"Business, business, business, so much business to attend to!" Henry chirped, weaving dramatically through the throng of people like he was the mayor of the damn place.
I sighed and kept walking, tuning out his endless commentary before my brain started leaking out of my ears. The inn's waiter had said the forge was somewhere in this district, assuming she hadn't been screwing with us.
The deeper we pushed into the city, the thicker the crowd became. People were crammed shoulder to shoulder, shouting over each other in a symphony of haggling, barking, and laughter. Someone brushed past with a tray of steaming meat skewers, nearly singeing Henry's sleeve. He shrieked like he'd been mortally wounded.
"Atlas! I almost died just now," he hissed dramatically, clutching his chest. "Struck down by the vicious flame of commerce!"
"Tragic," I muttered, sidestepping a cart loaded with bolts of colorful cloth. "We'll put it on your tombstone. Killed by grilled lamb."
Benjamin, trailing behind us, grunted. "You two have the subtlety of a brick through a window."
Henry jabbed me in the ribs suddenly, nearly making me stumble. "There!" he said, pointing through the sea of heads and wafting smoke.
Sure enough, past a particularly aggressive fruit vendor and a suspiciously muscular chicken coop, a squat, sturdy building stood at the end of the street. Its exterior was reinforced with bands of dark metal and carved stone, heat visibly rippling from its open windows.
A large sign hung overhead in bold, hammered lettering: Ironheart Forge.
"Looks impressive," I remarked, taking in the solid structure.
"Yeah, let's head in," Henry urged, pushing open the door.
The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel echoed as we stepped into the smithy, heat radiating from the open forge like a sun trapped indoors. The air smelled of iron, coal, and sweat—a raw, honest scent. Tools hung neatly on the walls, while half-finished weapons and armor lay scattered across sturdy workbenches.
Behind the counter stood a barrel-chested man, his thick arms blackened with soot, his tunic scorched from years of labor. A wild, ash-dusted beard covered most of his weathered face, but his eyes were sharp, clear, and calculating.
He set down his hammer and gave us a curt nod. "Welcome to the Ironheart Forge," he rumbled, his voice like gravel over firewood. "Name's Doran Ironheart." He extended a calloused hand, firm and warm despite the grime.
Benjamin stepped forward and shook it. "Benjamin. That's Henry," he gestured beside him, "and Atlas, back there."
Doran's eyes flicked to each of us in turn, taking the measure of us like a man who'd seen soldiers, bandits, and kings all in the same week. "So, what brings you lot to my forge?"
"We're looking for a bow," Benjamin said. "Something quick. Easy to handle. For Henry here."
Doran grunted thoughtfully and stepped out from behind the counter. "Then let's not waste time. Come on."
We followed him deeper into the forge. The heat intensified as we passed glowing embers and rows of weapon racks. Doran moved with a purpose, but not haste, like every motion had been practiced for years.
"What kind of draw weight are you used to?" he asked over his shoulder. "What matters more to you? power or control?"
Henry scratched his chin. "Something responsive. I need speed and maneuverability more than brute force."
"A recurve then," Doran said without hesitation. "Light, quick, doesn't need a warbuck to pull it back."
He led us to a side room where the noise of the main forge faded into muffled hisses and distant strikes. Here, the walls were lined with bows of various sizes and styles. A practice range stretched toward the back, targets marked with faded paint.
"Five copper to test," Doran said, extending his palm. Benjamin handed over the coins without a word.
The blacksmith selected a few bows, each with care, handing them to Henry in turn. Henry tested their balance, drew their strings, and measured their feel. His movements were slow and deliberate as he mulled over every aspect.
After trying a couple, Henry paused with one in his hand—a sleek, medium-sized recurve. He ran a hand along the grip, the wood polished smooth by years of use or care. "This one feels... right."
"Shoot it," Doran said simply.
Henry stepped to the line, nocked an arrow, and drew the bowstring. There was a moment of stillness before he loosed. The arrow hissed through the air and thudded into the target just off-center.
"Solid," I said, genuinely impressed.
Henry tried another. Then another. Each arrow flew straighter than the last. By the third, it wasn't just his aim improving; his whole demeanor changed. His stance relaxed, his expression focused. He was comfortable.
A grin spread across his face. "This is the one."
Doran nodded, his gaze fixed on Henry. "A good fit matters more than gold," he said. "But speaking of…"
Benjamin chuckled. "How much?"
"Eight silver," Doran replied. "Comes with thirty arrows. Decent heads, oiled shafts."
Benjamin considered it, then turned to Henry. "Sure this is it?"
Henry nodded, still holding the bow like it might vanish if he let go. "Yes. Definitely."
Benjamin counted out the coins, and Doran took them with a small nod of thanks. He returned a moment later with the arrows bundled neatly in leather ties.
"If you ever need more arrows, or you want the bow retuned after a few seasons, bring it back. Tools like this deserve care. And so do their wielders."
"Thanks," Henry said, genuinely grateful.
Doran turned back toward the forge, "If you need anything else, just let me know. I'll be here."
Our shopping escapade didn't end with Henry's bow; we explored the shop's assortment of goods. I opted for a lightweight chest plate and arm guards, hoping to enhance my defense without compromising agility. Benjamin, on the other hand, decided to invest heavily in protective gear, purchasing a complete set of light armor that set him back 25 silver coins.
By the time we finished our selections and transactions, our collective expenditures had taken a 42 silver coin chunk out of Benjamin's savings. The sight of the diminishing funds prompted Henry to quip, "Looks like you need to make more paintings."
In response, Benjamin wryly suggested, "You need to make your own money," accompanied by a teasing grin. Henry played along, pretending to be wounded by the comment. "How could you say such a thing?" he replied with exaggerated hurt.
I decided to steer the conversation back on track, reminding the group of our primary objective for the day. "Alright, alright, let's get going," I urged. "I want to head to the guild to see what kind of jobs are available."
With our newly acquired gear in tow, we left the Ironheart Forge behind. The echo of clanging hammers and roaring flames faded as we made our way back through the streets of StormWatch. The city was alive with merchants shouting over each other, children weaving through the crowd, and the savory aroma of roasted meats and spices drifting from street vendors.
As we walked, the crowded marketplace gradually thinned. The chatter dulled, replaced by the occasional clatter of boots or the murmur of distant conversations. We turned down a quieter street when, out of nowhere, a man barreled past us.
He slammed into Henry's shoulder hard enough to nearly spin him around.
"Whoa!" Henry staggered, instinctively reaching out to steady himself. The man didn't stop as he stumbled forward in a full sprint, a hand clutching his side, panic written across his bruised face.
Henry turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "What the…"
Then he saw it.
Down the alley the man had come from, shadows moved. Low, vicious laughter echoed off the walls. Inside, half-hidden by crates and grime, another man lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Three figures circled him like wolves, fists and boots flying.
Henry's jaw clenched. "Nope. Not happening."
"Henry, wait—" I called out, but he was already moving.
Benjamin and I shared a look before rushing after him.
Henry didn't hesitate. He stormed into the alley, his steps sharp, fists already curling at his sides. "Hey!" he barked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The largest of the trio—a broad-shouldered thug with a jagged scar slicing down his cheek—turned slowly, eyes filled with lazy malice.
"This guy disrespected me," he said, jerking a thumb toward the broken man on the ground. "We're just having a little... conversation."
Henry's stare was cold. "Conversation's over. Back off."
The thug raised an eyebrow, amusement curling into a sneer. "Henry, huh?" He stepped forward slowly, sizing him up. "Level 23. That's not bad… but not good enough either."
One of the others chuckled from the sidelines, arms crossed as he leaned lazily against the wall. "And he brought friends. That's cute." His eyes drifted to Benjamin and me like we were flies buzzing in the background.
Henry stood his ground, clearly nervous, but I had to give it to him; he didn't back down.
Mason, the ringleader, stepped in close. "Let's see if the guts match the skill," he said, then suddenly grabbed Henry by the collar, yanking him forward with a jerk.
Without hesitation, Henry's hand shot up and clamped down on Mason's arm. A faint green shimmer danced across his fingers. Mason recoiled, stumbling back, cursing as black veins snaked up his skin.
My eyes widened. Smart move… quick, too. I hadn't seen him practice anything like that before.
But Henry wasent done as he stepped forward and punched Mason hard across the jaw. The blow landed clean, snapping Mason's head to the side. Then Henry turned, fluidly ducking under Jack's incoming swing, and countered with a jab to the ribs that made the bigger man stagger.
Wait… that was my move.
It was quick, almost subtle, but I recognized it. The low feint, the pivot on the back foot, the tight elbow drop into the stomach. He'd been watching me fight
For a moment, Henry fought like someone far above his level, dodging, striking, repositioning. Not perfectly, but boldly.
But his skills only went so far.
Mason recovered fast, fury flashing in his eyes. "That's it!" he growled, barreling in.
Henry met him again, elbowing him in the ribs, but this time Mason caught him mid-strike and threw him back like he weighed nothing. Jack closed in, landing a harsh blow to the side of Henry's face. Taylor followed with a sweep to the legs that dropped him hard.
Henry hit the ground but rolled quickly, springing back up, blood dripping from his nose. His breathing was ragged, but he kept moving, kept trying. He swung again, landing a punch to Jack's gut, but Mason was already there.
A brutal hit to the stomach. Another to the back. Henry crumpled, collapsing onto the cold stone, groaning through clenched teeth.
They stood over him now. Mason clutching his poisoned arm, Jack rubbing his ribs, and Taylor just grinning.
"Stupid," Mason muttered. "You should've walked away."
A final kick to Henry's side knocked the wind out of him.
I had to admit. Henry had done pretty well, but if I let this go any further, Benjamin would try to intervene.
"Enough!" I barked, stepping forward. My voice cracked through the alley like a blade against stone.
Henry groaned, his hand reaching out weakly toward the ground. Mason stumbled slightly, the poison now climbing toward his chest, but he steadied himself with a growl.
The three men shifted their attention to me, their expressions hardening.
"Looks like it's my turn," I said evenly.
Mason scoffed, his lips curling into a mocking grin. "You think you can take me on all by yourself?" he taunted, stepping forward with the confidence of someone who'd never been challenged properly.
I let out a low chuckle, meeting his gaze with a calm smile. "I guess so." I shifted into a combat stance, my muscles coiling like a spring. "Come on then," I taunted. "Let's see what you've got."
Mason's grin widened as he signaled his lackeys. "Let's show this punk what a real beating feels like!"
He lunged first, his movement wild and heavy. I stepped to the side, his fist swiping through the empty air where I'd been standing a second ago. Sloppy, I thought. He's telegraphing every move like an amateur.
Before he could recover, I stepped in close and delivered a sharp uppercut to his jaw. The force lifted him off his feet for a split second before he crashed to the ground, unconscious. And that's the leader? Pathetic.
The two lackeys froze, their disbelief written across their faces. Mason had barely hit the ground before their shock turned into desperation. They activated their abilities, clearly trying to make up for their leader's failure. One conjured a massive stone hammer. The other summoned a swirling fireball, its heat overwhelming even from a distance.
The geomancer charged first, swinging his hammer with all the finesse of a battering ram. I sidestepped again, lightning crackling in my fingertips as I grabbed the hammer's shaft. A jolt of energy surged through the weapon and into him, the electricity seizing his muscles and sending him staggering. Way too slow. I didn't hesitate, driving a palm strike into his side and sending him crashing into the alley wall. He slumped against it, dazed and groaning.
I barely had time to register the geomancer's collapse before the fire mage launched his attack. A fiery projectile raced toward me, its glow illuminating the narrow alley. I summoned a shield just in time to intercept it. The explosion rippled outward, the heat licking at my skin, but I stood firm.
Without missing a beat, I hurled the electrified shield at him. It sailed through the air with a hiss, striking the fire mage square in the face. He stumbled, clutching at his head as arcs of electricity danced over his body. I closed the distance and landed a punch straight to the face that sent him sprawling to the ground.
The alley fell silent, save for the labored breathing and groans of the defeated attackers. I straightened, brushing the dust from my hands and letting out a sigh. Amateurs. They hit hard, but they fight like kids swinging sticks.
Henry's voice broke the silence as he groaned and pushed himself to his feet. "Damn it… that sucked." He rubbed his side gingerly, wincing. His lips twisted into a rueful smile. "Guess I'm not cut out for hero work."
"You're lucky Mason wasn't at his best after you poisoned him," I said, my tone sharper than I intended. "But I have to say, you lasted longer than I thought."
Henry nodded, his expression sheepish. Then his gaze flicked to Mason, his brow furrowing. "Benjamin," he called, "you should probably check on the guy I poisoned. He's still breathing, but I might've overdone it."
Benjamin knelt beside the man, already beginning to work his healing magic.
Henry looked back at me, his voice quieter now. "Thanks for stepping in, Atlas. I owe you one."
I waved him off. "Just don't rush in blind again. You're no good to anyone if you're out cold on the ground." My gaze shifted to the thugs sprawled around the alley. "And these idiots… they weren't much of a challenge."
Henry grimaced, his hand still pressed to his ribs, but he nodded. I could see the gears turning in his head, the weight of what had happened sinking in.
"You're lucky I'm here," Benjamin muttered as he placed his hands over Mason's chest. The dark veins receded as Benjamin's healing magic countered the poison's effects. Mason's breathing steadied, though his pride would likely take longer to recover.
Once Mason was stabilized, Benjamin turned his attention to the elderly man the thugs had attacked. The man was sitting up against the alley wall, his frail body trembling as he cradled his arm. Without a word, Benjamin knelt beside him and began working his magic. The soft glow enveloped the man, soothing his bruised and battered form.
The man, now visibly calmer, looked up at Benjamin with watery eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice shaking with gratitude. "I… I thought I wouldn't make it."
Benjamin gave him a reassuring smile. "You'll be alright now. Just take it easy for a while."
Henry stepped forward. "Are you okay? Can you stand?"
The man nodded, though his movements were slow and tentative. "Yes, thanks to your friend here." His weathered face broke into a faint smile. "You saved my life."
I offered him a hand, helping him to his feet. "Do you need help walking?" I asked, keeping a steady hold in case he faltered.
The man shook his head, though the gratitude in his eyes was unmistakable. "No, I'm fine. Truly. I don't know how to thank you all. My name's Finley. If there's ever anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."
"No need," I said with a small smile. "We're just glad we could help."
Finley nodded, still looking overwhelmed. After ensuring he was steady and safe, we parted ways, leaving the alley behind. The bustling streets of StormWatch carried on as if nothing had happened, the vibrant sounds and scents feeling strangely out of place after the fight.
As we walked in silence, Henry finally broke it with a frustrated groan. "I really need to figure out how to fight without it always turning into a kill-or-be-killed thing. My abilities… they're not meant for control. They're just good at ending things."
His voice was low, weighed down with something heavier than just exhaustion.
I glanced at him, slowing my pace. "Yeah. I've seen that. Poison's effective… but unforgiving."
Benjamin nodded thoughtfully. "We could stop by a skill store. Maybe find something more flexible. Something that fits your style, but isn't lethal."
Henry perked up slightly, the tension in his brow easing. "That'd be amazing. Seriously, I'd appreciate it."
We walked a little farther before Henry looked over at me again. His tone was more tentative this time. "You know, Atlas… the way you handled those thugs back there… it was smooth. Do you think you could maybe… teach me some of that?"
I smirked, the corner of my mouth twitching. "I think you've already been learning."
Henry blinked, his expression tightening like a kid caught sneaking a snack. "I mean… maybe I copied a thing or two. Just instincts. Sort of."
I gave him a nod, more approving than teasing. "You did alright. But without the proper form and discipline, those moves can hurt you more than your opponent in the long run."
He didn't say anything, but I could see the worry flickering behind his eyes like he was bracing for rejection.
"But," I continued, "if you're serious… I can train you."
Henry looked at me, stunned for a moment. Then he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. I want to learn."
But our stomachs interrupted the moment with loud growls. Benjamin chuckled. "Guess step one is not fighting on an empty stomach."
Soon enough, we stumbled on a small eatery tucked between two shops. The scent of grilled meats and warm spices hit us like a welcome hug. Inside, it was cozy with wooden tables, flickering lanterns, and the low hum of cheerful conversation.
The meal of grilled fish and roasted vegetables was simple but perfect. And soon enough, we left with full bellies and lighter hearts.
"Alright," I said as we stepped back into the street. "Let's find that skill store."
A few directions and turns later, Henry practically burst through the doors of Talent Treasures, nearly knocking it off its hinges in his excitement. A little bell overhead chimed our entrance, along with the overpowering scent of old parchment and ink that greeted us.
The shop itself was like stepping into a scholar's sanctuary. Shelves brimming with books and tokens lined the walls, each token displayed on small pedestals, their engraved symbols glowing faintly. Behind the counter sat a tall, lanky man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose, deeply engrossed in a thick tome. He muttered to himself as he scribbled meticulous notes in the margins, completely oblivious to our entrance.
Henry cleared his throat loudly, causing the man to jump slightly. He blinked up at us, adjusting his glasses as if we'd just yanked him from another world. "Oh! Customers," he said, his voice soft but with a certain scholarly precision. He carefully closed his book, almost like it was a fragile artifact, and stood. "Welcome to Talent Treasures. What might I help you with?"
Henry stepped forward, grinning. "I'm looking for a poison skill."
The shopkeeper tilted his head, his thin fingers steepling as he gave Henry a long, appraising look. "Ah, poison. A subtle and effective art… deadly when wielded with care." He paused, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "A fascinating choice. Let me see what I have in my collection."
The man moved to a tall cabinet, each step deliberate, as if he were navigating a sacred library. He rifled through several drawers before pulling out a small, ornately carved wooden box. "Here we are," he said, setting the box on the counter and opening it with a quiet reverence. Inside were five tokens, each inscribed with glowing green symbols. "A fine selection of poison-based skills. But, before we proceed…" His gaze shifted back to Henry. "Do you have the Identify skill to discern their properties?"
Henry froze. "Uh… actually, no. I don't."
The shopkeeper tutted softly, his lips twitching into a faint smile. "A common oversight for budding adventurers. Thankfully, I have Identify tokens in stock." He turned, pulling out another small box with practiced ease. "A foundational skill for anyone venturing into the world of abilities."
Benjamin stepped in. "How much for four of those tokens?"
"Planning to share knowledge, are we?" the shopkeeper said, with an amused smile. "Four tokens will be 1 silver and 80 copper. A fair investment for such essential magic."
Benjamin handed over the coins, and the shopkeeper slid four Identify tokens across the counter. Which Henry grabbed without a moment of delay before quickly following the instructions he'd heard from Amelia some time ago as the token began to glow before cracking apart in his hand.
While he was busy, I leaned closer to the counter, my own Identify skill already active. "Let's see what we're working with," I said, peering at the tokens.
Poison Dominion: Mastery over existing poisons, enabling the user to enhance or neutralize poisons at will.
Corrosive Touch: Corrodes objects upon contact, making them brittle and vulnerable.
Paralytic Venom: Delivers a venomous attack, temporarily immobilizing the target.
Toxic Cloud: Creates a noxious cloud of poison gas, choking and weakening anyone within its vicinity.
Venomous Strike: Infuses a weapon with deadly poison, causing lasting harm to the target.
As I read them out, Henry leaned in eagerly, his eyes darting to each token as I spoke. "Alright," he said, rubbing his hands together. "What's the damage? How much for these?"
The shopkeeper rattled off the prices without hesitation: "Poison Dominion is 21 gold. Corrosive Touch is 78 gold. Paralytic Venom is 25 gold. Toxic Cloud is 17 gold. Venomous Strike is 13 gold."
Henry's enthusiasm drained from his face. "That's… uh, wow. A bit outside my budget."
"A common predicament," the shopkeeper replied smoothly, adjusting his glasses. "But fret not. If gold is the obstacle, I have another option." He walked to a nearby shelf, selecting a thick book with an ornate cover. "This tome contains foundational techniques for skill development. While it won't grant you a skill outright, it will teach you methods to cultivate abilities over time. With dedication, you could master skills unique to you."
Henry squinted at the book, his expression dubious. "So… homework?"
The shopkeeper's lips twitched into a faint smile. "An apt comparison. But knowledge is a power that gold cannot buy."
Benjamin nudged Henry. "It's better than nothing, and way cheaper."
The shopkeeper nodded. "Three silver pieces for the book."
Henry sighed and glanced at Benjamin, his expression somewhere between sheepish and hopeful. "Uh… you mind covering this one? I'm kind of tapped out."
Benjamin rolled his eyes but smirked as he handed over the coins. "Fine. But you owe me, Henry."
"Yeah, yeah, put it on my tab," Henry muttered, taking the book like it might explode in his hands. "This still feels like cramming for college finals. I thought I was done with studying."
As we left the shop, Henry flipped through the pages, his pace slowing as he skimmed the dense text. "Ugh," he groaned, "it even smells like a library. Why do useful things always come with so much reading?"
"Maybe you'll learn to like it," I said with a smirk. "Or at least tolerate it."
Benjamin chuckled. "Think of it this way, at least this book doesn't come with a term paper."
Henry rolled his eyes but cracked a small grin. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just hope this doesn't take years to figure out."