracking under his hammer before he could even shape it properly. The second piece he heated too much, turning it into a molten mess that dripped onto the ground, nearly catching his boots on fire. The Third attempt? He misjudged the measurements entirely, forging a vambrace so tight it cut off circulation in his arm when he tried to fit it on.
"Son of a—!" He ripped the metal free, tossing it into his pile of failures.
However Ragnar was not one to give up so easily. He adjusted his method, working slower, learning from each mistake. He scavenged the best pieces from his scrap, hammered out imperfections, and laid closer attention to the heat of the forge. The metal took shape under his hands, rough at first, but gradually, he refined it. The vambrace was the first part, thick enough to protect his forearm but not so heavy that it would slow him down. Then came the tricky part—integrating the sword-breaker. He carved deep notches into the metal, ensuring they were wide enough to catch a blade but not too deep to weaken the structure. Every strike of the hammer sent sparks flying, every plunge into the oil bath filling the air with steam.
After hours of toil, he held the finished piece in his hands. It was crude, scarred from countless mistakes, but it was his. Strapping it onto his arm, he flexed his fingers, testing the weight. It felt… Right. He breathed a sigh of relief, he could finally sleep and heal more.
With that he picked all of his armour of and placed it beside his door. He slumped against the wall bending his head to the side slightly. The only problem with living with dwarves is that they live in very small quarters, but he didn't mind, it was a place that he could relax. He collapsed onto his bed and drifted into a deep sleep.